Page 138 of Homeport

Though she felt her palms go damp, she resisted rubbing them on her trousers. “That’s correct.”

“Nobody can seem to lay their hands on the paperwork for that, the reports, documents, pictures.”

“Andrew told me that as well. I can only assume the thief took the authenticating documents as well as the bronze.”

“That makes sense, but he’d have to know just where to look, wouldn’t he? Camera blips only put him inside for . . .” He flipped pages again. “About ten minutes. He’d have to be fast as greased lightning to have added a trip to the lab for records. I did the route at a fast walk myself. Takes a full minute. That doesn’t seem like much, but when you put it into an eight-to-ten-minute time span, it’s a chunk.”

She couldn’t afford to allow her gaze to waver, her voice to weaken. “All I can tell you is the records were filed, and now they’re missing, as is the bronze.”

“You have many people work alone here at night, after hours? Like your friend in Florence.”

“Occasionally, though it would only be senior staff. Security wouldn’t allow anyone else entrance once the building was closed.”

“Like you and your brother coming in the week after the burglary.”

“Excuse me?”

“I got a statement here from your night security. He says that on March twenty-three, about two-thirty A.M., you called in and informed him you and Dr. Andrew Jones were coming in to do some lab work. Would that be accurate?”

“I wouldn’t argue with it.”

“That’s late hours you keep.”

“Not habitually.” Her heart was stampeding in her chest, but her hands were steady enough as she realigned a loosened pin in her hair. “We decided to come in and get some work done while it was quiet. Is that a problem, Detective?”

“Not for me. Just keeping it tidy.” He tucked his notebook away, scanned the room again. “You know, it’s hard to find a paper clip out of place here. You and your brother run a tidy, organized place.”

“At home he leaves his socks on the living room floor and never puts his keys in the same place twice.” Was she getting too good at this? she wondered. Was she, in some nasty little way, actually starting to enjoy dancing with a cop?

“I bet you do—keep everything in its place, I mean. I bet you put everything in the same place every time. A routine, a habit.”

“You could call it an addiction.” Yes, she realized, in some small way she was enjoying it. Enjoying the fact that she was holding her own. “Detective, I have an appointment very soon, and I’m pressed for time.”

“Didn’t mean to keep you so long. Appreciate the time, and the explanation,” he added, gesturing toward the painting. “Looks like an awful lot of work. Almost be easier to paint the whole thing over again.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a Bronzino.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t know the difference. You would.” He nodded at her. “I bet you could spot a forgery just by eyeballing it.”

She wondered if the blood had drained from her face or if it merely seemed that way. He’d gotten so close, and so quickly, while she’d been smugly congratulating herself on playing her part to perfection.

“Not always. A visual study isn’t, can’t be conclusive if the fake is well executed. It takes laboratory tests.”

“Like the ones you run here, the ones you were doing in Florence last month.”

“Yes, exactly like those.” The sweat that ran in a thin trail down her back was ice cold. “If you have an interest, I can arrange a demonstration. But not at the moment,” she said with a glance at her watch. “I really—” She broke off, swamped by a war of relief and nerves when Ryan came through the door.

“Miranda. How nice to see you again. Your assistant said I might find you here.” Butter smooth, he took her hand, brought it to his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit late. Traffic.”

“That’s all right.” She heard the words but couldn’t feel her own mouth move. “I’ve been tied up for a while. Detective Cook—”

“Oh yes, we met, didn’t we?” Ryan offered a hand. “The morning after the burglary here. Has there been any progress?”

“We’re working on it.”

“I’m sure you are. I don’t mean to interrupt. Shall I wait for you in your office, Miranda?”

“Yes. No. Are we finished for now, Detective?”

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