Homeport

this. We’re just business associates.”
    “You think so?” Maureen said placidly, and turned back to load the dishwasher. “He doesn’t look good enough to you?”
    “He looks very good, but—”
    “Maybe because he comes from Brooklyn and not Park Avenue he isn’t classy enough for a Ph.D.?”

    “No, not at all. It’s simply. . . It’s simply that we’re business associates.”
    “He doesn’t kiss you?”
    “He—I . . .” For God’s sake, was all she could think, and filled her mouth with hot foamy coffee to shut it up.
    “I thought so. I’d worry about that boy if he didn’t kiss a woman who looks like you. He likes brains too. He’s not shallow. But maybe you don’t like the way he kisses. It matters,” she added while Miranda stared into her coffee. “A man doesn’t get your blood up with his kisses, you aren’t going to have a happy relationship. Sex is important. Anybody who says different never had good sex.”
    “Oh my,” was all she could think of.
    “What? You don’t think I know my boy has sex? You think I have brain damage?”
    “I haven’t had sex with Ryan.”
    “Why not?”
    “Why not?” Miranda could only blink as Maureen tidily closed the dishwasher and began to fill the sink to wash the pots. “I barely know him.” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. “I don’t just have sex with every attractive man I meet.”
    “Good. I don’t want my boy going around with easy women.”
    “Mrs. Boldari.” She wondered if it would help to bang her head on the table. “We’re not going around. Our relationship is strictly a business one.”
    “Ryan doesn’t bring business associates home to eat my linguine.”
    Since she had no comment for that, Miranda shut her mouth again. She glanced up with relief as Ryan and his sister came through the archway.
    As expected, he’d charmed Colleen out of her snit. The two of them, Miranda noted, were smiling, their arms around each other’s waists. For the first time, Colleen sent Miranda a friendly look.
    “Sorry about that. Just a few things we needed to straighten out.”
    “No problem.”

    “So . . .” Colleen sat at the table, rested her feet on the opposite chair. “Do you have any solid feeling for who might have stolen the original bronze?”
    Miranda just blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
    “Ryan filled me in. Maybe I can help you sort it out.”
    “Six months out of the academy and she’s Sherlock Holmes.” Ryan bent over, kissed her hair. “Want me to dry the pots, Mama?”
    “No, it’s Patrick’s turn.” She glanced around. “Somebody steal something from your lady?”
    “I did,” he said easily, and joined the women at the table. “It turned out to be a forgery. We’re straightening it out.”
    “Good.”
    “Wait. Wait just a minute.” Miranda lifted both hands. “Good? Is that what you said? Good? You’re telling me you know your son’s a thief?”
    “What, am I a moron?” Maureen neatly wiped her hands before fisting them on her hips. “Of course I know.”
    “I told you she knew,” Ryan pointed out.
    “Yes, but—” She simply hadn’t believed it. Baffled, she shifted, studied Maureen’s pretty face. “And that’s just dandy with you? That’s just fine? And you—” She pointed at Colleen. “You’re a police officer. Your brother steals. How do you resolve the two?”
    “He’s retiring.” Colleen lifted her shoulders. “A little behind schedule.”
    “I don’t understand.” She pressed her lifted hands to her head. “You’re his mother. How can you encourage him to break the law?”
    “Encourage?” Maureen gave that rich laugh again. “Who had to encourage him?” Deciding to give her guest the courtesy of an explanation, she set down her dishcloth. “Do you believe in God?”
    “What? What does that have to do with this?”
    “Don’t argue, just answer. Do you believe in God?”
    Beside Miranda, Ryan grinned. She couldn’t know it, but when his mother used that tone it meant she’d decided she liked you.

    “All right, yes.”
    “When God gives you a gift, it’s a sin not to use it.”
    Miranda closed her eyes a moment. “You’re saying that God gave Ryan a talent, and that it would be a sin for him not to break into buildings and steal?”
    “God could’ve given him a gift for music, like He did my Mary Jo, who plays the piano like an angel. God gave him this gift instead.”
    “Mrs. Boldari—”
    “Don’t