Illicit Artifacts Read online

“Was Elise that bad?”

  “No, of course not. She was on a schedule, and the pathology report messed it up. I’ve done my best to get things back on track, but…” she trailed off.

  “Elise had a pathology report?”

  Karrie swallowed hard. “God, I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”

  “Tell me more about it.”

  “It’s standard, normally, when a patient dies at home.”

  “Even when they’re terminally ill?”

  Karrie tilted her head from side to side, seeming to weigh her answer. “Not always, but often enough. I didn’t think much of it, honestly. My dad was actually the medical examiner in this case. He didn’t say anything to me about any unusual findings. I just figured they were back-logged.”

  “Do you think I could see the report?”

  Karrie hesitated. “Normally, I wouldn’t be allowed to show you…but seeing as I’ve totally screwed up delivering your ring and have been the worst possible funeral director today, I guess I could accidentally leave it on the desk for a few minutes and go to the bathroom.”

  Jil winked. “A few minutes is all I’ll need.”

  “Great.” Karrie took a file from her desk and set it on the table, then walked to the door.

  As soon as she’d gone, Jil jumped up from her ornate wooden seat and grabbed the report, scanning it quickly. Most of it, she didn’t understand. Then she spied the industrial-sized photocopier in the corner.

  Bingo.

  In record time, she’d copied the whole thing and tucked the hot pages into her bag. She replaced the file on the table just as Karrie came back in.

  “All right, let’s get down to the rest,” Karrie said. “The good news is that, despite the long delay, there isn’t much to do, so you’ll only be here a few minutes. Everything was pre-planned.”

  “Of course it was.”

  Karrie winked.

  “Let me guess. She chose everything from the music to the thank-you notes.”

  “That’s about the size of it, yes.”

  “I guessed that when I found out she’d given me specific instructions about the lipstick.” Jil handed over the tube of iced mauve.

  “Oh yes, I got them too.” Karrie’s eyes danced. “Right at the top of the list, and with at least four sticky notes. Open casket and good makeup. She was quite clear.”

  “Remember the brooch, okay? And the shoes, even though I know you can’t see the feet.” Jil’s breath caught as she pictured Elise, lying in her navy suit in a mahogany casket, her hands clasped lightly around a rose.

  Her phone buzzed and she picked it up to turn off the volume, catching sight of a text from Padraig. “Sorry, excuse me.”

  You’re not at home. I’m here.

  Damn. She’d forgotten about his visit today.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to leave right away.”

  “No problem. Everything’s basically done. All you have to do is show up for the viewing tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here.” She pushed the makeup case toward Karrie, then turned and hurried out to the parking lot.

  *

  As she pulled into the visitors’ parking section at her flat, she spotted Padraig’s SUV. She pulled up beside him in the tiny lot and got out. “What’s up, old man? Want me to put the coffee on?”

  He opened his window. “No time today. I’m already on my way to the airport.” His Irish accent seemed to have thickened since he’d announced he had to go back to Ireland for family business.

  “Flight moved up?”

  “Yeah. Good thing I’d already packed.”

  Jil peeked in the back. “I thought you were going for a few weeks? Are you bringing your whole house with you?”

  Padraig fixed her with a glare. “You know, that old adage about men needing only a change of britches is completely false. I like to look good abroad. I need at least three suits—”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. Jeez Louise.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry for the shite timing.” Padraig sighed and handed Jil a set of keys. “I don’t trust the boys to balance the books and keep the lights on while I’m gone.”

  “No, of course not. They’d turn the place into a frat house.” She frowned. She knew she should tell Padraig about the impersonator and her ring being stolen but something else was bothering her more.

  “What is it?” Padraig knew her too well.

  “Nothing. Probably nothing. I’m not even a medical examiner.”

  “But you’re a pretty damn good detective, so…what gives, Kidd?”

  Jil squinted—a bad habit that was starting to produce unattractive lines across the bridge of her nose. “I talked to Karrie today at the funeral home, and she said something to me that I’m not allowed to repeat. But do you think it’s odd that Elise’s autopsy took an extra day? I didn’t even think about it, but now I’m wondering.”

  “Wait, what are you saying?”

  “Why did they perform an autopsy on her anyway?”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Yes. Karrie said it was because she died at home.”

  “But you’re skeptical?”

  Jil’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I don’t know! Should I be skeptical? Should I just be glad someone cared enough to make sure she did in fact die of natural causes?”

  “She did die of natural causes, Jil. I found her myself. In bed. She looked like she’d just gone to sleep there—peacefully. Wrapped in her duvet cover, comfortable.”

  She breathed out slowly.

  “I know. You don’t need the details.”

  “It’s not that,” she whispered. “It’s just that I didn’t…I didn’t get to say good-bye to her.”

  He looked at her, hard. “That’s not the time to say good-bye. The time to say good-bye is when you were going home at night and you gave her a kiss and said ‘See you next week.’ That was all the good-bye she needed from you.”

  Jil looked skyward.

  He leaned closer, frowning. “What is it?”

  Jil sighed and shrugged. She suddenly felt tired. “I knew she was going to die. I knew it would be soon. It just seems too soon, you know?”

  He shrugged, sitting back in his seat. “Did you think that maybe you’re looking for a reason?”

  Jil looked away. “I had considered the possibility. I know it’s probably nothing. It’s just that I have this feeling…”

  Padraig frowned. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Do you plan to investigate this?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t even know if there’s anything to investigate. I’d feel stupid bringing it up with the police if it were nothing.”

  “Aye.” He sighed. “I wish I could stay to help you with this. And I wanted to be here for Elise’s funeral.”

  “I know. She’d understand.”

  “She was a good foster mother to you, and I’m sorry you’ve lost her.”

  His frankness made tears well up in Jil’s eyes, and she fingered the handle of the driver’s side door, avoiding his gaze as she swallowed down the feelings she’d been certain she’d dodge by preparing as much as possible for Elise’s death.

  “Don’t get me started, Padraig. I still have to get through the funeral and wake and all the other horrible processes people insist on.”

  “Jess going with you?”

  Jil looked up to her third floor flat and imagined Jessica inside, apron on, moving efficiently around the kitchen, stirring garlic and onions, and—

  “She can’t. It’s in the middle of the workday. She has a school to run. Besides, she can’t exactly pen ‘funeral with girlfriend’ into her St. Marguerite’s calendar.”

  “Give it some time.” Padraig clapped a rough, calloused hand over Jil’s and gave it a small squeeze.

  “No choice.” Jil hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder. “See you when you get back. Don’t hold up your plane.”

  He tipped his hat to her and shifted th
e car into gear. “I’ll see you in a few weeks. Keep the boys on a tight leash while I’m away!”

  She watched him pull around the corner before entering the main lobby of her building, a painful lump forming at the base of her throat. He had family business to attend to. He had to go.

  But as he left, she couldn’t help feeling like he’d ditched her.

  Chapter Two

  “Hi,” Jess said.

  Jil kicked off her brown leather boots and dropped her scarf and hat on the side table next to the door.

  She wore Jil’s old black apron and held a wooden spoon in her hand, stirring something that smelled delicious. Exactly as Jil had pictured her. Just like she’d found her every night since Elise had died.

  “What is that?”

  “Leek and mushroom risotto.”

  From the corner, Zeus raised his massive head, then snuggled back down onto his bed.

  “Don’t bother getting up,” Jil said. “Lazy beast.”

  “Don’t blame him. He had a good long run and he’s tired.”

  Jil slid onto a stool at the island bar and accepted a glass of white wine that Jess held out.

  “I hope you like it. It’s Riesling, to go with our theme this evening.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’ll let you guess.” The kitchen light reflected off Jess’s dark green irises and made her look even more dangerous and sexy than usual.

  Jil felt a pull in the pit of her stomach—a magnetic force that drew her to Jess, even though she knew so many things about this relationship just couldn’t work…

  “Do you want to talk about your day?” Jess slid a plate across the island—parmesan cups with something smoky and salty in the middle and topped with sweet fig compote.

  Jil closed her eyes as the crispy cheese melted slightly on her tongue and savored it a moment longer before swallowing. “No, not really. You?”

  Jess pulled on mitts and reached into the oven. “I wouldn’t know where to start.” She smiled ruefully, and Jil noticed the faint lines of fatigue around her eyes and mouth as she turned and poked the contents of the flat roasting pan, then slid it back into the oven. “All I can say is ‘Thank God it’s Friday.’”

  Jil grinned. “That means even less to PIs than it does to principals.”

  “This is me, attempting a weekend. I’m trying to take a more traditional approach to my work.”

  “Really? Traditional at the Catholic Board?”

  “Can it. I’m still cleaning up the mess you made at my school.” Jess winked and slowly circled the island until she stood within arm’s reach.

  Jil smiled as Jess reached up and touched her cheek, running her fingers lightly across her temple and through her dark hair.

  She felt the familiar resistance—the mental barrier that never fully crumbled. Jess was the principal at the Catholic Board. She lived in the biggest, most soundproof closet ever created.

  She almost didn’t reach back.

  But Jess’s hand slid down her arm, and the smell of her—sweet raspberry and the garlic clinging to her ribbed turtleneck—managed to break through.

  Jil circled her arms around Jess’s waist, and drew her in until she stood between her thighs. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Jess dipped down and captured Jil’s mouth, and she slipped her tongue inside, warm and soft.

  “I missed you,” she murmured on her lips.

  Jil’s stomach lurched. “Me too.” She slipped her hands into the back pockets of Jess’s dark jeans, and pulled her in until they were pressed together as one.

  “It’s okay to miss her, even if you expected it,” Jess whispered.

  Instead of answering, Jil tilted her head back to take more of Jess into her mouth, biting her lower lip gently in the way that made Jess sigh.

  Jess gently pulled away. “Um, I think if we keep going like this, my dinner is going to be burned.”

  “Yeah. I kind of have the same feeling. Maybe I’ll go grab a shower while you’re finishing up…”

  “Yes. Good. Go.” Playfully, Jess slapped her ass and pointed her toward the bedroom. “Don’t be too long.”

  *

  Jil woke up cold, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle, and reached down to pull up the duvet, but found only a throw blanket. Shit. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch.

  The Italian food, and the two—three?—glasses of wine, and the fire, and Jess’s warm hands massaging her feet…yeah, she’d fallen asleep.

  Zeus snored by the balcony door in the kitchen, yipping occasionally as if dreaming of catching something. That’s probably what had woken her.

  The clock on the HD box read 2:45.

  Not again.

  Jil sighed and rolled off the couch onto the floor. As her ass hit the ground, Zeus raised his head.

  He slowly pushed to his feet and shook his ears, making a sound like elephant fans flapping in the breeze, then shuffled over to her. He shoved his great head under her arm, almost lifting her off the ground.

  “Zeus, for God’s sake!” She couldn’t help laughing as he lay down, jowls in her lap. “Sorry to wake you, buddy. Did Jess go home?”

  Zeus rumbled as Jil’s fingers worked the fur around his ears, and he buried his chin even deeper into her leg.

  Jil listened hard. She heard the humming of the refrigerator, the low buzz of the central heating, and Zeus’s sighs and groans, but couldn’t tell whether Jess slept in the room next door. She leaned back against the couch and grabbed the knitted throw to wrap around herself.

  The cream cable-knit blanket had been her mother’s. It had lain at the foot of her bed when she was a child, and she’d dragged it through every foster home until she’d come to a stop at Elise’s—the only place she’d ever had her own room.

  Maybe that’s why she’d been dreaming of her childhood—again. It seemed like every night this week she’d been back, revisiting the journey that had brought her to Elise.

  *

  She sat hunched over in the refrigerator box at the back of the train station, freezing and blowing hot air into her hands. She couldn’t really sit up, but lying down on the street seemed like such a final decision—like she’d joined a rank in society she would never be able to escape. She wrapped her blanket more tightly around her, over her parka, but the cold had seeped into her organs, her bones, her blood. And now she had to pee.

  She couldn’t leave her box though. Night had set in, and with it, the city’s landscape had changed from vaguely sinister to downright dangerous. Grown men, hardened by lives of poverty and addiction, got shoved around and maimed, and even murdered. She was a sixteen-year-old girl. What chance did she stand if someone found her?

  She’d pushed one end of the box against a Dumpster and sat facing the exposed end. In one hand, she held a picture of her mom; in the other, a dull switchblade she’d snagged from one of the other kids in her last foster home, before she’d run off.

  And the snow had started to fall.

  Tears crept silently down her face, and she swiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  At the Hendricksons’, five foster kids would be sitting down to spaghetti or boxed pizza. Her stomach growled. She imagined pouring milk into her glass, taking a bite of pepperoni—Nicole, the mom, telling everyone to slow down or they’d choke. She was all right, some of the time, when she looked up from her computer long enough to notice any of them.

  Nicole was fine mostly, but Rob was a creep.

  He wanted to crawl into bed with her and hold her. He’d lie there for an hour—sometimes longer—the weight of his arm crushing her small breasts as he breathed hot and damp on her neck. Sometimes he murmured in his half-sleep. Sometimes she got the feeling that he was just waiting, waiting for something…

  At every noise and creak in the house, she’d pray that someone would open the door—find him there—and in the next breath, pray that nobody ever saw.

  As if responding to some clock chime that only he could hear, he’d pull
back the covers, and, as quietly as he’d come in, slip out of bed and leave. Heady wisps of his Dark Leather shampoo and musky aftershave clung to her pillow and kept her awake.

  Two weeks passed, and she started falling asleep at school. Once, at the kitchen table.

  One morning as she unloaded the dishwasher, she heard a low voice behind her. “Soon he’s going to want to watch you shower.” She whirled around to find Hani, who was seventeen and had been living with the Hendricksons for two years already. Her dark eyes had always held deep secrets. Jil could never tell how deep.

  “He’ll come in after you’re already in. He’ll wait til you’re washing your hair, and your hands are stretched up, then he’ll sit down on the step to the bathtub and make you finish your shower.”

  Jil stared at her. “Then what?”

  Hani lowered her eyes. “Just watch out.”

  The clock now read 3:02. The wine pressed heavily on her bladder, and Zeus’s head wasn’t helping. She gently eased herself out from under him and walked through the door in the hall into her en suite. She took a long time washing her hands, letting the water run hot over her forearms.

  That morning, just as she’d lathered shampoo into her hair, the doorknob turned…

  Maybe she should have had some warm milk. Chances were stacked against falling back asleep, even though it was pitch-dark outside. She shook her head, physically dispelling the memories.

  When she emerged, using the door that led to her bedroom, she squinted hard at the lump in the bed. Jess hadn’t gone home after all.

  She warred with her feelings—gratitude that Jess had stayed; frustration that she hadn’t asked; desire to get into bed and hold her and run her hands over Jess’s bare skin until she woke up, and she could kiss her and touch her and erase any feeling of her old life, when she didn’t know who she was or what she wanted…

  Jil carefully drew back the covers and slipped between the sheets, her freezing feet making contact with Jess’s warm toes.

  She stirred and sighed softly. “You’re finally here?”

  Jil let out the breath she’d been holding, trying not to wake Jess. “Sorry to disturb you.”

  “Couch was cold I take it?” She turned over and slipped her arm around Jil’s waist, pulling her in.