Page 53 of Homeport

“Not that I recall. Why is that important, Detective?”

“Just clearing up some details. Were you here as well, Dr. Jones?”

“I was in D.C. for a few days in early November. Some consult work at the Smithsonian. I’d have to get my desk calendar to be sure.”

“Would you mind?” He smiled apologetically. “Just so I can tidy this up.”

“All right.” She couldn’t see the point, but she couldn’t see the harm either. “It’s up in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Cook continued when she left the room. “This is quite a place. Must be a bear to heat.”

“We go through a lot of firewood,” Andrew muttered.

“You do much traveling, Dr. Jones?”

“The Institute keeps me pretty close to home. Miranda’s the frequent flier. She does a lot of consulting, the occasional lecture.” He tapped his fingers on his knee, and noted that Cook’s gaze had shifted to linger on the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table beside the sofa. His shoulders hunched defensively. “What does last November have to do with our break-in?”

“I’m not sure it does, just tugging on a line. You do any fishing?”

“No, I get seasick.”

“Too bad.”

“According to my records,” Miranda said as she came back in, “I was in Washington from November third through the seventh.”

And the burglary in San Francisco had occurred in the early hours of the fifth, Cook recalled. “I guess you flew down there.”

“Yes, into National.” She checked her book. “USAir flight four-one-oh-eight, departing Jones Point at ten-fifty, arriving National at twelve fifty-nine. I stayed at The Four Seasons. Is that specific enough for you?”

“Sure is. Being a scientist, you’d keep good records.”

“Yes, I do.” She walked over to Andrew’s chair, sat on the arm beside him. They became a unit. “What’s this about?”

“Just getting things ordered in my head. Would you have where you were in June in that book? Say the third week.”

“Of course.” Steadied by Andrew’s hand on her knee, she flipped back to June. “I was at the Institute the entire month of June. Lab work, some summer classes. You taught a couple yourself, didn’t you, Andrew, when Jack Gold-bloom’s allergies kicked up and he took a few days off?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes to help him think back. “That was toward the end of June. Oriental Art of the Twelfth Century.” He opened his eyes again and grinned at her. “You wouldn’t touch it, and I had to cram. We can easily get the exact dates for you, Detective,” he continued. “We keep excellent records at the Institute as well.”

“Fine. Appreciate it.”

“We’ll cooperate.” Miranda’s voice was brisk and stern. “And we expect you to do the same. It was our property taken, Detective. I think we have the right to know what avenues you’re investigating.”

“No problem.” He rested his hands on his knees. “I’m checking out a series of burglaries that match the profile of yours. Maybe you heard something, seeing as you’re in the same line, about a theft up in Boston last June.”

“The Harvard University art museum.” A shudder climbed up Miranda’s spine. “The kuang. Chinese tomb piece, thought to be late thirteenth to early twelfth century B.C. Another bronze.”

“You’ve got a good memory for detail.”

“Yes, I do. It was a huge loss. It’s one of the most beautifully preserved pieces of Chinese bronze ever recovered, and worth a great deal more than our David.”

“November it was San Francisco, a painting that time.”

Not a bronze, she thought, and for some reason all but trembled with relief. “It was the M. H. de Young Memorial Museum.”

“That’s right.”

“American art,” Andrew put in. “Colonial period. Where’s the connection?”

---