“I suppose the next question is, who would steal them? Who’d even know about them?”

“Excellent. Can you be my partner instead of the kid?”

“How’s the kid?”

“Obnoxious as usual.” Decker took another sip of tea. “Tonight, I did see a glimmer of curiosity.”

“Ah . . . maybe all he needed was a little real police work. He did go to Harvard.”

“His brain is not the problem. He needs a personality transplant.”

“He seemed polite enough when he was here. Anyway, it’s good to see you grumpy. That means you’re happy. Do you know anything about Tiffany?”

“Not much. What about you?”

“I think he used to have a studio upstate. I think it was dismantled, though.” Decker was quiet. Rina said, “What?”

“I think there’s a museum in Orlando . . . what’s it called? See that’s why we shouldn’t be talking about business on Shabbat. Now I can’t look it up and it’s killing me.”

“It’s a Tiffany museum?”

“It has a bunch of Tiffany windows. I was there when I visited my uncle years ago . . . it’s an American art museum . . . it’ll come to me.” Decker finished his tea. “Is stained-glass Tiffany the same Tiffany that owns the stores?”

“I think it was a father and son. The son did the stained glass.”

“Louis Comfort Tiffany.”

“Yeah, right. Good for you.”

“So the jewelry guy was the father?”

“Yes, and I think Tiffany jewelry went corporate a long time ago.”

“I’ll look it all up after Shabbos.” Decker moved closer to his wife. “Right now, let’s just enjoy being together.”

“Ooh, I like it when you’re doing real police work. It makes you romantic.”

Decker was taken aback. “Have I been a slacker in the romance department?”

“You’re always romantic, Peter. But you’ve seemed to be at loose ends since we got here.”

He took a breath and let it out. “It’s been an adjustment. At times, I’m a little bored. That’s pretty natural after working with LAPD for all those years. But I don’t want to go back. I think I just miss the rush of a real case. That first blush of excitement. And even though this art thing is probably nothing, it gave me a little jolt. I’m fine. Honestly. It’s all just part of the process of adaptation, I think. Of aging . . . of getting old.”

“You are not old.”

“Not according to the kid. He calls me Old Man.”

“You’re not old.” Rina kissed him again. “Besides, there’s old . . .” Another kiss. “And then there’s vintage.”

CHAPTER 4

THE CEMETERY SEEMED quaint, much less foreboding in the daylight with old headstones carved with names like Whitestone, Potter, MacDoogal, and Hawthorne. The Bergman mausoleum seemed like a dowager, too grand for the neighborhood, but since it had been there for years, Decker supposed that it was now just part of the scenery. It was chilly but not cold, brisk but not blustery. The sun was immersed in a sea of deep blue.

The man who emerged from the Mercedes was in his late sixties, white haired but with a lively step. He was around six feet and had a ski-tanned face, milky blue eyes, and a prominent chin. He was dressed in a cable-knit sweater and jeans, loafers but no socks. In tow was a younger, shorter man with brown eyes and curly brown hair. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a red bow tie. On his feet were black Oxfords over black socks.

“Ken Sobel.” He pointed to the younger man. “This is Maxwell Stewart, owner of the famed Stewart and Harrison gallery. If you deal with him, you’d better have your game face on. The man is a shark.”

“Call me Max.” He appeared around forty. “Don’t pay attention to Ken. I never do.”

“Peter Decker. Thanks for coming down.”

Sobel said, “Are you a police officer or a police detective or . . .”

“I’m whatever the department needs. This is my partner, Detective Tyler McAdams.”

More handshakes. Then Sobel turned to Isaiah Pellman who was trying to disappear in nonexistent shadows. “What the hell happened, Isaiah?”

“Just like I told you, sir. The key didn’t work.”

“When was the last time you tried it?” Sobel asked.

“Last Tuesday. It worked fine.”

“So what happened?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Decker said, “Let me give you a recap of where McAdams and I came in and why I asked you to come down.”

Sobel said, “I know why you asked me down. You told me that over the phone.”

Stewart said, “Let the man finish.”

“Be brief,” Sobel said. “I’ve got a dinner engagement and it’s a three-hour drive.”

“It’s ten in the morning, Ken.”

“You know how brutal traffic can be.”

Decker gave a quick summary of the events of Friday night while McAdams rocked on his feet, no doubt feeling superfluous. At the end, Decker turned to McAdams and said, “Anything you’d like to add?”

“Not a whit.”

Decker turned to Pellman. “We’re going to need that ladder again. Mr. Stewart will need to look at the panels up close.”

Stewart said, “You want me to climb up a ladder?”

Sobel said, “It’s not that hard, Max. One foot over the other.”

“I’m wearing leather-soled shoes.” He turned to his father-in-law. “If I break my leg, you explain it to Natalie.”

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“I’d take them down for you,” Decker said, “but I don’t want to screw anything up.”

“It’s fine.” Max was clearly peeved. “If I had known I had to climb up, I would have worn sneakers. I really do think the old man likes to see me sweat.”

“Been there, done that,” McAdams muttered.

“That’s enough out of you, Harvard,” Decker said.

Stewart said, “You went to Harvard?”

“Graduated two years ago.”

“What house?”

“Cabot. And you?”

“Lowell.”

The two men started playing name game despite a decade of life between them. If McAdams was good for anything, it was building rapport with the Ivy League elite with second homes in the smaller towns along the Hudson. But that did nothing to endear him to the regular working stiffs of the town.

Pellman came back with a ladder and his flashlight. He descended the five steps into the crypt and unlocked the door. Everyone crowded inside. Decker turned on Pellman’s flashlight although there was plenty of sunshine coming through the windows along with bursts of iridescence coming from the stained glass.

Stewart looked upward. “Could you shine the light on that one?” Decker illuminated the autumn panel. Max said, “I can already tell that it’s a reproduction. Good glass, lousy work.”

Sobel swore under his breath. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How can you tell?”

“Ken, how can you tell when it’s time to dump stocks? It’s my business.”

He waved off his son-in-law and then started pacing. “Goddamnit, how did this happen?”

“What about the others?” McAdams asked Stewart. “What do you think?”

Sobel suddenly remembered there were three more panels to evaluate. “Yeah, what about the others, Max?”

“Could I have the light?” Stewart asked.

“Sure.” Decker handed him the battery pack.

The dealer studied each panel, and then he said, “Okay. To my eye, summer is also a fake. The other two . . . I’m going to have to climb up and take a closer look.”

Sobel continued to swear and mutter to himself as Decker and McAdams balanced the ladder against the wall, going as close as they could to the window containing winter. Stewart shook his head then scaled the risers. When he was eye level with the panel, Decker stepped up two risers and passed him the battery pack. Stewart studied the work for a long time. “This is real.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Sobel mumbled.

Carefully, Max climbed down and went over to the spring panel. “Legit.” Stewart climbed down again and dusted off his pants. “Two and two, Ken.”

“Goddamnit! What the hell is someone going to do with two panels in a set of four?”