Illicit Artifacts

by Stevie Mikayne

  At the top of the road, under the streetlamp. Someone turned the corner.

  She swore and ducked back inside. That somebody was definitely interested in getting inside this house.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A rap sounded on her car window just as she was buckling her seat belt. Jil looked up, startled to see Karrie standing in the driveway. She rolled down the window. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m coming with you.” Karrie opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.

  “How do you know where I’m going?”

  “I called your office. They said you were out sick for a week. And if I were a PI, I’d be going to find the woman who’s been impersonating me and everyone else I know.”

  Jil chuckled. “I guess I’m not as hard to read as I thought.”

  Karrie handed her a cup of coffee, steam rising from the vent in the plastic lid. “Black?”

  She smiled. “Thanks. So…why are you here?”

  The funeral director pursed her lips. “I’m in a little trouble with my boss,” she admitted.

  “Because you gave my ring away to the not-real me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

  “Well, technically, yes. It’s not like they ID every family member who walks through the door. Honestly, not many people crash funeral homes.”

  “Do you want me to say something to them for you?”

  Karrie smiled wanly. “Thanks, that’s nice of you. But I’d rather just find her and get your ring back.”

  Jil frowned as she backed out of the driveway. “You know, something bothers me about that.”

  “What?”

  “The fact that Elise gave you the ring in the first place instead of leaving it for me at the house.”

  “She really wanted you to have it.”

  “Yes. But I had the only key to the house. Why not just leave it with the rest of the jewelry?”

  Karrie pursed her ruby lips. “I’ve been wondering that too.”

  “You have?”

  “Well…I’ve seen the ring,” she said slowly.

  “And?”

  “And…it’s nice and all—” She bit her lip, as if afraid of offending Jil with her next words.

  “But?” Jil prompted.

  “But it’s not that valuable, honestly. I mean, I’ve seen loads of jewelry in my line of work, and some of the stuff Elise wore to our meetings was worth a lot more money. I don’t understand why she gave me this ring in particular—”

  “When I inherited half a dozen more expensive ones straight from her jewelry box?”

  “I see you’ve already thought of this. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You know, with your line of work.”

  Jil chuckled. “Never assume. You know how they say doctors make the worst patients?”

  “Yeah.”

  “PIs make the worst family members.”

  Karrie cocked a grin. “I’m sure that wasn’t totally true.”

  Jil sighed. “I’m sure it was. I just wish she’d told me if she was in trouble.”

  “Why do you think she was in trouble?”

  “Because I know Elise and I know she would never get involved in something like this if something bigger weren’t at stake. And dealing with those sorts of things when you’re terminally ill has got to suck big time. So now I have to find out why she left me this little bread crumb trail, and what that ring really means.”

  Karrie took a breath. “Is it possible it doesn’t mean anything?”

  Jil looked at her.

  “I mean, she would have been on pretty heavy medication at the end, right? Maybe she just got confused.”

  “See, that’s the thing,” Jil said. “She smoked pot, I know that, but I actually don’t think she was taking anything stronger. I saw her not long before she passed away and she was walking around and talking—talking about death, of course—but still, she didn’t look like she planned to kick it anytime soon. She would have known what she was doing.”

  “Yeah, she was lucid the whole time I knew her,” Karrie said.

  Jil shook her head as she waited for the light to change. “Tell me exactly what happened when Anastasia came into your office.”

  Karrie unbuttoned her coat. “I met her for only a few minutes, because we were leaving for the day.”

  “Right. So what did she say to you when she came in?”

  “She said, ‘Sorry to come so late. I know we don’t have much time tonight.’”

  “So she knew your schedule? She knew you were about to leave for the day.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?”

  “She said, ‘My foster mother left something for me here, and I’d like to have it before the service.’”

  “She didn’t specify what?”

  “No, come to think of it.”

  “She never specifically mentioned the ring?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Jil pressed her tongue into her cheek. “What happened next?”

  “I gave her the envelope and she said thank you and left.”

  “She didn’t open it in front of you?”

  “No. Why?”

  Jil merged onto the highway and turned to look at Karrie. “I don’t know yet. My brain hasn’t caught up with my gut. I have a lot of questions.”

  Karrie grinned again. “Like what?”

  “Like what did Anastasia think that envelope contained? Ask me again in a few hours when I’ve had time to filter.”

  “Okay. So where are we going, anyway?”

  “I’m afraid it’s nothing exciting. Just the only lead I have at the moment, so I’m following up.”

  “Let me guess, you found her home address?”

  Jil laughed. “I wish. I have no idea who this woman is or where to find her. She’s a chameleon, and she’s obviously been doing this a while because she’s been one step ahead of me and everyone else. She’s also extremely brazen, which comes with confidence and practice, so I have her pegged as a professional.”

  “A professional what?”

  “Thief.”

  “How is that different from a run-of-the-mill thief?”

  Jil turned to look at her. “The professionals treat it like a business. And that means they hone their craft and pay certain dividends—to other thieves, for help or to trade merchandise or skills. Also, the pros aren’t opportunistic. They plan their heists, sometimes for months or years. The payoff is always big, and the preparation is always thorough. Anastasia will move in the regular world. She’ll have friends, alibis, possibly even a suburban home with a fence and a dog. She could be a university student or an accountant. She’ll look to lead a perfectly normal life, and she’ll have a lot of money stored in offshore accounts.”

  Karrie breathed out. “Whew. Talk about the criminal next door.”

  “You’d be surprised. It’s never who you expect.”

  “So you’re going to track her through her regular life?”

  “Yep. Starting with her wig maker. She always looks completely authentic, which means her wigs and clothes are made to fit her perfectly.”

  “Preparation,” Karrie said.

  “And money. Real hair wigs can cost thousands of dollars and can take weeks to make. So we’re looking for an expensive professional wigmaker.”

  “Someone who works for a theater company?”

  Jil wrinkled her brow. “Probably not. Theater wigs are grandiose and don’t necessarily have to be precise because you can’t see the fine details from the audience. I was thinking more like this guy.”

  Jil pulled into the parking lot where a sign read The Art of Hair. “The proprietor’s name is Jacob Baumer. He’s a world-renowned wigmaker and used to work in Hollywood before his mother got sick and he came back to Rockford to take care of her.”

  “Wow. You do your homework.”

  “I have to. Professional thieves require professional investigators to track t
hem down. Otherwise their lives get too easy.” Jil winked.

  “Good luck. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Jil frowned. “Maybe not. I think you should come with me.”

  Karrie smiled. “Really? I get to actually help?”

  “Well, provided you don’t blow my cover.”

  “I won’t.” Karrie grinned and gestured for Jil to move in front of her. “After you, boss.”

  *

  “Good day.” Jil opened the door and ushered Karrie inside.

  An older willowy man with a gray goatee stepped away from the counter and looked at them over his horn-rimmed glasses. “Hello. How can I help you?”

  Jil smiled as charmingly as she could. “You must be Jacob.”

  “I am.” His eyebrows raised a few centimeters.

  “You were recommended by a friend,” Jil said.

  “Really? Who?”

  Jil flashed her phone at him, revealing a picture of Anastasia.

  “Oh. Rebecca Nelson. Yes, she’s been a client of mine for quite some time.”

  Rebecca?

  “She said you’d take good care of us.”

  “Well, any friend of Rebecca’s will receive nothing but the best treatment from me.”

  “She keeps the lights on in this place, right?” Jil winked and Jacob laughed.

  “I do have to admit she brings me a lot of good business, in her line of work, and in cash too, which I appreciate. Please come sit down and tell me what brings you here.”

  “My sister Karrie has unfortunately just found out she has alopecia.”

  “Oh, dear,” Jacob clucked. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s barely started,” Karrie said, drawing her eyebrows into a sorrowful frown, “but I want to be prepared, and I understand a wig can take several weeks to be made.”

  “Normally, yes,” Jacob said. “Depending on the length and color you want. But in urgent situations, I can always move more efficiently.”

  Jil smiled. “We always wondered how Rebecca got hers done so quickly.”

  “Four days was my record.”

  “Recently?”

  “No. About a year ago. When she was going to that photo shoot in Berlin and needed a blond bob.”

  “Oh.” Jil nodded, as if remembering details. “She looked great in that outfit.”

  “Did you see it? I never did. The bum keeps promising to bring me copies, but never does. I think she’s shy.”

  “Well, it was a lacy bodice job and she looked fantastic.” Karrie grinned and Jil suppressed a laugh. The girl could act; she’d give her that.

  “So, what are you looking for?” Jacob clapped his hands, back to business. Clearly in love with his craft…

  “Well, I thought of going as close to my own hair as possible,” Karrie said. She frowned at herself in the mirror, appraising her own hairline.

  “Do you have a portfolio I could look at?” Jil asked. She meandered through the shop, discreetly checking the place out and looking for anywhere Jacob might keep client records.

  “Yes, right there on my desk.” He gestured to a little table at the back of the store with a laptop on it.

  And a rolodex.

  How quaint. And how much easier to riffle than a computer.

  Karrie caught her eye in the mirror, then captured Jacob’s attention as Jil picked up the portfolio and leaned against the desk. The guy did nice work.

  A few moments later, she met Karrie back at the mirror. “You look like you’re getting comfy, sis.”

  “It’s a nice place,” Karrie said noncommittally.

  Jil fought a smile. “We’re interviewing a few wigmakers before making our final choice,” she said.

  Jacob looked mildly affronted. “But why? I’m the best there is.”

  Karrie shrugged, like she just played along with whatever her big sister said. “We have a few more appointments this afternoon—”

  “So we’d better be off,” Jil finished. “But I’m sure we’ll be back.”

  “But I haven’t even taken your measurements.”

  Jil smiled disarmingly. “I’m sure you’re the best. We’ll call for a proper appointment next time.”

  They smiled, thanked him again, and headed straight to the parking lot.

  In the car, Karrie turned to her with wide eyes. “So?”

  Jil held up the rolodex card and grinned. “We have an address.”

  *

  They pulled off the highway and into an industrial area—old warehouses that were in the process of being repurposed into loft apartments. An area very similar to where Jil lived.

  She drove up to the building on the card.

  Unfinished. Apartments available in six months.

  “I don’t think anyone lives here,” Karrie whispered.

  Jil frowned at the warehouse. Hardly surprising that Anastasia would give a fake address, but still disappointing. She sighed. “Another dead end.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  More mail in the foyer. Jil picked it up and stuffed it into the antique clay pot that had served as their mail receptacle since she could remember.

  She was always surprised to see envelopes with Elise’s name and address on them. Privacy had always been her most preciously guarded commodity, especially as a university professor. Very rarely did she allow anyone into her private life.

  But utility companies and the bank demanded rights. They got her personal information within the first thirty seconds.

  Funny how people wanted to keep the most secrets from those closest to them and would give so much away to near strangers.

  Jil stopped going through the mail. So how had someone wormed their way into Elise’s life to the extent that they would be allowed in her home?

  She’d been assuming that Anastasia had come in contact with Elise through St. Augustine, but what if that wasn’t true?

  What if she’d targeted Elise beforehand?

  She picked her phone up again and thumbed instinctively to Jess’s number.

  Shit.

  Calling to hash out a theory wasn’t exactly the best pillow talk she could imagine, and she couldn’t exactly apologize right now. How would she even start? Especially since she wasn’t sure she could handle slipping back into their establishing pattern.

  Yes, Anastasia had impersonated a St. Augustine aide, but how long had she been coming? How had she known that Elise was sick in the first place?

  She paced along the upstairs hallway, stopping at every vantage point to scrutinize the painting. She stared at the corners and the joints of the frame, examined each discrepancy in the tone and texture of the painting itself. And the longer she stared, the less sure she became that any difference she noticed was actually there.

  When was the last time she’d really paid attention to it? When was the last time she’d even been upstairs before she’d had to pack the bag of clothes for Elise’s funeral?

  This painting could have been here for days, or weeks—or even months. Because, of course, she’d let herself get swept up in her own life, and her assignments and wouldn’t have noticed. She’d shown up sometimes for Sunday dinner, but also let herself off the hook when it wasn’t convenient. Or when she didn’t feel like leaving the house. Or when it seemed easier to immerse herself in a bachelorette lifestyle and forget about having been part of a family.

  Elise loved her; she knew that. But holding herself in the center of that love took energy. It took willpower. Easier to retreat to her own den and pretend that solitariness suited her. That she had grown beyond needing a mother—of any type.

  So really, she had no idea when someone might have come in. If Anastasia or the mailman had been responsible. It could have been a neighbor, a handyperson, or any one of Elise’s students…

  Students.

  What if Anastasia had been one of Elise’s students?

  That would explain how she knew her. If she’d been enrolled in her course the final year or so she was teaching, she would know when Elise had
taken sick. She might even have visited her at home…she could have seen her artifact collection, taken interest in the painting. She could even have suggested Elise get a home aide.

  And then impersonated the aide to come and go whenever she wanted.

  Like when Elise had hospital appointments.

  Or after she’d died—when the door was open and she could sneak items out in her box of supplies.

  Jil raced downstairs to Elise’s office. Where would she keep her student files? Probably on her computer.

  Which wasn’t in her office.

  Because it was probably still at the university.

  Damn.

  How could she get in there?

  She scrolled through contacts until she found her friend Morgan. His picture on her screen, smiling in his police uniform, made her grin. He answered on the first ring.

  “Morgan, it’s me.”

  “Let me guess. You have a technical question.”

  “Your powers of deduction are truly beginning to border on the psychic.”

  “Or it could be that every time you call me, it’s to solve a theoretical crisis with your computer.”

  Jil swallowed hard. Was she a terrible friend as well as a shit girlfriend? “I guess I owe you dinner.”

  He chuckled. “Invitation accepted. I was hoping to see you anyway. Have a few theoretical questions for you too.”

  “Really? That’s a first.”

  “It is not. Anyway, I’m curious about your new flame.”

  “Ugh. Don’t ask!”

  “No! Don’t tell me you’re not seeing her anymore. I liked that one. She was fantastic for you.”

  “No lectures, please. Just name your time and place and I’ll show up with my credit card.”

  “Okay, but I think we’d better go Dutch. If I’m paying, I won’t drink as much, and something tells me you’re going to need a designated driver.”

  Jil laughed. “Okay. Friday night? The Market?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

  *

  “It could be stress,” said Jess’s doctor. She frowned over the top of her purple-rimmed glasses as she squinted at the thick beige chart. “Flare-ups happen for a number of reasons. Could be the weather.”

  “It’s pretty bad.” Jess crossed her ankles because she couldn’t cross her legs. The usual throbbing ache in her hips had intensified to a crackling burn that kept her up all night, despite her usual regimen of pills and a few more new ones. “And it’s not just pain. I’m having trouble breathing. My heart keeps racing.”