Carla Neggers (9 page)

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some air before dinner.”

“A walk in the garden?”

“Perfect.”

They went out through the French doors. He could smell the ocean, and the light from the hotel and outdoor lamps shone on puddles from the rain. The cool air seemed to take Emma by surprise. The aftereffects of her spa visit, Colin supposed. She buttoned her heavy wool sweater as they stepped from the terrace to a pebbled walkway. “Do you think we should check on Julianne?” she asked.

“It would just annoy her if I showed up on her doorstep again. She’d figure I don’t trust her to look after herself.”

“Do you?”

“That’s not the point. She knows where to find us.” He breathed in the clearing air, wondered if there’d be more rain tonight. “Julianne has her own demons to fight.”

Emma eased in close to him, hooking her arm in his as they followed the walkway to the far edge of the gardens. “You’re always warm. How do you manage that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Julianne lost her grandfather a year ago. She’s finishing up her master’s and deciding what’s next for her. She moved in with her grandmother—who I’ve gathered is still having a rough time. A lot on Julianne’s plate. That could have contributed to why she got involved with your brother.”

“Nothing’s simple with those two.”

Colin was getting used to the idea that Emma knew things about his family and friends that he hadn’t told her. She’d had the run of Rock Point in October when he’d dipped back undercover to tie up loose ends with his arms traffickers. She was a natural with details and nuances. Who knew what all she’d picked up.

“I can smell the ocean,” she said, tilting her head back and looking up at the dark sky. “It’s not that late, but it feels like the middle of the night. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Sure.”

She sighed at him. “You’re not looking at the sky.”

He wasn’t. He was looking at her. He pulled her closer to him. “I like how you can talk about a serial art thief one minute and admire the sky the next.”

“I’m a woman of simple tastes.” She smiled. “Except in men.”

“I’m simple.”

“Right,” she said with an exaggerated note of skepticism.

“You might have simple tastes, Emma, but you’re a complicated woman.”

“I think I prefer complex, but I won’t argue that my life has been complicated lately. Julianne’s has been, too. It can’t be easy being a Donovan’s ex-girlfriend in Rock Point. I’ve also gathered that Andy has a certain reputation with women.”

“Which Julianne has known since she was in pigtails.” Colin noticed a rosebush climbing up a lamppost, a few pale pink blossoms on the stalky vine, even in early November. “For the most part, Mike, Kevin and I have managed to stay out of their relationship.”

“Ah.” Emma released his arm and jumped lightly over a puddle, turning to him. “You don’t want coming here to change that.”

He circled the puddle. “You got that right.”

A gray-haired man came up from a narrower walkway and waved them down. “Kitty said I might want to talk to you. I’m David Hargreaves. Lindsey’s father.” He looked to be in his mid-fifties and wore a camel-colored sweater and corduroy slacks, a dark brown overcoat—probably cashmere—hung over one arm. “I understand you’re friends with Julianne Maroney, the woman Lindsey was supposed to pick up at the airport this morning.”

“That’s right,” Colin said. “This is Emma Sharpe. I’m Colin Donovan. Did you just get here?”

“Here to the hotel, yes. I’m staying at the separate cottage. It’s quite nice. Very quiet. I arrived in Dublin on Saturday and then spent last night in Ardmore. I was there all day. It’s a lovely place....” He broke off, as if he didn’t want to get distracted. “I haven’t talked to Lindsey or heard from her since we had breakfast in Dublin yesterday morning.”

“Did you expect to?” Colin asked.

“Frankly, no, I didn’t. I stopped in Dublin on my way to London on business. I decided to extend my stay and come down here.” The dull lamplight accentuated the lines in his face as he looked down at the ground a moment, then seemed to catch himself and smiled. “Anyway, my main purpose in coming down here is to see Lindsey and this field station she’s launching.”

“She knows?” Colin asked.

“Yes, of course. I have no idea where she is or why she didn’t show up in Shannon.” He reached up and plucked a sodden, browned rose blossom from the lamppost vine. “I’d know if something had happened to her, wouldn’t I? She’d have called me, or the police—I’m sure she has me listed as an emergency contact. And if not me, Brent Corwin. I’ve already spoken to him. He called me as I was leaving Ardmore, and I checked in with him when I arrived. He hasn’t heard anything, either.”

“Have you been to the field station, then?”

Hargreaves tossed the dead rose into the puddle. “No, not yet. I want Lindsey to show me. She’s excited about it. She always has so much going on—it’s not out of character for her to lose track of something she promised to do.”

Emma touched a fingertip to one of the fresh rose blossoms. “Did she mention where she would be staying last night?”

“No, but I assumed she’d drive on to Shannon and stay there, since Julianne’s flight arrived so early. Lindsey didn’t expect to be in Dublin or she’d have suggested Julianne fly there instead of Shannon.” He shifted his overcoat to his other arm, as if he just needed something to do with his nervous energy. “She could be somewhere without cell coverage.”

“She has her own car?” Colin asked.

Hargreaves nodded. “That’s how she got to Dublin—she didn’t take the train or bus or come with a friend. I rented my own car.”

He glanced around at the dark gardens, then back down the walkway to his cottage. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Colin didn’t blame him. “Did you two have a fight?” he asked. “A disagreement—anything like that?”

“No. Not at all. I invited Lindsey to stay with me here, but she was looking forward to renting the cottage with Julianne. I’m only going to be here a couple of days. Lindsey’s enthusiasm and Julianne’s background in marine biology could be a good combination.”

Emma stepped back from the roses. “Why did Lindsey choose Declan’s Cross for this field station?”

“She says Declan’s Cross chose her. She met Brent on a research dive in Scotland and they ended up here. He has solid experience, but Lindsey also consulted Irish marine scientists about whether a field station would work here. It’s my first time in Declan’s Cross. I was in Ardmore years ago and had been wanting to go back and have a closer look at the Celtic Christian ruins there.” Hargreaves managed a smile. “Part of the classic Ireland tourist experience, don’t you think? Whiskey, Guinness, spectacular scenery and ancient ruins.”

“A great hotel with a beautiful spa, too,” Emma said, returning his smile.

Hargreaves relaxed visibly. “I should get settled. I’ll try to reach Lindsey again. I might put in a call to the Irish police.”

“Makes sense,” Colin said. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to overreact. I honestly don’t believe I upset Lindsey in any way. I certainly hope I didn’t.” He gave another polite, awkward smile. “Thank you again.”

Colin watched him head back down the walkway toward his cottage, then disappear in the shadows. “He’s more frayed than he wants to admit.”

Emma nodded. “Maybe we should have a word with the gardai ourselves.”

“I think so, too. If a couple of Irish cops were in Rock Point wondering about a missing Irish woman, Kevin would want to know, just to be on the safe side.”

“Kevin. The youngest Donovan.”

“The nicest one, too.”

“I feel for him.”

Colin grinned and took her hand as they started back to the hotel. “Nice doesn’t mean he’s not one of us.”

9

ANDY DONOVAN KNEW
he was caught the second the door to Hurley’s shut behind him. He usually managed to avoid Franny Maroney, but she had broken her Tuesday routine and was at the waterfront restaurant later than usual. She was alone, without her posse of sister retirees, all of whom blamed him for breaking Julianne’s heart. Not without reason, but he figured what went on between him and Julianne was none of their business.

He was just arriving. Franny was just leaving. The only positive.

It was three o’clock in Maine. Eight o’clock in Ireland. He pictured Julianne enjoying herself at an Irish pub.

Franny turned to him, her wallet in one hand as she scowled. “Julianne made it to Ireland safe and sound.” Her tone said
no thanks to you.
“She emailed me from the airport. She promised me she would. I got up early to check and there it was. She said she had a nice flight.”

Andy unzipped his jacket. “That’s good.”

“There’s more. I know my granddaughter.” Franny tucked the wallet back into her purse, a gaudy cloth thing covered in purple flowers, a birthday present from Julianne, who understood her grandmother. “There’s something she’s not saying. I can tell. Do you know what it is?”

Franny gave him an accusatory look, as if whatever she suspected was up with Julianne was his fault. Andy grinned at her. “You can’t tell something’s wrong from an email. If Julianne said she’s fine—”

“Has she been in touch with you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I won’t have you putting me off like I’m an old lady.”

“You are an old lady, Franny,” he said with a wink.

“Don’t think your Donovan charm will work on me, Andy Donovan.”

He laughed and thought she was softening some. He knew Lindsey Hargreaves hadn’t turned up at the airport in Shannon or in Declan’s Cross, but only because Colin had emailed him. He hadn’t heard a peep out of Julianne. And he wasn’t telling her grandmother about the glitch in Ireland. It would just worry her, or she’d find a way to blame him.

He nodded toward the back of the almost-empty restaurant, where Finian Bracken sat alone at his favorite table by the windows. “Maybe you should ask Father Bracken. He’s friends with the owner of the cottage Julianne is renting.”

Franny scoffed. “He won’t tell me anything.” Her eyes—not at all like Julianne’s—narrowed on Andy as if she could read his mind. “What do you know, Andy Donovan?”

“Stop worrying, will you? Colin’s in Declan’s Cross. Julianne’s fine.”

“Colin? Why’s he there?”

Good question.
“Passing through with Emma.” He left it at that. “Nice to see you, Franny.”

She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you and Colin dare keep anything that concerns my granddaughter from me.”

Andy didn’t argue. Arguing with her was pointless, especially in the year since her husband had died. He’d been a tough one, too. Her grief had made her short-tempered, and then Andy had gone and broken her granddaughter’s heart.

Julianne’s version of events, anyway. His wasn’t as black-and-white.

Franny seemed more cheerful but still gave him a dark look as she headed out. She had a sixth sense or something. She always knew things, or pretended to. She hadn’t predicted his breakup with Julianne or the attack that had nearly killed him, but that didn’t mean Franny Maroney’s gloomy view of the world didn’t win out from time to time.

Andy didn’t want to be too hard on her. She worshipped her granddaughter, and maybe it was understandable that she’d become more demanding and controlling in the past year as she figured out how to carry on without her husband of fifty years. Julianne adored her, but Andy was still convinced her trip to Ireland had as much to do with getting out from under her grandmother’s thumb as anything else. Then again, he had a low tolerance for anyone trying to control him. Zero tolerance, in fact. One reason he was good at lobstering and restoring boats.

He crossed Hurley’s dining room to Finian Bracken’s table. In his email, Colin had indicated he was letting Julianne call the shots, but he didn’t like that this Lindsey Hargreaves character hadn’t turned up. That was Colin. He was an FBI agent. He dealt with criminals. The Hargreaves woman probably just was the type to have too many balls in the air.

Andy sat across from Finian and realized Julianne wasn’t there to slam dishes and give him dagger looks. She was across the Atlantic, jet-lagged, stood up by her new friend, alone in some cliff-side cottage owned by an Irish sheep farmer. She had to be feeling stupid. Not because she was stupid but because that was Julianne. In her world, there was nothing between perfection and failure. He, on the other hand, lived in that broad gray area between the two. Cs on his report card had been a cause for celebration. Julianne had never gotten a C, but if she had, she’d have cried for days, argued with the teacher for a better grade, beaten herself up.

No wonder they drove each other nuts.

Finian had a pot of tea in front of him. “It’s too early for whiskey, so I thought I’d try Hurley’s tea.” He grimaced at the little stainless-steel pot, the end of a tea bag hanging out from under the lid. “I could change my mind about the whiskey.”

“Not many people order hot tea here,” Andy said.

“Yes. I can see why.”

“Hurley’s can learn whiskey and hot tea from you. You can learn clam chowder and lobster rolls from them.”

“And pie. I like the pie here. I should have ordered apple pie with my...tea.” Finian shuddered, then leveled his gaze on Andy, a seriousness to him that was a reminder this was a man of conviction and depth. “I assumed you’ve heard from Colin. I have, too. You told him about Julianne’s sudden decision to go to Ireland.”

“No reason not to.” Andy glanced out at the harbor, the water glasslike under the gray afternoon sky. He’d had no business telling Colin, or talking about Julianne now. It was up to her family to worry about her. But he couldn’t stop himself, and said, “She’s staying at this cottage by herself. Is that smart?”

“That was the original plan until Lindsey Hargreaves decided to join her. Sean will look after her.”

“Sean Murphy. Your farmer friend. You know a lot of people, don’t you?”

“Ireland’s a small country.” Finian didn’t elaborate as he flipped open the lid to his teapot and sighed. “Dear heavens. There’s more. I’d feel bad if I didn’t drink it.”

“No one will care, Fin,” Andy said. “Trust me.”

“You’re a Donovan. You’re not the parish priest.”

“Fair point, but it doesn’t change things. People won’t care if you think Hurley’s tea is lousy. They already know.”

A waitress—one of Julianne’s friends—approached the table and asked Andy if he wanted anything. Cool, but no dagger look. He shook his head. She then asked Finian if he wanted more hot water for his tea. He smiled politely and said, “No, thank you. I need to get back to the church.” As she withdrew, he leaned over the table. “I didn’t lie, but you will keep my opinion of the tea between us, won’t you?”

“Mum’s the word.”

Finian Bracken was more Colin’s friend, but Andy was comfortable with him and found him easy to talk to. That didn’t mean it was a two-way street and Finian did much talking. Andy was pretty sure the Irish priest wasn’t telling the whole story about his friend the sheep farmer.

“What did you think of this Lindsey character when you met her?” Andy asked.

“She was only here for a few minutes. She had coffee and left. Julianne was working that day and offered to show her around when they discovered a mutual interest in marine science.”

“But Lindsey isn’t a scientist herself,” Andy said.

“She referred to herself as a marine science enthusiast.”

“What’s a marine science enthusiast? Someone who likes whales and dolphins but flunked organic chemistry?”

Finian sat back in the rickety wooden chair. “That was my impression of her, in fact, but, as I say, we only chatted for a few minutes. I know several people in Declan’s Cross. One of them mentioned me to her, but I don’t know which one. It might have been Sean. I haven’t asked him. Lindsey didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask.”

Andy drummed his fingers on the table. He was uneasy. Off. He couldn’t pinpoint why. “You know Julianne. Her situation. Did she jump on this trip to Ireland for the right reasons? I was just getting used to her going off on this internship in January. Then all of a sudden, she’s packed and on her way to Logan.”

Finian glanced out the window. “Ask me something else.”

Meaning he wasn’t giving up any priestly confidences. Andy resisted the urge to squirm at what Julianne could have told Finian Bracken about him. She might not have told him anything, if only to keep from admitting she’d made a mistake.

“That’s cool,” Andy said. “I’m not in Julianne’s life anymore, anyway.”

“Just a friend,” Finian said as he turned from the window.

Andy let that one go. He wasn’t confiding in Finian or anyone else about his relationship with one Julianne Maroney, marine biologist, hothead, dreamer and now in Ireland by herself.

Not really by herself. Colin and Emma were there.

“What’s Declan’s Cross like?” he asked.

Finian seemed relieved at the shift in subject. “It’s a lovely village on the Celtic Sea. It’s named for Saint Declan. He had a strong presence in the area in the fifth century.”

“I’ve never heard of Saint Declan, Finian.”

“He was a contemporary of Saint Patrick.”

Andy grinned. “Him I’ve heard of. Green beer, shamrocks and snakes.”

“Saint Patrick, of course, is credited with converting Ireland to Christianity, but it’s not as simple as that. Some say that Declan and three other Munster saints—Ciaran, Ibar and Ailbhe—actually predated Patrick.”

“There won’t be a quiz later, will there?”

Finian shook his head. “No quiz,” he said with a smile. “All five saints are fascinating figures of legend, history and faith. There are well-known ecclesiastic ruins associated with Saint Declan in Ardmore, not far from Declan’s Cross.”

“Nothing to do with marine science, then.”

“I know very little about marine science, I’m afraid,” Finian said.

“You know saints and whiskey.”

“I do, indeed.”

“I don’t mean to be irreverent.” Andy shrugged off his coat, but he knew he wouldn’t be staying. He was too restless. “I looked up Declan’s Cross on the internet last night after I got back from dropping Julianne off at the airport. She was in such a rush to get out of Rock Point that she probably didn’t find this out, but I’ll bet you know about the art theft there ten years ago.”

“I know of it, yes,” Finian said quietly.

Finian’s dark blue eyes were distant, almost glazed. Andy winced, remembering that ten years ago, Finian Bracken hadn’t been a priest. “Fin, I’m sorry—”

“It’s all right. I’d been to Ardmore on holiday but not to Declan’s Cross. Not until I got to know Sean.” He added softly, “That was seven years ago. I’ve been there many times since.”

Andy kept his expression neutral, but he felt like a heel. Finian was saying that he and Sean Murphy had met the year Finian’s wife and two daughters had died. “Forget it. I’m not in Ireland. I can wait to hear from Colin. He asked if Julianne had mentioned the theft. She didn’t, not to me.”

“Colin asked me the same. He also asked if Lindsey Hargreaves mentioned the theft. She didn’t. I know it seems odd that she came here with Sharpe Fine Art Recovery right in Heron’s Cove, but it’s not the coincidence you might think. I met Father Callaghan when I was in Declan’s Cross earlier this year. He had heard about the theft and was there out of curiosity, and the O’Byrne House Hotel had recently opened. It’s a beautiful hotel. Kitty, the owner, has done an excellent job.”

“Kitty, huh?” Andy tried to lighten the mood. “You two never—”

“Never,” Finian said. “Her uncle owned the hotel when it was broken into. It was a private home then.”

“Was she in Declan’s Cross that night?”

“I believe she was, yes.”

“This farmer, Sean Murphy, would have been there, too, right?”

The penetrating Bracken eyes leveled on Andy. “He was, yes.”

Andy sat back, feeling a cold draft come up through Hurley’s floorboards. He tried to imagine Finian Bracken back then, happily married, the father of two young daughters, an ambitious, successful businessman. The priesthood must have seemed like something for other men. Maine...he might not have even been able to find Maine on the map. He seemed so alone now, but Andy wondered if that was his own mood creeping through.

“Did you hear about the theft at the time?” he asked.

“In the news.”

“Did you know Kitty’s uncle?”

“John O’Byrne and I never met, no.”

“He never married?”

“He lost his wife early in their marriage. They had no children. From what I understand, he doted on his youngest brother’s daughters, Kitty and Aoife. They grew up in Dublin but visited Declan’s Cross regularly.”

“Are they attractive?”

Again the piercing look from Father Bracken. “Most would say so, I believe.”

Andy shifted in his chair. He wasn’t as stiff as he had been in the first days after the attack on him, but he missed being out on the water. “Have you ever been tempted to chuck being a priest?”

“You’re asking me about women,” Finian said.

“Yeah. I guess. It’d be easier to ask if you weren’t in that clerical collar.”

“Temptation is a part of life.”

“I think my law enforcement brothers and father would jump on that answer.”

“John O’Byrne died five years ago. Kitty boarded up the house until she and Aoife could decide what to do.” Finian pushed aside his tea. “Kitty always had a grand vision for turning her uncle’s house into a hotel. It was an obvious choice when the Celtic Tiger was roaring, may he rest in peace, but she moved to Declan’s Cross two years ago and took the risk.”

“I looked the hotel up on the internet. Quite a place. See Colin at the spa?”

“Why not?”

“You ever do the spa?”

Finian smiled. “The bar. Kitty has an impressive whiskey collection.”

“What about the sister?”

“Aoife is an acclaimed artist.”

“Husbands, kids?”