Deadly Gift (28 page)

Kat nodded.

Zach straightened. “I have to go call my brothers. They’ll want to be here for the funeral.”

“Of course,” Kat said.

In his own room, he called Jeremy, who assured him that he would get in contact with Aidan, and that they would be there as soon as possible.

Then he went downstairs. People were already starting to arrive to tell Sean how sorry they were, although Sean himself wasn’t back yet.

It was all right. Marni was dealing with everything.

Zach slipped out and headed for the police station.

Morrissey was back in his office. “I’m sorry about Bridey O’Riley,” he said, “but…we’ve got another murder on our hands, so you’ll have convey my condolences for now.”

“Of course,” Zach told him.

“Awkward time, isn’t it?” Morrissey asked him.

“Yes,” Zach said flatly. “There should be something to do. But there isn’t.”

“There is.”

“What?”

“That young man you told to call me is in with a few of my men. They’re going through the tapes from the grocery store. Why don’t you go in and see if you can help his memory along?”

With the presumed murder of Gary Swipes, Zach was suddenly worried that any association with the case might be dangerous for Jorey, who probably hadn’t thought to keep it a secret that he was talking to the police. Which meant word could reach the killer. Damn, he should have thought of that.

Morrissey stared at him, his eyes narrowing. “Who knew that you were digging up Cow Cay?” he asked.

“Caer Cavannaugh,” he said. “And you.” He stared at Morrissey, who stared back at him.

Zach couldn’t prevent the unbidden thought that came to him.

Morrissey.
No. Impossible. No one could put on that smooth an act.

Oh yeah?

Anything was possible. He’d learned that through the years.

“I don’t know if it’s even relevant or not,” Morrissey said. “Although, it’s one of two things. Someone knew that the island was being guarded and went out there anyway to do or get…something, figuring he’d deal with the guard if he had to. Or that same person headed out to the island, stumbled onto Gary and felt he had no choice but to kill him. All of which gets us precisely nowhere.”

“I’ll step in with Jorey. Maybe my presence will help,” Zach said.

Morrissey nodded and rose. “Follow me.”

Jorey and two policemen were in one of the interrogation rooms, watching videos. Jorey smiled when he saw Zach. “Hey, Mr. Flynn.”

“Jorey, thanks for trying to help.”

One of the officers suddenly spoke up. “Look. There’s Amanda O’Riley.”

“And Kat,” Zach said.

“And there’s Clara. I recognize half the city,” Jorey said, shaking his head with dismay. Then he froze. “There—look. There’s the guy who went out with Eddie that day!”

I
t was a sad household, Caer thought.

The O’Rileys’ place in the community was obvious; people stopped by the house all through the day, quietly, respectfully, and with genuine warmth.

Once Kat had fallen asleep, there was little for Caer to do except sit in her own room or wander around the house, but she was lonely in her room, and Marni had the house under control. She didn’t want to leave Kat alone forever, but she didn’t want to just stay around doing nothing. It had already been a long and painful day.

Finally she decided that even though it was a bit of a walk on a cold day, she was going to head down to the charter office, which was officially closed due to Bridey’s death, and see what she could discover there.

It was a longer walk than she’d realized. Maybe in summer it was pleasant, but today she was cold.

And empty.

It wasn’t surprising that Michael had assigned her to assist Bridey. Age would always be man’s enemy; no matter how science progressed, there would always be things that robbed a man of life, and life of its value.

The human body was not immortal.

It was, however, amazing.

There had been other times over the years when she’d taken this form, the one with which she’d been born. And it was always a pleasure and a revelation.

People so often misunderstood her role. She did not take life. Life was lost to the natural order of the world. She simply helped those who died. There were evil banshees, of course. Evil men and women made evil banshees. Michael was always on guard against such creatures, who caused only havoc and pain.

Michael had been around since the beginning of time, but he never explained where the evil banshees had come from; he only warned those who served him that they must never make more of such creatures. He knew so much, she thought, knew all about humans and mortality. Banshees were Irish and it was their role to help the Irish, though sometimes they assisted others, as well. For the most part, though, every ethnicity had its own beings who came to escort the dead.

The ancient Greeks had crossed their river Styx.

The Norse were taken to Valhalla.

And always it was the escorts who controlled the experience, who made the journey one of joy or, on those rare occasions when evil slipped in, of horror.

A new banshee had to be chosen with great care, and always the choice was Michael’s. It was the banshees’ job to take the hand of those who had lived good lives—they didn’t have to be saints, they simply needed to have treated their fellow humans with the same kindness about to be given to them—and escort them into the next world. The coach that came, the black carriage drawn by the plumed black horses, was strictly Irish.

Hers was a compartmentalized duty. What became of others, she didn’t know, nor did she have time to worry about it. The Irish had populated all corners of the globe, so banshees tended to be very busy.

Death in old age was not a tragedy. It was the natural progression. Death at a young age was wrong, against nature, against the great plan. It occurred, and when it did, sometimes a new banshee was born. She herself had been a victim of ages of conflict, of hatreds that had been bred into people for hundreds of years. Murdered for love—both sad and poetic.

It was said that at the moment of someone’s death, a banshee who had taken on human form, as they were sometimes required to do, could convince the dying soul to take her place. But that soul had to be a worthy one, for there was no sin greater than allowing someone cruel, someone evil, to become the escort of the dead as they made their journey to the land beyond, where the hills were green, and youth and beauty and happiness were returned.

She had always enjoyed her work, which she saw as the final kindness for those who had led deserving lives. She slipped into their minds to take them gently to whatever rolling hills and old loves reigned in their souls. She had seen men who had been strong in their convictions, women who had quietly been the strength behind great men, and all those in between, as well as those who had learned, at the end of their days, that the things they had fought for, the wars they had waged, had not been everything—they had learned late that killing in the name of God was not always just and never done with God’s approval.

She had taken those who had given their own lives to save others, and she had been glad to be there, to say thank you, to let them know that their love and sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.

In human form she had enjoyed the fashions of many ages, seen sights of incalculable beauty, and reveled in sweet and subtle perfumes.

Like Michael, she’d savored many good meals.

But she’d never indulged in such physical pleasure before, and now she knew too well why she had been wise not to do so.

Pain.

Allowing herself the pleasures of the flesh could, in the end, bring only pain.

She could not be killed again. She might feel it when she bruised herself, if she tripped or received a cut. But it would be gone in a wink. But in the great dilemma of life and death, internal suffering was far worse than any physical pain.

Love.

Was she really in love? Was it possible to fall in love in a matter of days?

Indeed, did kindred souls exist?

Was it possible…

To be immortal, then look into the eyes of a man and know that he was everything she desired?

To fall in love with a strength that had nothing to do with muscle, nothing to do with the way he walked or talked, and everything to do with a quiet code of honor and ethics?

Even a love for music.

She yearned to stay. Had allowed herself to dream.

She should have known better.

Once, long ago, in another life—in her mortal life—she had loved. She should have learned. She had thought that love was greater than hatred, that love between those born to be enemies would be understood, even celebrated. She had thought that she could change her tiny corner of the world, make people see that they should no longer nurture the hatreds they had nurtured for so long.

But she had been wrong. And she had died for her mistake.

Now, only now, while the rest of the world exploded, were the Irish finally learning that each day was new, that no child born today deserved to suffer for the sins of the past.

Far too late for her.

She couldn’t help the yearning, though. She could forego the feel of silk, the taste of honey. There was no place on earth that she could not bear to leave.

But the heart and soul she saw in this man’s eyes, the way he touched her…

She brought a hand to her cheeks. Tears.

She straightened her shoulders. She was what she was. And not only that, but what if he
knew?
Dear Lord, she could imagine trying to tell him. “I canna stay with you. I am a banshee, you see. Yes, seriously. A howling banshee who comes with the great black coach of Death.”

He would loathe her; he would be repelled.

Tears. She had not shed them in…forever.

She realized that she had reached the wharf.

She looked around and saw that the birds were everywhere.

Poor birds,
she thought, even though they unnerved her. She was here to prevent tragedy. Sean was not due to die yet, not for many years. She had been certain that she could protect him, and that with Zachary doing the real work, the investigation, the identity of Sean’s enemy would soon be discovered.

But the birds…

Their presence meant that many people were threatened, and she had watched them arrive with fear.

I’m not equipped for tragedy,
she thought.
How do I stop what is happening?

She didn’t need to be afraid of the birds themselves, she knew. They were mortal. They lived; they perished.

But their presence in such numbers foretold great tragedy. Nothing so sweet as the passing of a woman as loving as Bridey. They foretold something evil, a mass murder, a blood spree.

For now, she ignored them.

The office door was locked, as she’d expected it to be. Michael might have arranged to get her the proper credentials for a nurse and not a spy, but she had been picking locks for decades.

This one was actually quite easy.

Inside the office, she looked around. Where to start? Was there even anything to discover here?

She began to rifle through the drawers. Carefully.

They rolled back the tape. They enhanced it.

But the quality was grainy, and no matter how much it was blown up, no matter how the pixels were rearranged, there was little they could do to get a clear picture.

But there, on the screen, was the man Jorey had recognized.

He wore a hat pulled low over his eyes and a massive coat, and he had the bushy mustache Jorey had seen.

“Well, it’s something,” Morrissey said.

“Yeah, shave and a haircut, and you’d never know the guy,” Zach said. “The mustache looks fake, anyway. But I’ll tell you one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d lay odds that the man who killed Eddie is the same one trying to kill Sean. If there was video of the aisles, I’d guarantee you’d see this guy putting that glass in those jars, then telling Clara how good a blueberry pie would be. We’re on the right track. He’s after whatever Eddie found, and he’s certain Sean will find it, too, unless he gets Sean out of the picture first.”

“I agree. We’ll get teams out on that island and dig where you suggested,” Morrissey assured him.

“Thanks,” Sean said. “I have to get back to the house.”

“What about me?” Jorey asked. “Do you still need me?”

“No, son, thank you. Thank you very much,” Morrissey told him.

“Jorey, you went above and beyond,” Zach assured him. “I’ll walk you out.”

As they left, Jorey told him, “I’m sorry about Bridey. Everyone who knew her loved her.”

“Thank you. I think Sean is going to be all right. It’s Kat I worry about.”

Jorey looked at him and grinned sheepishly. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve known Kat forever, and whenever anything upsets her, she likes to play her guitar. Maybe you can get her planning the music for Bridey’s memorial service.”

“Thanks, Jorey. I think you have something there.”

Zach looked around. Those damned birds were still everywhere.

Birds. Just birds,
he told himself.

“Hell of a thing, those birds, huh?” Jorey asked.

“Yeah, hell of a thing.”

Jorey got in his car, and Zach leaned down to speak to him. “Jorey, do me a favor. Lay low. Stick around other people for now, huh?”

Jorey’s eyes widened. “Why? You think I could be in danger?”

“I think someone is killing people. You just don’t need to be one of those people.”

“I’ll be careful. I like living,” Jorey assured him.

Zach watched him go. He needed to head back to the house, but he decided to take a detour and check out the charter office. He didn’t think that, under the circumstances, anyone would be there, but something urged him to go by anyway.

He drove onto the wharf. It was a true winter’s day. The sky was gray, but then again, it was growing late. Darkness would come soon enough.

He parked the car, and his muscles quickened. There was a light on in the office. It was a just one of the desk lamps, but it cast enough of a glow to show him that someone was there.

He exited the car, reaching to his waistband for the gun he always carried now. He approached the office door from the side, moving with speed and stealth.

At the door, he hesitated, then tried the knob.

It wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open with a foot, used it as a shield and shouted, “Freeze!”

To his complete surprise, Caer jumped and turned to face him. She was in the process of going through Eddie’s desk, but she froze, as commanded, and stared at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked her.

“Looking.”

“For what?”

“For whatever everyone else has missed,” she said.

He let out a sigh of relief, clicked the safety back on and slid the gun back into his waistband, then closed the door behind him.

“Have you found anything?”

“Poems,” she told him.

“What?”

“Poems. He liked to write poetry. Well, they’re more like ditties, really. Funny little poems. Here, listen. ‘One if by land, two if by sea, oh, I’m so happy, it’s all me, me, me.’”

Zach arched a brow. “Deep,” he said.

Caer shrugged. “He seemed to like to write them. Look, there’s nothing on the computer. I mean, there’s lots on the computer—but you’ve already found it. This is what I think. I think Eddie found something on Cow Cay, but he moved it.”

“What makes you think that?” he asked, realizing that she might not yet know that a man had been murdered out there sometime last night.