Homeport

than that. She intended to prove it.
    Squaring her shoulders, she marched out of her office with the intention of marching into Andrew’s.
    At least two members of the family would stand by each other.
    Detective Cook stood by Lori’s desk. “Another moment of your time, Dr. Jones.”
    “Of course.” Even as her stomach dipped, she composed her features and gestured. “Please come in and sit down. Lori, hold my calls please. Can I get you coffee, Detective?”
    “No, thanks. I’m cutting back. Caffeine and tobacco, they’re real killers.” He settled into a chair, took out his notebook. “Dr. Jones—Dr. Andrew Jones tells me that the piece that was taken was insured.”
    “The Institute is fully insured against theft, and fire.”
    “Five hundred thousand dollars. Isn’t that a lot for a little piece like that? It wasn’t signed or anything either, is that right?”
    “The artist was unknown, but believed to be a student of Leonardo da Vinci.” She longed to nurse the nagging ache in her temple, but kept her hands still. “It was an excellent study of David, circa 1524.”
    She’d tested it herself, she thought sourly. And no one had questioned her findings.
    “Five hundred thousand is well within the range should the piece have been auctioned or sold to a collector,” she added.
    “You do that kind of thing here?” Cook pursed his lips. “Sell off?”
    “Occasionally. We also acquire. It’s part of our purpose.”
    He let his gaze skim around her office. Efficient, neat, with high-end equipment and a desk that was probably worth a small fortune as well. “It takes a lot of money to run a place like this.”
    “Yes, it does. The fees we generate for classes, consulting work, and admissions cover a large part of it. There’s also a trust fund set up by my grandfather. In addition patrons often donate funds or collections.” Though it flickered through her mind that it might be wise to call their lawyer, she leaned forward. “Detective Cook, we don’t need five hundred thousand dollars in insurance money to run the Institute.”
    “I guess it’s a drop in the bucket. Of course, for some people it’s a nice chunk of change. Especially if they gamble or have debts, or just want to buy a fancy car.”
    However tight her neck and shoulders were now, she met his gaze levelly. “I don’t gamble, I don’t have any difficult debts, and I have a car.”
    “If you’ll excuse me saying so, Dr. Jones, you don’t seem particularly upset about this loss.”
    “Is my being upset going to help you recover the bronze?”
    He clucked his tongue. “You got a point. Your brother now, he’s pretty shaken up.”
    Because her eyes clouded, she dropped her gaze and stared into the remains of her tea. “He feels responsible. He takes things to heart.”
    “And you don’t?”
    “Feel responsible, or take things to heart?” she countered, then lifted her hands a few inches off the desk. “In this case, neither.”
    “Just for my notes, would you mind going over your evening for me?”
    “All right.” Her muscles had bunched up again, but she spoke calmly. “Andrew and I both worked until around seven. I sent my assistant home just after six. I had a long-distance call shortly after.”
    “From?”
    “Florence, Italy. An associate of mine.” Distress burned under her breastbone like an ulcer. “I imagine we were on the phone for ten minutes, maybe a little less. Andrew dropped by here a bit after that. We had a discussion, and left together right around seven.”
    “Do you usually come and go to work together?”

    “No, we don’t. Our hours don’t always coincide. I wasn’t feeling well last night, so he took me home. We share the house our grandmother left us. We had a little dinner. I went upstairs around nine.”
    “And stayed in the rest of the night?”
    “Yes, as I said, I wasn’t feeling very well.”
    “And your brother was at home all night.”
    She had no idea. “Yes, he was. I woke him right after I got the call from Mr. Scutter in security, just after six this morning. We came in together, assessed the situation, and ordered Mr. Scutter to call the police.”
    “That little bronze . . .” Cook rested his pad on his knee. “You’ve got pieces in that gallery worth a lot more, I’d guess. Funny he only took that piece—only one piece after he’d gone to all the trouble to get inside.”
    “Yes,” she said evenly. “I thought the same myself. How would you