They worked through the rest of the list and by two-thirty, Connor had called John Mancini, explained the situation, and promised to e-mail a list of the items and their present locations when he got back to his motel room.

When he got off the phone, he told Daria, “I know you hated having to do that, but look at it this way, once the Bureau gets involved, you can use that to reason with the private collectors.”

“You can deal with me quietly now and we can resolve this, or I’m going to have to turn it over to the FBI. They’re already on the case, but I thought it better for you personally if we handled this matter between you and the university…” She talked it out. “Makes them feel as if they’re being given special treatment.”

“Exactly.”

“All right. We’ll try that.” She slid the folder into her shoulder bag and said, “So we’re headed to Centerville first, right? Damian Cross and his statue of the goddess?”

“That’s a good place to start. You know how to get there?”

“Roughly.”

“Roughly, eh?” He stood and gathered the papers from the table. “I don’t suppose that rental car of yours has GPS?”

She frowned. “What does GPS mean?”

“It means we’re taking my car.”

8

T he main road leading to Centerville, Delaware, was tree-lined and cool, even under the August sun. Many of the houses Connor drove past were set on wide lawns, the air of wealth and privilege more pervasive than the humidity. Here and there, private lanes led over gently rolling hills that hid handsome homes from curious eyes. Large estates, their boundaries marked by the ubiquitous split-rail fences, sat quietly in the distance.

“I’ve been through this area before,” Daria noted, “when I was younger. One of my aunts took Iona and me.”

She pointed to a sign on the left side of the road.

“That’s Winterthur, down that lane. It’s a museum. It was the home of one of the DuPonts, but I don’t know which one,” she told him. “It houses a world-famous collection of American art and furniture. The grounds are magnificent.”

“Open to the public?”

“Yes.” She turned in her seat as they passed what seemed to be endless fields surrounding the old estate, which wasn’t visible from the road. “I’d like to go back while I’m in the area. I’d like to see it through adult eyes. I imagine I’ll have a different sort of appreciation for their displays. I remember being so impressed with the house, the one time I was there. I must have been nine or so, and we’d just come back from a summer trekking around some ruins somewhere in the Mediterranean, I can’t even remember which ones. So when our aunt told us she was taking us to see a famous old American house, well, of course, we were expecting something completely different.”

“You expected to find ruins.” Connor’s mouth tilted in a smile.

“Exactly.” Daria grinned. “Imagine our surprise when we arrived at this very elegant, gracious manor house, surrounded by beautiful gardens and woods. And inside, the loveliest furniture, paintings, china. My sister and I felt like total bumpkins.”

“Maybe we’ll get to go sometime soon. You can take me on a tour.” Connor glanced at the GPS monitor. “We take the next left.”

“Amazing little device, isn’t it?” Daria stared at the small screen. “Like having a tiny person in your car who always knows exactly where you’re supposed to go.”

“That’s the idea.” Connor put on his turn signal and waited for a truck to pass.

“This is one zippy little car, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “Would you like to drive home?’

“Uh-uh. My most recent driving machines have been a centuries-old Honda and that little Ford I got from the rental place. Very basic transportation. Nothing at all like this.” She touched the dash appreciatively. “I’ve never driven a Porsche before.”

“Then you should take the opportunity while you have it.”

“Maybe another day.” She pointed to the monitor. “If I’m reading this correctly, Damian Cross’s house should be right up there on the left.”

“I believe you’re right.” Connor slowed and turned onto a cobbled drive. He parked in front of a stand-alone garage and turned off the ignition. “Let’s see if Mr. Cross is around.”

“There’s no car, but he has”-she counted-“four, five garage bays to park in. He must own a lot of cars.”

Connor inspected the outside wall of the garage.

“A lot of cars or a lot of something he likes to keep at a controlled temperature.” He pointed to the gauges. “Looks like it’s air-conditioned and heated. Must have something good in there.”

“Too bad the windows have those pesky shades, otherwise we could see.” Daria looked around. “And he sure does like these cobbley stones. Not just the driveway, but the walkway, and it looks like a patio out back and that area around the pool are all made of the same stones.”

Connor followed her gaze. “He’s got quite a place. Old restored farmhouse set nicely off a narrow country road, pretty gardens out back, looks like fruit trees on the other side of the house. Mr. Cross seems to have his own little Eden here.”

“I can’t wait to see the inside of the house.” Daria smiled and tugged on Connor’s arm. “As beautifully restored as the exterior is, I bet the inside is just gorgeous.”

They walked around to the front of the house.

Daria pointed to the foundation plantings. “The landscaping is impeccable. I’d say Damian Cross is a man of some means. Probably has lots of really nice antiques in there.”

“We’ll know in a minute,” Connor said as he rang the doorbell. Immediately, a dog began barking wildly on the other side of the door.

When no one answered the door, Connor rang the bell again.

“I don’t think anyone is home, Connor,” Daria told him. “Between the doorbell and the dog, I think anyone inside would know we’re here.”

The dog continued to bark and scratch at the door.

“Dog doesn’t sound too friendly.” Connor noted. “Think I should leave a card?”

“I think coming home and finding a business card from the FBI might spook him. He might not call. Why don’t we just drive up to Gladwyne and see if the Blumes are home, then check again on our way back?”

“Cross could be at work at this hour. Let’s see how far we are from the Blumes.”

They walked back to the car and got in. Connor turned on the engine, then entered the Gladwyne address into the GPS system.

“A little over an hour,” he said. “It’s almost three. Want to give it a try?”

“Sure.”

He started back the way they’d come, and Daria said, “I guess the new security people should be arriving at the museum right about now.”

“Were you supposed to be there?”

“No. Louise and Stefano Korban, the only archaeology professor on campus this summer, will be meeting them. Louise thought my time was better spent tracking down the artifacts at this point, and I totally agree.”

“Have you met Korban?”

“No. I’m sure I will soon, though. Louise thinks highly of him.” She watched out the window as the scenery changed from country fields and quaint antiques shops to restaurants and gas stations. Up ahead was the Brandywine Battlefield, and farther still, several more restaurants and a small strip mall. Connor swung into the left lane to turn onto a highway that led northwest.

“It’s interesting that for a small school with no money and no real reputation to speak of, Howe has several people on staff who are well-known in the field of archaeology.”

“This Korban guy?”

“Yes. He and the head of the department, Sabina Bokhari. You’d expect to find professors with their credentials at places like Penn or Yale. Not Howe.”

“Why do you suppose they’re here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could probably ask them.”

“Maybe I will.” She smiled and leaned back against the seat.