Curse of the Jade Lily by David Housewright Page A

that her chin was pointed at the ceiling. She looked as if she had aged a decade since I had seen her last. Mr. Donatucci, on the other hand, hadn’t changed at all. He still sat quietly, although this time his gaze was fixed on a large oil painting of what appeared to be Split Rock Lighthouse. A seventeenth-century sailing ship lay just off the shore, and hordes of savage-looking Indians were attacking or greeting it—take your pick—from a dozen canoes. It was impossible, of course, for the lighthouse, ship, and Native Americans to be in the same place on Lake Superior at the same time, but as it had often been pointed out to me, I know nothing about art.
    “Mr. McKenzie, I thought we had an understanding,” Fiegen said. “This matter was to be kept strictly confidential.”
    “What can I tell you?” I said. “I see a dead body in the snow, I become a regular blabbermouth.”
    “Are we facing any liability issues?” asked a member of the board whose name I forgot.
    Perrin raised her hand a few inches and then let it drop as if the effort had been too great. “I didn’t get any sleep at all,” she said. “First the police, that rude Lieutenant Rask, then the lawyers, then the police and the lawyers, and then the lawyers again. I asked for discretion. Lieutenant Rask made it clear that the museum’s reputation is the least of his concerns. The police confiscated all of our security footage. They started interviewing our employees this morning.”
    “Do the police have any suspects, McKenzie?” Fiegen asked.
    “Tarpley’s partners,” I said. “That’s merely speculation on my part, though. Lieutenant Rask does not confide in me.”
    “It’s only a matter of time before news of the theft gets out,” Perrin said. “I’ll be sitting down with our PR director following this meeting. The question is, do we want to get out in front of this, make an announcement to the trustees, our membership, the press, or wait until reporters start calling?”
    “Wait,” the unidentified trustee said. He spread his hands wide, the palms facing upward. “Who knows? We might get lucky.”
    “Define lucky,” Fiegen said.
    The trustee shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “We might still recover the Jade Lily,” he said.
    Fiegen nodded his head slightly. “That would mollify the situation somewhat,” he said softly. “In fact, news of a major art theft would elevate the museum’s profile, probably even attendance, if”—he emphasized the word—“the Lily is recovered.” In a louder voice he added, “We should hold off on any public announcement. Should members criticize us later, we’ll tell them that we remained silent at the behest of—what was his name, Lieutenant Rask? We’ll insist he asked us to keep quiet about the theft so as not to compromise his investigation.”
    I had to smirk at that. The police get blamed for so much bullshit.
    “In the meantime, Mr. Gillard must be informed. That cannot wait.”
    “I’ll see to it,” Perrin said.
    Throughout the conversation, Anderson had been staring at me, a snarl on his lips.
    “McKenzie.” He said the word like it was an obscenity.
    “Derek.” I tried to match his inflection but failed.
    “If you had kept your mouth shut—”
    “It’s murder,” I said.
    “The whole point of involving you in this matter was to protect the museum from—”
    “It’s murder,” I repeated. I thought that should have been enough to explain my actions, only Anderson wasn’t buying it.
    “Adverse publicity,” he continued. “Now, thanks to you, we’ll be the laughingstock of the industry.”
    I hadn’t thought of art museums and galleries as being “an industry,” yet what else would you call it?
    “Don’t blame me, pal,” I said. “I didn’t steal the Lily. I didn’t kill Tarpley.”
    “You can fix it.”
    “Fix it, how?”
    “We must retrieve the Lily. We must.”
    “We?”
    Perrin opened her eyes and leaned forward. “Mr. McKenzie, we