Illicit Artifacts

by Stevie Mikayne

  He chuckled. “I know. Elise cooked marvelously. I rather figured that’s why you liked Jess.”

  Jil shot him a withering look.

  “I just meant you liked to eat and having cooks around is handy.”

  “I can cook.”

  He laughed out loud. “Sure you can. And eat too. Good thing Elise was wealthy.”

  She shook her head. “She was paying my way, all this time.”

  “She didn’t need the money, believe me.”

  Jil stopped, and grabbed his arm. “My scholarship.”

  He nodded, his eyes on the ground. “Aye. We put that together for you.”

  “You lied to me!”

  “You never would have accepted it otherwise!”

  “Of course I wouldn’t!”

  “Well, you needed an education. What good would it have done any of us to have you working in a pizza parlor with brains like yours?”

  Jil exhaled loudly and took a swig of her coffee. “You put in your money, then?”

  “Both of us, together.”

  “Well, I’ll be paying you back now.”

  Padraig’s beard twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. “I’ll take your last case at St. Marguerite’s as payment.”

  Jil stared at him. “Why do I feel like a puppet in some show?”

  Padraig looked back. “Aye. I’m sorry about that. You know I only ever tried to protect you. As did Elise. She didn’t want you to know about her past because she hoped she’d raised you properly. With a good moral code.”

  “Her life was complicated, Padraig. She dealt with so much alone. I wish…I wish somehow she could have told me.”

  “You know that sometimes you carry around the weight of your parents’ lives?”

  “Yeah,” Jil said softly.

  “Well, she had a lot of it from her father, and Duncan, of course.”

  “I just wish she’d shared that part of her life with me. I feel like there are a whole lifetime of conversations we’re never going to get to have. She can’t tell me her side. I can only guess.”

  He smiled sadly. “She never wanted you to know. At least until she was dead.”

  “But she left me clues. Why?”

  He chuckled. “I think she knew you’d go looking. She wanted you to have the truth—as much as she could leave you—if ever you started trying to find it.”

  She fixed him with a stare. “What are you doing here really? What family business do you have to do? Or were you just running away?”

  Padraig finished his ale. “Sorry. That’s all under the category of mind your own business.”

  She waited him out. “I know you lied about your flight and that you took the boat over.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Best be careful, Kidd.”

  She sat back. “You’re seriously not going to tell me?”

  “Not today.”

  “How am I supposed to trust you when you keep lying to me, Padraig?”

  He locked eyes with her and she was forced to look into his face. The face she’d known and trusted since she was a little girl. “I’m not lying. I’m asking you to respect my privacy. Whether or not you trust me is your decision.”

  Jil sighed and put her chin in her hand. Her throat felt thick. “It’s so hard to believe I’m never going to see her again. And that I really hardly know her.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Our whole life is a smokescreen, Padraig…” Her voice broke and tears overflowed down her face.

  “No.” Padraig lifted her chin. “That isn’t true.”

  “She lied to me.”

  “Yes, she did. Because she loved you. Because she didn’t want to have to explain everything she left behind. Let her have her way. You were her only chance at being a mother. This was her doing her best.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Jess met Jil at the front door as soon as she walked up to the porch, suitcase in hand. “You have a visitor. She’s been waiting over an hour.”

  Jil squeezed Jess’s arm. “Morgan texted me. Said you were at the station?”

  Jess looked down. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Jil nodded and moved past her into the kitchen. “Karrie. What are you doing here?”

  She looked up, her forehead creased with concern. “My dad called this morning.”

  Jil’s toes tingled like someone had dropped ice water on her feet. She sat down opposite her. “Has he said anything to the police?”

  “No. Not yet. I asked him to let me talk with you first.”

  Jil forced herself to breathe normally, to slow her heartbeat. “Okay. What is it?”

  Karrie drummed her fingers on the table, her face serious. “He had ruled out carbon monoxide poisoning because there was no evidence of that at the scene, but he did mention another possibility. He said he’d only ever seen something like this once before in his career. And he can’t even be certain it’s the same thing, but he’d once seen a case about a particular cancer drug interacting with an inhalant to produce the type of effect Elise had. That’s why he’d looked harder at cyanide poisoning, but ruled that out. Still, it looks sort of like—”

  “A toxin?”

  Karrie nodded. “It’s a rare occurrence, but that is the only thing that fits.”

  “So she was poisoned.” Jil leaned back in the chair, surprised to feel Jess solidly behind her. Jess’s hand squeezed her shoulder, and she put her hand over top of it.

  “But why? And how?” She turned to Karrie. “What is this inhalant, exactly?”

  Karrie frowned. “It’s not that hard to find, really. Janitors and hospitals use diluted versions all the time in their industrial cleaning products.”

  “But undiluted it’s lethal.”

  “To someone in Elise’s condition, on the drugs she was taking…” Karrie looked up, her eyes troubled. “Absolutely.”

  Jil’s mind raced back to the bottle of cleaner she’d found in the garbage. Mix with nine parts water…

  Who could have used it on her?

  She looked up at Jess, who frowned back at her questioningly.

  Only one person made sense.

  But why the hell would he want Elise dead?

  *

  Jil watched from the top window as Ben pulled into the driveway and idled in his truck for a few moments. He took off his hat and approached the door.

  Jil opened it before he could knock. She noticed that his eyes looked sunken and hollow—like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

  He followed her to the kitchen. When he saw St. Clair, his face blanched even whiter.

  “You’re going to arrest me for giving her that cleaner?” his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  St. Clair leaned against the counter. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

  Ben took several deep breaths as he twisted his painter’s cap around and around.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Ben?” Jil said gently. She pulled a chair out for him and he sat down slowly, staying at the edge. “When did you last speak to her?” she asked.

  “Elise called me the night before she died. Asked me to come first thing in the morning to talk about repairs to the house for the spring. But she didn’t answer the door when I knocked, and I…I had a real bad feeling. I knew she was sick, eh, so I knocked again, then tried the front door.”

  “She didn’t come down?”

  He shook his head. “I went in. Found her in the bathroom upstairs. Looked like she’d fallen, but then I thought, why would she be in the shower with her clothes on?”

  Jil leaned against the counter. She felt sick. “Then what happened?”

  “I saw a bottle of the cleaner she’d asked for on the floor beside her. Figured she must have been using it and got a little woozy. Hit her head. Except that I didn’t see any blood.”

  That’s because she didn’t fall. She hot-boxed the shower and waited.

  St. Clair gave her a quizzical look. How much was showing on her face?

  �
��What did you do next?” St. Clair asked.

  “Well…” Ben’s face flushed a deep scarlet, and he twisted his cap around again. “It seemed…it seemed indecent, you know, to leave her in the shower of all places. It wasn’t…right, somehow. I picked her up. She wasn’t stiff or anything. I heard bodies are supposed to be stiff, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t cold. But she was so light. I didn’t realize…”

  “You carried her to her bed?” St. Clair finished.

  “I did. I put her blanket on her and left her there.”

  “You didn’t call the police?”

  Ben shook his head. “I didn’t know how to answer the questions they were gonna ask me. Since it was me who’d left that cleaner there. I figured it would be better to leave her so someone else found her. Looking like she’d died in bed and all that.”

  Relief hit Jil like a cold mist down her back.

  Padraig had found her in bed. He’d thought he was telling her the truth.

  “You’re going to arrest me now?” Ben’s knees shook visibly as he tried to stand, but St. Clair shook her head. “No, Mr. Hennessy, I’m not going to arrest you. You’ve made things complicated, but you obviously didn’t mean anything criminal.”

  Ben’s chin trembled. “She was such a decent woman, Detective. You know? I just…I wanted…”

  Jil patted his shoulder, blinking hard. “It’s okay, Ben. We understand.”

  After he’d left, Jil turned to St. Clair, who sighed deeply and shook her head, leaning against the counter. “I’m sorry about this,” she muttered. “I feel really bad about it. Especially…”

  “I’m pretty sure you were just following the evidence.”

  “Yeah. Falsified evidence.”

  Jil touched her arm. “Cup of coffee, Detective?” She could almost feel St. Clair’s professional posture dropping away.

  “Call me Laine. You’ve earned it.”

  Jil smiled, despite herself. “Okay, Laine. Do you prefer tea?”

  She raised one eyebrow and laughed a little. “I do, actually.”

  “Right then. Why don’t you sit down?”

  Laine sat down gingerly at the kitchen table and crossed her legs. By the time the kettle boiled, she’d relaxed enough to accept the steaming cup Jil handed her. Amazing how Elise’s house enfolded so many different people into simple common rituals.

  Laine shook her red curls back over her white collar. “Somehow, I just don’t feel like going back to the precinct right now.”

  “I can see why you’d need a break. Can’t be easy.”

  Laine sighed, blowing air onto the surface of her tea. “No kidding.”

  Jil tucked her legs up onto the chair, surprised at how stiff she felt. Her body craved some real rest. But there were still a few issues to resolve. “So, can you tell me about Nic?”

  Laine exhaled a long breath. “I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen to him. He’s in pretty big trouble.”

  “How did you find out what he’d done?”

  “You mean, purposely tampered with evidence to protect a known art forger? Or fabricated evidence against you to have Mrs. Fitzgerald’s body exhumed?” She rolled her eyes. “We’ll notice an obstruction pattern here. He’s going to be reprimanded. He deserves it.”

  Jil couldn’t argue. She bit her lip.

  “He’s a good friend of mine too,” Laine said softly.

  “Which makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

  She looked up, almost sharply. “He let his personal demons get in the way of the job. And that can’t happen.”

  “So has he really been arrested?”

  “Detained. Questioned. Not formally charged yet. That would come from internal affairs.” She tilted her head back, as if worried she’d said too much.

  “What if I put in a bid to ask them to drop it?” Jil said.

  Laine stared at her. “Why would you do that?”

  Jil poured milk slowly into her clear mug, watching the dark tea cloud—the light lines swirling and blending until it was all the color of blond hardwood. “I know how hard it is to find out someone you loved isn’t the person you thought. I’m not saying I agree with his methods. Clearly. But I understand why he did it.”

  *

  At 8:59, Jil got out of the car and approached the door to the post office. Her fingers were tingling. What if it was empty? Worse—what if it held more secrets? She didn’t think she could take any more.

  The slow-moving postal worker gave her a watery smile as he slid back the deadbolt on the door. Jil waited impatiently for him to move away from the door, then dashed inside…and stared at the box for a full thirty seconds before approaching.

  Luckily, nobody else was there to observe this.

  Finally, she twisted the key into the slot and pulled back the door. Inside lay a thick brown envelope.

  This. This is what she’d been waiting for. She felt the outline of something hard as she tucked the envelope under her arm and retraced her steps to the car.

  The Fabergé brooch spilled into her hand. She bounced it in her palm, the weight of the precious stones hefty, the surface rough.

  This had been here the whole time.

  Her hands had gone cold and she struggled to open the letter. What did Elise have to say for herself?

  What could she possibly say that would make a difference?

  There, in Elise’s beautiful script: just three lines.

  For safekeeping, darling, in case you ever need it. And you’ll know when you do.

  With all my love and deepest affection.

  Elise.

  She read it twice, three times. Folded it and slipped it into the front lapel of her black jacket. Then she sat down on the concrete fountain and slipped the ring onto her finger—on the right side, where it wouldn’t have to be replaced. Just in case.

  When had she gotten so sentimental?

  She took out the letter again and read it one more time. With all my love and deepest affection. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe. Really breathe. She inhaled, and felt her stomach expand, her lungs fill.

  Her mind replayed the conversation she’d memorized, finding new meaning.

  You’re never to make contact with her. And if she finds you—”

  “How would she find me?”

  “You might be surprised.”

  He sighed heavily. “If she finds me there’s not much I can do about it.”

  “I need more than that, Duncan.”

  He chuckled. Another rustle, like he was digging into a pocket or a small bag. “Here. Pin it on yourself. Take it as my promise.”

  The butterfly signaled freedom. Elise had traded a priceless painting for Duncan’s promise that he would never interfere with her life. Would never reveal to Jil all the secrets he knew would destroy her memories.

  The nasty voice—that niggling distrust in the back of her head that doubted—was silenced.

  Elise had loved her.

  No matter what else she’d done in her life—how many compromises she’d had to make to reconcile the past she’d been born into with the future she wanted—she’d loved Jil in the best way she could.

  That had to be enough.

  *

  Jil pulled the rented car into the roundabout at the airport. “Checked in virtually?”

  Mila looked at her with a wry smile. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

  “Well, you can thank Padraig more than me. He’s the one who set this up.”

  “But still. You could have stopped him if you’d wanted to. What you did for Nic was enough. You could have stopped there.”

  “I don’t pretend to agree with everything,” Jil said. “But I know you didn’t hurt Elise. And I know that staying here will put you in danger with Duncan. At least now you’ll have a chance to start over.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where will you go?”

  Mila winked. “You don’t think I should tell you really, do you?”

>   Jil laughed. “If it were me, I’d go to Europe. So many countries, so little need for passports.”

  “You are a pretty good detective, I have to say.”

  She rolled her eyes. “After I found out about Elise and Duncan, I started contemplating running a produce stand. And when I found out Elise and Padraig had been colluding about me since I was a teenager, I seriously almost quit.”

  Mila turned so she was looking Jil in the eye. “You trust people who lie to you. That doesn’t make you a bad detective, you know. It makes you a loyal daughter.”

  Jil popped the trunk to let Mila grab her carry-on. Her words replayed in the empty space she left behind after she slammed the door.

  It had been a long time since she’d been anyone’s daughter. But she supposed if she had to fit herself into a box for either Padraig or Elise, that’s where she’d best be shelved.

  How many homes had she lived in, with foster mothers who weren’t mothers at all? Sharing melamine plates and front-door cubbies, using toothbrushes that were suspiciously damp when she picked them up?

  And then suddenly there was Elise’s warm kitchen.

  Elise, who’d never had a child before—let alone a teenager with such a past.

  All the way home, she let the memories of their life together play through her mind. Things she hadn’t wanted to remember, or allowed herself to feel, just in case it had all turned out to be a lie.

  But there were some things you couldn’t lie about, and Elise loving her had been the truth.

  She cruised by their old house, where a For Sale sign hung swinging by the old birch tree. Someone else could find happiness here, and she’d be happy for them.

  Her life was back at her loft, with Jess.

  *

  Jil stood outside the door to her loft for a few extra moments, just savoring the feeling of coming home to someone. It was a feeling she hadn’t expected to have, let alone miss.

  As she opened the fire door, the warm smell of cinnamon flooded over her head. Jess turned around from the counter where she was putting something hot on the cooling rack. “Hey, you’re home.”

  Bread. Cinnamon bread.

  Jil swallowed hard, past the lump in her throat.

  When she wrapped Jess in her arms, she made a silent promise to whoever might be listening that she’d never let her go again.