"The griffins were stolen?" Lily frowned. "But I'm sure my aunt had no idea..."

"We're equally sure," Connor a.s.sured her. "We believe she most likely purchased them from a dealer who could have acquired them from another dealer. That's one of the things we're trying to find out."

"For the past thirty or so years, she-and my uncle, when he was alive-bought from Cavanaugh and Sons on Rittenhouse exclusively. I can't imagine her acquiring any objects through anyone else. As a matter of fact, they bought the pieces I sold after her death." Lily walked them back to the living room.

"You sold her entire collection?" Daria asked.

"Except for several Egyptian items she had previously placed on permanent loan to the museum at Penn, yes. I called Mr. Cavanaugh and asked him if he was interested in helping me sell the collection, and of course he was. He sold every single piece. I couldn't bear to look at any of it. I know that's what attracted those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who killed her."

"How would anyone have known what she had?"

"The Philadelphia Inquirer ran an article last year about something she'd loaned to the art museum. When they interviewed her, they asked about her collection, and she told them. I said at the time that it wasn't a smart thing to do, but..." She raised both hands, palms up.

"Would you happen to have a receipt from the dealer you sold to, Ms. DiPietro?"

"Yes, Agent Shields. Would you like to see it?"

"Please."

When Lily DiPietro left the room, Connor turned to Daria. "Is there a pattern here, or have I been in this business too long?"

"The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up when she said her aunt had been murdered," Daria whispered. "Connor, who would be-"

"Here." Lily handed a sheaf of papers to Connor. He glanced at it, then pa.s.sed it on to Daria. "Take a look."

Daria studied it page by page. When she reached the end, she looked up at Connor and said, "Mrs. Sevrenson had a most impressive collection. Any one of these pieces would bring a small fortune at auction. It's hard to believe that thieves would come in, ignore all this, and only take two items."

"That's what I told the police," Lily said, "but they didn't know what to make of it, either."

"Ms. DiPietro, are you absolutely certain that the griffins were stolen? Are you positive she hadn't disposed of them some other way? Could she have sold them and not mentioned it to you? Could she have sold to a different dealer?"

"No, Agent Shields, there would have been paper on a sale." Lily shook her head emphatically. "There was nothing in her desk about a sale of the griffins."

"The pieces she loaned to Penn-are you certain they were all Egyptian?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure she didn't loan anything to any other museums or galleries?" He continued to question her.

"I'm absolutely positive. My aunt was meticulous in her record keeping. Even at seventy-nine, she kept all her books in order."

"In that case, maybe she left a record of where the griffins came from?" Daria asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not. My uncle began the collection many years ago. Many of the pieces were purchased by him. He was apparently a very astute collector, but unfortunately, he didn't keep records very well."

Lily dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "This whole thing has been so terrible. She was an old woman. Defenseless. They didn't have to kill her, torture her the way they did. They should have just taken whatever it was they came for and left her alone."

"May I ask exactly what happened to her?" Connor asked gently.

"It's in the police report, so I'm sure you can get a copy, but they never did make it public, it was just too grisly." Lily was openly crying. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds cut off her hands." She sat on the nearest chair, as if her legs had given out. "And then they cut out her tongue, and left her to bleed to death."

NINE.

D aria's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my G.o.d!" she gasped. White-faced, she turned to Connor. "Connor..."

He reached for her arm and grasped it firmly, as if he thought she needed to be held up.

"Ms. DiPietro, I'm so sorry to have upset you," he said gently. "We had no idea..."

The dead woman's niece said tearfully, "It was such a horrible way to die, and she was such a sweet woman. Why would anyone do such a thing? Where would someone even get the idea to do something like that?"

Connor had thoughts on that, but didn't think now was the best time to share them.

Lily turned to Daria. "I can see I've shocked you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so blunt. I just should have said she was killed during a break-in and left it at that."

"No, no," a still-pale Daria insisted. "I'm glad you told us. It's important that we know."

"Why?"

"Because I can enter the killer's MO into our computer and see if there have been similar murders," Connor said before Daria could open her mouth. "We might be able to learn something about the killer or killers."

"I think the Philadelphia police already tried that," Lily told him.

"Sometimes our computer people can dig things up that someone else might miss," he said smoothly.

"If you find anything new, you'll let me know?"

"Absolutely," he promised.

"Then if there are no other questions, I really need to get going. I have theater tickets tonight and I'm supposed to meet a friend for dinner. I was just getting ready to leave when the doorbell rang."

"We're sorry to have detained you, and sorrier still for your loss." Connor shook her hand. "I apologize again if we've upset you."

"Agent Shields, I've been upset since the day she died," Lily a.s.sured him as she walked them to the door. "She was my only relative, and I hers."

"At the risk of sounding insensitive, may I a.s.sume you were the beneficiary of her estate?"

"Except for her bequest to Penn-the pieces on loan became theirs upon her death. As I said, neither of us had anyone else."

Before he left, he handed her his card. "If you think of anything at all, or if you have any questions, give me a call."

"I'll do that, Agent Shields. Thanks." Lily did her best to smile as she closed the door behind them.

"You okay?" Connor put a protective arm around Daria, and even in the summer heat of the early evening, felt her shiver.

"Connor, did you hear...did you get that?" She stumbled over her words.

"Yes. I got it." His jaw tightened and he slowed his step until they arrived at his car. Once inside, with the engine running, he said, "You know, I'm liking this less and less, the more I think about it. We need to know how the Blumes died. There's obviously a connection between Elena Sevrenson's death and the fact that she had those griffins."

Daria nodded. "I don't know of any culture other than Shandihar that punished in that specific manner. Her death was clearly a punishment. A condemnation." She swallowed hard. "But it's almost too crazy to be true. I mean, who outside of a few scholars would even know about any of this? This story isn't at all well-known; it isn't like Tut's tomb. And who would even know that she had the griffins?"

"Anyone who read the Inquirer article her niece mentioned."

"c.r.a.p. I forgot about that."

"First things first." He took the phone from his pocket and hit redial.

"Will, it's Connor. Where are we with that information I asked you for?" He reached across the front seat and gave Daria's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Yeah, I know it's only been two hours since I called, but I'd appreciate it if you'd really turn the heat up. I need to know the cause of death...sure, I understand. Tell her she has to wait her turn."

He placed the phone on the console and checked the rearview mirror for traffic. He pulled out of the parking spot expertly, and headed for the center of the city.

"You agree, though, right? This is all connected?" Daria turned in her seat to face him. "Why else make Mrs. Sevrenson open the safe but only steal the artifacts from Shandihar when there were so many other valuable items right there under their noses? Why kill this woman in exactly that manner unless it's to make a statement?"

She thought that over for a moment, then said, "No, it wasn't a statement. It was a punishment."

"A punishment for owning something that was stolen from Shandihar?"

"For owning something that was stolen from the G.o.ddess," Daria said. "Those griffins were from one of the tombs in Shandihar, a tomb where one of the high priestesses was buried."

"Who the h.e.l.l would know that?" Connor frowned.

"Someone who read Alistair's journals would know," she replied. "He went into quite a bit of detail about finding them and how he removed them from the tomb. I'll show you the pa.s.sage when we get back to Howe."

"How many other people do you think might have read that same pa.s.sage over the years?

"I have no idea. I don't know where they were kept, or how accessible they were."

He took a left turn instead of heading toward the expressway.

"We're going to make a quick stop at Mr. Cavanaugh's and see if he sold those griffins to either Mr. or Mrs. Sevrenson. If he was the dealer, he'd remember where he got them."

"And when," she pointed out. "The when is important. I think the farther back in time we go, the harder it's going to be to figure out who stole them originally, and how many hands they've pa.s.sed through since then."

"Like I said, first things first. And the first thing we need to figure out is where Cavanaugh got the griffins. Next up, did the person who sold them to him realize the significance of the pieces? Where they came from, and that somewhere along the line they were stolen?"

Rush-hour traffic had just eased up, and within minutes, Connor was driving around Rittenhouse Square, looking for a sign for Cavanaugh and Sons.

"I don't see it," Daria said. "Go around again."

"Do you remember the address?" Connor asked.

"I didn't really notice," she admitted. "I take it you didn't, either."

"I figured Rittenhouse Square, how hard could it be to find?" He pulled into a parking spot on Walnut Street that was just at that moment being vacated. "Let's just get out and look around. It has to be here someplace."

The hazy August stew of heat and humidity clung to even the smartly dressed women who pa.s.sed by on their way to the corner where they crossed the street. Nearby, a genteel-looking storefront announced the home of Cavanaugh & Sons, Purveyors of Antiques, in tasteful gold script. In the window, an elegant Victorian settee with red silk upholstery stood next to a delicate candlestick table, upon which sat a Deco-era vase.

"Looks like Cavanaugh's tastes pretty much run the gamut," Connor observed.

"I guess the antique-furniture market might be a little busier than the market for antiquities these days, especially since there's less and less available in the legitimate marketplace. Most collectors really are ethical when it comes to what they buy. They want to know it's come cleanly, so I'm not surprised to see dealers mixing up their stock. I would imagine one would have to, in order to make a living."

They walked to the door and as Connor reached for it, a young woman opened it and collided with him in the doorway.

"Oh! Sorry!" she exclaimed, looking up. "I didn't see you."

"My fault." Connor smiled at her.

"I was just about to lock up." She flushed red and glanced at her watch. "We close at seven on weekdays. Would you mind stopping back tomorrow?"

"Actually, we would." Connor nodded and reached into his pocket for his credentials. He held the ID up for her inspection.

"Oh. FBI?" She glanced from Connor to Daria and back again. "You're with the FBI?"

"Yes. We were hoping to speak with Mr. Cavanaugh," he told her.

"Which one?" the young woman asked.

"How many are there?"

"Three. David, Colin, and Mr. C."

"David and Colin are the sons, Mr. C. is the Cavanaugh?" Connor guessed.

"Right."

"I'm thinking Mr. C. might be the one I'm looking for. Would he have handled any dealings the shop had with Mrs. Sevrenson?"

"Oh, Mrs. Sevrenson." The woman's face clouded. "Yes, she and Mr. C. went way back. It was just terrible what happened to her."

"It was. How can I get in touch with him?" Connor asked.

"He's in Maine, on vacation. Is there something I might be able to help you with?"

"We just wanted to ask him a few questions about some pieces from Mrs. Sevrenson's collection."

"I helped Mr. C. catalog the items. I helped pack and unpack them, too, so if there was something in particular you were looking for...?"

"Ms. DiPietro mentioned that there were two items stolen from her aunt's house the night she was murdered. We were hoping Mr. Cavanaugh could tell us something about those two items."

"I know that something was stolen, and I know he had to fill out something for the insurance company about the theft, but you'd really have to talk to him about that. I'm afraid I wasn't that familiar with the pieces." The young woman seemed to backtrack from her previous statement. Clearly, this was something she didn't want to be involved with.