Jule McBride - Cold Case, Hot Bodies

Maybe no one would see her. Fortunately, she’d left her roller-style carry-on suitcase right inside the door. “I can’t believe this,” she’d whispered, panicking when she looked at the doors to other apartments. What if someone came out and caught her naked? Hands shaking, she’d wiggled her behind into the leggings, punched her arms into blouse sleeves, then jammed the panties into her jacket pocket. She was still buttoning the blouse as she lugged the case through the front door, thrusting her feet into shoes as she hailed a cab.

“Centuries of Sex Museum,” she’d said frantically.

The driver was eying her blouse, and she’d realized it was buttoned cockeyed. “I can tell you’re in a hurry,” he’d said, chuckling softly.

She’d smirked. “Just step on it.”

“Centuries of Sex Museum,” he’d said drily. “Here we come.”

She’d perched on a stool in a Starbucks until the museum opened, and now she felt further frazzled by shots of caffeine.

Luther hung up the phone. “All yours,” he said, coming forward, the eyes still appraising. Lifting her hand, he made a big show of kissing it.

Great. She’d been leading this guy on for a month, and last night, she’d been sure they were consumating the seduction. She withdrew her hand and forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I thought you were coming next Tuesday.”

“I got the day wrong.”

He looked ashen. “But your room?”

“I got my own,” she assured, her mind flashing once more on the sheet that had been tangled around Dario Donato’s hips like a loin cloth. “No problem.”

“Here.” He made another call, then said, “I’ve booked you a room at the Pierre, as promised.” He explained that they had an upcoming court appearance with Judge Zhang the following week, then reiterated what had happened in court.

When he finished, she said, “Why don’t you show me around?” She hoped she sounded businesslike.

“Sure. First, do you have the documents?”

Nodding, she wondered what Dario Donato would have done if he’d realized the papers were within his reach. Was he honest? Devious? Of better character than her ex?

She could feel Luther’s eyes on her backside as she leaned. He thought she was a dish, which was going to make things difficult. “I brought the part of the will that I have, as well as old love letters. Regarding the ownership of the house, they may not be of interest, but I brought them, anyway. My great-grandmother passed the things to Granny Fiona, and she gave them to my mother, Erin Magee.”

Hesitating, Cassidy felt suddenly unwilling to relinquish the papers. They were brittle and delicate, brown at the edges, a testament to how many generations had handed them down. Until Luther’s first call, the family stories about Gem O’Shea had been just that—stories. Gem was thought to have been a madam who’d been given jewels by her lovers, and Granny Fiona had spun stories about her at Cassidy’s bedtime, always against the protests of Cassidy’s mother. “Quit filling her head with nonsense,” Cassidy’s mother would complain.

But Cassidy would plead until Granny Fiona described the dangerous ocean passage, the hard-scrabble life in Five Points and Gem’s time as an escort. According to the tales, the jewels remained hidden to this day. Maybe that’s why Cassidy had become a jeweler, opening her own shop. Even now, she believed the lost jewels existed, and the stories had sustained her through a lonely childhood, after her father had abandoned her and her mother.

Now the package of papers in her hands were the only proof she possessed that Gem had really lived. Her breath caught as she offered them to a stranger. “This is all I have.”

“Excellent.”

With care born of handling rare objects, Luther took the pages to his desk. Compelled to follow, she edged behind him as he took out a magnifying glass.

“Hmm,” he said.

“Hmm, what?”

“Some of the papers we have indicate that Gem had only one lover, not many. I’ll get a professional handwriting analyst to study these immediately if you don’t mind.”

She was grateful for the help. “Not at all.”

As Luther continued his perusal, her thoughts drifted to Dario Donato. He’d looked like a god. So bronzed that he could have been glazed with hot sugar, and hard all over. Slow heat wended into her belly, and a pang of craving stirred her blood. Oh, she’d thought she’d known everything about sex. She’d been married for five years, after all.

But now, she got it. She was a dreamer, sure. But she had a pragmatic side, and she’d always wondered how people lost their heads over sex, giving up marriages and jobs. Thanks to last night though, she understood. She’d have followed Luther to the ends of the earth.

Of course, he’d turned out to be Dario.

Her enemy. Dammit, why did he have to be associated with the one family who wanted to profit from her birthright? Worse, Johnny Case had left her in debt, so just last week she’d lost her second greatest love, her business. Unless the Five Points property was declared hers, she was in trouble.

“Huh?” she suddenly said.

“Being of full age and sound mind,” he was murmuring. “Revoking all other wills and codicils made by me at any time…authorize and empower to bequeath the residence at Seven Anthony Street to Gem O’Shea…” Pausing, he sighed. “I wish more of the signature was intact.”

“Me, too.”

“The last letters could be an l , or maybe a p .”

It was hard to tell, since the paper had been torn in half.

“Wonder where the other half is?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Do you really want to keep it locked in our safe?”

“That would be great.” Carrying her heritage around in a suitcase had been nerve-racking. As he locked away the papers, she said, “I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“You’re helping us. If we can prove you own this building, then it’s ours.”

She tried to ignore a twinge of discomfort. Luther was starting to make her feel used. Would he argue for the Donato’s case, if he felt that would help his museum? Did he care about the truth? “I’d like to see the roped-off rooms.”

If the property was hers, then the items now in the museum hadn’t been the Donato’s to sell, but so far, no one had broached the subject, and she wasn’t about to do so. She wanted to keep things simple. Declaring the property hers was the first step.

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