Michelangelo's Ghost

by Gigi Pandian

  I gave Tamarind a quick rundown of the importance of Lazzaro Allegri’s Renaissance-style paintings of Indian royalty.

  Tamarind crossed her arms, drummed her black-lacquered nails on her biceps, and surveyed my office. “Why didn’t the burglar actually burglarize anything? These sketchbooks must be worth a small fortune.”

  “But the paintings are worth a big one. The burglar probably photographed the pages.”

  “Why not take the notebooks and the paintings you think they lead to?”

  “Presumably they didn’t want me to notice anything had been moved.”

  “Hmm,” Tamarind said. “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I paced the narrow office, wishing I could call Lane and tell him what was going on. But I knew he’d try to talk me out of going to Italy. That was especially clear after the conversation we’d had that morning. He could be stupidly noble, like his namesake. Was this how things were destined to be? Lying to protect each other?

  My relationship with Lane wasn’t easy to explain even to myself, because how do you have a proper relationship with someone who’s a phantom? My soul was wrenched from me whenever he left. Not because I wasn’t content on my own, but because I didn’t know when—or if—we’d see each other again. This was no way to live.

  Tamarind’s reappearance startled me from my thoughts. I hated that I couldn’t take her into my confidence about Lane. Besides Sanjay, she was my closest friend in San Francisco.

  Tamarind’s bright blue hair framed a scowling face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.

  “I suppose I have. The ghost of adventures past.”

  Tamarind opened her pierced lips wide. “You’re not actually serious, are you? A ghost? I knew there must be a reason your office is always so cold!”

  I pointed up at the air vent. “I can’t control the AC. That’s why I always keep a sweater in the desk drawer. No ghost. I was speaking figuratively.”

  “Oh.” Tamarind pouted.

  “Where did you disappear to?”

  “I thought there might be security cameras in your building like there are at the library. No such luck.”

  “I wish I knew how to tell if a lock had been jimmied,” I said.

  “Look at you with burglar lingo. But what would that tell you? You’re already sure someone looked through your stuff.”

  “I’m sure. Well, 99 percent sure. I wouldn’t mind some proof.”

  Tamarind grinned and cracked her knuckles. “Stand aside, Jaya.” She crouched in front of the file cabinet, cocked her head, and squinted her kohl-lined eyes.

  I started to speak, but she held up a finger to shush me.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Just as I suspected.”

  “You can tell someone forced the lock?”

  “No. I suspected I had no idea how to tell if a lock had been forced open, and now my suspicions are confirmed.”

  I sighed. “What if we use my magnifying glass?”

  She shook her head. “What’s that going to tell us? Only that it’s not a virgin lock, which we already knew.”

  A familiar voice floated down the hallway. I poked my head out the door and saw Naveen Krishnan walking with a student to his office a few doors down from mine. I shut my door and leaned against it.

  “Naveen,” I said. “He wouldn’t think twice about looking through something I’d locked up.” Naveen and I had been hired in the history department two years ago, and we weren’t sure that both of us would get tenure. Our approaches and specialties were different, but we could both teach intro world history, Asian history, and Indian history courses. If you’d asked me about Naveen last year, I’d have dismissed him as an unprincipled climber. But he’d been the one to save me in an uncomfortable situation that would have cost me my teaching position.

  “I thought you two were friends now.”

  “Not quite. No. I think he helped clear my name because he truly believed it was wrong to beat me in such an unfair way.”

  “Like a twisted moral code,” Tamarind offered.

  “Naveen has his own moral code, for sure. But now I’m wondering if he wanted me around for another reason: to steal my research.”

  “You think he’s that Machiavellian?”

  “He’s certainly smart enough to think through a long-game plan like that. And he knew a once-distinguished professor wanted urgently to meet with me to talk about important research.” I shook my head and gripped the edge of the desk, shaking the menagerie of miniature sculptures. “But I can’t see him killing Lilith.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t seem like his style.” Tamarind shrugged. Much less of a reaction from her than I expected.

  “You’re more freaked out by the idea of a ghost than a murderer?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t sound like a murder, Jaya. She had an addiction. I know too many people who’ve struggled with that and lost. And she was obsessed with this research. Of course she’d ramble about it while dying.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “I didn’t say that. But be realistic. Naveen is a snoop. Not a killer. This office break-in has to be his doing. He belongs here on this floor, so he can hang out outside your office without anyone noticing anything is up.”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “You want me to scare some sense into Naveen?” Tamarind flexed her not-unimpressive biceps, visible under the sheer swerves of the wispy black blouse she was wearing over a black bustier.

  “You didn’t let me finish. It’s a good point, but it’s wrong. You didn’t hear Lilith on the phone. Someone did this to her.”

  The words hung in the air for a few moments before my phone buzzed.

  “Why is there a picture of Hrithik Roshan blinking on your phone?” Tamarind asked.

  “That’s not Hrithik Roshan. That’s my brother.”

  “Shut. Up,” Tamarind said. “That’s your brother?”

  Mahilan had darker skin than the Bollywood movie star Tamarind had mistaken him for, but she wasn’t wrong about his movie-star good looks. He knew he was gorgeous, and although he used it to his advantage, my older brother hadn’t let it go to his head. Well, not completely. He was a lawyer, and at thirty-three, he was a partner at a law firm in Los Angeles. He was a commanding and charismatic figure, so although I’d never seen him in court, I had no doubt he was as successful as his suits suggested. Some people have accused Mahilan of being a playboy or a player, but the simple truth was that he had always fallen in love easily.

  “Hi, Fish,” I said, picking up the call. I was about to tell him I couldn’t make it to dinner, but he sounded so excited I couldn’t refuse. “You have a time and place for me to meet you?” I said instead. I scribbled down what he told me.

  “Fish?” Tamarind asked after I hung up the phone. “You call that gorgeous creature Fish?”

  “First, that’s my brother we’re talking about.”

  “Point taken. But Fish?”

  “I used to abbreviate his name Mahilan to Mahi. He hated it, so I doubled it. Mahi Mahi. Like the fish.”

  “Cute. Just like your brother.”

  I stopped by my apartment to freshen up before dinner and give myself a few minutes to think clearly in the security of my sanctuary.

  I unlocked the apartment door and saw that true to his word, Lane had cleaned the kitchen, including throwing out the moldy items in the fridge and restocking it with snacks I could eat without lighting a burner. He hadn’t touched the piles of research I’d left strewn about. He knew the way my mind worked and how I liked to have my notes spread out.

  The kitchen table was now free from dirty dishes, but something had been added. A three-inch intricately carved figurine of a raven. It was immediately apparent that this wasn’t a trinket like the gifts in my office. This was an original carving, made
of marble. The bottom had the signature of an artist. The raven sat on top of an unsigned note in Lane’s handwriting.

  The Raven of Lisbon, to watch over you while I can’t.

  A quick search for the significance of the Raven of Lisbon told me why he’d picked out this particular piece. Legend held that ravens had fiercely protected the remains of a saint on his way home to Lisbon. The raven was now the symbol of the city. They symbolized protection on a journey.

  Damn him. Just when I thought I’d made up my mind and was ready to end things, Lane had to go and do the most thoughtful thing.

  Chapter 12

  It felt more surreal than a Salvador Dalí painting that Lilith Vine had died like this. The woman who wanted me to be her protégé. Deluded, scattered, alcoholic. But at the same time, she was brilliant, passionate, and genuine.

  Lilith hadn’t wanted me to talk to the professor she felt had been part of my betrayal, but now that she was gone, my old advisor Stefano Gopal was my best hope for finishing what Lilith had started. I sent him an email asking for help, trying to stress the importance of my request while not seeming crazy. I don’t know what compelled me to make the suggestion I did, or if I pulled off not sounding foolish, but before I could censor myself, I hit send.

  I drove to the Cliff House to meet Mahilan and Ava for dinner. My brother had picked out the tried and true San Francisco institution. It was awful timing, but life doesn’t wait for convenient moments. I doubted Mahilan would still be dating Ava in a month, but it was important to him that I meet her, so I went.

  The sky was hazy. Wind must have pushed the smoke from the nearby forest fires across the Golden Gate. Though it wasn’t yet the official fire season, the California drought had brought fires early this year.

  Stepping into the restaurant’s bar, I spotted my brother immediately. And despite the fact I hadn’t even seen a picture of her, I also spotted Ava.

  My brother had a type: powerful women. Some of them were whip-smart and gregarious, some pushy and assertive, and some calmly commanding. But none of the few I’d met had been completely unreadable. Ava was different. I couldn’t tell if she was upset that I’d ruined what she was hoping would be a romantic dinner alone with my brother, or if her personality was always frosty.

  “I’m glad you could join us for dinner,” she said as she gave me a crushing handshake that left me feeling like I was being embraced by a clamp of icicles. “I’m so sorry to hear your friend is in the hospital. I hope she’s okay.” In her high heels, Ava was over six feet tall. Even though I only reached five feet in socks, I didn’t normally feel like people were looking down their noses at me. Ava was the exception.

  “Let’s not talk about her tonight,” I said, standing up straighter in my quite inadequate three-inch heels.

  “Jaya loves being mysterious,” Mahilan said.

  Ava appraised me as I appraised her. I couldn’t place her accent. It was almost American, but her inflections suggested she was European. Probably well-educated and well-traveled, which explained Mahilan’s attraction. Not to mention the fact that her stylish pixie-cut black hair framed a face that could have adorned fashion magazines. Mahilan had told me she was close to his age, in her mid-thirties, and had a thirteen-year-old son who was in boarding school because Ava traveled so much for work.

  “I don’t mean to be mysterious,” I said. “I simply didn’t want to be a downer this evening. She passed away at the hospital.”

  “JJ.” Mahilan gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I hadn’t seen her in years until this week, then memories came back to me when I saw her. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” More than memories, a double-sided fear that would completely ruin dinner if I explained it. Fear over a murderer nobody believed was real. And even if I were wrong about that—which I wasn’t—I was gripped with a more personal fear: Was I becoming Lilith Vine? As much as I wanted the stability of academia, I craved the rush of finding lost knowledge, wherever it took me.

  A hostess led us to a table with a view of the ocean. We spent the next few minutes appreciating the dramatic vista while we looked over the menu. By telling them Lilith had died, even though I hadn’t shared my suspicion of murder, I feared I’d spoiled dinner before it began.

  Ava eyed my red messenger bag, which I supposed was a faux pas at an upscale restaurant. Especially since it was even bulkier than usual. Carefully tucked inside were Lazzaro Allegri’s three sketchbooks. There was no way those were leaving my sight. I tucked the bag under the table and wound the strap around my ankle.

  I’d missed lunch, so I was ravenous. I felt like a clod shoveling food into my mouth next to the graceful Ava.

  “You going to see Dad while you’re up here?” I asked.

  Mahilan shook his head. “He’s staying with a friend on a commune in the middle of nowhere this month. Teaching sitar to the retreat attendees in exchange for room and board and yoga classes. Typical.” He sighed, looking like a disappointed father rather than the other way around. “So what’s the deal with this India-Italy Renaissance connection?”

  I gave a start. I’d forgotten I’d mentioned Lazzaro Allegri when we spoke, before I realized Lilith had been murdered. I was glad he brought up Italy though, because talking about the Renaissance ended up giving us something to discuss during what otherwise would have been an awkward dinner. Everyone loves Italy, so we all had something to add.

  “A Renaissance painter who spent some time in Italy may have painted portraits of an Indian court,” I explained, “which would be a connection nobody’s seen before.”

  “The Renaissance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Ava said.

  Mahilan set his fork down. “You’re joking.”

  “They were simply ‘rediscovering’ classical work. And treating it like it was the center of the universe. Zen monasteries in Japan were doing a lot more radical painting at the time. I don’t know much about Indian art, but I bet they were having their own Renaissance that never got a catchy name.”

  “Renaissance artists raised their stature from that of laborers to real craftsmen,” Mahilan said. “And the art, it speaks for itself.”

  “Wasn’t a lot of their art financed by the Mafia?” I asked.

  “The Medici weren’t exactly Mafia,” Mahilan said.

  “Don’t forget the corrupt popes,” Ava added. She was growing on me already.

  “Enough about art,” Mahilan said. “Italy has some terrific ghost stories too.”

  Ava laughed. “I was certain you were going to say wine. That’s why we were talking about going on a real vacation there.”

  “That too.” Mahilan grinned and took a sip of his wine. “I remember the stories more though, because Italians are both dramatic and superstitious. A great combination for producing memorable ghost stories.”

  As the sun sank beneath the horizon and we ate bountiful plates of seafood, Mahilan told us two ghost stories—neither of which he remembered the ending to.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Ava said after the waiter cleared our plates. “It’s time for me to call Carey. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Will you order me a coffee?” She ran her hands across Mahilan’s shoulders as she left the table.

  With a mischievous smile on his face, Mahilan watched her walk away, then leaned over to me. “You do remember why I know so much about Italy and the Renaissance, don’t you?”

  “How could I forget? You said Renaissance art history classes were a fantastic way to meet women.”

  “You don’t forget anything, do you, JJ?”

  “So who’s Carey?”

  “Her son. She calls him every night at the time when he’s waking up in the morning in Switzerland. She sends him a care package nearly every day. Or at the very least, a postcard. That way he knows how much she loves him, even though she can’t be there with him. She wishes she didn�
�t have to be apart from him, but as a single mom she has to make a good living, and her job working with multinational corporations has her on the road a lot.”

  I revised my initial impression of Ava. “She was standoffish because I invaded what was supposed to be a rare romantic dinner for the two of you, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I really wanted to spend time with you, and have you meet Ava.”

  “She’s Swiss?”

  “Oh, you mean because her son is in boarding school there? No, she’s a mutt, like us.” Mahilan grinned. “It’s one of the reasons we hit it off so well. She’s half Basque and half Japanese. She grew up in Spain before going to school in England and the U.S. We all have a lot in common. I know you two are going to be great friends.”

  “Way to put the pressure on, Fish.”

  Mahilan caught the waiter’s eye and ordered Ava’s requested coffee, along with a dessert she hadn’t.

  Mahilan squeezed Ava’s hand as she sat back down. He had a look on his face that reminded me of how happy he’d been when he’d started a dog-walking business in middle school. Mahilan had always loved animals, but our father wouldn’t let us have pets. Though my brother was a ruthless lawyer in court and a powerful man in life in general, when he spent time with animals he melted. Just like he was melting in the presence of Ava.

  Ava caught me looking between the two of them and smiled. “So,” she said, extricating her hands from Mahilan’s and resting her elbows on the edge of the table. “Is there a man in your life, Jaya?”

  “No, I’ve only been in San Francisco for—”

  “It’s been nearly two years, Jaya,” Mahilan cut in with a straight face. “Haven’t you led Sanjay on for long enough? It’s obvious you two love each other.”

  “Of course we love each other,” I said. “He’s my best friend. We wouldn’t be very good best friends if we didn’t love each other.” I felt heat rising in my cheeks and hoped I wasn’t visibly blushing. Ava watched me with amused interest, and it looked like she was going to say something, but I was saved by the waiter delivering our coffees and a chocolate torte with three spoons.