The Common Thread

by Jaime Maddox

  So, his trip downtown had been for naught. And he wasn’t happy. First of all, he still didn’t have a suspect behind bars. And second, unless he found Katie before the killer did, he’d have another murder to solve.

  Phil picked up his pen and applied it to the statement Nicole Coussart had signed, leaving his own signature below hers. Then he picked up the copy of Nicole’s driver’s license and studied it again. She certainly did resemble Katie. Then he noted with amusement that the doctor’s thirtieth birthday was the next day. He was surprised she hadn’t threatened to sue him for ruining her birthday festivities.

  He opened the file on the Wallace murder, ready to put the information on Nicole into the back, in the section where the irreverent paperwork was filed. When he did, Katie Finan’s profile slipped out. He picked it up and shook his head at the similarities between the two women. Even though the much-younger woman had pink hair and a nose ring, it was easy to understand how the patrolmen had confused them and accidentally hauled in the doctor.

  He glanced at the information on Katie Finan, taking it in, wondering what his next move would be, and saw something that made him stop. He reread the information to be sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him and then pulled the copy of Nicole’s driver’s license to recheck it.

  “Whoa!” he whispered as he read the information below Katie’s picture for the third time. She was also twenty-nine years old. And, like Nicole Coussart, she would turn thirty the next day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Art

  Nic’s presentation, and the subsequent minutes of the afternoon that followed (one hundred and sixty-five of them, at last count), had flown quickly by as Nic allowed herself the secret pleasure of daydreaming about her afternoon plans. Attempting to concentrate on conference topics had been futile as her thoughts wandered back to Rae, and so she’d left the conference early and headed home.

  During the ride back to her apartment after her encounter at the police station, Rae had suggested that they spend a few hours before dinner at the Barnes. Nic was so excited about the prospect, and about seeing Rae again, she wasn’t sure how she was able to focus on her presentation. She had though, and done well, but as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she bolted.

  This was the birthday present she’d asked of Louis, the one thing she’d really wanted to do. How could she refuse the invitation? At the same time, it felt strange to be going to the Barnes with Rae, whom she barely knew. Stranger still to be looking forward to it. A bit of mystery lingered, too. The tickets had to be acquired well in advance, yet somehow Rae had managed to find a pair.

  She told herself she was repaying a kindness, doing a favor for Louis’s neighbor, who because of the abrasive nature of her personality most assuredly suffered from the lack of friendly companionship. And during the first moments after Nic’s presentation, when she’d finished accepting the back pats and congratulations of friends and strangers, she believed that. As the minutes passed, though, she found herself thinking not so much of a particular Renoir she wished to see and more about what she would be wearing when she saw it.

  Nic could easily have dismissed this thought as meaningless because she usually paid considerable attention to her appearance, applying gallons of toxic products to keep her hair perky and shiny, and spending a small fortune on her wardrobe. She would expertly apply her makeup, and then add the necessary pieces of jewelry to complement her outfit, without crossing the line into obnoxious. If she’d been going to the Barnes with Louis, as she’d planned and hoped, she would have devoted an equal allotment of time to the task. No, that wasn’t unusual.

  When she began wondering what Rae would wear, though, Nic had to face the fact that there was more to her mood, and to the lightness in her step, than a simple trip to an art museum. She was looking forward to seeing Rae.

  Was she schizophrenic or what? The night before she’d thought slow torture too good a punishment for her, and she hadn’t even been accused of any crime other than stealing Louis’s attention. In her fury, Nic had been able to amass a half-dozen other charges, all of them equally offensive. The evening before, she’d have been happy to never see Rae again, and she was sure Rae’s feelings didn’t differ significantly from her own. Yet with the sunshine of a new day, and the peculiar situation in which Nic found herself, Rae was able to come to the rescue, revealing a new and much more appealing side that Nic couldn’t so easily discount. Last night, the posturing and opinions had been overwhelming; this morning they’d been comforting and reassuring. Even though she’d never needed protection in her uneventful upper-class existence, Nic suddenly found the idea of a strong protector erotically appealing.

  Even if said protector was on the bottom of the growth chart.

  She was usually so decisive. What the hell was wrong with her? Her first impressions usually stuck—and even if she found out later that she’d been wrong, she had no reason to apologize or make amends. She’d simply move on. Not this time, though. Now, she was ready to forget the entire list of Rae’s crimes and start over.

  This, because the woman looked sexy as hell in a suit? Maybe she should consult the medical textbooks again. Perhaps medication would be helpful for her, after all.

  Slipping her earring back through the dangling gold post in her ear, Nic hurried to the door as she heard the much anticipated bell ring. She was finally ready. As she passed the mirror she noted with approval the image that greeted her and smiled at herself as she raced by. She’d skipped out of the conference early for this trip, and she still found herself rushing. She’d showered, changed her outfit twice, and reapplied her makeup, all without cause, because she’d looked perfectly great before. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said aloud as she reached for the door, then stopped with her hand on the knob.

  Ready for what? How would she label this time with Rae? It was one thing to spend time with her, but did she want to call it a date? And what would Rae have to say about it? While she knew the evening before had been intended to put the two of them together in one of Louis’s lab beakers, to see if a chemical reaction resulted, the mixture had caused a messy explosion. Rae might not want anything to do with her. This afternoon at the museum with dinner to follow could simply be an attempt at friendship, nothing more.

  She frowned. Not only was she confused about what she wanted from this trip to the museum, she was frustrated by the knowledge that it might be Rae’s call to make, not hers.

  Nic opened the door to the woman of the hour and couldn’t help appreciating the sight. Rae, too, had changed clothes, and this was the best look of the three Nic had seen so far. She didn’t like the tough girl she’d met the night before, and although the lawyer in the suit she’d met earlier in the day was quite attractive, this casual Rae was outstanding. A bright-purple button-up over a black T-shirt was tucked into knee-length black pants. On her feet was a pair of funky black leather shoes, a hybrid between sneakers and loafers. “You look great!” she said before she realized her thoughts had morphed into words.

  Rae’s smile, and the twinkle in her black eyes, made Nic forget the slip of her tongue. She modestly appraised Nic, who wore a miniskirt and lightweight sweater, and returned the compliment.

  “Our tickets are for three to three thirty, so we should make it with a few minutes to spare,” Rae commented as they rode the elevator down to the lobby. They debated a taxi, but because they weren’t completely sure of their dinner plans, Rae agreed to drive. Nic didn’t mind conceding that control. She despised driving in the city.

  As they left her apartment together, Nic couldn’t hold back her smile and felt idiotic as she grinned broadly. But art was her first love, and if she hadn’t grown up in a household with two doctors who talked shop nonstop, she’d have chosen a much less practical but satisfying career in art. She lacked the talent to make a living by painting, but she would have loved to do art restoration. Repairing damaged masterpieces at a large museum like the Barnes would qualify as her dream job.
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  She’d been to the Barnes before, as a medical student, when it was housed in the suburbs in the mansion built for the doctor’s sizable collection. The new museum reproduced the rooms and displays Dr. Barnes had so painstakingly arranged, and she found that in itself amazing. Not to mention the Picassos, Cezannes, Renoirs, and van Goghs. That she was having this experience because of the woman she’d wanted to kill just a day before was equally amazing.

  “How’d your presentation go?” Rae inquired politely as they awaited the elevator.

  Nic’s pulse pounded. The presentation had gone remarkably well. The audience was attentive, asked questions, and seemed intrigued. She was certain she’d be asked to speak again. “Really well, thanks,” she said, and smiled, meeting Rae’s dark eyes. She detected genuine interest there and was beginning to suspect that Rae took an interest in most things, and most people. They were polar opposites in that regard.

  “Is this something you do often?” Rae asked as they stepped into the wood paneled elevator. Rae pressed the button on the wall and directed it to the parking garage.

  “It’s sort of standard to present cases during residency. Not so much now, though.” She looked at Rae and realized that was precisely what she did for a living—present cases. “You do this every day, huh? Present your case?”

  “Not every day,” Rae said, smiling. “But enough.”

  “I guess it’s hard to function as an attorney if you’re shy, then, huh?”

  “It helps to have a little cocky in you.”

  Nic burst out laughing. “Then I imagine you’re fabulous at your job.” Actually, she’d been impressed with how Rae had handled the morning and told her so again.

  Rae shrugged off the praise. “It’s what I do.”

  “Well, thanks again. And in case I’m too awed to speak when we get there—thanks for the Barnes.” Their eyes again met and held for a moment, but before Rae could reply, the elevator door opened and they both averted their gaze. They exited and walked side by side in the direction Rae indicated.

  “You’re welcome,” Rae said after a moment. “I’m happy to have an art lover to share it with.”

  “Have you been here before?” Nic asked after a minute.

  They reached the car, an older-model Mercedes-Benz convertible, and Rae smiled slyly. “Yeah. I have a membership. That’s how I got the tickets.”

  “Oh. I thought Louis said you hated art.”

  Rae laughed as she started the car. “You must have me confused with someone else. Is it okay if I put the top down?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. And you like foreign films?”

  “Is this a quiz show?”

  “Yes. How many times have you been to the Barnes?”

  “How many times?” Rae seemed to ponder the question. “I can’t say. I usually go three or four times a week, just for an hour or so.”

  Nic’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “One of the benefits of living downtown.”

  “I guess I was busy working and sleeping when I lived here, because I didn’t seem to make it to a museum more than once a month.”

  They were stopped as Rae waited for traffic to pass, and she turned to Nic. “That’s really a shame.”

  Nic sank back in her seat, thinking. She was sure Louis had told her Rae hated art. Why would he lie? Unless—“Hey, Rae? Did Louis happen to make any suggestions to you about me?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she casually replied, and a glance in her direction showed no evidence of deceit. Rae looked relaxed and, well, stunning behind the wheel.

  “Did he suggest you wear cologne? Or state your opinion very firmly? Or talk very loudly?”

  Rae glanced at her, the furrowed brows showing her confusion. “He did mention that you like the aggressive, take-charge type. And cologne, too. Why?”

  Nic laughed and patted Rae’s leg. “I’m not sure what our boy’s up to, but he set us up to fail.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Yes. I don’t like to argue. And all scents trigger migraines, so I avoid them at all costs.”

  Rae frowned in thought. “I never would’ve thought Louis capable of such subterfuge. What’s that about?”

  Nic shook her head, baffled. “I have no idea. But last night he mentioned that you were too nice for me, so apparently he thinks we’re not well suited for each other. Maybe he was just trying to help us come to the same conclusion.”

  “Hmm. I wonder,” Rae said and then they were both silent.

  “Why don’t we start over, Rae? Would that be okay with you?”

  Rae grinned from ear to ear in response.

  “Do you know the whole story of the Barnes?”

  “You mean about the controversy over moving it downtown?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have a feeling you know more.”

  Rae roared. “I am a know-it-all sometimes. But I’m a great partner to have in all trivia games.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Tell me the whole story. About the Barnes.” As they drove, and then as they walked, Rae related what she knew about the hostile takeover of the Barnes collection. From the legal point of view of trust funds and donor intentions, it was quite fascinating.

  Dr. Barnes had amassed a fortune from his discovery of the treatment for gonorrhea, and used it to collect masterpieces of all kinds—paintings, statues, artifacts and more. He kept his treasures private, and upon his death a trust was set up to care for it. Barnes was eccentric, though, and his legacy was quite complicated by the terms of his will. He despised the way museums housed and displayed their works. He was a champion of the common man and wanted him, as well as poor students, to have access to these masterpieces. The Barnes Foundation, had it been financially stable, would have fulfilled all of the doctor’s dreams. Inflation caused financial problems, though, and over time, Barnes’s mission became harder to sustain. In an effort to protect and preserve forty billion dollars’ worth of art, lawsuits were filed to move the pieces to a modern site. Opponents of the move argued that it was Dr. Barnes’s right to have the art stay at his home in Lower Merion, even if staying there put the works at risk.

  As they sat on a bench outside the museum, waiting for their assigned entrance time, Rae finished the tale. “So, what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  Rae shrugged. “C’mon, Nic. We don’t have to argue, but can’t we discuss? Debate? Something tells me you’re not afraid to speak your mind, so pick a side. Were they right to move the Barnes downtown?”

  “It’s a difficult question to answer.” She closed her eyes, feeling the sunshine on her face, and enjoyed the simple pleasure of its warmth. It was true that she spoke her mind, typically, but that didn’t automatically translate into a desire to debate. In fact, the opposite was true. Debate required too much give-and-take, too much social energy. And she was having an absolutely wonderful time with Rae—why ruin it?

  “You sound like a politician.” Rae studied her, conscious of her own breath catching, of the slight elevation of her pulse rate as she studied Nic’s body—from the features of her face, softened by this relaxed pose, to the lines of her neck and the swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath.

  This was an erotic picture of a beautiful woman, as magnificent as anything painted on the canvases of the masters in the museum beyond the sidewalk. And this woman was alive, and vibrant, and destined to spend the next few hours with her.

  Rae wasn’t sure what had driven her impulse to ask Nic out today. Heaven knows it wasn’t the overwhelming success of their first meeting. If that were the only issue in play, Rae would have been quite content to never see Nic again. Nic’s behavior had been rude, and her arrogance had shone through the thin veil of social grace with which she’d attempted to conceal it. And if Nic had a sense of humor, she kept it well hidden.

  Yet, to Rae’s surprise and confusion, Nic appealed to her anyway. Nic was intelligent—that was evident
from both the degrees hanging on her walls and from the conversation they’d shared. She was a beauty, possessing all the physical features Rae found attractive—long dark hair and vibrant eyes and a trim figure. She even met the height requirement. She was a patron of the arts and well traveled. Mostly, though, Rae thought there just had to be more to Nicole Coussart than she’d been allowed to see the evening before. Birds of a feather, she told herself.

  Louis was one of the kindest, funniest, most genuine human beings she’d ever met. If she had any notion of attraction to the opposite sex—and she had exactly zero—Louis would have been the man for her. In fact, her parents, who held out hope that she would meet the right man one day, in spite of her gentle and persistent reminders otherwise, had suggested that very thing. That Rae marry Louis. This after they shared one dinner with him during a stop over in Philly en route to the beach.

  As if having a very successful and wonderful friendship with a man could somehow be translated into the kind of passion that resulted in a lifetime commitment. It could not, of course, and Rae was pleased to have him for a friend, for she didn’t have the same reservations about her sexuality that troubled her parents. Her attraction to girls had begun on the playground as a child and never wavered. It had only grown stronger as she began to understand it and embrace it. She never doubted that she wanted to make love with women, and only women, no matter how nice a friend she’d found in Louis.

  Because of him, though, she supposed, she held out hope that Nicole might be more than she’d revealed at first glance. And because of him she was willing to take a closer look. It was just not possible that Nicole, being Louis’s friend, could be that bad.

  “Not a politician. Just an art lover, and I’m thrilled at the chance to see one of the greatest exhibits of the masters the world has ever known.”