He Will be My Ruin

“His parents. What for?” Doug asks.

I tell him what I learned over lunch, specifically about the vast collection of Asian antiques that Jace’s parents have amassed—the many, many decorative vases that line Eleanor’s shelves.

“So you’re thinking . . .” Doug sounds skeptical.

“I’m thinking that if his mother is the expert that she claims to be, then she might have heard the story of the twin vases.” And Jace might have heard it, too. “We need more information. Just find out what they’ve bought and where. Hans has tons of contacts in the industry if you need any ins. I’m going to text you a few pictures.” I forwarded the pictures of Eleanor Everett’s library to myself from my mom’s phone. I figured Hans can also help in identifying what’s on those shelves.

“You know this is going to cost—”

“So I’ll write you another check!” I snap, hanging up on him.

CHAPTER 22

Maggie

December 10, 2015

“This is why I love the holidays.” Detective Childs helps himself to three more of Ruby’s shortbreads while she simply holds the tin open with a grin, pleased with another satisfied customer.

Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her to the precinct with me. I wanted her here to corroborate the facts, but I need Childs’s undivided attention and the cookies are stealing the show. “Ruby saw the vase on the shelf the day before Celine’s death.” I refuse to refer to it as suicide anymore. Any lingering doubts I might have had that perhaps Celine killed herself have disappeared. “And now it’s gone. This is what it looks like.” I smooth the creases in the pictures that Doug printed out for me, recovered from Celine’s hard drive. “Someone deleted these from her computer, the same night that she died.”

Detective Childs lifts the top sheet with mild interest. “So, let me get this straight. On November eighth of this year, Celine bought this vase at a garage sale for fifteen dollars, based on these records. Ms. Ruby Cummings here”—he smiles kindly at her, but I know exactly what’s going on inside his head, that my eyewitness is an eighty-one-year-old with cataracts and a hearing aid—“insists that she noticed this vase on the shelf, along with the thousand other items that fill Celine’s collection, only the day before. This friend of Celine’s who is helping with appraisals tells you that he thinks it’s an eighteenth-century . . .”

“Qing Dynasty,” I fill in, seeing his eyes squint as he struggles with the name.

“Thank you. Qing Dynasty vase, worth millions—”

“Potentially. And based on these pictures, he thinks it could be real. And it’s not just any vase. It’s the missing twin, fired with the emperor’s son’s bone ash.”

“Okay. Potentially. You think that someone who knew what this was worth killed Celine and took the vase, and that Jace Everett—who may have been paying Celine for sexual services—is the culprit because his mother and father, the governor of Illinois, have an appreciation for Chinese antiques.”

“And he deleted the original pictures and a draft blog post, don’t forget that.”

“Right.”

“See? I didn’t even have to connect the dots for you.”

“I see what you want me to see, Miss Sparkes.” He sounds tired today. “Tell me, why wouldn’t the person just steal the vase and leave? Why would they add murder to theft?”

“I don’t know.” That’s a good question. One I hadn’t thought to ask. “Maybe because . . . well, she definitely would have noticed it missing right away. Celine was extremely particular.” When we were younger, Rosa was sure her daughter had OCD, always lining up her dolls and stuffed animals in rows. She didn’t have any of the other peculiarities that come along with such a diagnosis, though. It turned out that she just loved order and patterns.

Childs’s attention moves to his computer screen, where he’s opened up screenshots of the blog post that Zac recovered and emailed, entitled “Discovery of a Lifetime?”. The one that was deleted the night that Celine died, describing—in detail—the history of the deceased twins and the creation of the matching vases in their honor. His finger drags along the screen as he reads her words. “ ‘The markings bear a striking resemblance to its twin, and the glaze appears uniform and well aged. But is it even possible? Could I be lucky enough to find such a treasure? I’ll continue to do my research, but I’m excited to think that we may have a winner here.’ ”

“This was in the stack of books on her coffee table.” I hold up another piece of evidence that I discovered when I got home—a Chinese history book, with a bookmark tucked into the section on the Qing Dynasty. “She was reading up on it.”

“And yet she said nothing to anyone? Not even to her friend who was an appraiser?”

I can only shrug in response. Celine would be the type to educate herself more before getting too excited over such a monumental find.

Detective Childs finally smiles. “I’ll get one of the officers to help you file a theft report. But, remember, without an appraisal certificate, you can’t claim that a vase worth millions was stolen. If she has property insurance, I’d recommend contacting them and filing a claim there as well, to leave a complete paper trail.”

“And then what?

“Keep Murphy and his guy on it.”

I feel my cheeks begin to burn. “You can’t tell me that this isn’t compelling enough to warrant further investigation into her murder.”

“I’m sorry, but no. It’s not.” He sighs, rubbing his brow with a hand. “We’re just weeks before Christmas and everyone’s trying to close cases before they take off for the holidays.”

“Yes. Clearly.” I look around at the vast room—phones ringing, feet up on desks, people chattering, people laughing—and feel the urge to scream.

Thankfully Ruby is there to pat me on the knee. “Let’s let the detective go so he can catch those bad guys. Okay?” Easing herself out of the chair, she leaves the cookies on Childs’s desk and begins shuffling away.

“If you ever feel like actually doing something useful . . . ,” I add, not bothering to hide the bitterness from my voice as I fish the manila envelope out of my purse and drop it on his desk. “There’s the name and address of a female lawyer in the city who is running a prostitution ring, along with a dozen names and phone numbers of men who made full use of the service through Celine. Just do me a favor—seeing as I’m handing you a case on a silver platter—keep Celine’s name out of it. At least until after her mother is gone.”