Morgan Ormond, the director of the Georgetown Museum of Art, was next on Dana’s list.
“I understand you wanted to ask me about Gary Winthrop?”
“Yes. I wondered—”
“His death was a terrible loss. Our nation has lost its greatest art patron.”
“Mr. Ormond, isn’t there a great deal of competition in the art world?”
“Competition?”
“Doesn’t it sometimes happen that several people might be after the same work of art and get into—”
“Of course. But never with Mr. Winthrop. He had a fabulous private collection, yet at the same time he was very generous with museums. Not just with this museum, but with museums all over the world. His ambition was to make great art available to everybody.”
“Did you know of any enemies he—”
“Gary Winthrop? Never, never, never.”
Dana’s final meeting was with Rosalind Lopez, who had worked for Madeline Winthrop for fifteen years as her personal maid. She was now working at a catering business she and her husband owned.
“Thank you for seeing me, Miss Lopez,” Dana said. “I wanted to talk to you about Madeline Winthrop.”
“That poor lady. She—she was the nicest person I’ve ever known.”
It’s beginning to sound like a broken record, Dana thought.
“It was just terrible the awful way she died.”
“Yes,” Dana agreed. “You were with her a long time.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know of anything she might have done that would have offended anybody or made enemies of them?”
Rosalind Lopez looked at Dana in surprise. “Enemies? No, ma’am. Everyone loved her.”
It is a broken record, Dana decided.
On her way back to the office, Dana thought, I guess I was wrong. In spite of the odds, their deaths must have been coincidental.
Dana went in to see Matt Baker. She was greeted by Abbe Lasmann.
“Hi, Dana.”
“Is Matt ready for me?”
“Yes. You can go in.”
Matt Baker looked up as Dana walked into his office. “How’s Sherlock Holmes today?”
“It’s elementary, my dear Watson. I was wrong. There is no story there.”
V
THE CALL FROM Dana’s mother, Eileen, came without warning.
“Dana, darling. I have the most exciting news for you!”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I’m getting married.”
Dana was stunned. “What?”
“Yes. I went up to Westport, Connecticut, to visit a friend, and she introduced me to this lovely, lovely man.”
“I’m—I’m thrilled for you, Mother. That’s wonderful.”
“He’s—he’s so—” She giggled. “I can’t describe him, but he’s adorable. You’ll love him.”
Dana said cautiously, “How long have you known him?”
“Long enough, darling. We’re perfect for each other. I’m so lucky.”
“Does he have a job?” Dana asked.
“Stop acting like my father. Of course he has a job. He’s a very successful insurance salesman. His name is Peter Tomkins. He has a beautiful home in Westport, and I’m dying for you and Kimbal to come up here and meet him. Will you come?”
“Of course we will.”
“Peter is so anxious to meet you. He’s told everyone about how famous you are. Are you sure you can make it?”
“Yes.” Dana was off the air weekends, so there would be no problem. “Kemal and I are looking forward to it.”
When Dana picked Kemal up at school, she said, “You’re going to meet your grandmother. We’re going to be a real family, darling.”
“Dope.”
Dana smiled. “Dope is right.”
Early Saturday morning Dana and Kemal drove to Connecticut. Dana looked forward to the trip to Westport with great anticipation.
“This is going to be wonderful for everyone,” Dana assured Kemal. “All grandparents need grandchildren to spoil. That’s the best part of having children. And you’ll be able to stay with them some of the time.”
Kemal said nervously, “Will you be there, too?”
Dana squeezed his hand. “I’ll be there.”
Peter Tomkins’s home was a charming old cottage on Blind Brook Road, with a small stream running alongside it.
“Hey, this is cool,” Kemal said.
Dana ruffled Kemal’s hair. “I’m glad you like it. We’ll come here often.”
The front door of the cottage opened, and Eileen Evans stood there. There were still vague traces of beauty left, like clues to what once was, but bitterness had overlaid the past with a harsh brush. It was a Dorian Gray situation. Her beauty had gone into Dana. Standing beside Eileen was a middle-aged, pleasant-faced man wearing a broad smile.