She closed her eyes, thinking hard. “Right,” she said. “No. Left. Definitely left. She pulled away from the curb and angled her way across a couple lanes. Like she was going to turn.”

She imparted this piece of information just as we cruised under the light. I didn’t have time to wonder if it was right or wrong. I didn’t bother with a signal, either. I turned left.

Traffic wasn’t quite as heavy in this direction. I glanced over the cars up ahead. The bright lights of a bar washed over the sidewalk and out into the street; in the glow, I saw a green car.

“There!” I didn’t wait for Eve to confirm my hunch. I stepped on the accelerator, and we took off as fast as a four-year-old Saturn can. When the green car made a right at the next cross street, we did, too.

I hung back a little. Just in case it was Beyla. Just in case she looked in her rearview mirror and saw that we were following.

“What do you think?” I asked Eve.

She leaned forward and squinted to get a better look at the car twenty feet or so in front of us. “It looks like the right one. Maybe. I dunno. It could be. Yeah!” Her expression cleared, and she sat up straight and grinned. “It has one of those magnetic signs. One of those yellow ribbons on the back of the trunk. Beyla’s car had that. I remembered because I thought the yellow looked good against the green. Definitely. Yeah, it’s her.”

“Good. Let’s not lose her again.” I waved toward where I’d tossed my purse on the floor of the front seat. “Open the front zipper pocket,” I told Eve. “There’s a notepad in there, and a pen. Write down the license plate number, and that it’s a green Taurus. I don’t know the year; do you?”

I didn’t know why it mattered, either; I only knew I wanted all my ducks in a row. And I wasn’t talking ducks with orange sauce.

The traffic light up ahead was yellow, but when Beyla cruised through the intersection, I followed. When she turned, I turned. When she headed across the Potomac toward Georgetown, I glanced at Eve.

“What are the chances she’s heading for Arta?”

“The gallery?” Eve was skeptical. I was too busy concentrating on the road and on my quarry up ahead to spare her a look, but I could tell from the tone of her voice. “That doesn’t make any sense. If she’s got the computer disc and she’s trying to keep Yuri from finding it, she wouldn’t be taking it back to where she stole it from in the first place. Besides, just because we’re headed across the river doesn’t mean anything. There are a million other places in this direction.”

It was true; there were. But Beyla was headed to only one of them.

When we turned onto M Street, I knew I was right; that one place was Arta.

OK, so my smile was a little on the smug side when I turned it on Eve. But who could blame me? I was starting to get the hang of this Sherlock Holmes thing. And truth be told, I suspected-or should I say deduced?-that I was getting pretty good at it.

I stepped on the brakes and pulled up next to the curb in an area clearly marked No Parking, Bus Stop, watching as Beyla slowed just before she got to the gallery, then rounded the corner onto the nearest street. Though I couldn’t see her car, I knew from the faint red glow of brake lights that she’d stopped. I knew we had to act fast. If we were going to keep her in our sights, we needed a parking place, too.

Have I mentioned that finding a parking place in the D.C. Metro area is like trying to get out of the seventh circle of hell?

Except this time.

Like a gift from heaven, a spot opened up twenty feet ahead, across the street from and just a little ways past Arta. Before I had a chance to remind myself that I was scared to death by the very thought of parallel parking, I shot ahead, poked the gearshift into reverse, manuevered my car into place, and cut the engine and lights.

“Now what?” Eve whispered.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back. Not that there was a chance Beyla was going to hear us; she was across the street and around the block. But I guess there’s something about a stakeout that demands secrecy. “We’re going to have to check it out.” I paused, the wheels in my head turning a mile a minute.

“I’ll head over to the gallery,” I told Eve. “There’s got to be a back door. Maybe I can see if it’s open, see if she went in that way. Why don’t you-”

“Oh, no!” Eve shook her head so hard and so fast, it mussed her hair. Always conscious of appearances, she smoothed it back into place. “No way are you sending me off on my own. Not in the middle of the night in a strange part of town. I’m sticking with you. You’re in charge, fearless leader! Just tell me what to do-as long as it involves doing whatever I’m doing at the same time you’re doing it.”

There was no use even trying to argue with logic like that.

With a nod that told Eve I was ready, I slung my purse over my shoulder, opened my car door, and pointed across to the gallery. “Let’s take a look. Only we’re going to need to be quick. And quiet.” I mouthed the words and hoped that in the dark, Eve could see enough to know what I was saying.

I didn’t have to worry. Eve stuck to me like a limpet on a rock. Together, we crossed the street and closed in on Arta.

There was a spotlight trained on the burnt orange and turquoise Arta sign. Instinctively, I skirted its glow, keeping to the shadows. Maybe it was instinct, too, that told me to keep my back up against the wall. When we got as far as the front window of the gallery, I signaled Eve to stay put and pivoted to take a look.

There was no one in the gallery. Most of the interior lights were off. Here and there an overhead light shone on some objet d’art: a blue glass vase artfully displayed on one shelf, a hammered copper bowl on another, an abstract painting on the far wall that looked like water lilies. Or was it a New York City taxicab?

Before I had time to give it any more thought, Beyla walked into the gallery.

I dropped to my knees below the window and the window box in front of it, pointing inside as I did. “She’s in there,” I whispered just loud enough for Eve to hear me. “I wonder what she’s doing.”

There was only one way I was ever going to find out.

With a signal to Eve to stay put and keep quiet, I rose to my feet. The window box was overflowing, and I positioned myself behind a spicy geranium and parted the red impatiens, trying for a better look. I was just in time to see Beyla peering into the copper bowl.

That might not be a weird thing for a customer to do, but it struck me as an odd way for a burglar to act.

So did the fact that when she’d satisfied herself that the bowl was empty, Beyla lifted it, looked underneath it, and ran her hand over the shelf where it was displayed. When she was done, she took what looked to be a man’s big, white handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped every surface she’d touched.

“She’s not looking to hide anything,” I told Eve while I shifted positions from the cover of a geranium to a curtain of marigolds. “She’s searching for something.”

“You think?” I saw Eve’s muscles tense and stopped her with one hand on her arm before she could move. It was dangerous enough for me to be risking exposure. There was no use taking the chance of Beyla seeing the two of us watching her through the flowers.

When she was done with the copper bowl, Beyla moved on to the blue glass vase. It was big and obviously heavy and she used two hands to lift it. She studied the vase and the shelf where it was displayed carefully before she put it back into place. She gave the same kind of attention to each of the paintings on the wall. When she walked over to the counter where purchases were written up and wrapped, I figured I’d better provide Eve with some kind of narrative.

“Whatever she’s looking for, she hasn’t found it yet,” I told her, partly to relieve the I’m-dying-to-know-what’s-going-on look on her face, and partly because I was trying to work through the thing in my head, and I found it easier to think out loud.