Artifact (24 page)

I pointed first to the portrait of Willoughby’s sullen-looking Scottish wife Mary, then to Connor’s massive portrait that dominated the room. The artist knew how to capture a personality; I caught a glimpse of a spoiled boy in his large blue eyes. Between those two, I could imagine why Willoughby hadn’t wanted to share his treasure with his new family.

The only other painting close to the size of Connor’s was the landscape painting of seaside cliffs directly opposite the portrait. I walked over to get a closer look.

“It’s our cave,” I said. “It doesn’t look the same, but that’s it, isn’t it?”

“They were looking for a clue from the wrong man,” Lane said. “They assumed it was Connor’s treasure and Connor’s hiding place, for the superficial reasons here in this room. They didn’t realize the significance of the periods when the father and son were in India.”

“Rupert thought he was missing something in a clue left behind from Connor, who worked for the British Crown in India. That’s what he thought I could help him with. But we need to find what
Willoughby
left behind that points to the treasure.”

Lane began the search in the gun room, where many of the pieces were listed as having belonged to Willoughby. I was drawn back to the room full of haunting portraits. I spent so long examining the rows of portraits that Lane joined me before I was done.

Past the professional portraits, I found something I hadn’t noticed before. An illustration. It wasn’t very large, or even very good. It was a crudely drawn picture of a tree with a young girl sitting in front of it. As a piece of art it was awful. But at the same time, there was care in the charcoal pencil markings. It was a loving piece of work. The lines were carefully drawn if not skillful. She was a girl, not yet a woman, but I recognized her. Elspeth. The landscape was shapeless, but the tree was drawn in detail. It was the early formation of a tree, but already its roots were strong and knotted. Elspeth’s hand was pointing at one of the roots.

I don’t know how long I stared at the sketch. “He meant it to be for her,” I said. “But she died. That’s why the treasure was never dug up.”

“Willoughby’s daughter?”

“This was his own sketch,” I said, pointing at the small illustration. “That’s where it is.
Not in the cave. Under the tree
.”

“I guess I was wrong,” a voice said from across the room.

A voice I knew.

Rupert stood in the doorway.

“Jaya, why don’t you come over here,” Rupert said, glaring in Lane’s direction.

In one graceful motion, Lane moved in front of me, blocking Rupert.

“Stay away from her,” Lane said.

Rupert laughed. “Jaya,” he said, and rolled his eyes in the direction of the door. “Didn’t you get my
message
?”

“Oh, get over it,” I said. “Both of you.”

I stepped out from behind Lane.

“Neither of you is trying to hurt me,” I said, trying to push Lane’s arm aside so I could easily see them both. “Really.”

“But Jaya,” Rupert said through a nervous laugh, “didn’t you listen to—?”

“Jaya, I know you think you know what you’re doing,” Lane said, “but don’t go over there. He’s a murderer.”

“A
murderer
?” Rupert said. “I know we haven’t officially met yet, but you’ve got your signals a bit crossed. I’m the person who’s supposed to have been murdered.”

“He’s talking about Knox,” I said.

A look of confusion spread across Rupert’s face. “What are you talking about?”

Lane’s muscles tensed as Rupert stepped further into the room.

“Like you don’t know he’s dead,” Lane said.

Rupert looked between me and Lane, then collapsed into a chair. He put his head in his hands and swore. I tried to go over to him, but at my first sign of movement Lane reached out and grabbed my arm too firmly for me to move.

“He’s a good actor, Jaya,” Lane said.

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” I said, even though he wasn’t.

He released his grip immediately, as I knew he would. I went to Rupert.

Lane swore, but I was already kneeling next to Rupert. He put his head on my shoulder and I ran my fingers through his soft, unkempt hair. He needed a moment to compose himself. I wasn’t going to deny him that.

“How did it happen?” he asked, looking up. His face was even more hollow than before. His eyes were moist, but he held himself together.

“Down at the cave,” I said. “He’d been hit with something. Or against something.”

Rupert looked at me, confused. “The cave? But I was there last night.” He put his head in his hands again.

I didn’t look up, but I felt Lane right behind me.

“I told you it was him,” Lane said. “He was the one at the cave. The night before, too. He was the short pale person I saw, who looked familiar because I had caught a glimpse of him following me in London. And that was why he made sure to get rid of us last night, so he could do his digging in peace. Locking me up in a jail cell.”

“Oh, that,” Rupert said dismissively. He wasn’t his usual flip self, though. “It would have been sorted soon enough.” He looked at me. “I didn’t get you arrested, love. You always loved libraries, so it wasn’t such a big deal for me to send you—”

Lane scoffed. Rupert looked up at him. “Like you have any right to complain,” Rupert said to him. “Using Jaya to go after the treasure for yourself.”

“That’s not what he’s doing,” I said.

“You didn’t used to doubt my word,” Rupert said, attempting a smile but failing. “He’s involved in the breakin at your apartment. I swear to you—”

“As if that means anything to you,” Lane cut in.

“I know what I’m talking about, Jaya,” Rupert said. “I spoke with his University’s department secretary. I know what his advisor has been doing with him.”

Silence filled the air.

“Son of a bitch,” Lane said slowly. “I know Michael had been down on his luck, but I never would have suspected—”

“Professor Wells,” Rupert said, “has been having his students make inquiries in the UK about a missing Indian bracelet.”

I looked over at Lane. “You told him?” I asked.

“He’s my advisor. The one whom one asks to advise,” Lane said with obvious annoyance. “We ran into him right when you were leaving, remember? I didn’t think he’d do anything crazy like break into your apartment to try to retrieve it. I mean, I knew he was going through a bad divorce, but I didn’t really think—”

“That explains one big mystery,” I said.

“You don’t actually believe the wanker, do you?” Rupert asked.

“Will you both grow up!” I shouted, stepping away from them both. “Rupert did not kill anyone, and Lane is not involved in a plot against me. I don’t care if you don’t trust each other, but trust
me
.”

“I know you must feel the need to—”

“Shut up, Rupert,” I said. He looked crestfallen. “I’m truly sorry about Knox. He didn’t deserve to die like that. But Lane didn’t kill him.”

Lane opened his mouth.

“And neither did Rupert,” I said. “Now that that’s settled, Rupert, you’re going to pull yourself together and fill in the remaining missing pieces that only you can answer.”

“What—
now
?” he asked.

“This whole thing would have been much easier to figure out,” I said, not bothering to hide my anger, “and we could even have saved Knox’s life if you’d just told me everything from the beginning.”

Rupert slumped back down into the chair. I might have been a bit too harsh to blame him for his best friend’s death, though it was very possibly true that Knox needn’t have died.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I really was. “But we need to figure out who killed Knox, and also make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”

Rupert looked at me, a hollow version of a smile forming on his lips.

“Well....” he said. He glanced at Lane skeptically before turning back to me. “I suppose—” His voice broke off as two elderly tourists entered the room. I should have figured the estate was now open since Rupert had gotten in. The tourists nodded and smiled at our strange, disheveled group, and proceeded to study the paintings on the walls.

I grabbed Lane and Rupert and dragged them outside to the garden. I believe it was a grand garden with a variety of rare roses, but even if I had been inclined to notice such things, I was in no condition to pay attention to them. I barely noticed the cold wind whipping around us.

“Sit,” I said, indicating a stone bench. They glanced at each other, then back at me. They sat. “You’re going to tell me exactly what is going on.”

Lane cupped his hand against the wind and lit a cigarette. He blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth directly onto Rupert’s face. Rupert was too distraught to notice.

“Knox was working at that big auction house,” Rupert began. “Sir Edward Gregor came in to get a piece of jewelry appraised to see if he wanted to sell it. It was the only piece like it in his possession, some family heirloom, so he didn’t know if he could get much for it beyond the value of the gemstone itself. It was appraised at the value of the ruby, since no one had any idea where the piece might have come from. Sir Edward decided not to sell it, but Knox saved one of the photographs of the necklace.

“You know the type of things Knox always read instead of working on his dissertation. He’d seen references to some old treasure called the Rajasthan Rubies. When he saw Sir Edward’s ruby necklace, he thought it might be a part of that bigger set because of the unique size and shape. What is it, Jaya?”

My face must have shown recognition of the name of the treasure Lane had mentioned. Lane’s face was impassive.

“Oh, the
Rajasthan Rubies
?” Rupert said derisively. “Daft name, I know. It wasn’t in any of the literature I found at the library, I can tell you that.”

“Then where—?”

“I didn’t ask Knox.” His face again clouded over. He shook his head sadly. “We knew there had to be something sketchy about the treasure,” he continued, “since this bloke only had one piece of it. But of course it wasn’t enough to go on, was it? We didn’t do anything else at the time. That was over a year ago. But then, a few weeks back—”

He broke off as another set of tourists wandered into the garden.

“Bloody summertime crowds,” he grumbled.

“I suppose we should find somewhere more private,” I said, though I hated to interrupt Rupert’s story. “Come on.”

The two men stood up from the bench, glaring at each other once more before they followed me. We walked in unfriendly silence toward the front of the estate and the car park. We were about to reach the front of the main house when Lane dropped his cigarette and threw me up against the hard stone wall.

“Police,” he said in a loud whisper, pinning Rupert against the wall with his other arm.

I looked around the side of the wall quickly before Lane pulled us back. Two policemen were standing over our rental car, inspecting the license plate.

“Your coat?” Lane asked as soon as we were further down the side of the house.

I groaned, closed my eyes, and nodded. “It’s in the trunk.”

Lane swore. “Someone must have seen us leaving the dig,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“And do what?” I asked.

“Knox’s blood is all over your coat,” Lane said. “Whatever we decide to do, I’d rather it not be from inside a jail cell again.” He shot Rupert a spiteful look.

“Look, I’m sorry about that,” Rupert said. “All the evidence told me you were in on it, didn’t it? Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a car.”

“We can’t very well walk up—”

“It’s not in the car park,” Rupert said exasperatedly. “I’ve been trying to stay out of sight, remember?”

Rupert led the way through the side of the garden, toward a sloping hillside. We followed a path along the edge of the mound until Lane held back.

“It looks like part of the path up ahead is in plain view from the car park,” he said.

“Not much of it.”

Lane did not look pleased. “Trying to hide from the police is completely different from blending in and keeping away from people who think you’re dead. They’re looking for us.”

“Then it’s equally imbecilic,” Rupert said, “to stand here arguing instead of heading to my car.”

“We’ll have to go this way,” Lane said, walking off the path.

I followed.

“Where the hell is he going?” Rupert said.

The small ravine that had looked ominous during the night was now a welcome sight. Lane walked quickly, not slowing when he reached the edge of what I saw was a small stream with high banks. There wasn’t much water in the ravine, but there was mud. Lane jumped in without hesitation. I could barely see the top of his head from where I stood. He turned and put his arms up to help me down.

“It’s better than the alternative,” he said softly, lifting me down. “You’re on your own,” he added to Rupert.

“It’s my car,” Rupert pointed out.

“You’re welcome to take the main path and explain to the police officers who spot you why you happen to not be dead. I’m sure Jaya and I will have plenty of time to get away by some other means while they work out your story.”

Rupert jumped down behind us, splashing in the mucky water.

Lane led the way, walking sure-footedly in the gummy mud. We emerged on a dirt road with a Peugeot parked along the shoulder.

Safely inside the car, we sat in silence as Rupert headed toward the highway. Rupert handed me a knit cap. I didn’t need to ask why he wanted me to put it on. We sat tensely as he tried to keep an inconspicuous, casual pace on the smaller roads on the way to the A90.

Once we were heading south on the highway, blending in with the other small cars and trucks, I broke the silence.

“Lane Peters, meet Rupert Chadwick.”