Three_Deception Love Murder

by K. J. McGillick

  He leaned back in his $5,000 suit, crossed his leg, and studied her while he stroked the right side of his lightly stubbled chin. “That, Emma, is truly tragic. I had no idea that your time with Jude had come to an end, he never spoke of any problems between you.”

  Come on, Emma. Cut him off.

  “Dmitri, I am not sure that Jude had realized my feelings. To be honest, it was the loss of my job that cemented in my mind that I was ready to move on. I wish I could help you as I can see where you are in a precarious position. But it is impossible for me to give you any more information,” she said. She picked at invisible lint as her eyes slowly moved around the room.

  “Let me ask you this if I might. Should Jude die before you dissolve your partnership, then you would inherit his estate according to your laws. You would determine what to do with his property. Is that correct?” he asked not taking his eyes from her.

  “What an odd question, Dmitri. To be honest, I have no idea what the inheritance laws are in Maine. It was Jude’s idea to initiate the domestic partnership. I have never considered the benefits or liabilities of it,” she said.

  “Inheriting a mortgage-free house and any bank accounts would help out your situation. Am I not correct?” he asked pointedly still holding her eyes.

  “Dmitri, I understand that you probably have known Jude longer than me and have a relationship with him. However, I am not comfortable discussing this with you. If you think it might be helpful to discuss the business issue with my lawyer, I will be happy to give her information to you.” Her thumb started playing with her ring, not a good sign.

  With that, he leaned forward and placed his coffee cup and saucer on the table. He stood to his full height, gazed around and then stated, “I am confident we can resolve this problem without the interference of lawyers, Emma. I admire the works of Van Gogh and Gauguin, and I see you have two paintings on your wall. Would you mind if I observe a little closer?”

  “Of course not. Help yourself.” As he turned his back to her, she flashed a quick look at the camera.

  He got so close to the paintings his nose almost touched it. “Although these appear to be originals I can still detect the odor of paint. Would you happen to know if Jude is in possession of the originals?”

  “No idea. He put those up several weeks ago, and I never pay attention to what goes up or down. He regularly rotates the canvases for variety, or perhaps until he sells them,” Emma responded as she walked toward him. “You think these are reproductions?”

  “Oh, most assuredly. There is still a very faint odor of paint. I know this Van Gogh well and it is not the feel of the original. There is something in the bottom corner brushstrokes that gives me pause, but I cannot put a word to it. Do you know if Jude has in his possession the originals?” he asked again, continuing to press.

  “I don’t know what he does with his business, but if he did, that would be crazy. The two paintings together would be worth over a quarter billion dollars. I can’t believe Jude could get his hands on that kind of money, so no, I don’t think he has them.” Now she was going rogue.

  “Thank you for taking the time to see me,” he extended his hand and held hers a little too long and a little too firmly.

  “I am truly sorry I cannot help you further. Let me show you to the door. If you change your mind about speaking to my lawyer, please call me. I want to do what I can to ease the way for you to finish your business,” she said as she moved to lead him to the door.

  “Thank you, Emma. Based upon your revelation I am formulating a new plan. One more question. Jude has indicated that he keeps paintings in a vault for safe keeping. Would you mind if I took a look?” he asked.

  “Dmitri, I don’t know of any such vault,” she said which was, of course, a lie. “Where do you think this vault is?”

  “He indicated it was somewhere on the property, but I see you are not able to help. Thank you, and if you should come across any canvases, please let me know,” he said. “You still have my card I trust?”

  “Yes, I do. And I had a thought. Surely you can make an insurance claim,” Emma offered now going completely off script.

  “For complicated reasons that would be impossible. Perchance Jude meant they were in his studio. Perhaps there is a vault in there. Do you know if anyone has had access to it recently?” Standing stone still he watched for her eyes to dart or her breath to increase.

  “Same answer as before, Dmitri.” She smiled and led him to the door.

  As I waited for her return, I called Thad giving him an update that Roselov was sniffing around for the two paintings and asked him to beef up security. Perhaps I was overreacting, but we needed to cover everything, the conversation had taken a turn I had not expected.

  “You realize that man scares the shit out of me. His exotic good looks do nothing to hide his sinister nature. He makes the hair on my arms stand straight up,” Emma said coming into the room rubbing her arms with her hands.

  “Em, he is one fine-looking man, but those eyes of his are like artificial intelligence—always aware, and dead at the same time. I’ll pass on any follow-up of that guy,” Eloise proclaimed.

  “Emma, I’ve talked with my boss and Jackson has spoken with his. We are coordinating a plan. We are going to take this man down. I promise.” Promise? Why promise? Much like his nickname, Dym, he always was smoke, and you can’t bottle smoke.

  As I was about to take Lucy out back for a run, the bell rang again. Lucy turned and charged toward the door with me on her tail.

  What have we here? Roselov back for another round.

  Seeing his surprise through the glass door gave me the upper hand here. The element of surprise is always good. He would be off balance and not rehearsed. I opened the door and did not invite him in immediately. Instead, I stepped out to the front porch to take control of the meeting. He extended his hand in greeting as he assessed me.

  “How do you do? I am Dmitri Roselov and I was just visiting with Emma.”

  I took his offer of greeting, acknowledged him and returned his stare.

  “Yes, a pleasure to meet you. I am Cillian O’Reilly I work with Emma at the university, and we were completing lesson plans. Come in.”

  As we walked down the hall I announced, “Emma, Mr. Roselov has returned.” To contain the conversation, I invited him into the kitchen and announced, “We were getting ready to prepare an early lunch, would you care to join us?”

  “Thank you, but no. I wanted to ask Emma if I needed to have legal papers delivered to Jude if she would take legal custody of the papers?” he asked.

  “Dmitri, as I said I do not plan to be living here much longer. My plan to dissolve my legal partnership with Jude remains the same with or without him here. With that in mind, it would be inappropriate for me to agree to such,” she replied as she leaned back against the counter to keep her distance.

  Jackson walked in from the dining room and interjected, “Hold on, Emma. Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard the conversation. What harm would it be to accept the papers? You can leave them for Jude on the kitchen table for when he returns along with your papers. Two birds with one stone.” He walked right into Dmitri’s personal space. With a goofy smile he said, “Sure, she can do that, don’t be such a stick up the ass, Em, help the guy out.”

  I had no idea where he was running with this, but he must have a plan, so I agreed with him. Emma followed our lead. She agreed and asked when to expect the papers. He said tomorrow the papers would be delivered by courier. The meeting concluded, I walked him to the door, and we both shook hands a little too firmly and a bit too long.

  “Your name again?” he asked.

  “Cillian O’Reilly, Adjunct Professor at Maine with Emma.” Now I was sure he would be checking up, and after he searched and our covers were still intact he should move along.

  Walking back to the kitchen I heard Jackson and Emma arguing loudly.

  I clapped my hands to get their attention. I finally had to resort to
the use of the finger whistle to get their attention. “What the hell is everyone yelling about?”

  “What is wrong with him? I don’t want those papers to be my responsibility,” she yelled waving her arms around in a circle.

  “Wait. Before we even go there, we need to talk about the painting. Does he have a point about the odor of the canvas, Em? When you and Aunt Mary took it down from the wall do you remember it smelling like new paint?” I asked.

  Looking off for a minute she responded, “No, and I was up close and personal. So what? Do you think someone came in here and switched the paintings? The day after Detective Chavez said something, I took them down and examined the back. I also took pictures of the stamps. I didn’t take close-ups of the front, only the stamps on the back and back canvas. The next time anything was brought up about them was during the search warrant day. I don’t know if Jude could have somehow broken in and switched them out, the cameras didn’t come until later. If Roselov is looking for the originals, good luck to him. Why don’t you go check to smell if there is a faint odor of paint? The last time there wasn’t any, I am positive. Now, what about my question? Why do I have to accept these papers? I don’t want more people snooping around the property.”

  “Jackson, what is the thought process on this?” I asked because I was baffled too.

  “I’m spitballing here, but don’t we want a little more information about this operation? Let’s see what’s in the papers. What can it hurt?” he said. Apparently, Jackson saw an angle I didn’t because I could see no benefit from Emma having more contact with Roselov.

  “What if he’s sending me a letter bomb? I just want to move the hell out of here and forget the name Jude White.” She sat clutching her arms in front of her on the verge of tears. Eloise comforted her but remained quiet. That was not a good sign because the wheels were turning on Eloise’s end after hearing letter bomb.

  “Emma, we are getting close. Everyone is scurrying, go with us on this. If we are no closer to an end of this in two weeks, then we will pull the plug, and you can move. Deal?” Jackson put forth.

  “Okay, but you and Cillian are living with me here until then. That man is like ice,” she said rubbing her arms sharply.

  “We got this, Emma,” Jackson said.

  Truthfully, I wasn’t so sure.

  As I was about to suggest we sit for lunch, a text pinged. It was from Thad. A photo popped up of the missing guy from Customs we were watching. He and his family were tied to chairs, apparently beaten to death. Underneath were the words: you and Dr. Collier, American Airlines, Paris, nine thirty, itineraries to follow.

  “Emma, pack your bags. We are heading to Paris on a nine thirty flight tonight. A Matisse which Diana painted showed up at the auction house, and we are going to follow it,” I said.

  She looked at me dumbfounded then shrugged.

  Emma

  PARIS. LIGHTS. CAMERA. ACTION.

  I didn’t want to dampen everybody’s enthusiasm for this trip, but sadness and confusion cloaked my heart. On the one hand, I wanted to hunt Jude down myself and rip his heart out. On the other hand, I wanted him to explain why he targeted me? Why make me fall in love with a ghost.

  A quick call to Aunt Mary to tell her I couldn’t pick her up and the reason helped me put things in perspective. She grounded me and helped me to focus on my future. She reminded me to look at this as a clean slate and a fresh start, not reflective of my past. It was hard to make her understand. Instead of opening to the hope and the prospect of a new love, I stayed trapped in a cavern of anger with no torch lighting the way out until I had answers. Jude’s betrayal was ever present in my thoughts. Jude’s deception lived in my heart and mind. Trust would never come easy again.

  Muddled thoughts prevailed. How should I deal with the real grief I felt for a person I never knew or understood? How do I explain the overwhelming fear and gripping paralysis I harbored over finding a new job? Will I ever find enough peace in my heart to trust and love, or would I always be questioning someone’s motives? I stayed with Jude because it was easy and I had fallen into a comfortable state of denial.

  I should be excited to be on my way to Paris, a place I associated with good memories, but there was no joy associated with this trip. The plane landing was smooth, and the trip through Customs and Immigration went without incident. Last time I was here was pre-terror attacks, and everyone thought of Paris as the city of lights and love.

  Now here we were in the heart of Paris, a city rife with the fear of terrorism and violence. Guards with automatic weapons took up their positions at the Eiffel Tower, and heightened security was everywhere, even the Notre Dame. For all its beauty, for all its liberal ideology, for all its centrism of culture, Paris had changed, and terrorists had brought about this difference. People said you couldn’t feel the aftermath of the terror attacks, but I disagreed. I felt the city was less buzzed with excitement and enthusiasm. It felt just like New York where you mind your own business and keep on walking. Was it my imagination or were there fewer people sitting in the sidewalk cafes?

  My mind a blank, I stared out the dirty cab window as we made our way down the Champs Elysees, the site of a recent attack. I spied the Arc de Triomphe as we closed in on our hotel. It was impossible to believe that Jude was mixed up with a radical fraction group that supplied weapons to terrorists or funded wars. To what end? He never spoke with any care about political ideology, and I had no idea if he was a democrat or republican, independent, or libertarian. Religious ideology involvement was even more ludicrous. Worse yet, he lived a whole shadow life involving the Russian Mafia that I had no idea existed.

  As I continued putting together scenarios of how this occurred under my nose, Cillian grabbed my hand and brushed it with his thumb. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  I turned my head to engage Cillian’s full attention. I needed him to give me the answers. I needed a motive, a reason. My question was, “Why?”

  “You have to give me more than that, and if I can I will spill the secrets of the universe.” He smiled.

  “Why purposefully set out to cheat people? Why target me? I’m a nobody. Why turn my life upside down? Why use the money for what he did? I am a mess. I walked into this relationship and could have walked out, but I stayed. This is my fault as much as his.” Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let my mascara coat my face like a raccoon.

  His eyes darted to the dark-skinned cab driver who spoke only minimal broken English and let out a long breath. “Let’s talk about this when we get to the hotel. I don’t have answers that will put your mind to rest. In fact, every time we learn one answer it leads to another question. At least talking it out might make you feel better. Yeah?” he said. But no, nothing would make me feel better because there were no answers that would satisfy my misery. I was trapped in that limbo of wanting to be happy and unable to even try. Was it depression, jet lag, or was I just being morose and dramatic? All were up for grabs at this point.

  Five minutes later, we pulled up in front of our hotel which did not boast old world grandeur or romance. At least it was within walking distance to the auction house, that was a plus. But right now, I wanted to put a negative spin on everything. If I was miserable, everyone else should be too. The cab driver hastily placed our bags on the curb and sped away from his double-parked space without a look back or wave goodbye. We checked into the small hotel with twenty rooms and entered the elevator that could accommodate three people. Charm only went so far and quaint even less.

  We rolled our suitcases across the thinly carpeted floor, and after two left-hand turns down the narrow hall, we came to our adjoining rooms. I struggled with my card that refused to blink from red to green and with a magic touch Cillian helped me gain entrance. He placed my luggage on the luggage stand as we surveyed the room. My tidy room had the basics: bed, one desk, two nightstands, and a TV. The economic suite also had a bathroom with a tiny shower, sink, and toilet. The room was utilitarian, nothing m
ore. My window looked out upon someone’s roof and pipes. Perfect, just perfect. Last time in Paris, Aunt Mary and I had a great view of the Eiffel Tower as it blinked its sparkly lights every hour. Now that was magical. That was pre-Jude.

  “If you give me about a half hour to clean up and change, I will come knock on your door and we can go find a nice cafe to talk. How does that sound?” he asked.

  Exhaustion sometimes led me to impulsive behavior, and the result was always unknown. I turned to Cillian and snaked my arms around his waist and pulled him in for a tight hug. Nestling my head against his chest where I could hear the steady beat of his heart settled me. He reciprocated and tightened his hold while rubbing my back. He placed a kiss on my head. For the first time in years, I felt safe, and I could trust this person with my fears.

  I slowly pulled away, looked into his blue eyes and said, “That sounds excellent.”

  “Give me a minute, and I will open my side, and we can leave the doors ajar. This way you will have privacy, but still feel safe and connected. Will that work for you?” he asked.

  “Yes, that will work.” I grinned. “Cillian, we met under some odd circumstances, but I would never trade what we have built together for anything. I’m not sure where we are going, but I need you to know I treasure and value you.”

  There was nothing sweet or innocent about the way his lips crashed down on mine nor the way I reciprocated. There was nothing sweet or innocent about the way our tongues explored each other’s mouths in a heated frenzy. And nothing sweet or innocent about the way his hands raked through my hair as he held my head in place.

  He broke away and looked at me. “I think you can tell how I feel. If I let loose on my passion I have a feeling leaving this room will not be an option,” he said and held me tightly.