Page 136 of Homeport

He recited a phone number, twice, and repeated his plea.

And now he was dead, Miranda thought as the message ended. He’d asked her for help, but she hadn’t been there. Now he was dead.

“What was it?” Concerned by the devastated look on Miranda’s face, Lori reached out to touch her arm. “My Italian’s limited to pasta orders. Is it bad news?”

“No,” Miranda murmured. “It’s old news, and I was too late.”

She clicked the delete button but she knew the message from the dead would play in her mind for a long time.

It was good to be back in the saddle, to have specific tasks and goals. Ryan had been right about that, she decided. She’d needed action.

She was in restoration, checking out the progress of the Bronzino personally, when John Carter came in.

“Miranda. I’ve been trying to track you down. Welcome back.”

“Thanks, John, it’s good to be back.”

He removed his glasses, polished them on his lab coat. “It’s terrible about Giovanni. I can’t take it in.”

She had a flash, the sprawled body, the staring eyes, blood. “I know. He had a lot of friends here.”

“I had to make the announcement yesterday. The lab’s like a morgue.” He puffed out his cheeks, blew out a breath. “I’m going to miss the way he’d perk things up whenever he came in for a few days. Anyway, we all wanted to do something. We came up with a few ideas, but the one everyone liked best was having a tree planted in the park. A lot of us take our lunch break there in good weather, and we thought it would make a nice memorial.”

“I think that’s lovely, John. Something he would have liked very much.”

“I wanted to clear it with you first. You’re still lab director.”

“Consider it cleared. I hope the fact that I’m management doesn’t mean I can’t contribute to the fund.”

“Everybody knows you were friends—that comes first.”

“You, ah, spent time with him when he came here, and whenever you went over to Standjo.”

“Yeah, he used to say I was a branch in the mud.” Carter smiled wistfully. “He meant stick, but I got such a kick out of it, I never corrected him. He’d talk me into going out and sharing a bottle of wine or a meal. He’d say how he was getting me out of my rut, how he’d teach me to flirt with the pretty girls. Then he’d ask to see the latest pictures of my kids.”

His voice thickened, his eyes glistened with moisture before he turned away and cleared his throat. “So I’ll, ah, arrange for the tree.”

“Yes, thank you, John.” She turned away herself, ashamed that she’d let Ryan’s suspicions lure her into probing into the man’s grief.

“Meanwhile, um, I hope you’ll get back to the lab soon. You’re missed.”

“I’ll be swinging through, but I’ve got a priority project for the next few weeks.”

“New Renaissance display.” He managed a smile again when she looked back at him. “If you could tap the grapevine around here, you’d have a hell of a potent wine. A major exhibit like that’s just what we need after the bad taste we’ve got in our mouths over the break-in. Nice thinking.”

“Yes, we’ll . . .” She trailed off, spotting Detective Cook as he wandered in. “Sorry, John, I’d better deal with this.”

“Yeah. . . . I don’t know why.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “He makes me nervous. Looks like he suspects everybody of doing something.”

With barely a nod for Cook, he scurried out, his dusty shoes scarcely making a sound.

“Detective? What can I do for you?”

“This is some setup you’ve got here, Dr. Jones.” Rather than take out what he thought of as his close-up glasses, he squinted at the painting. “That’s the real thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s a Bronzino. Sixteenth-century Italian Renaissance artist. The Institute is very pleased to have it. The owners have agreed to lend it to us for display.”

“Mind if I ask what she’s doing there?”

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