Curse of the Jade Lily (Mac McKenzie #9)

Curse of the Jade Lily (Mac McKenzie #9) Page 2

“You’re not my friend.”

Donatucci smiled slightly. “You owe us,” he said.

“Us?”

“Midwest Farmers Insurance Group.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Three million one hundred and twenty-eight thousand—”

“That was a business deal, pure and simple,” I said.

“—five hundred and eighty-four dollars and fifty cents.”

“And if you could have avoided paying it, you would have.”

Donatucci groaned slightly as he adjusted his position in the chair. He was a big man, someone you would have stepped aside from when he was young and limber. Not so much now.

“No insurance company pays off on a claim if it doesn’t have to,” he said.

“Then let’s not talk about owing favors, all right?”

Donatucci took a long swallow of his coffee and then fixed his eyes on me. “Have you ever heard of the Jade Lily?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure? It’s been advertised pretty heavily.”

“Wait,” I said. “Wait, wait, wait. Okay. There’s a museum in Minneapolis that’s been sending flyers. It even called a couple of times looking for donations. It has an art exhibit—the Jade Lily. Apparently there’s a curse attached to it like King Tut’s tomb. Something terrible is supposed to happen to whoever possesses it.”

“Exactly right.”

“What about it?”

Donatucci handed his empty mug to me. I asked if he would like a refill and he said yes. While I was pouring the coffee he answered my question. He spoke abruptly as if he wanted to see if my hand shook.

“It was stolen last night,” Donatucci said.

I finished filling the mug and gave it to him. “So?”

“We want it back.”

“We?”

“Midwest Farmers insured it for three-point-eight million.”

“Why come to me? Call the cops. Call the FBI.” I gestured toward Donatucci like a host welcoming a contestant to a game show. “I remember you were a fair investigator once.”

“Still am.”

“Well, then?”

“Where were you last night, McKenzie?”

“Are you asking if I have an alibi, Mr. Donatucci? Why would you ask?”

I had one. I was at the Minnesota Wild hockey game with Bobby Dunston, who coincidentally held the rank of commander in the Major Crimes and Investigations Division of the St. Paul Police Department. Yet I had no intention of telling Donatucci that. Come into my house and demand an alibi—screw that. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against my kitchen counter.

“Any other favors you want?” I asked.

Donatucci waved his mug at me. “This is good coffee,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re upset.”

“Not particularly. Just impatient.”

“I didn’t want to come here, McKenzie. I think it’s unethical.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I need a favor.”

“We’re back to that, are we?”

“The Jade Lily was stolen from the City of Lakes Art Museum last night. At eight o’clock this morning, the artnappers placed a call to the museum’s executive director, a woman named Perrin Stewart.”

“Artnappers?” I said.

“What else would you call them?”

“You tell me.”

“The artnappers told Ms. Stewart that they were willing to sell the Lily back to the museum for a third of its insured value. It goes against my better judgment, but we agreed—my company and the museum agreed. We have a couple of days to get the cash together, and then the artnappers will contact us with instructions.”

“I can appreciate why it pisses you off, Mr. Donatucci. Yet this sort of thing happens all the time, am I right?”

“Not all the time, but yeah, it happens. That’s pretty much how you got your money, if memory serves.”

“So why are you here against your better judgment?”

“We want to hire you to act as go-between—deliver the money, retrieve the Lily. We’ll pay you ten percent of the ransom.”

“You must be kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

I started laughing just the same. “No, no, no,” I said.

“McKenzie…”

“Not a chance.”

“One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“I don’t care if it’s a million. A guy could get killed doing that sort of thing, and luckily for me—thanks to the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group—I don’t need the money.”

“That’s what I told them you’d say.”

“Them?”

“The museum board and my boss.”

“Wait a minute. Coming to me, that wasn’t your idea?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, whose idea was it?”

“The thieves.”

“What?”

“They asked for you. They said, ‘Send McKenzie with the money or it’s no deal.’”

That threw me. I turned my back on Donatucci and took a long time filling a mug with coffee for myself. I slowly sat at the table across from Donatucci and stared at the turkeys.

They asked for me, my inner voice said. Me? Why would they do that?

Donatucci watched and waited.

“Who are those guys?” I asked.

“Have you ever done this sort of thing before?”

“Act as a go-between?”