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Elise work for me in Florence. Worked for me,” she amended with a faint change in color. “Richard worked for me.”
    “What did he do for you?”
    “Research, primarily. Richard was a brilliant art historian. He was a fount of facts and data, but more, he understood the spirit of the work he researched. He was invaluable.”
    “And Dr. Warfield?”
    “She is my lab director in Florence. She’s a capable, efficient, and trustworthy scientist.”
    “She used to be your daughter-in-law.”
    Elizabeth’s gaze didn’t waver, nor did it flick toward her son. “Yes. We’ve retained a good relationship.”
    “That’s good. Most times ex-mothers-in-law tend to blame their sons’ wives for the trouble. You don’t see many who can work together and . . . retain a good relationship.”
    “We’re both professional women, Detective. And I don’t allow family difficulties to interfere with work, or with my opinion of an individual. I’m quite fond of Elise.”
    “Anything going on between her and Hawthorne?”
    “Going on?” It was said with such frigid disgust the temperature seemed to plummet. “What you’re suggesting is insulting, demeaning, and inappropriate.”
    “My information is that they were both single adults. I don’t mean any insult by asking if they were involved. They were in a third-floor office together. The party was downstairs.”
    “I have no idea why either of them was in Miranda’s office, but obviously they weren’t alone.” She moved past him when a doctor in green scrubs came to the doorway. “Elise?”
    “She’s doing well,” he told them. “She has a fairly serious concussion, some disorientation, but the CAT scan was clear and she’s in stable condition.”
    Elizabeth closed her eyes, and the breath she released was shaky. “I’d like to see her.”
    “I cleared the police in. They wanted to question her as soon as possible, and she agreed. She became agitated when I suggested she wait until tomorrow. It seemed to ease her mind to talk to them tonight.”
    “I’m going to want some time with her.” Cook took out his badge, then nodded toward Elizabeth and Andrew. “I’ll wait. I’ve got plenty of time.”
    He waited over an hour, and wouldn’t have gotten in to see her then if once again she hadn’t insisted on making her statement.
    Cook saw a fragile woman with a livid bruise on her right temple that spread purple toward her eyes. The eyes themselves were exhausted and rimmed with red.
    But the flaws only added to her beauty. Her dark hair was swathed in white bandages. He knew the blow had been to the back of her head, and had bled profusely. He imagined they’d shaved some of that glossy hair to sew her up. Seemed a shame.
    “You’re Detective . . . I’m sorry, I can’t remember the name they gave me.”
    “Cook, ma’am. I appreciate you talking to me.”
    “I want to help.” She winced as she shifted and the pain radiated through her head. “They’re going to give me drugs in a little while. I won’t be able to think clearly once they do.”
    “I’ll try to make this fast. Mind if I sit here?”
    “No, please.” She looked up at the ceiling as if focusing on moving beyond the pain. “Every time I begin, I think it’s a bad dream. It didn’t really happen.”
    “Can you tell me what did happen? Everything you remember.”
    “Richard. He shot Richard.”
    “He?”
    “I don’t even know that, not for sure. I didn’t see. I saw Richard.” Her eyes filled, spilled over, trailed tears down her cheeks. “He’s dead. They told me he was dead. I thought maybe . . . I don’t know—but they said he’s dead. Poor Richard.”
    “What were you doing upstairs with him?”
    “I wasn’t with him—I was looking for him.” She lifted her free hand to brush at the tears. “He said he’d go back to the hotel whenever I wanted to leave. Richard’s not much on parties. We were going to share a cab. I wanted to leave.”
    “Dull party?”
    “No.” She smiled a little. “It was a wonderful exhibit, beautifully presented. But I. . . I’m sure you know the background by now. Andrew and I used to be married, and it was awkward. He had a date there.”
    “Excuse me, Dr. Warfield, but my information was that you divorced him.”
    “Yes, I did, and it was final over a year ago, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling . . . from feeling,” she ended. “It was awkward and depressing for me. I felt obliged to stay for at