Curse of the Jade Lily (19 page)

“I noticed that,” I said.

“He ain’t. But he does know everything.”

“I noticed that, too.”

“He didn’ give you much, though, did he?”

“He gave me plenty.”

“What?”

“He said an out-of-town crew took down the Lily.”

“Yeah? So? I coulda told you that.”

“If it was out-of-town talent, how did they know Scott Noehring was a cop? How did they know he was dirty? How did they recognize him in the park—in the dark?”

“You’re sayin’ Cid was wrong. The crew gots t’ be local or out-of-town talent workin’ wit’ local.”

“He was wrong or he was lying.”

“Look here, man. I hates t’ see what happened to Noehring happen to you. Why not I lend you Herzy to provide air support? You know, watch your back?”

“I ain’t workin’ for no cop,” Herzog said.

“How many times I have to say?” Chopper told him. “McKenzie ain’t a cop no more.”

“You crazy you think that, Chop. Didn’ you see his face when Cid called out the dirty cop? McKenzie always be police.”

Herzog looked me directly in the eye.

“Fuckin’ cop,” he added.

“Just give me back my gun,” I said.

*   *   *

I drove straight home. It should have taken about fifteen minutes, only the blowing snow lengthened the trip to nearly thirty. It wasn’t particularly deep, just a dusting so far. However, the Minnesota Driver’s Manual as produced by the Minnesota Department of Public Safety clearly states you should slow down and increase stopping distance when roads become slippery and visibility is compromised, although the two accidents that I passed suggested that a lot of drivers hadn’t read it. All in all, it did not bode well for rush hour traffic—one more reason I was happy not to have a nine-to-five job.

I put the Jeep Cherokee in the garage, went inside the house, made myself a café mocha with my expensive coffee machine, sat in front of my big-screen TV to watch
SportsNation
on ESPN, and promptly fell asleep. (I did mention I had only four hours of sleep, right?) I was awakened abruptly by the sound of my phone ringing. By then the sun had fallen and the only light in my house came from the TV screen. I found the phone on the kitchen wall and answered it without checking the caller ID.

A young man’s voice said, “What the hell happened last night, McKenzie?”

I turned on the kitchen light and checked the LED display. It said the name and phone number were being withheld.

“Who is this?” I said.

“This is the guy who’s going to throw the fucking Jade Lily into the goddamn Mississippi River, asshole.”

“The only way you’re going to do that is if you chop a hole. The fucking river is frozen over, numb nuts.”

I should confess that I sometimes get cranky when I don’t have enough sleep.

“Is that what you want us to do?” the caller asked.

“You killed a cop last night. I don’t care what you do.”

“We did not kill that cop. We didn’t even know he was a cop until we read it in the newspaper.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.” His voice dropped a few octaves and he spoke slowly. “All we’re trying to do is make a buck, McKenzie. It would have been insane for us to shoot a cop. What reason would we have? He wasn’t interfering with the exchange. Hell, there wasn’t going to be an exchange. We just wanted to see if you would follow instructions, if you would come alone.”

“Is this your sincere voice?” I asked.

“Dammit, McKenzie, you’re the one who brought the fucking cop.”

“I didn’t, actually.”

“Then what was he doing there?”

I could have explained, but I didn’t really want to go into it.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What are we supposed to think now?”

“What am I supposed to think? The cop is dead and you claim you didn’t kill him. What about Patrick Tarpley? He’s dead, too.”

“We don’t know what happened to Pat,” the voice said. “He handed off the Lily just like clockwork. We were supposed to meet up later, after we were sure we were okay, before we made the call to the museum. He didn’t show. We thought he might have lost his nerve and gone on the run. We didn’t know he had been shot until Tuesday.”

“If you didn’t kill him, who did?”

“We don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We had no reason to kill Patrick.”

“You had plenty of reasons to kill Patrick.”

He paused, gave it some thought, sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Tell that to his wife.”

“It doesn’t matter to us. We’re still willing to make the exchange.”

“With a crazed killer on the loose? That’s brave.”

“Do you want the Jade Lily or not?”

I almost said “not.” I came
this
close.

“Talk to me,” I said.

“We’ll try one more time.”

“When?”

“When we’re ready.”

“I suggest you wait until after the blizzard.”

He paused again and said, “Get the money from the insurance company so that you’ll have it on hand—using the gym bags and dolly like you did at Loring Park is fine with us. Once we call, you will have exactly as much time as it takes to drive from your home to the exchange point plus five minutes. If you’re not there on time, we’ll call the whole thing off—fuck the Lily.”

“Will you be using MapQuest or Google Maps?” I asked.

“We asked for you, McKenzie, because we were told that you could be trusted. We weren’t told that you’re a smart-ass.”

“Who gave you my name?”

“Make sure the money is ready.”

“If you’re going to hold me to a timetable, you had better make sure the roads are plowed before you call.”

He hung up.

I did the same.

“Well, at least he didn’t threaten me,” I said.

*   *   *

The phone rang so quickly after I hung up that I thought maybe the artnappers actually had forgotten to threaten me and were calling back to rectify the situation. Instead, a young man’s voice said, “What the hell happened last night, McKenzie?”

Didn’t I just have this conversation?
my inner voice asked.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Jerry. Jerry Gillard.”

“Oh, Jerry.”

“Don’t be so glad to hear from me,” he said.

“Sorry ’bout that. I thought you were one of the bad guys.”

“I’ve always wanted to be one of the bad guys. I’ve just never had the proper motivation. I blame my sheltered upbringing. So, what’s going on?”

“What have you heard?”

“I spent some time with that Donatucci guy and the people at the museum—what a humorless crowd they are. Anyway, he said that very, very, very bad things happened at some park last night.”

“Very bad things,” I said.

“He said we still don’t have the Lily.”

“Not yet.”

“I’m going to be serious with you for a second, McKenzie. Can I be serious with you?”

I don’t know, can you?
I thought but didn’t say.

“Sure,” I told him.

“I want you to walk away. Fuck it, McKenzie. Three people are dead over this piece of crap. It’s a green rock. C’mon. Let the assholes keep it. I’ll take the damn insurance settlement. So what if I don’t get to sleep with Heavenly?”

“Okay, two things, Jerry. First, sleeping with Heavenly could be hazardous to your health. Second, I don’t think you understand how this works. Midwest Farmers Insurance Group does not have a policy with you. It has a policy with the City of Lakes Art Museum. I don’t know the specific language in your lending agreement, but I’m guessing the museum isn’t going to pay you until the insurance company pays them, and the insurance company isn’t going to pay the museum until it’s convinced the Jade Lily is lost forever. If a car is stolen, most insurance companies will settle within thirty days because they figure if the vehicle hasn’t been recovered by then, it never will be. The Jade Lily isn’t a Buick that might end up in a chop shop, though. Nor is it a diamond ring or emerald necklace that can be recut and cast into a new setting. It retains its value only as long as it remains intact. The artnappers are not going to damage it. That makes it recoverable. I promise you, both the insurance company and the museum will drag their feet on your claim for a long time while trying to get it back. Hell, Jer, there are organizations out there like the Art Loss Register that exist solely for the purpose of recovering stolen art and antiques. This is big business, man. If we don’t recover the Lily from the artnappers, it’ll be a year before you get your money, if not longer. In any case, you don’t get to decide whether we continue or not. Midwest Farmers is the one that writes the check. They get to decide.”

Gillard thought about it for a moment, and then he said, “Do you really think sleeping with Heavenly would be dangerous?”

“Jerry…”

“I hear you, I hear you, McKenzie. I just don’t want anyone else hurt over this.”

“I appreciate that, Jer.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going back to my Jacuzzi. I have a Jacuzzi in my hotel suite.”

“Good for you.”

“I was going out, but this snow—it reminds me of the lake-effect snow we get blowing off Lake Michigan.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling at home.”

“Screw that. I hate Chicago in the winter. Chicago is the best summer city in America. In the winter, no way.”

“People say the same thing about the Twin Cities.”

“Why do we live in these places, I wonder.”

“Just don’t know any better, I guess.”

*   *   *

Gillard promised that when all this was over he and I were going out and getting smashed—but in a good way. After he hung up, I called Mr. Donatucci. He did not like the idea of stashing $1,270,000 in my house and refused to allow it unless the money was protected by at least two security guards at all times. I gave him an argument, yet he refused to budge. Eventually I gave in. Donatucci said he would bring the money around tomorrow afternoon after the snow stopped and the streets were cleared. He was taking no chances, he said. I told him he was correct, I was the one taking all the chances. He didn’t seem to mind that at all.

*   *   *

By then it was seven thirty and I was thinking about dinner. I love to cook and often host dinner parties just so I’ll have an excuse to play Iron Chef in my kitchen. I had a great Chinese barbecue chicken recipe that used onions, red bell pepper, ginger, hoisin sauce, orange marmalade, tamari, green onions, and cashews—mmm mmm good. It seemed like an awful lot of work, though. That’s the problem—it’s no fun to cook just for yourself. I had decided to doctor a frozen pizza with sharp cheddar and pepperoni slices when I was startled by a heavy knock on my back door. I spun toward it, pulling the Beretta from its holster as I turned, cradling it in both hands. I moved sideways to the door, making myself as small a target as possible, and looked through the window. I saw the top of Nina’s hat—she wore this broad-brim wool chapeau with a couple of pheasant feathers that she found in a consignment shop—and I quickly retreated back into the kitchen, hiding the gun in my junk drawer where she wouldn’t find it.

“Nina,” I said when I finally opened the door.

She stepped inside and stamped her feet on the rug, knocking away the snow.

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” she said.

She had an overnight bag draped over her shoulder. I took that as a good sign.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and Nina said, “Five inches of snow have fallen already with no end in sight. Business is almost nonexistent, as you can imagine. I decided to close up and send everyone home.”

“Good for you,” I said.

I helped her with her coat—and her bag. She rubbed her hands together as if trying to warm them.

“What’s for dinner?” she asked.

“Chinese barbecue chicken with onions, red bell pepper, ginger, hoisin sauce, orange marmalade, tamari, green onions, and cashews.”

“How long will it take to make?”

“About a half hour.”

“Good.” Nina came into my arms and kissed me full on the mouth. “I’m going to be hungry later.”

TEN

I was sitting up in bed, my back against the headboard. Nina sat between my legs, her back resting against my chest. She was eating French toast sticks—my own recipe—that she dipped in a small bowl of warm maple syrup while I slowly and gently kissed my way from the point of her shoulder to the nape of her neck.

“Mmm,” she hummed.

I didn’t know if she was reacting to the touch of my lips or the food. It didn’t matter much. I was willing to accept either compliment.

The radio was on, and the man was going down a lengthy list of school and business closings. It was eight thirty, and the snow was just now starting to taper off. Fifteen inches had fallen in Apple Valley, a suburb south of the Cities, while eight inches had been recorded in Blaine, north of the Cities. I figured we had about ten inches in Falcon Heights.

“This is so good,” Nina said.

“We aim to please,” I told her.

By then I was nibbling on the back of her neck.

“This might be the best French toast I’ve ever had,” Nina said.

“Are you saying I’m a better cook than Monica?”

“No. On the other hand, your presentation is fantastic.”

She hummed again, and this time I was pretty sure she was reacting to what I was doing with my hands.

A moment later, she rolled off the mattress, placed the empty plate on my nightstand, and climbed back into bed. She sat facing me, straddling my thighs, and kissed me hard on the mouth. After a few minutes of that, her lips found my chin, my cheek, my neck and throat. It was my turn to moan softly.

“I love snow days,” I said.

*   *   *

Later, I was lying flat on my back in the bed. Nina had cuddled up next to me, resting her head against my chest. My arm was beneath her, my hand gently caressing her shoulder. My arm had gone numb long ago, but I didn’t dare move it.

“I need to get up,” she said.

“Why?”

“I have to get dressed; I have to go to Rickie’s.”

“Why?”

“Some of my staff probably won’t be able to make it in for a while. I should be there.”

“Snow day, Nina. Snow day.”