Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Me? You saw my face in the skull?" A wild realization suddenly swept over me. "Oh my god. I'm dead. I'm a ghost. This is the part in the story where the main character figures out they've been dead the whole time."

Desirae's brows scrunched. "I don't think it's that kind of story, Kirby." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she mumbled something in Igbo before looking back up at me. "Obviously, it can't be you. Or your face. So I'm mad at myself for letting you mess with my head. I don't do mess. I can't do mess. And you're..."

"I'm what?" I asked, slapping at my cheek. Definitely still alive, for one.

"Messy."

"I'm not that messy."

"You literally fucked a suspect just an hour ago."

"Miles?" I snorted. "You think Miles is a suspect?"

"Oh my god." Cora popped around the doorway, nearly startling me out of my skin. "Did you hear what happened? I've been freaking out since last night. Couldn't sleep a wink and now this? There are cops lining the whole block. They've indefinitely shut the museum down. They're not telling me anything. I think I have a right to know what's going on, right?" She stood with her hands on the hips of her high waisted slacks, a tight solid black sweater tucked into them, platinum silvery hair sleeked back in a tidy bun. The very opposite of mess. "How did you get in?"

Desirae took a deep breath and buried any sign of emotional turmoil. "The detective called me to take a look at a skull. I just came in here to grab a sketchbook."

Cora's face twisted with a grimace. "Tell me it's not another one of Artie's paintings?"

"We're not really sure," Desirae replied. "Actually, maybe you'd know. Did Artemisia ever paint anyone submerged?"

"Submerged? Well, yes..." As Cora looked from Desirae to me, confusion furrowed her slender brows. She crossed her arms against her black sweater. "Kirby modeled for her Ophelia pieces."

Her confident response threw me and I wasn't sure how to react. There was no way Artie could've painted a whole series from those reference photos we took in Favignana before she died. Especially without me seeing them. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to question my own memory. Enough that I didn't try to argue.

"We have a couple from the series here, but the police still have the collection room and the stage taped off." Cora swiped open her phone and began to scroll. "I have digital copies stored somewhere though."

"Email them to me if you get a chance," Desirae said, avoiding my eyes.

My silence only aided the strained distance between us. But I couldn't say anything in front of Cora. She wouldn't hesitate to run to Rafael and tell him I lied about being with Artie. If she knew where he was, of course.

"Cora, did Rafael leave with you last night?" I asked.

"Raf?" She seemed surprised I knew. "No, why would you think that?"

"He mentioned you were sorta seeing each other," I lied.

"Oh, well, not quite. But I lost him right before the police showed up. Landon disappeared with that new chick who runs the Deluca Gallery so I was stuck talking to the detectives til midnight. I was sick to my stomach after they told me what they found on stage. Poor Gabe, I couldn't believe it. And to think, Desirae, you were so close to figuring out who he was before all that. If you'd have let me see your sketches, I could've saved you the trouble."

"And you haven't heard from him?" I pressed.

"Gabe?"

"No, Rafael."