Three police cruisers lined the front of the museum blocking off the marble steps. Even more guarded the back street and alley near the stone wall of the courtyard. A million questions raced through my mind, none of which Desirae had answers for. I parked the truck as close as we could get and then motioned for her to go on ahead while I dug through the glovebox, using whatever I could find to freshen up.
The neighborhood was quiet, desolate, almost like they were holding their breath at the sight of the cop cars and forensics vans. I hurried along the heaved sidewalk to catch up. Yellow crime tape stretched across the open wrought iron gate along the back of the courtyard. Before Desirae could get close, a cop stopped her with his hand on his hip, fingers grazing the butt of his gun.
"Museum and gardens are closed."
"It's okay, Ferrante," a familiar guy's voice rang out. "She's with us." That douchebag Greg appeared around the courtyard's green hedge and lifted the tape. His clean-shaven babyface hardened to a scowl when he saw me. "Well, she is. Not her."
"Have you gotten an ID yet?" Desirae asked.
"No, that's why I called you here. To sketch up something quick for us to put out." His eyes shifted between us. "This goes beyond the scope of what we need her for."
"Des, it's okay."
"If it's another tableau vivant of Artemisia's paintings, Kirby may recognize who it is before I can even put pencil to paper."
The scowl didn't leave his face, but he reluctantly nodded us both through.
After ducking under the tape, Desirae tugged me off to the side. "Are you going to be okay seeing this?"
Which I took to mean, 'Please don't throw up in front of these people. Especially Greg.'
"Yeah, I'm good," I assured her, all while my stomach was in knots. At the same time, some kind of sinister curiosity stirred within me. I smoothed out the fabric of my dress to try and hide my nerves and any seeping intrigue as a crime scene worker hurried past, bumping my elbow with a glare. I mumbled out an apology, but she didn't stop to turn around. "I think I'm a bit overdressed for the occasion though."
With a hint of a smile, Desirae's eyes slid down over me. "Yeah, this spring's Saint Laurent doesn't exactly blend in with all the khakis and polos running around here." Her whisper slipped across my bare shoulder as she leaned in to touch my arm. "But you look good."
Her compliment barely had a chance to sink in before another worker hurried past us. My eyes reluctantly left hers, settling on the museum. "I hate to admit it, but Cora would know Artie's work better. I'm sure she's around."
"She's too close to Rafael."
"And I'm not?"
"Unless you're fucking him too?"
My face scrunched at the thought. "Gross."
"Not your type?"
"I mean, he's beautiful. Looks just like Artie. But he's like a brother to me. And I'm not really into dudes. Usually." I wasn't sure if she was actually asking about me or if she was searching for something deeper, like some flaw within Rafael. I wouldn't give it to her. "I prefer gorgeous, funny, physically strong, but emotionally unavailable women who will sell me out and sign my death certificate with a smile on their face."
And the smile on hers quickly faded. As she glanced towards the portico, her hand went to the chain of her necklace, but she stopped herself before her fingers found the wedding band. "Weird. I seem to have a thing for beautiful, awkwardly charming, opportunistic women—"
"Opportunistic?" I murmured.
"—who I know I shouldn't risk my career to protect, who I know I shouldn't trust, but for some unfathomable reason I do. A lot more than I should."
Her warm umber eyes held my gaze for that extra second and I could see she meant it.
"Ladies?" Greg's voice rang with condescending irritation. "Is there a problem?" Desirae pulled away from me and continued down the sidewalk to catch up to him.
"Just you, my dude." As I ignored the glare from Greg, I caught another from the cop along the tape. Ferrante. He was definitely one of Pino's guys and probably not the only one on the force. The Cassini's likely had people on the forensics team as well. Hugging my elbow to my side, I started to feel eyes all over me as we walked to the center of the courtyard.
"The museum's security guard," Greg began to say, "Kyle—"
"Carl," we both corrected in unison.
"Whatever. He found the body this afternoon."
I exchanged a brief glance with Desirae, remembering Carl had disappeared last night sometime before we found Gabriel.
"Where is Carl now?" Desirae asked.
"Talking to one of the detectives."
"Wasn't the museum closed after last night?" I butted in. "What was he doing here today?"
"His job?" he scoffed. "Some people actually care about art and keeping it safe from criminals like you."
"Well, a criminal like me knows he works the night shift. So you and the local boys in blue just let him poke around the crime scene while he was off-duty and he suddenly stumbles upon another one?"
Greg abruptly stopped and turned to me. "You know, you're awfully mouthy for someone whose fingerprints are all over this case." Desirae tried to hold him back, but he pushed past her and yanked me to the side. Stale coffee breath invaded my space as he whispered through a grin. "If I find out you're covering for your fucked up girlfriend again—or worse, I will personally put you away for good."
His spiked blonde hair didn't bend against the breeze, stiff and over-gelled like his personality. I didn't know what the hell I'd done to trigger this guy or why he thought Artie could have anything to do with this, but I was so over being threatened by straight white cis men. If he wanted to waste his time trying to take me down with my dead ex-girlfriend, so be it. Squeezing his shoulder, I gave him my best fake smile. "Good luck with that."
He swatted my hand away and adjusted his shoulders, beady eyes darting around the courtyard to make sure no one was looking. He huffed away to the group of navy polos up ahead.
Beneath a replica of the Venus de Milo, Desirae stood off to the side, arms folded around herself. "What did he say to you?"
"I uh, wasn't really listening. Too distracted by his 90s boy-band, frosted tips. Reminded me of a girl I dated back in high—"
"Kirby," Desirae sighed. "You don't want to fuck around with him."
"Right, I'll leave that to you," I muttered under my breath, but she definitely heard me.
"He's my boss."
I cringed with a shaky laugh. "Well, I hope you're getting what you need out of it. Promotion, maybe?"
"I'm here. On this case," she said quietly, but with full seriousness. "That's all that matters." Her tone softened as she stepped out of the shadows of the Venus. "I'm just saying, he'll make your life hell if you give him a reason to. He has the means. And he's done it before."
As much as I wanted to just shrug off his threats, Desirae was right. Guys like him always held all of the power. And despite how petty I was, I didn't want to jeopardize her status on the case, knowing how much it meant to her. To honoring her husband. Without another word, I followed her past the looming marble sculptures, all casts from the Italian masters. Even in the bright sunlight, their hollowed out eyes left me uneasy just as they had last night.
Along the archways of the portico, we came to a long rectangular pond where the crime scene team had gathered around, now moving out as we approached. Greg stood back, leaning against a column in the shadows, but I could feel him watching us closely.
Pond lilies and a beautiful white lotus bloomed along the water's surface. Duckweed and other aquatic plants I didn't recognize filled the spaces in between. Some type of fine, white mesh floated beneath. I wasn't really sure what we were looking at. Desirae slowly walked around the pond while I squatted at its edge. Every few seconds I caught the flip of a spotted fishtail, the flutter of the mesh. As the koi sent a ripple through the pool, the plants moved just slightly. And I saw it.
Gray fingertips bobbed up towards me, wrapped in tendrils and white lace, the arm camouflaged amongst the reeds. Pushing up to my feet, I took a step back. Lavender irises bloomed from a flayed open chest. Koi nibbled on flaking flesh. My stomach flip-flopped, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to keep looking. Half her body had been stripped of its skin and muscles, down to bare bones that blended well with the pale green roots. Tips of purpled toes broke the water's surface. My eyes followed the length of the body to where the white lotus bloomed, and beneath it, the skull.
The smell of resin in the air was much softer today. I probably wouldn't have even noticed if I didn't know to search for it. But as I inhaled again, my head immediately twisted to look around. Soft rose and vanilla filled my nose. The same scent of Artemisia's perfume.
"What is it?" Desirae asked, looking up from the pond.
"Chanel."
She took a step closer to me, breathing in, then another, closer. "It's on your dress. Are you sure you're okay?"
I gritted my teeth with a nod, not convinced. But also not convinced I wasn't going insane.
"Does the composition look familiar?"
I focused my attention back on the pool and the ghostly figure within it. "Yes and no. Artie had always talked about doing an Ophelia-like piece. We took some reference shots the last time we were together."
"Which was?"
Not the follow-up question I was expecting. She didn't need to know the exact date, not with that douchebag listening along the side. "Winter." Guilt began to swell up inside of me again as my mind went to Rafael. I needed to come clean to him. He still thought I had just gotten out of prison, that I never got to say goodbye to Artemisia. It was anything but that.
Desirae's eyes remained fixed on me like she was waiting for more of an answer. I knew she could tell I was holding back, but she finally turned to one of the crime scene investigators and asked about moving the body. The detective nodded. Bags were brought out as the team prepped the site. Desirae flipped open a small sketchpad from her purse. I kept my distance and found a replica of Poseidon to lean against, not wanting to be in anyone's way and hoping to put some space between myself and Desirae.
But as one of the investigators carefully freed the lotus from hiding the skull, Desirae's back muscles tightened beneath the straps of her blue sundress. She slightly reeled back, eyes darting over her shoulder to find mine.
I pushed away from Poseidon and went straight to her side. "Des, what's wrong?"
"I uh, I just need to grab something from the studio. Excuse me," she said, slipping past the detective and Greg.
"The courtyard door is still roped off, but the curator's office is open through there." The detective pointed to a sliding door I'd never noticed before. It appeared Landon had one into his office as well. Desirae's sandals clicked against the tile of the portico, hurrying towards the door. As I tailed behind, I glanced back at the pool just as the team began to lift the body out. Greg continued to glare from the side. I resisted every urge to flick him off.
Desirae slid the door open and quickly glided through Cora's tidy office to the back hallway, then down the main hall to her studio. I had to jog to catch up with her. "Des, what's going on?"
"You're getting in my head."
My feet slowed as she disappeared into her studio. I hovered at the threshold, unsure whether I should follow her or not. The late afternoon sun poured in through the window by her desk, leaving most of the room in shadows.
"Sometimes when I see a skull for the first time, I get this initial image in my head. It's like a flash of face," Desirae explained. She grabbed a sketchbook from her desk, then picked up the showcard for Artemisia's retrospective, flipping it over and studying it closely. "It's just never been familiar before."
"Who did you see?" I asked, inching my way into the room.
Her eyes held onto me for what felt like forever. She didn't want to say who. She looked down at the showcard again, flicking it out towards me to take. Cropped like the banners between the museum's columns, Sunday Morning, centered the other smaller thumbnails of paintings on the card. My heart stopped as I braced to hear her say Artemisia.
"You," she said instead. "I saw you, Kirby."