Die in Plain Sight (33 page)

Savoy Hotel

Monday night

I
an licked garlicky grease off Lacey’s fingers until she giggled in spite of the shadows in her eyes. So did he.

“That’s better,” he said.

“Clean fingers? I could have used my napkin.”

“Your smile. Did you know you think better when you’re smiling? True medical fact.”

She started to question the origin of that “true medical fact” when she saw the gentleness in his eyes and in the curve of his lips. She liked seeing him relax too much to poke holes in the moment. And then she realized that he felt the same way about her. Even as they sat there trying to figure out who might benefit from murdering her, he was trying to make it easier on her by teasing out smiles.

“You really are good for me,” she said.

“Works both ways.”

Her smile wasn’t big, but it was real. She let out a long breath. “Okay, I’m ready to tackle it again.”

“This time let’s keep track. Find a pencil and paper while I do dishes.”

“Dishes?” she asked.

He swept up trash and food debris and crammed it into the sitting room wastebasket. “See? Dishes done.”

Lacey went to the supplies Susa had left her, pulled out a sketch pad and pencil, and returned to the sitting room. Ian had moved to the sofa. He patted the cushion beside him and kept his hands to himself. Much as he wanted to take off her clothes and sink into her until they were both breathless and blind with pleasure, he didn’t. Right now she needed to make lists more than she needed to get laid.

And so did he.

She sat down, flipped open the sketchbook, and printed:
NEW PEOPLE SINCE THE PAINTINGS APPEARED

Ian looked at it, blinked, and said, “Since you brought the paintings to Susa?”

Lacey nodded. “Even if it’s someone from Grandfather’s past, whoever it is never said ‘Boo’ to me until the paintings went public.”

“Like I said, brains will beat bullets every time.”

I hope.

But neither of them said it aloud.

“Okay, the first person is Susa,” Ian said.

Lacey’s pencil hesitated. “You said it was a man’s voice on the phone.”

Ian shrugged. “There are a lot of Donovan men.”

“Do you really think—never mind, I withdraw the objection, the point is to make a list with everyone on it no matter how nutty.”

She printed Susa’s name.

“Then there’s Mr. Goodman,” Lacey said. Mentally she played back the first night she’d met Susa. “I can’t think of anyone else I saw for the first time that night who showed any interest in the paintings. Can you?”

“A couple of Goodman’s assistants were old enough to set fires. I’ll check them out. Leave some blank lines.” Ian shifted against his harness until nothing dug into his ribs. “The next new person you met was Savoy Forrest, right?”

“Right.” Lacey wrote down the name as she flipped through hours in her mind. “I didn’t meet the gate guard at Savoy Ranch when Susa and I went painting, so does he count?”

“Put him down.”

She did. “New people were kind of slow until the auction. Then there’s a raft of them. Bliss, and Ward Forrest. Angelique White. Savoy’s son, who said about three words to me.”

“Don’t forget the silk suit who tried to pick you up.”

Lacey blinked. “I missed him.”

“I didn’t, but we won’t count him since Pickford never got close enough to you for an introduction.”

“Pickford? The accountant?”

“No, the son and lawyer, not the father.”

“Whatever. I’ll write ’em both down.”

Ian watched Lacey’s swift, stylish printing.

“Did I meet the sheriff that night?” she asked, frowning.

“Probably. He was with Bliss.”

“Would I be unbearably naïve if I pointed out that he’s the
sheriff
, for God’s sake?”

“Hotel theft was an inside job, and he owns part of the security company.” Ian took the pencil from her and wrote Rory Turner in dark, slashing letters. “He also has my cell-phone number.”

“Then we have to include the deputies who followed us,” she said, reclaiming the pencil, “even if I didn’t meet them. Did you get their names?”

“Just write down deputy A and B.” He twisted the top off another soda. “I’ll name them if they look good for it.”

“Gallery owners,” Lacey said, and wrote the names down.

Then they looked at the names.

“Okay, let’s take the incidents in order,” Ian said. “Who knew you had the paintings?”

“Everyone on this list,” she said dryly.

“
Before
the fire.”

“Susa, and she didn’t know my real name.”

“Who did?” he asked.

“Besides you and me? No one. When I took the paintings back, everyone thought I was January Marsh. That’s what doesn’t make any sense.
In order for the fire to have been aimed at destroying the paintings, someone would have to have known where I took them and who I was. You were the only one.”

“You don’t look worried,” he said.

“If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

He smoothed the renegade curl away from her eyes.

“Since I’m alive,” she said, “I’m concluding that you’re not the one trying to kill me.”

“I could be really sneaky and just stringing you along.”

“I could be channeling the Queen of Atlantis.”

He smiled. “Okay, we’re innocent. How long did it take you to get your paintings back from Mr. Goodman?”

“Almost an hour.”

“We know Goodman called Savoy, who could have arranged for his good friend the sheriff to have you followed to your shop. Or Goodman could have called the sheriff directly. Either way,” Ian said, “you’re tagged. All anyone had to do was show your picture up and down the blocks to get an ID—Lacey Quinn, not January Marsh.”

“Where would they get a picture?” Then, before he could answer, she said, “The security cameras. I must have been all over them. Can you print photos from them?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Who has the authority to do it?” she asked. “Goodman?”

“Maybe. The sheriff, certainly. Or anyone on the security staff could do it on the sly for his or her own purposes and follow you the same way. The most direct route would be through the sheriff. Plus whoever the sheriff talked to—the Forrests, for instance.”

He made quick notes and put a check next to the names that could have known where Lacey and the paintings went.

“You forgot Susa.”

Ian blinked.

“Susa was alone the night the fire started and she knew where the paintings were.” Lacey made a disgusted sound. “But she was no more likely to burn down my shop than I was. She’s connected to those paintings as deeply as most people connect to a lover.”

“But I like the way you’re thinking,” Ian said.

“Huh?”

“Mean. Low. Sneaky. Cold. Like a cop.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “No-holds-barred. It’s how you survive.”

He put a check next to Susa’s name.

And his own.

“Okay,” she said. “Everyone with the check knew who I was and where the paintings were, and therefore could have set a fire to destroy the paintings. But why?”

“Let’s stay with the ‘who’ for a while longer. Who knew the paintings survived the fire and were taken to the Savoy Hotel? Remember, the theft occurred barely twelve hours after the fire.”

“You, me, Susa, the Newport Beach Fire and Police Departments—”

“Which means Rory Turner could have found out real fast,” Ian interrupted. “If he knew, then we’re back to the same group we had before the fire.”

“How do we find out if he knew?”

“Savoy Forrest wants your paintings. The Forrests got Turner elected. Take it as a given that the sheriff quizzed the NBPD. What they know, he knows. What he knows, the Forrests know.”

More check marks went on the list of names.

“Who besides the sheriff and the employees had access to the hotel security system?” Lacey asked.

Ian didn’t answer. He just put check marks next to the sheriff and the security employees.

“What about the Forrests?” she asked. “If Rory Turner is in bed with the Forrests, then they could have access, couldn’t they?”

“Maybe, but whoever the thief was had more than access. He also knew the security system inside and out. Remember, the fake bellman never showed anything useful to the cameras.”

Lacey looked at all the marks and names. If they were making any progress, she didn’t see it, and they hadn’t even gotten to motive. “How come whoever it was—or they were—didn’t just clean out my storage unit after I brought three more pictures out?”

“Because I dumped the tail before we got to the storage unit, so no one but us knew where it was. But I didn’t dump the deputies when we went back the second time.”

She shivered. “You really think it’s the sheriff, don’t you?”

“You have a better suspect?”

“But why? If it’s the money, then burning the paintings isn’t going to make the sheriff any richer. If it isn’t the money, what is it? Even if you assume that the paintings portrayed real murders, I don’t think the sheriff was out of grammar school when the first two took place, so why would he care?”

“Damned if I know. But I plan on asking him.”

Lacey raked her fingers through her loose curls. “This is crazy. How would the sheriff know we’ve been going to galleries? We weren’t followed, were we?”

“Not as far as I could tell.”

“Then how would he know to call you and leave his cheerful little threat?”

“That’s the second question I’m going to ask him.”

Lacey stared at the sketch pad, then threw it on the floor in disgust. “We don’t have shit and you know it.”

“We don’t have roses,” he corrected. “Shit we’ve got plenty of.”

“What we’ve got are paintings some people want enough to steal, some want enough to buy in the open, some want to sell on the quiet, and some want to destroy outright.” She threw up her hands. “Maybe my shop was really an accident, just one of those coincidences. Then the motive for the rest of it is simple. Good old greed.”

“That would make it easier.”

“So you think I’m right?”

“I think there are enough hanging threads on that theory to knit a whole new sweater.”

“So do I.” She leaned back against the couch and swiped hair out of her eyes. “Now what? And don’t say we go over the names again. Each time we do, we end up knowing less. Pretty soon we’re going to be suspecting ourselves.”

Ian slid one arm around Lacey’s shoulders and the other under her knees. Before she could blink she was in his lap. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said.

Smiling, she nuzzled against his neck. “Yeah? I want to hear about it in breathless detail. Really breathless.”

“I checked my e-mail while you were driving.”

She rolled her eyes. “Be still my beating heart.”

“You’d be excited if you knew how rarely I check it,” he said.

“Okay. I’m excited.” She nibbled.

So did he.

“Susa has been on the phone with Savoy Forrest,” he said. “You now have unlimited access to the ranch to paint for your show in November. So if it’s not raining, we’ll paint for a while and wait to see what Rarities and Susa have come up with in the way of gallery owners in L.A. and San Francisco to talk to.”

“Unlimited access,” she murmured, running her finger inside the collar of his T-shirt. “Now there’s a thought to raise my heart rate.”

“Tomorrow we see if the Savoy Museum will lend us one or more of their original Martens so that Rarities can compare them to your inheritance. It will help if you’re suitably impressed by how well they’re displaying the three paintings from the auction.”

“That sounds like Susa.”

“Direct quote.”

“Then we’ll put together a list of—”

Lacey’s cell phone rang, cutting Ian off. He hooked his hand under the strap of the big sack that passed for her purse and dumped it in her lap. She pulled out her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lacey. It’s Tom, Shayla’s brother.”

“Did Shayla finally surface? She hasn’t called me yet.”

“No. I don’t expect to hear from her for at least three more days.” He hesitated. “I’m afraid I’ve got more bad news for you. The fire department just called. There’s been a fire at the storage yard. We lost four units, including yours. Would have lost more if it wasn’t for the rain and the fact that the fire station is only a half mile away.”

“Please, tell me no one was hurt,” she said starkly.

Ian watched her with night-dark eyes.

“Not even a scratch,” Tom said. “I just wanted to alert you so that you can prepare a list for my insurer. No rush. Some time in the next few days is fine.”

“Was 408 burned?” she asked.

“Nope. Way down at the other end and across the yard. We just lost the units above and next to yours.”

She breathed out raggedly. “All right. Thank God no one was hurt. I’ll get the list to you.”

Ian waited until she ended the call. “What?”

“You remember all those hanging threads you talked about?”

“Yeah.”

“One of them set fire to the storage unit.”

Savoy Hotel

Tuesday morning

I
t had been as bad a night’s sleep as Lacey could ever remember having. Fires, wrecks, drownings, and a feeling of being hunted through each of the ways to die. Dreams as dark as her grandfather’s paintings. Fear as real as her own racing heart.

The cynical suspicion in the eyes of the cops who had questioned her repeatedly concerning her whereabouts during the time preceding the fire in Tom’s storage yard hadn’t helped. The reasonable part of her didn’t blame the police for asking. Two fires in such a short time stretched belief. The emotional part of her wanted to scream at them to quit wasting time with her and find the real arsonist.

She poured herself some more coffee. She didn’t need it, didn’t want it, and couldn’t think of anything else to do. The breakfast she hadn’t eaten sure didn’t appeal to her. She could barely stand to sit near the cold scrambled eggs and toast.

Ian looked at Lacey’s hollow eyes and pale lips and wanted nothing more than to get his hands on whoever was making her life hell.

“It’s supposed to clear up later,” he said. “Want to go paint something wonderful after we go to the Savoy Museum?”

Automatically Lacey looked at her watch. Even its outrageous chartreuse dinosaur didn’t make her smile. “I’ve got to get that list of the unit’s contents to Tom.”

“Put the paintings on it,” Ian said.

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Tell them you lost several hundred unsigned and therefore uninsurable, valueless paintings in addition to the list of goods for Lost Treasures Found.”

Lacey drew a deep, slow breath. “This pretty well puts the shop under. No stock. No insurance money because no insurer is going to pay off after two fires in a row. And do you really think the arsonist didn’t get inside and see the empty racks?”

“I don’t know.” The cops sure hadn’t been any help with details. “But we don’t have anything to lose either way. If the guy got inside, he might say something to give himself away to us. If he didn’t get inside, he might just get the hell out of your life. Since you’re not claiming a penny for the paintings, the insurer won’t care what really burned and what didn’t.”

She shrugged. “l guess. I just don’t like lying.”

“Not even to trip up a murderer?”

Her laugh was as painful as the shadows in her eyes. “I’m still having a hard time believing it. It would help if it made sense, but it doesn’t.”

“Murder isn’t always rational. In fact, it rarely is.”

“This comforts me how?”

Ian mentally kicked himself. “Guess I’m not the comforting sort.” Since he’d already stuck his size thirteen foot in his mouth, he might as well keep going. He knew from past experience that there was room for two feet, even as big as his were. “Savoy Forrest called while you were asleep.”

“Wonderful.” She rubbed her forehead. “What did he want?”

“Guess?”

“To buy the paintings?”

“Yeah.”

“How did he find out about the fire?” she asked.

“He didn’t say anything about the second fire. Just told me that the paintings from the charity auction are being proudly displayed in the museum and you were welcome any old time at all, and after you saw them maybe you’d feel so good about how they’re being treated that you’d consider selling one or two, seeing as how you don’t have any safe place to put them and all.” Ian’s drawling summary of the conversation was at odds with his hard eyes and harder smile.

“Does this move him to the top of our suspect list?” she asked rather bitterly.

“Right up with good old Sheriff Turner.”

“Why would Savoy want to kill me?”

“I’ll ask him right after I talk to the sheriff.”

“Should I take him up on the museum offer?” Lacey asked.

“Have to, sooner or later. Rarities wants a look at the Martens the old man collected. As for selling them a painting, it’s up to you.”

Lacey started to dismiss the idea as she had every time the subject came up. Then she thought of all the bills that would have to be paid even though the shop was a write-off. Shayla would need money, too. Selling a painting would keep both of them afloat while they found new work or put the pieces of their old work back together.

“I’ll think about it.” Lacey raked fingers through her hair. “Did Mrs. Katz call back about her Marten?”

“No.”

“
Damn
. How are we supposed to find any true Martens hidden in Grandfather’s forgeries unless we have some real Martens to work with?”

Ian didn’t answer, because she’d asked the question of the ceiling, not him. “We’ve still got private collectors,” he said.

“The Forrests. It always goes back to them, doesn’t it?”

“And your grandfather. And you. And the sheriff.”

Lacey raked her hair again and tried to think of something more effective than
what a mess
. Then she brought herself up short.
No pity party. Doesn’t do any good. Take one thing at a time and go through the list until something makes sense
. “All right. To hell with what we don’t know. Let’s go with what we know.”

“Which is?”

“We need some real Martens for Rarities to work with. The Savoy Museum has them.” She grabbed her big ratty purse and expensive cashmere coat. “Let’s go get our wonderful guided tour.”

“Unguided,” Ian said.

“What?”

“The museum isn’t open to the public today.”

“Good. I’m not feeling very public.”

Ian hesitated, then said bluntly, “You’d be safer here in the hotel room.”

She stopped with her hand on the hallway door. Her chin came up. “For how long?”

“Until I find out who’s threatening to kill you.”

“How long?” she repeated. “A day or two? A week? Two weeks? Several months?
Years
?”

“Lacey—”

He was talking to her back going through the door.

“Shit.”

He shot through the door and caught up with her before she’d taken two steps.

“In the future,” he said tightly, “I go first through the doors. That isn’t negotiable. Got it?”

She started to argue, looked at the cold line of his mouth, and said, “Got it.”