Homeport

you only had to stay out a few days.”
    This time she didn’t even hesitate. “It would have been longer, but we’re beginning an important project that falls into my specific field of knowledge.”
    “Somebody mentioned that to me. And I heard about your man in Italy. The murder. That’s a rough one.”
    Distress came into her eyes, made her look away. “He was a friend. A good one.”
    “Got any idea who’d take him out that way?”
    She looked back now, coldly. “Detective Cook, if I knew who had crushed my friend’s skull, I’d be in Florence, talking to the police.”
    Cook moved the gum to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. “I didn’t know they’d released the fractured skull.”
    “My mother was informed,” she said in the same chilly voice, “as was Giovanni’s family.” She could only pray that was true. “Are you investigating his murder, or our burglary?”
    “Just curious. Cops are curious.” He spread his hands. “I came in because your brother’s got a theory on how maybe the two incidents are connected.”
    “Yes, he told me. Do you see a connection?”
    “Sometimes you don’t see it until you’re on top of it. You also authenticated the, ah . . .” He took out his notebook, flipped through as if to refresh his memory. “Bronze David, sixteenth century, in the style of Leonardo.”
    Though she felt her palms go damp, she resisted rubbing them on her trousers. “That’s correct.”
    “Nobody can seem to lay their hands on the paperwork for that, the reports, documents, pictures.”
    “Andrew told me that as well. I can only assume the thief took the authenticating documents as well as the bronze.”
    “That makes sense, but he’d have to know just where to look, wouldn’t he? Camera blips only put him inside for . . .” He flipped pages again. “About ten minutes. He’d have to be fast as greased lightning to have added a trip to the lab for records. I did the route at a fast walk myself. Takes a full minute. That doesn’t seem like much, but when you put it into an eight-to-ten-minute time span, it’s a chunk.”
    She couldn’t afford to allow her gaze to waver, her voice to weaken. “All I can tell you is the records were filed, and now they’re missing, as is the bronze.”
    “You have many people work alone here at night, after hours? Like your friend in Florence.”
    “Occasionally, though it would only be senior staff. Security wouldn’t allow anyone else entrance once the building was closed.”
    “Like you and your brother coming in the week after the burglary.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I got a statement here from your night security. He says that on March twenty-three, about two-thirty A.M. , you called in and informed him you and Dr. Andrew Jones were coming in to do some lab work. Would that be accurate?”
    “I wouldn’t argue with it.”
    “That’s late hours you keep.”
    “Not habitually.” Her heart was stampeding in her chest, but her hands were steady enough as she realigned a loosened pin in her hair. “We decided to come in and get some work done while it was quiet. Is that a problem, Detective?”
    “Not for me. Just keeping it tidy.” He tucked his notebook away, scanned the room again. “You know, it’s hard to find a paper clip out of place here. You and your brother run a tidy, organized place.”
    “At home he leaves his socks on the living room floor and never puts his keys in the same place twice.” Was she getting too good at this? she wondered. Was she, in some nasty little way, actually starting to enjoy dancing with a cop?
    “I bet you do—keep everything in its place, I mean. I bet you put everything in the same place every time. A routine, a habit.”
    “You could call it an addiction.” Yes, she realized, in some small way she was enjoying it. Enjoying the fact that she was holding her own. “Detective, I have an appointment very soon, and I’m pressed for time.”
    “Didn’t mean to keep you so long. Appreciate the time, and the explanation,” he added, gesturing toward the painting. “Looks like an awful lot of work. Almost be easier to paint the whole thing over again.”
    “Then it wouldn’t be a Bronzino.”
    “A lot of people wouldn’t know the difference. You would.” He nodded at her. “I bet you could spot a forgery just by eyeballing it.”
    She wondered if the blood had drained from her face or if it merely seemed that way. He’d gotten so close, and so quickly,