Read Online Die in Plain Sight by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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past hour she’d been smiling and trying not to hurt someone’s feelings about the cultural worth of Great-Aunt Sissy’s fabulous study of a rose from bud to petal drop…in mauve, of course.
“Uh-oh,” he said, spotting a woman with a look of hope and determination on her face.
“Remember,” Susa said quietly, “these are treasures to the people who brought them.”
“Lost Treasures Found.”
“What?”
“The name of a shop I was in earlier. Bought a nifty old movie poster. No bargain, but in great condition.”
As Ian spoke, he stepped in front of Susa to protect her from a woman who was carrying more paintings than the average county museum. One of the event organizers and a leading figure in the American Figurative Artists Association, Mr. P. E. Goodman fluttered around her like a balding, scalded moth.
“I’m so sorry,” Goodman said to Susa, rolling his eyes toward the matron. Then, in a hissing undertone, “She’s a big supporter of local artists. Wouldn’t hear of only three to a customer.”
Susa smiled through her teeth. There were some in every crowd who just knew that the rules didn’t apply to them. The fact that Susa was built more like a pixie with laugh lines than an Amazon with fangs probably had something to do with the fact that everyone assumed they could just walk all over her.
“Ms. Donovan will be happy to look at all your offerings,” Ian said, smiling gently at the matron even as he blocked her access to the table.
“I knew she would. My grandmother’s paintings are of a much higher quality than—”
“We’ll start with these,” Ian said over her. As he spoke he took three paintings from the woman’s armload and put them on the table in front of Susa. “There, that was easy, wasn’t it?”
Before the woman could get past Ian’s smile, she found herself being escorted by him back to the auditorium doors, where the end of the line awaited her.
“We’ll see more of these paintings in no time at all.” Ian patted the matron’s armload of family pride. “I know Susa is particularly eager to look at everything you brought.”
“But I’m…the line is so…”
Ian was already gone, blending into the crowd even as he speared through it back to Susa’s side.
The red-faced Goodman stared when Ian reappeared alone as swiftly as he’d left. “How did you do that?”
“He smiled,” Susa said.
Goodman glanced at her.
“Killer smile,” Susa assured him.
“Want a job?” Goodman asked Ian.
“I have one, thanks.”
“If you ever—” Goodman began.
“If he ever wants another job,” Susa cut in, rapidly assessing and rejecting the first of the three paintings in front of her, “he’ll apply to Donovan International.”
Goodman wasn’t stupid. He went back to lining up people and making certain that a name or address or contact number of each owner was somehow attached to every painting.
Ian’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Donovan International, huh? Sounds like an order.”
Susa half smiled. “My son Lawe said you were bright. What’s more important, so did Dana.”
“I’m flattered.”
The sideways glance she gave him was amused. “I don’t believe you.”
“Lawe said you were quick.”
She laughed out loud. “I like you, Ian Lapstrake.”
“Now I’m flattered.”
She stood, gave him the kind of quick, smacking kiss she bestowed upon her family males, and sat back down to study the paintings left by the matron, who was still wondering how she ended up at the back of the line again.
“This one isn’t by the same hand as the other,” Susa said.
Ian looked from one painting to the next. Flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. “How can you tell?”
“A century of experience.”
“Bull. You haven’t been around longer than forty years.”
“Flatter me some more, I’m amenable. I’m also old enough to be Lawe’s mother, remember?”
“I’m working on it. So tell me, is the Donovan as tough a bastard as his sons
“Uh-oh,” he said, spotting a woman with a look of hope and determination on her face.
“Remember,” Susa said quietly, “these are treasures to the people who brought them.”
“Lost Treasures Found.”
“What?”
“The name of a shop I was in earlier. Bought a nifty old movie poster. No bargain, but in great condition.”
As Ian spoke, he stepped in front of Susa to protect her from a woman who was carrying more paintings than the average county museum. One of the event organizers and a leading figure in the American Figurative Artists Association, Mr. P. E. Goodman fluttered around her like a balding, scalded moth.
“I’m so sorry,” Goodman said to Susa, rolling his eyes toward the matron. Then, in a hissing undertone, “She’s a big supporter of local artists. Wouldn’t hear of only three to a customer.”
Susa smiled through her teeth. There were some in every crowd who just knew that the rules didn’t apply to them. The fact that Susa was built more like a pixie with laugh lines than an Amazon with fangs probably had something to do with the fact that everyone assumed they could just walk all over her.
“Ms. Donovan will be happy to look at all your offerings,” Ian said, smiling gently at the matron even as he blocked her access to the table.
“I knew she would. My grandmother’s paintings are of a much higher quality than—”
“We’ll start with these,” Ian said over her. As he spoke he took three paintings from the woman’s armload and put them on the table in front of Susa. “There, that was easy, wasn’t it?”
Before the woman could get past Ian’s smile, she found herself being escorted by him back to the auditorium doors, where the end of the line awaited her.
“We’ll see more of these paintings in no time at all.” Ian patted the matron’s armload of family pride. “I know Susa is particularly eager to look at everything you brought.”
“But I’m…the line is so…”
Ian was already gone, blending into the crowd even as he speared through it back to Susa’s side.
The red-faced Goodman stared when Ian reappeared alone as swiftly as he’d left. “How did you do that?”
“He smiled,” Susa said.
Goodman glanced at her.
“Killer smile,” Susa assured him.
“Want a job?” Goodman asked Ian.
“I have one, thanks.”
“If you ever—” Goodman began.
“If he ever wants another job,” Susa cut in, rapidly assessing and rejecting the first of the three paintings in front of her, “he’ll apply to Donovan International.”
Goodman wasn’t stupid. He went back to lining up people and making certain that a name or address or contact number of each owner was somehow attached to every painting.
Ian’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Donovan International, huh? Sounds like an order.”
Susa half smiled. “My son Lawe said you were bright. What’s more important, so did Dana.”
“I’m flattered.”
The sideways glance she gave him was amused. “I don’t believe you.”
“Lawe said you were quick.”
She laughed out loud. “I like you, Ian Lapstrake.”
“Now I’m flattered.”
She stood, gave him the kind of quick, smacking kiss she bestowed upon her family males, and sat back down to study the paintings left by the matron, who was still wondering how she ended up at the back of the line again.
“This one isn’t by the same hand as the other,” Susa said.
Ian looked from one painting to the next. Flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. “How can you tell?”
“A century of experience.”
“Bull. You haven’t been around longer than forty years.”
“Flatter me some more, I’m amenable. I’m also old enough to be Lawe’s mother, remember?”
“I’m working on it. So tell me, is the Donovan as tough a bastard as his sons
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