Michelangelo's Ghost Read online

  Praise for the Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mysteries

  QUICKSAND (#3)

  “Charming characters, a hint of romantic conflict, and just the right amount of danger will garner more fans for this cozy series.”

  – Publishers Weekly

  “Quicksand has all the ingredients I love—intrigue, witty banter, and a twisty mystery that hopscotches across France!”

  – Sara Rosett,

  Author of the Ellie Avery Mystery Series

  “With a world-class puzzle to solve and riveting plot twists to unravel, Quicksand had me on the edge of my seat for the entire book...Don’t miss one of the best new mystery series around!”

  – Kate Carlisle,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of the Bibliophile Mysteries

  “A joy-filled ride of suspenseful action, elaborate scams, and witty dialogue. The villains are as wily as the heroes, and every twist is intelligent and unexpected, ensuring that this is a novel that will delight lovers of history, romance, and elaborate capers.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  PIRATE VISHNU (#2)

  “Forget about Indiana Jones. Jaya Jones is swinging into action, using both her mind and wits to solve a mystery...Readers will be ensnared by this entertaining tale.”

  – RT Book Reviews (four stars)

  “Pandian’s second entry sets a playful tone yet provides enough twists to keep mystery buffs engaged, too. The author streamlines an intricate plot….[and] brings a dynamic freshness to her cozy.”

  – Library Journal

  “A delicious tall tale about a treasure map, magicians, musicians, mysterious ancestors, and a few bad men.”

  – Mystery Scene Magazine

  “Move over Vicky Bliss and Joan Wilder, historian Jaya Jones is here to stay! Mysterious maps, legendary pirates, and hidden treasure—Jaya’s latest quest is a whirlwind of adventure.”

  — Chantelle Aimée Osman,

  The Sirens of Suspense

  “Pirate Vishnu is fast-paced and fascinating as Jaya’s investigation leads her this time to India and back to her own family’s secrets.”

  —Susan C. Shea,

  Author of the Dani O’Rourke mysteries

  ARTIFACT (#1)

  “Pandian’s new series may well captivate a generation of readers, combining the suspenseful, mysterious and romantic. Four stars.”

  — RT Book Reviews

  “If Indiana Jones had a sister, it would definitely be historian Jaya Jones.”

  — Suspense Magazine

  “Witty, clever, and twisty… Do you like Agatha Christie? Elizabeth Peters? Then you’re going to love Gigi Pandian.”

  — Aaron Elkins,

  Edgar Award-Winning Author of the Gideon Oliver Mysteries

  “Fans of Elizabeth Peters will adore following along with Jaya Jones and a cast of quirky characters as they pursue a fabled treasure.”

  —Juliet Blackwell,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of the Art Lover’s Mysteries

  (written as Hailey Lind)

  Books in the Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery Series

  by Gigi Pandian

  Novels

  ARTIFACT (#1)

  PIRATE VISHNU (#2)

  QUICKSAND (#3)

  MICHELANGELO’S GHOST (#4)

  Novellas

  FOOL’S GOLD (prequel to ARTIFACT)

  (in OTHER PEOPLE’S BAGGAGE)

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  Copyright

  MICHELANGELO’S GHOST

  A Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | October 2016

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2016 by Gigi Pandian

  Cover art by Stephanie Chontos

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-069-2

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-070-8

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-071-5

  Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-072-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my parents,

  for dragging me around the world.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I couldn’t ask for a better editorial team than Kendel Lynn, Rachel Jackson, and Erin George at Henery Press. My first novel Artifact was the twelfth book they’d ever published, and Michelangelo’s Ghost is number 114. It’s been a wonderful journey to grow as an author along with such a supportive, creative, and fun small press.

  Thanks to early readers Stacy Allen, Nancy Adams, Emberly Nesbitt, Sue Parman, Brian Selfon, and Diane Vallere, who pointed out the glaring blind spots I couldn’t see in early drafts of Michelangelo’s Ghost. Local writing pals Mysti Berry, Juliet Blackwell, Michelle Gonzalez, Lisa Hughey, and Emberly Nesbitt saved me from my tendency to procrastinate. If not for them, I’d still be doing laundry instead of typing “the end.”

  My parents were instrumental, as always. My dad made sure I got the India connections right, and true to her word of being up for helping with anything, my mom spent Mother’s Day helping proofread the book—that’s motherly dedication!

  Words can’t adequately express how thankful I am for James, who not only puts up with the long hours I spend writing but also encourages me to spin these tales. And most importantly, now that it’s been nearly five years since I survived breast cancer, he makes sure I remember to seize the day.

  And special thanks to author Linda Lappin, who lives not far from Bomarzo. Linda welcomed me to her home in a medieval Italian village and helped make sure I didn’t slaughter the Italian language in these pages. Any mistakes are my own.

  Chapter 1

  What makes something a treasure?

  Is it an object’s monetary value? Is it rarity? Beauty? Romantic association? Sentimental attachment? Artistic integrity?

  Or perhaps a treasure is something lost and then found. A sense of discovery. A buried object hidden from sight. A puzzle that screams to be solved. The thrill of the hunt. The difficulty in locating it. Maybe it’s the person to whom it once belonged. Or anything that once belonged to a pirate.

  The people who write to me all had different ideas about what a treasure is. There were a lot of them. That’s why I was drowning.

  I held a six-inch gargoyle statue in my hands. Its left wing was chipped, making me wonder if the injury was deliberate as it was in depictions of Ganesha, the elephant deity with a broken left tusk. I examined the broken wing, then set the gargoyle on my crowded desk. Finding space required tossing three empty coffee cups into the trash and eking out a few inches between a dozen other trinkets people had sent. The plastic leprechaun was weirding me out, so I turned him away from m
e.

  This gargoyle figurine wasn’t a treasure. It wasn’t even a clue leading to one. The plaster replica was a small gift from a woman who hoped I’d help her find a missing set of family heirlooms. I opened my laptop and began composing an email to gently point out that a private investigator would be much more useful to her than a historian.

  “Building a menagerie of misfit good luck charms?” A handsome green-eyed man with dark brown skin grinned at me from my office doorway.

  “Fish!” I jumped up and gave my brother Mahilan a hug. Even in my high heels, I had to stand on tiptoe to hug him properly. Mahilan was three years older than me, over a foot taller, and had skin several shades darker than mine. Most strikingly, his light green eyes stood out in contrast to my dark brown ones. We were opposites but at the same time unquestionably related. “I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of days.”

  “I especially like the gargoyle. He’s got more personality than the others.”

  “It’s the chipped wing that gives him added character.”

  Hundreds of people had written to me since I helped find a long-lost treasure from India and return it to its homeland. An eager journalist misquoted me, reporting that I’d accept queries about treasures. The misquote spread across the internet, but my corrected quote didn’t catch fire.

  I shouldn’t admit that I took a greater interest in many of the treasure seekers than in sending them polite thank-you notes. I’ve always maintained I’m not that kind of historian. You know the type. Those who seek out far-fetched treasures for fame and glory. One of my old professors, Lilith Vine, had fallen into that trap. It had ruined her career.

  But I opened the emails and the physical letters. Every one of them. Sometimes it took me a while to get to them, but I did. I put in the work for the same reason I created an inviting office for my students, complete with comfy chairs and chocolate. If people were interested in history and valued my opinion, how could I not act respectfully in return?

  “Please don’t tell me I’ve been so immersed in replying to treasure seekers that I’ve been sitting at this desk for two days straight,” I said. “Although it would explain why I’m so hungry.”

  Mahilan laughed and gave me another hug. “I’ve missed you, JJ. San Francisco is too far from LA. Can’t you find a teaching job down south?”

  “I’ve got a good life here.” I mostly believed it. Nobody’s life is perfect, right? “I’m finishing this last set of replies before teaching a class later this morning, but I could meet for lunch—”

  “I’m not really here.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Our flight arrived an hour ago. Ava forgot a few things so she wanted to stop by the store before we head to Napa for two days of wine tasting and fine dining. I dropped her off at the mall and thought I’d swing by to see you before picking her up.”

  “Napa? Are you sure that’s a good idea? There’s a fire raging near there.”

  “We checked. It’s not near where we’re staying. You’re still up for lunch in two days when we’re back, right? I want to be sure you have a chance to meet Ava.”

  “How can I refuse that invitation? You never let me meet your girlfriends.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s so true.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “To be fair, it’s probably because you have a new one every two weeks.”

  “Hmm. I’m going to remain silent so as not to incriminate myself. Anyway, I can’t believe you kept that tabla-playing Ganesha statue after Lane broke your heart. Though the craftsmanship is superb. It’s from Kochi?”

  I nodded mutely as my gaze leapt to the statue in the corner of my office. I hated lying to my brother. It was one thing to keep him out of the loop when all he’d do was worry, but to actively lie to him was a choice he’d perceive as the ultimate betrayal. When I was a kid, Mahilan had been more of a father to me than our dad. We’d been through a lot together, and we didn’t keep secrets from each other.

  But at the same time, it wasn’t safe for anyone to know Lane Peters and I were in a long-distance relationship. I could be putting my brother in danger if I told him the truth. I never meant to find myself dating a man who’d been an art thief before turning his life around, but we can’t help who we fall for. Lane and I had tried to stay apart, but it hadn’t stuck. So here I was, lying to the people closest to me.

  “Since you’re hungry,” Mahilan continued, thankfully ignorant of the tension that had crept into my body language, “let me buy you your favorite croissant sandwich. You like it with egg, honey, and peanut butter, right?”

  “You’re nearly the only person who says it without cringing.”

  “Years of practice.”

  “Give me one minute,” I said. “And then I’m all yours.” I sat down at my laptop to finish a three-quarters-written email to the treasure hunter who’d sent the gargoyle. If I didn’t do it then, it wouldn’t get done. I was at least three weeks behind already. It wasn’t my real job, so it was my last priority. I did a quick scan of the other unread treasure-related messages in my inbox, hoping I’d made at least a dent that morning. Good. I was only two weeks behind now. Then an involuntary gasp escaped my lips.

  “What’s the matter?” Mahilan looked up from his cell phone.

  “A ghost,” I whispered. “A ghost from the past.”

  Chapter 2

  That afternoon, I drove to my old professor’s home. Dr. Lilith Vine lived at Sea Ranch, a two-and-a-half-hour drive north of San Francisco, not far from the private university where she now taught.

  When a person you believe you’ve wronged gets in touch with you after years of silence, you grab your keys and go.

  I slowed and shifted gears in my roadster on the winding coastal road, glancing in the rearview mirror as I did so. I frowned. Was that the same black jeep that had been behind me since I’d left San Francisco on the Golden Gate Bridge? Even if it was, taking the 101 freeway to Highway 1 was the easiest way to get from San Francisco to coastal northern California. Just because an old professor had something important to tell me in person didn’t mean someone was following me. I was overly sensitive because a colleague had once followed me across southwest India while trying to scoop my discovery. I pushed the thought from my mind and focused on the winding asphalt and scenic ocean view—and on Lilith Vine’s strange invitation.

  Lilith hadn’t included details in her email. She wasn’t any more forthcoming when I called her, saying it was easier to explain in person. I wondered what ill-conceived idea she’d latched onto this time, though it also crossed my mind that the invitation might be more about reconciling than convincing me of the merits of the farfetched research she’d unearthed. All I could do on the drive was wonder. She’d been civil but curt on the phone, simply inviting me to her house, where she promised to show me something I’d find worth my time. That’s why I found myself speeding up the coast after teaching my last class of the day.

  The northern California coast was both similar to and the opposite of the beaches I remembered from Goa, India. The Goan coast was filled with seemingly endless sand and lush greenery, whereas jagged cliffs and surly fog covered the northern California coastline. With the drought, the hills to the east looked like brittle haystacks that had been haphazardly strewn about. But both settings had inspired my childhood imagination with their views of the sea. My heart beat faster each time I caught a glimpse of the precarious rocky cliffs along the edge of the twisting coastal highway. I was almost disappointed when I arrived at Lilith’s house.

  I parked the car and sat looking at the ocean for a few minutes before getting out. What was I doing here? I’d made my decision years ago, when I chose a different path.

  A crisp wind blew my bob of black hair around my face as I rang the doorbell next to a farmhouse-style oversized front door. A few seconds later, the door
eased open. Gray hair flowed down Lilith’s back, tapering just above the folded waistband of her purple yoga pants. Her hair was the same as I remembered it, though her body was thinner with frailty rather than good health. She leaned on an intricately carved cane with a Chinese dragon handle.

  “I take it you found the house easily,” Lilith said. “Since you’re early.”

  I’d left San Francisco when I said I would, but I’d never been good at sticking to speed limits.

  “You’re much shorter than I remember,” she continued as she ushered me inside and closed the door behind me. “Your personality is far bigger than your body.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Do you need one? You seem to be doing quite well without me. Is that why you took your time getting back to me? It’s rather urgent, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know,” I said, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice. It was a defensive reaction, I knew, because I’d always felt bad about how we left things. “You didn’t tell me anything in the email or on the phone.”

  “In a few minutes, you’ll see why it had to be in person.”

  I took a deep breath and looked around the high-ceilinged living room. Like many professors, Lilith had filled her house with books. Not like the organized bookshelves you see in movies, but tattered paperbacks and pristine hardbound books sharing the same shelf, next to piles of books on the floor that didn’t fit onto the crammed bookshelves. The stone mantel above an ornamental fireplace was lined with framed photographs of her as a younger woman in various locations across the world, most of which included a handsome dark-haired man with a charming lopsided smile.