He didn’t seem surprised by the question. “I do not. As I’m sure you know, I’m a suspect just like everyone else in the family. Consequently I’ve taken myself off the story.”

“I heard. Still, you must have some suspicions?”

“The Avery family is my employer. No, I don’t have any suspicions. Except I know it wasn’t me.”

He wouldn’t tell me if he did suspect someone. We had been making good time getting across town, but Constitution Avenue suddenly filled with stopped cars and we were no longer moving.

“The British prime minister is in town, Mr. Lowry,” Orlando said. “I think we’re blocked by a motorcade.”

“Then take Independence,” Grant said. “I’m meeting the Speaker of the House in twenty minutes. I can’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.” We turned right at the Washington Monument, cutting across the Mall.

“Bobby Noland will figure out who killed Prescott,” I said as we turned onto Independence Avenue. “I’m sure it won’t take him long.”

Grant gave me a cool look. “No doubt,” he said. “I also heard you were the first to see Prescott’s copy of the Declaration of Independence before any of the family knew about it. Obviously he trusted you quite a lot to keep a secret, taking you into his confidence that way.”

“Can I ask why we’re having this conversation since you apparently know all the answers to the questions you’re asking?”

He shot right back. “Because I wanted to hear what you had to say, if you had anything to add.”

“And did I? Have anything to add?”

His dismissive look said no, I hadn’t. “What is the relationship between the Madeira and the party Prescott was planning?” he asked.

“Thomas Jefferson wrote out that copy of the Declaration by hand for James Madison,” I said. “Madison was planning to toast the anniversary of the signing of the Declaration at a ceremony in the Capitol on July 4, 1809—which was during his presidency, as I’m sure you are aware—with that Madeira he believed my family had. Unfortunately I have no idea where it is.”

“So Prescott was going to show off his acquisition and have his own toast with bottles of two-hundred-year-old Madeira that James Madison never got around to drinking?”

“That was the plan.”

“Mr. Lowry?” The driver spoke up. “We’re coming up on the Library of Congress. I’ll pull in and drop Ms. Montgomery under the portico.”

“Thank you, but you can just leave me in front of the building,” I said.

Grant gave me a curious look. “As you wish.”

The Town Car pulled to a stop at the curb. Grant reached for my cane to pass it to me. As he did a gold-and-blue cuff link peeked out from under his cashmere coat. Etched into the enamel were a compass and a carpenter’s square. Masonic symbols.