1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Emilia
“ W e have some difficult news. May we come inside and speak privately?”
I wish that I’d said no. Maybe I should have.
But I know it won’t take back the fact that my father is gone.
Well, not gone. He isn’t missing. He’s dead.
Once they spoke the words aloud, it’s like I slipped underwater.
I can hear their muffled voices, but for the life of me I can't understand any of the words.
“Is there anyone we can call for you? To be with you right now?” the woman kneeling before me looks me in the eyes, breaking me out of the calm underwater place; the sounds of the world coming crashing back in, all at once.
“No. He is… was, all I had left,” I whisper.
“What about friends? A boyfriend? Girlfriend?” she asks.
I manage to shake my head in response. I should be crying, right? That’s what you’re meant to do when the police show up at the door and tell you your father has ‘passed away’. Why aren’t I crying? Does it make me a horrible daughter?
The lady detective glances over my shoulder quickly, the concern etched all over her face, before she focuses back on me. That’s right, there are two of them here. She must be looking at her partner.
“I’m fine,” I manage to voice. “When can I see him?”
Her eyes flash briefly back up towards her partner again before her gaze settles on me, her face is more composed this time. An instant tell. I know whatever she says next isn’t going to be good.
“Did your father have any health concerns?”
“He had high cholesterol, but it was being treated with medication. His doctor would have the details. Otherwise, he was in fantastic health for a man of his age. He didn’t smoke or do drugs.
He drank a bit, mostly scotch or red wine.
He was a sucker for fresh butter croissants, but only if they were made in a patisserie, not just your average bakery ones.
And chocolate. He loved Belgian chocolate.
..” I pause, lifting my eyes to look at her face.
It takes a moment, but I see her calm facade for what it really is.
She doesn’t want to know about my father; she wants to know what could have killed him.
“You don’t know how it happened, do you?” I whisper.
“Your fathers cause of death has not been confirmed as yet.” She confirms my suspicion.
“Did your father have any enemies? Anyone that might have wanted to harm him?” the male voice from behind me asks.
“You think someone killed him!?” I stand quickly and turn to face him, nearly knocking detective-what’s-her-face over. Oh, what was her name again? Summers? Sanders?
“As Detective Saunderson said, his cause of death has not yet been confirmed,” he reiterates.
“But you obviously don’t think it was from natural causes, or you wouldn’t be here to ask me these questions moments after breaking the news of my father’s death to me.”
“We must explore all avenues, at least for now. I’m sure you’d rather us start our investigation immediately, just in case any suspicious circumstances arise, so we don’t lose time and allow the trail to go cold,” he clarifies.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to process.”
“Of course, we understand that now may not be the best time for these questions,” Detective Saunderson chimes in again, then hands me her business card.
“We’ll reach out when we do know more. But if you think of anything in the meantime, no matter how big or small, don’t hesitate to contact me.
My office, cell, and email are all on the card. ”
“Again, we’re very sorry for your loss,” the man says and I realise I have no idea what his name is.
The police let themselves out of my house, closing the door quietly behind them.
I just stand near the window, unable to move.
I know there are things I now have to do.
Calls I have to make. Time passes and I’m not sure how long I just stand in the one place for; watching the world outside of my front window grow darker as the sun sets.
Suddenly, there’s a buzzing noise inside my head.
No, not buzzing. A ringing sound. My phone.
Right, I left it on the kitchen counter when I went to answer the door.
I hurry through the house to the kitchen, the phone screen going dark just before I reach it.
I pick up the phone and unlock the screen.
There are twelve missed calls and four messages, I look at the time, realising it’s eight p.m. I don’t understand why the world didn’t stand still like I had.
My phone rings again and Javier’s name comes up on the screen. Shit, I was supposed to meet him at seven p.m. for dinner. “Javi, I’m sorry, I know I’m really late-”
“Where are you, bella ? I’ve been worried sick! I am on my way to your house now. What happened?” his Spanish accent grows thicker as he speaks in a rush.
“Now isn’t a good time, Javi. I got some bad news, and I just need some space, you know.”
“ Pobrecita ! You poor thing! What can I bring you? Let me come take care of you.”
“Really, Javi, I just want to be alone. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’ll text you in a couple of days, okay? Please.” As much as he means well, gods, I really didn’t need to deal with him right now.
Javier Perez is very handsome. He has a big heart, and an even bigger bank balance.
We’ve been sort of dating for a couple of months now and get along well enough.
He’s interested in art and travel so we’ve had plenty to talk about, but there’s just no spark.
It doesn’t help that he is also completely hopeless in bed.
I know they say size doesn’t matter, but sometimes it actually does!
And the night together last week was the final straw.
I set the date for tonight to break things off gently.
I didn’t want to hurt the guy. But I’ve previously found out the hard way that it’s best to end things in a setting you can leave; especially one where there are no beds nearby, to stave off any sort of ‘farewell fuck’ ideas.
Why do I seem to only find men who are lovely, but either have little brains, little culture, or little dicks? !
“...just want to take care of you. I am your man, yes? I will be there for you, whatever you need. Just tell me.” Crap, I tuned him out. What is he saying again? He was on his way over. Right.
“Javi, I just found out my father died. I can’t deal with this right now. I have to get on a plane back to Melbourne and arrange his funeral. Then, there is the gallery. I will probably be gone for a while. I’ll call you once I get settled and we can talk, but I really have to go.”
He is still speaking when I hit the ‘end call’ button. I’ll have to deal with that sooner rather than later, but not right now. He’s gotten far too clingy, far too quickly. But he’s just got to be pushed down the priority list right now.
Dialling the first number on my list, I lift the phone back up to my ear as I jog up the stairs to my room to pack.
“And what can I do for you this fine evenin’, Emmy?” the voice on the other end practically purrs when our call connects after a few short rings.
“Silas, Dad’s dead. I need a flight out. Tonight, one way. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Can you delay the Monet deal for a little while? It’s nearly finished.”
My response is met with silence.
“Silas?” I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen to see if the call has disconnected.
“Jesus, Emmy. I’m so sorry, girl. I know you had your differences, but that man was all the family you had left, and that’s gotta be hurtin’.” No drawl this time, just his deep comforting timber and quiet sympathy.
I rub my chest, right where the hurt is. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of everythin’ and text you the details. You let me know if there is anythin’ else I can do from here.”
“Thanks, Si,” I say and hang up.
Silas Lacriox is my go-to-man for anything and everything.
Tickets to sold out shows, contact information for anyone on the planet, private planes, the current location of priceless art…
you name it, Silas can get it; for the right price.
Thankfully, my life as the best classical art forger alive pays well.
Thirty minutes later I’m in the back of a black town car on my way to a private airstrip just out of town. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and see another text from Silas.
The flight plan is being approved now. You will touch down around 5a.m. local time. A car will be waiting to take you wherever you need to go, just tell the driver. Let me know if there is anything else I can do.
I start to type out my thanks when a second message appears.
There is a bottle of Barossa shiraz in the console. You’re welcome x
I lift the tab on the front of the middle seat to reveal a mini bar, and a bottle of my favourite wine. I look at the glasses, but they don’t seem big enough for my current needs. Story of my life. Fuck it, I’ll just drink from the bottle.
By the time we make it to the airstrip the bottle of wine is done and I’m pretty sure the adrenaline I’ve been riding is fading fast, leaving me completely exhausted.
I manage to mumble my thanks to the driver as I exit the car and make the required small talk with the pilot as he takes my bags from my hands at the bottom of stairs that lead up into the plane.
I strap myself into the oversized armchair, fastening my seatbelt as the pilot gets settled into the cockpit.
My eyelids begin to grow heavy, and my blinks become slower.
I’m unable to focus my gaze out the window.
I’m out like a light before we even taxi out onto the runway.