But maybe she hadn’t been alone.
Chills shot up her back. How many people had been in her house?
At that moment, Zeus nudged her arm and she relaxed.
She didn’t know a lot about art theft, but from what she did remember from her robbery courses, most thieves didn’t bother with the frames. In really valuable paintings, they took the time to dismantle the frame and gently prise out the canvas. In other cases, or when pressed for time, the thief would cut out the painting with a knife, then roll the canvas into a tube and be on their way.
She examined the frame for any evidence of tampering, but it looked clean and crisp. So the thief had dismantled the frame, taken out the original gently, and replaced it with the new canvas. That would have taken hours, which meant she’d known she had plenty of time to work, uninterrupted.
*
Back in the kitchen, Jil looked at Fraser’s business card lying smugly on the table. His morning had probably already filled up with museum robberies and home invasions. He didn’t even think she had a case. She’d solve it herself and save them both the unpleasantness of any further interactions.
As she considered the next step, her phone buzzed with a message.
This is Tamara Reynolds.
Wonderful—the lawyer for the will.
I’d like to set up an appointment with you at your earliest convenience.
Of course she would. If she could finish up her job, then she could get paid. Well, Jil wasn’t in any rush.
She had taken Elise’s folder home with her, refusing to open the envelope that said “Will.” Elise had no other children or family. Her husband had died decades ago, and her only sister had died a few years back.
Jil already knew she was inheriting the house, which she would sell, then use the proceeds to set up a charity for a scholarship for foster kids. Maybe the lawyer could help her with that instead of wasting time with appointments for checking and rechecking the dates of Elise’s final will and testament.
She deleted Tamara’s message and slipped the phone back in her pocket as Ben’s truck rumbled into the driveway. She ran down to meet him, repair list in hand.
*
“Steal a replica? To replace it with another replica?” Jess poured her a glass of Bordeaux.
Jil leaned her elbows on the bar top counter and took a sip.
Jess took her own glass and settled on the window seat in the kitchen, tucking her feet up under a throw blanket. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why do it?”
“There’s something I’m missing here. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Well, it seems like a lot of trouble—to impersonate an aide to gain access to someone’s house in the dead of night, to steal a replicated painting and replace it with another. Why bother?”
“I can’t imagine.” Not once had Jess suggested that maybe Jil was imagining things, and for that, she felt exceedingly grateful.
Jess hesitated. “Is it possible the first painting was original?”
Jil snorted. “Do you know how much a painting like that would cost, Jess?”
Jess returned her incredulous stare. “Well, yes, I do know something about art. If you’ll remember, I dated an artist. Much as I might like to forget that.”
“Sorry,” Jil muttered. “I didn’t mean to suggest…never mind, you know what I mean. Elise was a professor. She didn’t have that kind of money. She’d have to have stolen the painting from the Louvre.”
Jess looked into her glass.
“What?” Jil said.
“Nothing.”
“Well, there’s something.”
Jess sighed. “I’m certainly not suggesting Elise stole a painting from the Louvre…”
“But?”
“But you should remember, she had a whole life before you met her, Jil. It’s possible she has some secrets you don’t know.”
“Secrets like she was an art thief in her college days?”
Jess laughed softly. “Hardly. But it seems like you have some investigating to do.”
Jil wondered where to start. First, find out what the goddamned lawyer wanted. Then get back to tracking down the art thief.
“I’m sorry,” Jess said softly, folding her warm hand over Jil’s. “I did want to be there with you.”
Jil nodded and drained her glass as she stared out the window.
Chapter Six
While the sun made a watery entrance into the cold gray sky, Jil took Zeus quickly around the block, grabbed a five-minute shower, and slipped into the closet. Jess turned over in bed but didn’t wake up. Jil held her breath as she put on a pair of jeans and a black blazer, snatched up her wallet, and carried her shoes to the front door.
Why didn’t she want to tell Jess where she planned to go?
Because she didn’t know how to explain her hunch? Because she was afraid of that sympathetic “I’m sorry you lost Elise and I’ll tolerate your conspiracy theories because I love you” look?
She couldn’t tell her.
Instead, she ordered a large coffee from the Second Cup drive-thru, then followed the GPS’s directions to the industrial area, where single-level buildings with large signs shared space across several lots. She squinted up and down the winding road, looking for a sign for St. Augustine Health Care Agency.
There—the third one on the left—a light blue sign with a white emblem.
She pulled into the lot and walked inside carrying a basket of muffins. The receptionist greeted her with a fake smile.
*
Jess awoke to an empty bed. She stretched slowly, groaning as her muscles protested and spasmed. She flexed and bent her fingers, noticing that a few of the fingers on her right hand had gone completely numb. She shook her wrist, and ice shards shot down her pinkie.
Great.
She reached for her phone and checked it for text messages from Jil.
Nothing.
Where had Jil taken off to so early? Why hadn’t she said good-bye? She considered sending a text, but something in her memory of Jil’s closed face—her silent reproach—made her change her mind.
If Jil was upset with her for not being at her side during this whole ordeal, she could understand why.
In the shower, she let the water stream over her face and shoulders for a long time before attempting to wash her hair.
She hadn’t felt this stiff and old in a long time.
A lead ball sat at the base of her throat, making it hard to breathe. When she thought of a full day of meetings ahead, the constricting feeling began to choke her. She breathed out with effort and clamped her eyes closed. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and let the day pass.
But of course, she couldn’t.
She struggled into her suit, applied as much makeup as her stiff fingers would allow, and faltered out the door into her other life.
*
“Hi, my name is Jil Kidd. My foster mother was recently a patient with your agency.” She put down the basket of muffins.
“Do you remember the name of your nurse?”
“Anastasia. Is she here? I wanted to say thank you.”
The receptionist looked down at a list by her desk and then picked up the phone. “Annie, can you come to the front for a sec? Jil Kidd is here to see you.”
Jil waited, her breath catching with every inhale. As she waited, her glance drifted through the lobby to the other side of the glass-enclosed vestibule, where people sat in chairs.
“Is that a doctor’s office?”
The receptionist followed her gaze. “No, it’s our outpatient nursing clinic.”
When Jil still looked quizzical, she continued. “It’s for the patients who can come in for care—you know, for wound checks or catheter changes, or whatever.”
“Don’t the nurses visit the home?”
“Yes, if the patient really needs them to, but this is more efficient and costs less. Cutbacks and all.”
Jil sighed. She hated doctors’ off
ices, and this waiting room closed in a little tightly for her liking.
In a moment, a slight young woman with strawberry blond hair and tortoiseshell glasses emerged from the back room and walked toward them. Jil watched her approach, her brain calculating all the ways she did not match the person she’d met. She got to the metal gate, swiped her pass, and walked through to the waiting area.
“Hello, I’m Annie.” She held out her hand.
Jil shook it. “I’m Jil.” She struggled with how to proceed and decided on the simplest explanation. “My foster mother, Elise Fitzgerald, should have been a patient of yours.”
Annie frowned slightly. “I seem to remember having an Elise on my roster a few months ago, but I never did go out to see her. She cancelled the appointment, I think. She said she’d decided to go with another agency…”
Jil exhaled. A part of her hadn’t wanted to believe it—that someone could have been deliberately targeting Elise—but it seemed she’d been right. Who had cancelled the appointment? Elise? Or fake-Anastasia?
“I thought you said you knew Annie?” The receptionist looked confused.
Jil turned to address them both. “Can you call your supervisor here please? I think we need to talk.”
The receptionist frowned but turned to the phone and dialed. Meanwhile, Annie hovered by the desk, her forehead wrinkled with concern.
In a moment, a petite woman with black hair, wearing a navy blue skirt suit, appeared from a side office. She swiped her pass and the metal gate opened for her. “I’m Rochelle Townsend, the nurse in charge here. Would you like to step into my office?”
Jil nodded and gestured to Annie. “Please come with us. This involves you.”
The door closed behind them with a shallow clunk, which gave the impression of closing the door to a playhouse. The walls seemed thin too, like they’d run out of building material and had to erect screens in between the offices instead of real walls.
Jil lowered her voice. “My foster mother was ill toward the end of her life. I didn’t know she’d hired a nursing agency until I met her visiting nurse, Anastasia, a few days ago.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. “But…but I’ve never met you before today.”
“I know. An Anastasia who looks just like you came to Elise’s house, wearing the coat you have on now and carrying a St. Augustine bag. I met her. By the look of things, she’d been there for several weeks.”
Annie gasped. “Why would she do something like that?”
Rochelle’s jaw tightened, and she sat down hard in her chair. “Someone was visiting your home, pretending to work for us?”
“Not only pretending to work for you, but pretending to be Annie. We have reason to believe she is an art thief, and I’m looking for her now.”
“How could she gain access to patient information? We have very tight security.”
Jil considered the door. Probably not as tight as she’d like to believe. “Annie, have you noticed anything unusual happening in your life lately? Anyone following you? Anything stolen?”
Annie put her hand to her chest. “My purse was stolen a few weeks ago. At the shopping mall. I slid it over my chair while I had lunch and when I got up, it had disappeared.”
“What was in it?”
“Just some cash and my driver’s license.”
“Your nursing ID?”
Annie slid a glance toward her supervisor. “Yeah.”
Rochelle raised her eyebrows. “They stole your ID badge?”
She nodded.
“And you didn’t mention this to me?”
“I didn’t think…I never considered…” she stammered. “I just reported it lost to HR and they retook my picture.”
“And your driver’s license?” Jil probed.
“I had that replaced too.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
Annie shook her head. “I only had about twenty dollars in the purse. I didn’t think they’d bother with me for that amount.”
“Thank you, Annie.” Rochelle dismissed her. After the door closed, she turned to Jil. “What else has been going on here without my knowledge?”
Jil had a sudden memory of Jess asking the same thing about her own school. Sometimes it seemed as if supervisors were the least informed members of any hierarchy. Everyone had a reason to hide something from them.
“I guess we’re going to find that out. Do you have time for this right now? Can we dig a little deeper?”
“This just trumped everything else on my to-do list.” Rochelle shook her head. “Someone has gained access to our client files, impersonated one of our nurses—someone who may not even be a nurse at all—and has gone into the home of a palliative care patient. And what did you say she stole? Artwork?”
“Sort of. I can explain in more detail later, but right now, I think we need to figure out how she got access to this information.”
“Well, I’m pretty skeptical.” Rochelle peered over her glasses. “The doors are locked after hours. We’re only open from eight to five, so she couldn’t have snuck in after that, or she would have set off the alarm. All nurses have to swipe their ID badges when they enter, even during the day. But even if the imposter had Annie’s ID, she would have to come in here to her filing cabinet. Someone would recognize her.”
Not necessarily, Jil thought. Nobody liked to believe they were as oblivious to irregularities as they really were. Often, they needed proof. The trick was to show them something instead of telling them. That way it seemed less like an accusation. “Can I show you something?”
Rochelle nodded.
“Your computer, please?”
Rochelle flipped open her laptop and angled it toward Jil, across the desk.
Jil typed in a web address and waited for a video to load—a short clip of a basketball game—players in white Tshirts versus players in black Tshirts. “When this video starts playing, I need you to count the number of times the ball is passed from person to person. Keep a running total in your head, okay?”
Rochelle looked at her. “The number of times it’s passed?”
“Yes.” She pressed play, and the basketball players started dribbling the ball, passing it rapidly from player to player. Jil watched Rochelle’s eyes dart back and forth across the bottom of the screen, and her lips moved silently as she counted the passes. Exactly what she’d done herself the first time she’d seen this video at the police academy.
The video ended and Rochelle looked up. “Forty-seven,” she declared.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure I counted forty-seven.”
Jil nodded. “Why do you think you were able to keep track of all those ball passes?”
Rochelle leaned back in her chair. “Well, it’s kind of like my regular workday.” She laughed. “There are so many balls in the air around here that I have to keep track of. I guess I’m used to focusing hard.”
“Do you think other people are like that around here? Focused?”
Rochelle nodded. “Yeah. I would. That’s why I find it hard to believe that someone could sneak in here unnoticed.”
Jil smiled wryly. “I know you find that hard to believe. But it happens all the time. Can you tell me, when you were watching the balls pass back and forth, did you see anything unusual happen on the basketball court?”
Rochelle frowned. “Not really, no.”
“Watch again. This time, just watch. Don’t count.” Jil pressed Replay.
The game started again, with players passing the ball back and forth quickly. Twenty seconds in, a man in a gorilla suit walked into the middle of the court, waved his arms, and continued through. The video ended.
Rochelle stared at the screen, then up at Jil. “That’s not the same video. It can’t be.”
Jil gave her a rueful look. “It is. Exactly the same video.”
“How could I have missed that? A giant gorilla!”
Jil leaned across the desk. “Because you were focused on someth
ing else. Now, if you are focused on your work, as is everyone else, could someone looking exactly like Annie, with her coat, her bag, her swipe pass, walk straight through the office and to the back room?”
“That’s incredible.” Rochelle closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”
Jil let her take a moment to collect herself. “Can I see the rest of the office now?”
Rochelle opened her eyes. Jil held her breath. “Yes. Absolutely. Let’s find out how this person got in here.”
Jil stood up. She knew exactly how she’d gotten in—through the front door. “Let’s start at the lobby.”
Rochelle led the way out the door and back to the front reception desk.
Flipping open her notebook, Jil followed her. Annie said her pass had been stolen three weeks ago. The imposter probably hadn’t waited long to use it.
“This is Mandy,” Rochelle said. “She is our full-time receptionist.”
Mandy glanced up and pasted on a smile. Jil read the questioning look in her eyes. Was she in some sort of trouble?
“Hi, Mandy, I’m Jil. I’m a private investigator.”
A frown crossed her face. “But I thought you were a client?”
“Someone’s been impersonating one of our nurses,” Rochelle broke in. “Anastasia, our nurse, was not the Anastasia who arrived to treat Jil’s foster mother, Mrs. Fitzgerald. We’re trying to find out how the imposter got in here.”
“Someone was impersonating Annie?” Mandy’s eyebrows shot up.
“And coming in the building with her swipe pass.”
“No. There’s no way. She’d have to walk right past me.”
Jil looked at Rochelle, who took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault,” she said. Before the gorilla video, she might not have believed that statement, but now Jil saw plainly that Rochelle didn’t blame Mandy at all.
Still, if a thief was trying to get by undetected, she would conceivably try to do it when she’d be least likely to get noticed.
“Have you been away during the past month?” Jil asked. “Holidays or anything?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Illicit Artifacts Page 5
