Read Online Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight by authors_sort - Free Book Online Page B
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she’d fallen in love with at a garage sale two weeks ago. A bulky, colorful jacket hung over her arm beneath the paintings. The jacket was a wild patchwork of velvet scraps. It didn’t actually “go” with anything in the fashion sense, but seeing it always made her smile.
I’m not here for a wardrobe critique, Lacey told herself. The paintings are on display, not me.
And thank God her mother wasn’t in the auditorium. She would have been mortified by her daughter’s outfit. Appearance and the lack of a country-club husband were the two major reasons mother and daughter fought. Every time Lacey thought her mother had finally gotten used to the idea that the oldest of her three daughters wasn’t the cashmere-and-pearls type, she’d get another lecture on her pitiful fashion sense.
Must you look like you just crawled out of a paint tube?
Do you really style your hair with a hand mixer?
If you can’t afford anything but garage-sale shoes, I’d be happy to take you shopping.
“Lacey? Ms. Quinn? Hello? Anyone home?” Ian fanned his fingers in front of her face.
“Oh. Sorry. Is it my turn?” Then she blinked and focused on the manwho was talking to her, calling her by name. Hell. There goes Ms. January Marsh . “Ian, right? Neighbor Lapstrake?”
“At your service. Susa will be finished with the two folks in front of you real quick. Why don’t you step up to the table and let me help you unwrap your paintings. Things will go faster that way.”
When he reached for the paintings, her arms tightened protectively around the canvases.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said gravely. “I promise.”
The humor underlying his reassurance flustered Lacey. Or maybe it was the smile. She stuck out her lower lip and blew a stray curl away from her eyes.
“Family treasures?” he asked, waiting for her to release the bundles.
“No! I found them at a garage sale.”
Again Ian smiled even as he wondered why the pretty lady with the summer-garden shirt and clear brown eyes was lying. All the “tells” were there—looking away, defensive posture, restlessness.
“Whatever,” he said. “Take them over to the table and unwrap them. Unless you trust me to help?”
Lacey felt like a fool. “Sorry. It’s just—” She blew fiercely at the curl that kept tickling the corner of her eye.
With a motion too swift and impersonal for her to take offense, he tucked the stray curl back in place.
“It’ll just come unsprung again,” she said. “I’m a walking fashion disaster.”
“Good. I hate models.”
Her quick smile changed her features, adding an electric element to her face that was both intelligence and intensity. “Here. Take the top one. I’ll handle the other two. And don’t mention my name to anyone, okay? If it turns out badly, I don’t want, um, the wrong publicity for my…um, shop. Just call me…” Hurriedly she tried to remember her e-mail pseudonym. “January,” she said, “January Marsh.”
Ian barely managed not to laugh out loud. He didn’t know what game the lady was playing, but he was certain it had to be as innocent as she was. She couldn’t have lied successfully to save her life.
“Okay, Ms. Marsh,” he said, pointing with his chin. “This way.”
From behind Ian, where Susa was judging paintings, came a man’s rueful laughter. “A student exercise, huh?”
“Straight from a You Can Too Paint book. The frame, however, is quite old.” It was quite awful, too, but Susa felt no need to point that out.
“Oh, well, back under the bed with it.”
“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me your name and address, I know a professor who is doing a study of painting books and their influence on the popular culture of their time. I’m sure he’d be fascinated by this painting and its history.”
“Sure.” He ripped the business card off the back of the painting and handed it to her. “Here.”
Susa tucked the card into a small file that sat next to her left hand
I’m not here for a wardrobe critique, Lacey told herself. The paintings are on display, not me.
And thank God her mother wasn’t in the auditorium. She would have been mortified by her daughter’s outfit. Appearance and the lack of a country-club husband were the two major reasons mother and daughter fought. Every time Lacey thought her mother had finally gotten used to the idea that the oldest of her three daughters wasn’t the cashmere-and-pearls type, she’d get another lecture on her pitiful fashion sense.
Must you look like you just crawled out of a paint tube?
Do you really style your hair with a hand mixer?
If you can’t afford anything but garage-sale shoes, I’d be happy to take you shopping.
“Lacey? Ms. Quinn? Hello? Anyone home?” Ian fanned his fingers in front of her face.
“Oh. Sorry. Is it my turn?” Then she blinked and focused on the manwho was talking to her, calling her by name. Hell. There goes Ms. January Marsh . “Ian, right? Neighbor Lapstrake?”
“At your service. Susa will be finished with the two folks in front of you real quick. Why don’t you step up to the table and let me help you unwrap your paintings. Things will go faster that way.”
When he reached for the paintings, her arms tightened protectively around the canvases.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said gravely. “I promise.”
The humor underlying his reassurance flustered Lacey. Or maybe it was the smile. She stuck out her lower lip and blew a stray curl away from her eyes.
“Family treasures?” he asked, waiting for her to release the bundles.
“No! I found them at a garage sale.”
Again Ian smiled even as he wondered why the pretty lady with the summer-garden shirt and clear brown eyes was lying. All the “tells” were there—looking away, defensive posture, restlessness.
“Whatever,” he said. “Take them over to the table and unwrap them. Unless you trust me to help?”
Lacey felt like a fool. “Sorry. It’s just—” She blew fiercely at the curl that kept tickling the corner of her eye.
With a motion too swift and impersonal for her to take offense, he tucked the stray curl back in place.
“It’ll just come unsprung again,” she said. “I’m a walking fashion disaster.”
“Good. I hate models.”
Her quick smile changed her features, adding an electric element to her face that was both intelligence and intensity. “Here. Take the top one. I’ll handle the other two. And don’t mention my name to anyone, okay? If it turns out badly, I don’t want, um, the wrong publicity for my…um, shop. Just call me…” Hurriedly she tried to remember her e-mail pseudonym. “January,” she said, “January Marsh.”
Ian barely managed not to laugh out loud. He didn’t know what game the lady was playing, but he was certain it had to be as innocent as she was. She couldn’t have lied successfully to save her life.
“Okay, Ms. Marsh,” he said, pointing with his chin. “This way.”
From behind Ian, where Susa was judging paintings, came a man’s rueful laughter. “A student exercise, huh?”
“Straight from a You Can Too Paint book. The frame, however, is quite old.” It was quite awful, too, but Susa felt no need to point that out.
“Oh, well, back under the bed with it.”
“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me your name and address, I know a professor who is doing a study of painting books and their influence on the popular culture of their time. I’m sure he’d be fascinated by this painting and its history.”
“Sure.” He ripped the business card off the back of the painting and handed it to her. “Here.”
Susa tucked the card into a small file that sat next to her left hand
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