“Good work. I’ll pass on that information to Polly. She can have the galleries trace the items back to the original sellers. I’m sure it will help her in her investigation,” he said over the sound of running water.

“Well, that got me to thinking about Dragonis. Maybe he was stealing from the museum himself, or working with someone who was.”

Connor glanced over his shoulder at her. “Go on. I can tell by the look on your face that there’s more.”

She laughed. “More questions than answers, I’m afraid. I guess what I’m wondering is why now. If these artifacts were stolen forty or fifty years ago, why is someone trying to get them back now?”

“Good question. I guess we could answer that if we knew who was at the bottom of it.”

“Or vice versa.”

“Right.” He turned the water off. “I guess there’s no colander.”

“I think maybe in that cabinet to your left, down at the bottom.”

“Got it.”

“Can I help you at all?” she asked.

“No. This is my show. How about a sharp knife and a cutting board?”

“Maybe there to the right.”

He found a knife that would do, but no cutting board. He cleaned off the counter, then began to cut and chop on it.

“Did you learn anything from the boy at the police station?”

“Not a damned thing. Except maybe he’s really afraid of double-crossing whoever’s calling the shots.” Connor told her about the boy crying. “The shame of it is that he’s just a kid. At least I think he’s a kid. He won’t tell us how old he is. And while I know that kids kill every day, somehow I don’t think this one did. But he won’t say a damned word.”

He chopped at the onions with a vengeance.

“Anyway, he’s going to be handed over to New Castle, probably tomorrow. Maybe Coliani can get him to talk.”

“Shouldn’t he have a lawyer?”

“Thorpe offered to get him one, but he wouldn’t even respond to that.”

“Maybe he doesn’t speak English.”

“He spoke enough English the other night, when he wanted me to call off Sweet Thing.” Connor found a large pot in one of the cabinets and tossed in the onions. “In other news, I stopped in to see Louise on my way back. She’s going to get me a list of the trustees.”

“Did you tell her you’re having them all investigated? Including her?”

“She isn’t stupid. She already figured that out.” He took a bottle of olive oil out of the paper bag, opened it, and drizzled some in the bottom of the pot. He put the pot on top of the stove and turned the burner on low. “She did confirm what Dr. Bokhari told me about both Nora Gannon and Olivia Masters. Both have roots that go deep into Howe University soil. Legacy students in their day, both of them, and both had relatives who served as trustees at some point during the past century.”

“So both of them could have known about the artifacts in the basement of the museum. At the very least, maybe one of their relatives did.” Daria pondered the possibility. “Did you ask Louise about Henry Dragonis?”

“Yes, but she said the name didn’t mean anything to her.”

“So we really don’t know any more tonight than we did this morning.” She tapped the end of her pencil on the pile of notes she’d been going through. “And we’re back to the why of it. Why now? Why is someone after the artifacts now?”

“The obvious answer is that someone is avenging the goddess, or whatever, but that just seems too easy,” he told her. “Like that’s what someone wants us to think. It all seems very pat.”

“Maybe your friend Will can come up with something that will point you in the right direction.”

“He will. I have faith in him.” He finished chopping the tomatoes and peppers and started in on the cucumbers. “All we need to do is find the right string…”

“You give it a tug and the truth spills out?”

“That’s how it usually works.”

“You’re very confident, aren’t you.”

“I’m good at what I do.” He said quietly.

“You still haven’t told me what that is, exactly.”

When he didn’t respond, Daria said, “I have all that information from my parents about Jack, if you want to take a look.”

“Great. I’ll just be a minute more.”

Daria stared at his back for almost a minute before reaching into her briefcase for the investigators’ reports. He’d said all he was going to say about himself earlier that day, and that was going to have to be enough.

“I miss Sweet Thing,” Daria told him. They were sitting in the conservatory listening to the cicadas. Occasionally one slammed into a window screen and made her jump.

“I’ll check with Coliani first thing in the morning to see when we can pick her up.” He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

“You don’t have to sit up with me while I read. I can see you’re tired. Why not just go up to bed?”

He hesitated and she knew he didn’t want to leave her downstairs alone, so she added, “I’m going up now anyway.”

“In that case, I’ll go, too. Go on up. I’ll lock up the house.”

“All right.” She closed the notebook she’d been working in. She wanted to show him the sketches of the displays she’d worked on that afternoon, but they could wait until tomorrow. “Thanks again for making dinner. It was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. It was fun. I hope I get to do it again before I leave Howe.” He gathered the reports he’d been reading and returned them to the envelope in which they’d been mailed. Several sheets of paper floated to the floor. He looked up to find her staring at him.

“When do you think that will be?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and picked up the errant sheets. “I feel like we’re close to putting it all together, you know? Like there are only one or two pieces missing, and once I get those, the case is going to fall into place.”

“I see.” She stood and walked to the door. “Well, thanks again.”

She paused in the hall to pick up the sandals she’d left by the door before starting up the steps. She hadn’t thought about him leaving, though she knew it was inevitable. His presence had dominated most of the time she’d spent at Howe, and she wasn’t ready to say good-bye.

She heard him moving around downstairs, heard windows slam in the conservatory and in the kitchen. She knew his routine, and in her mind she followed him through the first floor as she undressed for bed. After he closed the windows, he’d check the locks on the back door. Then he’d move into the dining room, check those windows, then the two front rooms. Next he’d lock the front door and turn off the lamp, and then he’d come upstairs.

She heard his footfalls on the steps, and saw the overhead hall light go out and the small table lamp turn on. Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, she called to him.

“Connor?”

“Yes?”

He stood right outside her doorway, silhouetted by the light. She walked into the hall and reached a hand up to touch his face.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

She thought at first he was going to decline, because for a moment he simply stood and looked at her. But then he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. She’d expected him to more or less start out slow and work his way into it, but he came at her full blast, taking her mouth and owning it.

He lifted her off her feet and held her to his chest, kissing her as she’d never been kissed before. But she’d known it would be like that. She’d known this moment was going to happen, and she’d known it would feel just like this, like a tidal wave that swept her down into its depths and spun her around and around until she was dizzy with it. Drunk with it. Drunk with him.

She felt her body respond to him, every cell, every fiber, and she had no thought of stemming the tide. Go with it, she told herself. Just…go with it.

“Stay with me,” she whispered into his neck when their lips finally parted. “Please stay with me…”

He carried her into her room and eased her back onto the bed. She tugged at his belt as she fell back.