Illicit Artifacts Page 9

  Jil smiled. “I like big.”

  “Is he any good as a guard dog? I’ve heard Danes are big chickens.”

  Zeus’s ears perked up, and Jil scratched his ears. “He does his duty. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be moving in here without him.”

  “You’re moving in?”

  Jil opened the front door of the Jeep and pulled out her larger suitcase, which she handed to Fraser, then leaned back in to retrieve Zeus’s enormous bag of food.

  “Since we have an art thief and all.”

  “An alleged art thief,” Fraser said.

  Jil heaved her weight against the front door to un-jam the lock so she could turn the key. The dead bolt squeaked indignantly, but did slide, and she opened the door. Fraser raised his eyebrows.

  “Something else to add to the list of things to repair before I sell this place.” A pile of mail lay scattered across the front hall, and she bent to pick up as much as she could. “Come in. I’ll make some coffee.”

  “Are you always this hospitable?”

  Jil turned. “No, frankly, I’m not. But Elise was, and this is her house. She’d want me to make you feel welcome, even if you aren’t taking either me or my report seriously.”

  A flicker of a smile lit Fraser’s eyes. “Point taken. Though I am helping you now.”

  “You’re under duress. Your reputation is on the line.”

  “Yes, it is. But I happen to agree with you that there’s a lot brewing under the surface of this case. I’m just not sure you need to go digging into it. In my experience, sometimes it’s better for family not to know about the past lives of the people they love. Their memories shouldn’t be tainted by things they were never meant to know.”

  Jil fixed him with a stare. “How do you take your coffee?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Black with a little cognac.”

  Jil raised her eyebrows. “How about Bailey’s?”

  Fraser shrugged, and this time he did smile. “Whatever works. Do you want me to get someone to drive by at night? Just to check on you?”

  “Huh. So we’ve gone from a scene of no crime to a police detail?”

  “Well, not quite. But I could arrange for a patrol car to cruise by.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know if it happens again.”

  As the coffee brewed, Zeus settled down on his bed in the living room, clearly having decided he could keep an eye on things well enough from there, and Fraser settled into the chair Jil offered him, crossing his ankle over his knee.

  “Tell me about Elise.”

  Jil reached for the Bailey’s that Elise kept in the bar trolley and poured a generous amount into each glass coffee cup. “What do you want to know about? Her work?”

  Fraser shook his head. “No. I’ve already looked into that. I was curious about what made her take in one foster child and nobody else. I’ve learned all I can about her work life, so this is my next line of inquiry.”

  She cringed to imagine what kind of investigation he could have done: interviewed the dean, her colleagues, even her students? He could research her online portfolio and see her entire academic history online. Suddenly, the free information Elise was so passionate about seemed like a violation of her privacy.

  “You want to know what made her a victim. Why someone would target her and how.”

  Fraser sighed. “It would be easier if you’d let me be the cop. My questions don’t work if you know my motivations.”

  Jil grinned. “Then you’ll have to ask better questions. Try a little discretion, Nic.”

  He shook his head. “Are you always this difficult?”

  “Sometimes more so.”

  “Has anyone ever tried to rein you in?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

  She reached for a tin of chocolate biscuits. “Yes. And you should stop flirting with me. I’m gay.”

  He laughed—a deep, reverberating sound that lit up his eyes and put a flash of pink in his cheeks. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t flirting.”

  “Don’t feel bad about it. Happens all the time.” She enjoyed watching him grapple to regain his upper hand.

  “You’re gay?” He squinted at her.

  “What? You didn’t do your research?”

  He raised his hands. “I’ve barely opened this case! And I haven’t been investigating you.”

  “Well, get with it, Nic. The more you know, the more efficiently you’ll work.” She took a plate down from the cupboard and heaped the biscuits onto it before taking it to the table. The rich smell of coffee wafted through the kitchen, at once making the place seem alive again. Jil poured some of the strong hot brew into each glass mug and brought them, steaming, to the table.

  She sat down opposite him and raised the cup to her nose, drinking in the vanilla scent of the Bailey’s before taking a sip.

  He lifted his cup. “Cheers.”

  She followed suit, touching her cup to his. “Cheers.”

  “To catching an art thief.”

  She grinned wryly. “And to finding you a straight woman.”

  Fraser chuckled and sipped. “Man, you have a talent for knocking people off guard.”

  “One of my many talents. That’s why I’m good at my job.”

  With a serious look in his eye, Nic put down his mug. “Jil—”

  She looked up.

  “You have to let me work this, okay? Please. Let me do my job. I can find stolen Monets and emerald rings in my sleep.”

  Jil looked back, leveling her gaze at him. “She was my foster mother, Nic, and somebody robbed her. I’m going to find out why. I’m not going to stand in your way, because I know you have a job to do. But I’m not going to let you keep me from finding out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  In the middle of the night Jil woke with a start.

  The emerald ring. She’d never mentioned anything about the emerald ring—to Fraser or anyone else.

  How did he know about it?

  She mentally retraced the path of their conversation, trying to remember if she might have slipped it in somewhere.

  No. She didn’t think so…

  She got up and walked into her dark empty kitchen, flipping on a light to keep from being trapped in the regret that seemed to linger more prevalently in dark corners.

  The room was missing a vital presence.

  She felt it physically—a painful clenching of her stomach. Elise was really gone. No matter what Jil found out about the last few days of her life, that knowledge wouldn’t bring Elise back home.

  And when she went home to her own place, it would be empty as well.

  Had she really messed up this time?

  What if…

  No, she couldn’t call her. No, she couldn’t text her and say sorry. If Jess wanted to talk to her, she’d call. But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t, because this could never work. Jess was a married woman. A straight, married, Catholic woman who worked as a principal at a Catholic school. It didn’t get much more complicated than that.

  They’d been fooling themselves to think that an affair—no matter how great it had been, or how much they’d fallen for each other—could ever work.

  For God’s sake, Jess was still married—to her husband as well as her job.

  Nothing had brought that home more than Elise’s funeral. The best thing they could do now was to say good-bye with some dignity and move on before anything irrevocable happened.

  But that didn’t stop her from wanting to talk. Jess’s brain made up half her attraction value. She’d tell her if she’d gone crazy. If she’d crossed the line from skeptical to suspicious. Conceivably, she’d mentioned the ring to Fraser and not remembered.

  How many other things had she forgotten since Elise passed away? Forgetfulness was a classic sign of grief.

  How else would he know about the ring?

  She gave her head a shake. She suspected a police officer now? And not only a police officer, but a detective?

  Where would that get her?
<
br />   Nowhere on this investigation.

  *

  Elise knocked on her door on Saturday morning as Jil lay in bed listening to a mixed tape and reading a magazine from a stack Padraig had brought over.

  “Don’t mean to disturb you,” she said and took a sip from a steaming cup of tea.

  Jil sat up and removed her headphones. “No, that’s okay.”

  “Just wanted to say that on Mondays I don’t have to be at the university until ten, so I can go with you early in the morning to register for school.”

  Jil swallowed hard. School. She knew she’d have to go, but had been hoping, somehow, to be emancipated from that as well. Another group of kids. Another loud, clique-filled cafeteria. Another library to hide in over lunch. Another round of bullies to avoid. Another roof to find access to, and another principal to forge excuse notes to. She’d give anything not to have to start over—yet again.

  She managed a tight smile. “Any chance of homeschooling?” she joked. With a flick of the duvet—the best thing she’d ever slept under—she swung her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the papers Elise held out: St. Marguerite’s Catholic School.

  Surely not?

  Elise sat on the side of the bed and glanced out the window thoughtfully. “I don’t know much about homeschooling. Do you think you have the discipline for that?”

  Jil stared back at her. “Discipline? Well, yeah, I think I do.”

  Elise sipped her tea and frowned. “You mightn’t have many friends, studying at home.”

  “Right,” Jil said. It was nice of Elise to consider it, even if she did eventually say no. She didn’t seem like she would say no right away, so maybe she had time to make her case. So many things she could try, but the truth seemed the easiest.

  “I’ve been in a lot of schools, Elise. Like ten, I think.”

  “Ten?”

  “Yeah. I…um…I don’t tend to make friends there either.”

  Elise cracked a smile and patted her hand. “Well…I guess the other students just have poor taste then.”

  Jil smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Are you in the eleventh grade now?”

  “Almost finished, yeah.”

  Elise sighed. “Maybe I can talk to Padraig and see if it would be possible to finish your year at home. Your teachers could send your work.”

  Jil sat up straighter, hardly daring to believe it. “What would we tell them?”

  Elise took another sip. “We’ll tell them you’ve contracted a tropical disease. That it might last for years.”

  *

  “Five minutes.” The head secretary poked her head into Jess’s office and disappeared as quickly as she’d come.

  Jess looked up at the clock on the wall. Five minutes to what?

  She glanced down at her day planner. Tuesday afternoon. The first Tuesday of the month. Her heart skipped a painful beat. She’d completely forgotten about the staff meeting.

  As she’d sat there for the past fifteen minutes, staring at a chart for renovations of the science lab, teachers had been filing into the gym, waiting for her to arrive. She had a list of items to discuss—probably an hour’s worth of information—and hadn’t written down a thing.

  No notes, no minutes from last week. She was completely unprepared. How could she possibly face a room full of almost one hundred teachers?

  Her heart began to beat faster until she felt dizzy.

  Mary came to knock again, a little louder this time. “Two minutes, Jess.” She stopped in the doorway. “You okay? You look pale.”

  Jess cleared her throat. “I think I must be getting the flu or something.”

  “Well, you sure don’t look like yourself. Do you want me to cancel the meeting?”

  “That might be wise. Can you get Cynthia in here for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  A moment later, Cynthia, the junior VP, knocked on the door and came in, her expression concerned. “Mary says you’re not feeling well.”

  “Must be a bug.” Jess tried to smile, but her racing heart made breathing difficult. “I’ll hold the staff meeting another day, perhaps just for the department heads.” Her voice sounded ragged and she struggled to maintain a normal volume.

  “That’ll work. I’m sure the teachers won’t be too broken up about leaving an hour early. Should I make the announcement?”

  “Thanks, yes.”

  When the door closed behind her, Jess exhaled slowly.

  What was happening to her life?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jil stuffed her gym bag with her workout clothes, an energy bar, and a stainless steel water bottle, rummaged around to make sure she had a pass, then set about searching for her keys.

  Zeus followed her into the vestibule.

  “Are you going to be the man of the house while I’m at the gym?” Jil asked him. He barely raised his head. “Lazy thing.”

  She grabbed her keys from the pocket of one of her coats, then headed back out, this time making a mental note to stay connected to her brain while driving. Her pack of cigarillos sat on the console, and she almost lit one up.

  Stop smoking, for shit’s sake. And on the way to the gym!

  She hadn’t eaten anything for dinner, but the knots in her stomach would have made that difficult anyway. The sign next to the door said the gym would be open for another forty minutes—time enough to work out whatever continued to fire angry signals across her brain. Not quite enough time to get in a run too, though.

  Running shoes laced, she jumped on the spinner, not even stopping to stretch first. As her legs spun round and round in faster circles, she shook her head, trying to not think of paintings and money and Elise. Or Jess.

  Did Jess really think they should see other people?

  Of course they should see other people! Lots of other people. Because they shouldn’t be together!

  Hell, they’d only known each other a few months. Jess should see other people, especially—maybe divorce her husband first. They weren’t ready for a serious commitment.

  Quarter to nine—the gym had almost emptied. She had the weights to herself, just the way she liked it. She plunked herself on a large yoga ball and grabbed some barbells.

  “Careful with your form,” said Sian, the personal trainer behind the desk. Jil looked up and made a conscious effort not to smirk.

  “Haven’t seen you around much,” Jil said.

  “Probably for the best,” Sian returned, grinning.

  Jil laughed. Yeah, probably.

  Sian looked about her age, but she had a lither body with better defined muscles. She also wore much shorter shorts and kept her straight hair cropped short and slick, while strands of Jil’s came sticking out of her ponytail and fell in her eyes, courtesy of the large overhead vent blowing out cold air.

  “Or maybe you want to try the punching bag instead.”

  Jil shook her head. “I think I’ll try that.” She headed for the large hanging bag. Sian came around the desk and handed her a set of gloves, then helped her strap up. “You’re here late,” she said.

  “Out of my usual routine. Sorry, I guess you want to close up.”

  Sian shrugged. “It’s okay. No rush. I usually work out after everyone’s gone anyway.”

  Right. That much she remembered.

  Sian stepped behind the bag to hold it as Jil began to punch. “Keep your wrist straight,” she said.

  Jil revised her form and continued with the series she’d memorized.

  “Ever consider kickboxing?” Sian asked. She grunted as the bag caught her in the shoulder.

  “Focus,” Jil panted. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

  Sian grinned. “It’d take more than that. Besides, I wouldn’t mind.”

  Jil punched square into the bag, focusing all her anger and praying this would help her bury it again. When she finished her set, she stretched her arms and neck and turned her elbows, trying to ease the ache that tensed her forearm.

  “Again?” S
ian asked.

  Jil locked eyes with her. “I thought we agreed the last time was the last time.”

  Sian pushed her tongue into her cheek. “I was talking about your set.”

  “Sure you were.” Jil breathed out. Her stomach was still in knots, and she felt the jazzy electricity up and down her limbs that told her she’d never be able to sleep. Sian took her stance against the bag and Jil started another set.

  “I don’t need a workout now,” she joked when they’d finished.

  “Sorry.”

  “Nah, don’t be. I’m going to wipe everything down, then hit the showers.” She winked and Jil shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. She remembered pretty clearly the last time she and Sian had been left alone in the showers. “Don’t worry,” Sian said as Jil headed for the locker room, “I’ll let you have it to yourself this time.”

  For a second, Jil almost asked her to come along, but even though she knew exactly what could happen, she just couldn’t bring herself to get naked with someone else. She shook her head and pushed through the door.

  The bathrooms in this brand new athletic center gleamed and glinted with dark green mosaic tiles and chrome fixtures. The showers were open concept, though each had a partial wall to set down shampoo and soap, and the whole place smelled of raspberry body wash and the vanilla candles that burned next to the carved-out sinks.

  Jil chose the second inlet and stripped down on the bedrock floor, heaping her clothes over the partial wall onto the bench. She turned on the overhead rain shower and let the hot water run over her head, caressing her hair and face.

  The doorknob turned and Rob came in. She froze in the glass-stalled shower as he stared at her naked body and grinned.

  Why did she keep thinking of that day at the Hendricksons’? She thought she’d put that behind her…

  He sat on the edge of the claw foot tub, on the other side of the bathroom, and slid his hand into his jeans.

  She wished these memories would just fuck off.

  She’d much rather remember the last time she’d been in here with Sian. If she couldn’t have Jess, at least she could have her fantasies. Thinking of Jess hurt too much, but thinking of Sian was a pleasant enough distraction.