Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight - Elizabeth Lowell by Elizabeth Lowell

Author:Elizabeth Lowell
Language: bg
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-05-13T16:10:34+00:00

Chapter 33

Newport Beach Early Friday afternoon

Wearing the dressy slacks and pullover sweater her parents had brought, plus a head-to-toe coverall borrowed from hotel maintenance and her own beat-up sandals, Lacey stood on the sidewalk looking at the front of her shop. Except for the CLOSED sign on the door during what should have been prime business hours, some puddles here and there, and the burned wreckage next door, last night could have been a bad dream.

"It doesn't look like anything happened to my shop," she said. "After all the hoses and fire axes and tramping around last night, I expected to see an ungodly mess."

"You will," Ian said. He'd spent time at enough fire scenes to know what waited inside. An ungodly mess

just about covered it. "You sure you don't want me to take care of this for you? I could bring all your paintings out and — "

"No," she interrupted firmly. "My shop, my responsibility."

Saying nothing, he stroked his palm over her curly hair. Behind her brave front, he knew that she was running on adrenaline, emotions, and old-fashioned grit. He also knew that seeing the extent of the damage from the fire and firemen would feel like a fist to the gut.

He glanced over at the small woman standing on Lacey's other side. "You tamed those sleeves yet, Susa?"

"I'm working on it." Like Ian and Lacey, Susa was wearing borrowed coveralls. None of the hotel maintenance crew had been remotely close to her size, so she'd rolled everything up at the ankles and wrists, and then rolled them up some more.

"You don't have to do this," Lacey said. "I can sort through my own paintings. The rest of the stuff. . ."

Her voice trailed off. She drew herself up sharply. I'm not going there. It's just things. Crying over them wont do a damn bit of good.

Chin high, shoulders squared, Lacey walked toward the tranquil front of her shop, opened the door she'd locked again before going to the hotel last night, and stepped inside. The smell was an overpowering mix of cold smoke and wet everything. She flipped a switch. Miraculously, the lights came on.

She wished they hadn't. Gloom had been friendly to the shop, concealing the fallen plaster, water, and just plain gunk that covered every surface. The farther into the shop she walked, the worse everything looked.

"Stay here while I check out the upstairs," Ian said. "The firemen told me there wasn't any structural damage, but I want to be sure. Then I'll take photos and board up the broken windows."

Numbly, Lacey nodded. The shop didn't hum down, so just suck it up and stop sniveling. It can't be as bad as it looks.

Susa put her arm around Lacey's waist and hugged her like she was one of her own daughters, silently telling the younger woman that she wasn't alone.

Ian came back down the stairs with a carefully neutral expression. "Okay, it's safe up there. Are you sure your paintings aren't covered by insurance?"

"According to the IRS, I haven't sold enough to move from the hobby category," Lacey said matter-of-factly.

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