Emma eased closer to her. “Did you recognize the house or the garden?”
“No, how would I?” Sister Cecilia seemed more defensive and confused than annoyed by the question. “Jack d’Auberville died before I was even born.”
When Emma let the comment slide, Colin placed a foot on the bottom step, his shoes almost dry. “Could Ainsley d’Auberville have picked up the painting yesterday morning after you saw it, before Agent Sharpe arrived?”
Sister Cecilia fastened her pale eyes on him. “I don’t know for certain that it’s her father’s work. Sister Joan didn’t say, and I didn’t look for a signature.”
It wasn’t an answer to his question. Emma caught on to that right away and asked, “Was Ainsley here yesterday morning?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t even know you were here until you helped me off the boulder. It was only by chance that I saw Sister Joan in the meditation garden.” Sister Cecilia was breathing rapidly. “I haven’t told anyone about the missing painting. Not even Mother Natalie. Sister Joan normally is very meticulous about logging in work, but not this one.”
Colin stood straight. “Maybe she found it in the attic—”
“No, definitely not,” Sister Cecilia said, cutting him off. “I’d never seen it before yesterday morning. There’s artwork throughout the convent, inside and outside, and I’m sure there’s tons in storage—but not this piece. I’m positive.”
“Why are you so sure?” Emma asked.
“I just am.”
“Is there anything else you can remember about the painting itself or the artwork depicted?”
Sister Cecilia’s eyes were half-closed. She seemed transfixed by the ocean, a deep blue under the clear sky. “In the focal painting of the woman in the cave, there’s a Viking warship on the horizon. At least, I think that’s what it was. It looked like a longboat with dragons.” She smiled suddenly. “The kids I teach love that stuff.”
Emma said nothing but Colin could see the comment about Vikings struck a chord with her. “Your security here isn’t that tight,” he said, addressing Sister Cecilia.
“We handle valuable art properly and carefully.” She spun around at him, agitated, the questions noticeably getting to her.
“We don’t have security cameras or an alarm system, just the gated entrance here and the fence around the tower.”
Colin pointed across the manicured lawn toward the water. “The fence doesn’t cover the ledges. The tower’s exposed to anyone willing to brave the rocks.”
Sister Cecilia went ashen, and Emma stepped beside her and touched her arm, then said gently, “Sister, the detectives investigating what happened yesterday need to hear your account. They run down leads all the time. Good, bad, neutral. It’s not a problem.”
“I’ve told you what I know. Isn’t that enough?”
She pulled her arm free and rushed across the lawn, barely making a sound on the soft grass as she headed for the water’s edge.
“Why is she so spooked?” Colin asked.
Emma watched the fleeing novice. “Fear of being wrong. Fear of hurting the community here. A number of reasons.”
“What about you, Agent Sharpe? Do you recognize the description of the missing painting?”
“No.”
“What about the painting of the woman in the cave? Think it’s real?”
She gave him the kind of firm look he’d learned at Quantico. “Tide’s up. You’ll be able to get your boat off the rocks any minute now.”
“What saint died in a cave?” Colin asked her.
“Probably more than one.” She shifted her position just enough that her honey-colored hair shone in the sunlight. “I know a bit about boats. Do you need help?”
“I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t relenting. “You and your family specialize in art that mysteriously disappears or turns up out of the blue. That’s why Sister Joan called you.”
“Goodbye, Agent Donovan.”
“Plus you’re in law enforcement. Do you have any reason to think the d’Auberville painting was stolen before yesterday?”
“We don’t know if it was stolen yesterday. Not yet, at least.”
“Do you doubt Sister Cecilia’s account?”
Emma gave him the faintest of smiles. “Be careful on the rocks. They can be slippery. I can watch you and call for help if you take a tumble.”
“Good of you.”
“You’ll get wet for sure with the tide up,” she added.
No way would he get a look at the rest of the convent grounds without her on his tail. Yank’s mission of Colin keeping an eye on his agent wasn’t going to be easy. Emma Sharpe, he was willing to bet, wasn’t accustomed to having anyone on her shoulder. Yank liked independent operators, until they caused him problems.
Colin recognized a Maine State Police detective from his marine patrol days, a wiry, middle-aged man from Lewiston, cross the lawn from the gate. “Donovan, what are you doing here?” Tony Renkow approached the tower and jerked a thumb back toward the water. “You going to get your boat off the rocks?”
“Relax. I’m under the watch of Agent Sharpe here.”
“Your brother know you’re here?”
“Kevin? Yeah, by now, I imagine he does.”
Renkow didn’t look happy. “How’s your desk in D.C.?”
“It’s good. Shiny. Neat. I don’t work with slobs anymore.”
Colin thought he noticed Emma stiffen, but Renkow grinned. “You didn’t forget how to handle a boat while you were in Washington, did you?”
“I got too close to the rocks.”
The detective glanced at Emma, then shifted back to Colin. “Are we after someone you’re looking for? Anything we need to know?”
“I’m in the dark.”
“Agent Sharpe?”
“She and I just met.”
The detective glowered, but Emma turned to him. “I think you need to talk to Sister Cecilia,” she said, and led Renkow to the novice.
Colin figured he’d take the opportunity to mount the tower steps and walk inside for a look. He had a little while before Andy’s boat would drift off in the rising tide.
CHAPTER 10
EMMA LEFT SISTER CECILIA IN THE HANDS OF the CID detective and returned along the meandering stone walk to the main convent gate. She was relieved she didn’t run into any of the sisters—women
