The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

And relieved, although her situation had scarcely changed. The only difference was that now she no longer felt alone.
    The story left Gemma stunned and staring. “A body turns up in your car? And you left out that little detail about the notes you got in the mail? You didn’t tell the police?”
    “How could I? If they knew about the notes, they’d find out everything else.”
    “Maybe it’s time, Josie,” said Gemma quietly. “Time to stop hiding and just tell the truth.”
    “I can’t do that to my mother. I can’t pull her into this. I’m just glad she isn’t here.”
    “She’d want to be here.
You’re
the one she’s always tried to protect.”
    “Well, she can’t protect me now. And she shouldn’t have to.” Josephine rose and carried her cup to the sink. “This has nothing to do with her.”
    “Doesn’t it?”
    “She was never in Boston. She never had anything to do with the Crispin Museum.” Josephine turned to Gemma. “Did she?”
    Gemma shook her head. “I can’t think of any reason why the museum should have those links to her. The cartouche, the newspaper.”
    “Coincidence, maybe.”
    “That’s
too
much coincidence.” Gemma wrapped her hands around her teacup, as though to ward off a sudden chill. “What about the body in your car? What are the police doing about it?”
    “What they’re supposed to do in a murder case. They’ll investigate. They’ve asked me all the questions you’d expect. Who might be stalking me? Do I have any sick admirers? Is there anyone from the past I’m afraid of? If they keep asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before they find out who Josephine Pulcillo really is.”
    “They may not bother to dig that up. They’ve got murders to solve, and you’re not the one they’re interested in.”
    “I couldn’t take that risk. That’s why I ran. I packed up and left a job I loved and a city I loved. I was happy there, Gemma. It’s an odd little museum, but I liked working there.”
    “And the people? Is there any chance one of them might be involved?”
    “I don’t see it.”
    “Sometimes you
can’t
see it.”
    “They’re completely harmless. The curator, the director—they’re both such kind men.” She gave a sad laugh. “I wonder what they’ll think of me now. When they find out who they really hired.”
    “They hired a brilliant young archaeologist. A woman who deserves a better life.”
    “Well, this is the life I got.” She turned on the faucet to rinse her cup. The kitchen was organized exactly as it had always been, and she found the dish towels in the same cabinet, the spoons in the same drawer. Like any good archaeological dig, Gemma’s kitchen stood preserved in a state of domestic eternity. What a luxury to have roots, thought Josephine as she placed the clean cup back on the shelf. What would it be like to own a home, to build a life she would never have to abandon?
    “What are you going to do now?” asked Gemma.
    “I don’t know.”
    “You could go back to Mexico. She’d want that.”
    “I’ll just have to start over again.” The prospect of that suddenly made Josephine sag against the countertop. “God, I’ve lost twelve years of my life.”
    “Maybe you haven’t. Maybe the police will drop the ball.”
    “I can’t count on that.”
    “Watch and wait. See what happens. This house will be empty for most of the summer. I need to be back in Peru in two weeks, to oversee the excavation. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”
    “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
    “Trouble?” Gemma shook her head. “You have no idea what kind of trouble your mother saved
me
from. Anyway, I’m not convinced the police are as clever as you think they are. Or as thorough. Think how many cases go unsolved, how many mistakes we hear about in the news.”
    “You haven’t met this detective.”
    “What about him?”
    “It’s a her. The way she looks at me, the questions she asks—”
    “A woman?” Gemma’s eyebrow twitched upward. “Oh, that’s too bad.”
    “Why?”
    “Men are so easily distracted by a pretty face.”
    “If Detective Rizzoli keeps digging, she’s eventually going to end up here. Talking to you.”
    “So let them come. What are they going to find out?” Gemma waved at her kitchen. “Look around! They’ll walk in here, get a look at all my herbal teas, and dismiss me as some harmless old hippie who couldn’t possibly tell them anything useful.