Just as Jil made up her mind to go over to the fountain, she spotted Fraser coming down the walk from the opposite side.
He sat in the same spot Anastasia had just abandoned, then reached down and scooped up what she’d dropped.
Jil flicked the binocular wheels. A black velvet bag. He pocketed it and sat back up, then lit a cigarette.
Jesus fucking Christ. He wasn’t tracking her—he was meeting her.
To her astonishment, he texted her not a full minute later. Meet me at Elise’s place. I have something for you.
He arrived less than five minutes after her, wearing his dark brown leather jacket and trademark nonchalant expression. He lingered on the porch, smoking another cigarette.
Rage heated her neck and made her hands shake, but she forced herself to stay cool. Confronting him now would be a mistake. She had to find out what his angle was, and blowing his cover might mean she never got to find out.
“Good day, Detective.”
“Hello.”
She stood back to let him in. This time, when Zeus got up to greet him, his hackles were raised slightly. Channeling her feelings?
Fraser reached out to pat him, but Zeus stiffened and he pulled away. He gave Zeus a weird look. “I’ll keep it short. I’ve found something that might belong to you.” He held out the velvet pouch. The same one she’d seen him collecting from Anastasia.
What the hell was he doing? She took it from him and opened it.
Elise’s ring.
She cradled it in her palm for a moment, staring at the twisted white gold knots and dark green stone ringed with diamonds. She felt hot tears stinging the backs of her eyes, and she gritted her teeth. Like hell she’d cry in front of him. He’d been lying to her since the day they met.
“Don’t you want to try it on?”
Elise’s fingers had been so delicate, she was stunned the ring fit her.
Even so, she’d probably lose it somewhere if she kept wearing it, so she opened the chain she wore around her neck and slipped the ring on, then tucked it inside her blouse.
“Where did you get it?” She refused to look at him as she asked. She couldn’t take him lying to her face.
“I found the thief. She gave it back.”
She looked up, even though she couldn’t entirely trust herself to keep a straight face. “Just like that?”
“Well.” He raised his eyebrows. “There might have been a deal involved.”
“A deal that involved her telling you about my painting?”
He shot her a look. “She says she didn’t steal it.”
“And that’s it?” Jil raised her voice. “You said ‘fine, thanks for the chat’?”
“Well, there was a little more to it than that.”
She rolled her eyes. She’d have to find her again herself now.
“So, tell me something.” She fixed him with a stare. “How did you know it was missing in the first place?”
He looked at her quizzically. “What?”
“The ring.”
“You told me.”
Jil fingered the ring around her neck. She hadn’t. She shook her head. “I can’t remember what I had for breakfast,” she said. “But I’m sure I never told you about this ring.”
Fraser brushed his stubble with the back of his hand, his brow furrowed. “I can’t say for sure, either, now that you mention it. Maybe it was in a police report connected to you.”
Jil said nothing but looked straight up at him. “You’re keeping something from me.”
Fraser sighed. “Fine. You caught me.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m guilty of returning a ring that someone stole from you. And paying a hefty price of justice, I might add.”
“I suppose you can’t tell me what that price might be.”
He shook his head. “Now, if you’d done the sensible thing and stayed a PO instead of going rogue as a PI, I might be able to share this with you.”
“That really bothers you, doesn’t it? That I would actually choose PI work—not because I flunked out of the academy or got some sort of reprimand, but because I actually think I can get more done.”
“You don’t have the same access to information that you would on this side.”
“Yeah, but I can choose my cases.”
Fraser conceded with a nod. “I can see that.”
“And if someone rubs me the wrong way, or I think they’re lying to me, I can drop them. Just like that.” She stared at him and he stared back at her, the traces of an amused smile forming on his mouth.
Cocky, arrogant bastard.
She’d ferret out his game. Trickier now that he suspected she was on to him, but maybe the extra pressure would make him slip up. Reveal his true motivations.
If he even had any. The logical side of her brain nagged her to give this suspicion up, but her gut usually won.
Zeus came to her side and bunted her arm, and she leaned down to scratch his head. He growled very softly, looking at the detective.
He winced a fraction and took a step toward the door.
“Nice to see you again, Nic.”
He turned the knob. “See you soon.”
*
Jil made sure all the doors and windows were locked, then grabbed a large flashlight from the top of the mantel in the living room. “On guard,” she told Zeus.
He sat up and cocked his head.
“Stay.”
She proceeded to the library and flicked on every light, then took her flashlight and ran it over the top of the desk. Nothing. She shone the beam inch-by-inch down the front with the missing panel and back inside, wondering if she’d missed something when she’d taken out the will. But the compartment lay empty.
The rest of the desk yielded no results, and she stood back, disappointed. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but she felt like she was on a scavenger hunt without the list.
She sat down heavily on the stairs that ran up to the library’s tiny loft. As a teenager, she’d longed to climb up there and curl up on the plush window seat, but this was Elise’s room, the one area of the house she needed permission to enter. Since Elise had given her the rest of the house, Jil never asked to come in here, to her private space, and the window seat had remained a forbidden pleasure.
Now, she climbed the narrow spiral staircase to the top and sat down, her back against a wall, to look out the window. From this vantage point, she had almost the same view as from her bedroom, and the church tower was clearly visible.
Her phone bleeped and she pulled it from its holster. An e-mail from Morgan.
I’ve got the list of names. Now I just have to match them with the student ID profiles and pictures. Should have everything in a few days.
A thrill ran through her. This was important. She could feel it.
Chapter Nineteen
Jess knocked twice on the sliding barn door that led to Lily’s studio. Classical music surged over the sound system—a cellist—and Jess remembered what had drawn her to Lily in the first place. Her elegant taste in wine and music had been a good start. The way she walked around stark-naked half the time had taken her interest further.
Too bad she was as fickle as she was beautiful.
“Jessica?” Lily looked up from the long rustic table and raised her eyebrows. Her silk dressing gown had slipped down over one shoulder, and the wide sleeves billowed out as she got up from the table and walked down the short flight of stairs to where Jess waited in the entrance. “Was I expecting you? I don’t remember.”
“Sorry to disturb you. I suppose I could have called.”
Lily laughed, her black hair bouncing off her shoulders. “You know better. I haven’t answered that thing in years. Come in.” She grasped Jess’s hand in her cool, strong fingers, and Jess felt the dampness of the clay she’d been touching seep into her own palms.
She led her up the stairs and to the table.
“Hello.” Down in the galley, a young woman knelt on a small table, her breasts displayed as
she clasped her hands behind her head and arched upward.
Jess looked down to the sculpture Lily was creating. Her lines were perfect. The clay seemed to be moving, breathing, like the ribcage of a real person. She looked back at the model but felt Lily’s eyes on her.
She turned. “What?”
Lily’s mouth quirked. “You’ve changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always blushed before, looking at my models. You could never meet their eyes, let alone appreciate their forms. What’s happened? Have you found a lover?”
Jess turned away.
“Don’t tell me you’re a lesbian, finally!”
“Stop it.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t tease you. You have enough on your plate with all those naughty schoolchildren.”
Jess didn’t bother to correct her.
“Do you mind if I just finish this? Miriam has been stretched out waiting for hours. I have to release her soon.”
Jess shook her head slightly, tongue pressed into her cheek.
“Up once more, darling,” Lily called down, and Miriam stretched back into her pose. She turned to Jess. “Feel free to look around. I shouldn’t be more than half an hour.”
Jess slipped quietly down the stairs and over to the window where Lily kept shelves of art supplies and several kilns. Browsing through her collection was half the reason she’d come.
The other half of her reasoning was up for debate.
“I want to know about paintings.”
“Paintings? That’s not really my specialty.”
“Please.” Jess quirked her lips. “There’s nothing about art you don’t know. Even if it isn’t your specialty.”
“Well, I suppose it was a happy coincidence that my parents insisted I get a degree, even if it was art history. Who knew it would end up being useful?”
“I know of a retired art history professor who just recently passed away,” she said.
“Elise Fitzgerald. Yes, I read it in the Post. Devastating.” Lily tightened the lid on a pot of glaze. “She was something. I had her for three straight semesters. She even had me over to her house a few times—art appreciation.”
Jess had to shake her head to clear her thoughts. The thought of Lily in Jil’s house gave her goose bumps.
“Are you sure you’re well, Jessica? You look pale and tired.”
Jess shot her a look. “Don’t hold back.”
“I never do.” Lily traced her finger up Jess’s bare arm. “I wish the same could be said for you.”
“You never know. Things could have changed.”
“I doubt you’d change that much.” With a flick of the silk tie, Lily let her robe fall to her feet.
Jess looked away. She could feel unwelcome heat coloring her face—and other places.
Lily smirked. “See?”
“You had your chance,” Jess murmured, meeting her eyes without flinching. “You didn’t want me.”
“Don’t take it personally, darling.” Lily slid one finger under Jess’s chin and tilted her face so their faces were inches apart. “It really wasn’t about you.”
“I know.”
“You do have someone else. I can see it in your face. You love her, I think.”
Jess took a deep breath and exhaled. She would not talk to Lily this way. She couldn’t fall apart. Not after everything she’d been through, trying to rebuild her confidence, her identity.
Loving Lily had been intoxicating and wonderful, but it had made her lose herself on a profound level, and she couldn’t slip back into that.
Not if she planned to survive losing Jil too.
“I need you to help me with something, but I can’t answer a lot of questions because I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for.”
Lily reached up to replace a book on a higher shelf, and the red tip of her nipple grazed the case.
For a second, Jess imagined giving in to Lily—putting her hands on that creamy porcelain skin and falling into the soft-scented bed to kiss and caress all night like they had in the very beginning.
Before Jess had gotten sick.
Before Lily had started leaving her behind.
Before she’d decided that loving a cripple was too much work.
She blinked to stop herself. Focus.
But why was she looking for answers in this case? She was no detective, and what did she plan to do with the information? Call Jil and say, “Hi. I know I’ve been smothering you to death, but I thought I’d let you know that I’ve been stalking your life and have answers to a mystery you never asked for help with.”
What the hell was she doing here?
“Tell me about the art appreciation,” she said.
“At Elise’s house?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in culture.”
Lily narrowed her eyes. “Does this fall into the ‘don’t ask’ category?”
“Sort of.”
“You want to know about her painting specifically?”
Jess nodded.
“Well, she did have this giant painting on her second floor. A virtually unknown Monet. It was amazing.”
“A replica?”
Lily shrugged. “Elise said it was a replica, but if it was, the replicator was a genius. I didn’t know enough then to be able to tell for certain, but I’d love to be able to see it again.”
Jess smiled. “Sometimes you only get one shot in life, Lily.”
Lily appraised her. “You’re over it. I’m glad. I was afraid I’d broken your heart.”
“You did,” Jess admitted. “But I understand that our lives moved at different paces.”
“An artist can’t be held in a closet, no matter how much she loves the warden.”
Jess exhaled. “You know, I’m sorry too, for hurting you if I did. I wish it could have worked.”
“But we are so different. And that wouldn’t have changed. Better we part as friends, isn’t it? And I can leave you to your new lover, whomever she may be.”
“You think you know a lot, don’t you?”
“I know some things. And I know the sight of a woman in love.”
“I’m not in love.”
“You don’t want to admit to being in love. There’s a difference.”
Jess took her coat and headed for the door. “If the Monet was a replica, and you wanted to find the replicator, how would you?”
“I don’t know,” Lily mused. “I guess I’d have to find out where she studied. And with whom.”
“You mean there are schools to teach artists how to counterfeit?”
Lily grinned. “Not exactly. But she would have had to study technique somewhere. And probably she would have apprenticed somewhere afterward, with someone who knew what they were doing. Privately, I’d always wondered…” she trailed off.
“Wondered what?”
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
Jess searched. Lily’s secrets didn’t bother her any more, but this seemed important.
“Tell me.”
Lily sighed. “Privately, I wondered if Elise had more talent in that area than she ever let on.”
“Why do you say that?”
A line formed between Lily’s eyebrows—something that only happened when she was truly bothered by something. “She was a very talented restorative artist. One of the best I’ve seen. And restoration is so closely related to replication…I’ve seen some convincing pieces on art tours, and I thought I recognized her influence in some of them.”
“Her influence?”
“It’s just a feeling. A fleeting thought I had. That maybe she taught someone…”
“One of her students?”
“Possibly,” Lily said. “I have no proof, of course. But there’s someone in this area who’s very good at this technique, and Elise Fitzgerald was one of the most knowledgeable art historians in the country. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“
You think she has a protégé in Rockford.”
“Nearby, anyway. Maybe Toronto? Maybe Montreal? I may meet her one day if I’m diligent about it. I don’t know how I would track her down, though. It might help if I knew how to use the Internet.” She laughed.
Jess considered that. How would she advertise herself? An art replicator? A forger? “What do you think she’s like?”
Lily tilted her head. “Probably young. You need incredibly supple wrists to be able to take on the technique of another artist.”
Jess smiled. “If I find her, I’ll let you know. You can have the first crack at a date. Deal?”
Lily walked back up the stairs. “That would suit me well. I won’t ask why you’re looking, but I do wish you luck. Bye, Jessica.”
Chapter Twenty
Elise had actually complained when the bank started opening on Saturdays.
“The world is so bustling, so busy, so distracted with everything else that people don’t have time to do their business in regular business hours, and spend the weekend with their families, like they ought.”
“Don’t be anachronistic,” Jil said.
Elise laughed out loud.
Jil grinned back at her as they walked toward the bank.
“You’ve been studying, I see.”
“Just wanted you to know.”
“Well, the school year’s almost finished. Your teachers report that your grades are quite good—better, even, than when you were attending school.”
“That’s no surprise,” Jil muttered. Fewer distractions and a strong desire to prove she could do it so she wouldn’t have to go back.
Elise stopped at the streetlight and turned to her. “What are your plans? When you’ve graduated?”
“Straight on to college and then finish at university,” Jil said. She wanted to get the hell out of high school and onto a campus with more choices. “It’s less expensive to take part of your degree at college first.”
“What will you study?”
Jil looked down. She hadn’t been on a tour yet and didn’t have the program book.
Elise punched the button, and they waited for the little green man. “You know…college tuition can add up.”
Jil met her gaze. “The province has stipends for foster kids who have good grades and want to go on to college. I was hoping to get one.”
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