Deadly Gift (30 page)

It was raw out on the water, but they’d taken one of the larger boats, in order to have a dinghy to bring them right up on the island, so they took turns staying warm in the cabin.

Morrissey hadn’t lied. There were a number of men there, some still searching the island, and some digging around Banshee Rock. The three of them explored the island, too, but with so many others traipsing around, there was little to find. Zach found Aidan just standing, looking at the rock and beyond.

“Do you see something?” Zach asked his brother.

“No,” Aidan admitted. “But it’s always good to look at the whole of a place, memorize it, map it in your mind. Later on, you may get information that literally falls into place.”

A moment later, Jeremy joined them and asked, “What are we doing?”

“Memorizing the island,” Zach said.

“Oh, good. I thought we were just standing here.”

At last they left and went back to their boat.

Zach wasn’t sure why, but he thought maybe Aidan had been right. Memorizing a place, seeing it as it was today, couldn’t be a bad thing. And he was getting nowhere else fast.

By the time they got back to the house, everything was set up for the wake.

Bridey lay in a beautiful coffin, adorned with flowers and crosses, in the parlor.

Zach stopped by the coffin before going upstairs to change and thought how strange it was to say that a corpse was beautiful.

When life and light were gone, beauty usually departed, too. Morticians could be artists, but they couldn’t restore the flash in the eyes, the vibrancy that came with living.

Except with Bridey. She seemed merely to sleep, her lips curved in a slight smile. Her skin was clear, and many of her wrinkles seemed to have disappeared. She was tiny, as she had been in life. And she was at peace.

She was beautiful.

“Rest well, old friend,” he said softly.

It was a long night, a night of mourning, and yet also a night of joyous memory. Zach, Aidan and Jeremy were glad to be there—moral support for the family and literal support for Bridey’s elderly friends, who used their arms for balance.

Kat would smile, even laugh with someone, and then she would cry.

Clara spent most of the night in a chair near the coffin, with Tom at her side, holding her hand.

Amanda was the lady of the house again, treating Marni and Cal, who had once again taken care of the arrangements, like hired help.

Sean was often lost in his own thoughts, his own memories, and he spent much of the night sitting by Kat’s side.

Caer stayed in the background, but Zach saw that she was watching everyone with keen attention.

The priest spoke, and his words were important to them because they would have been important to Bridey. Then Sean talked about his love for his aunt, about how her help had taught him to survive in a new world, and how she had been a link to a past that was as dear to his heart as it had been to hers.

Then Zach suggested to Kat that she sing one of her beautiful laments. Guitars were brought out, and Zach wound up at the piano.

One song became two, then three, and as the mourners joined in, the mood became Irish indeed. As if the very air had lightened, people began to talk about Bridey with love and laughter. Ale and whiskey flowed, food was produced, and sorrow was leavened with the joy of memory.

At one point Zach looked up and caught Caer’s eyes. She wanted to smile, wanted to beg him to forgive her.

To love her.

To what avail?

He did neither, but he did say, “Caer, come and give us an Irish tune.”

She shook her head.

“I can’t. Believe me, I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” he told her.

“Come on, lass!” Sean encouraged. “All the Irish can sing—except for the banshees, of course. ’Tis said if they try to hum a tune, it sounds like the wind howling in the midst of a storm, or a wolf, crying to the moon.”

She froze. Then she quickly smiled and said, “Trust me. I love to listen, but even a wolf would be insulted by having its cry compared to my singing.”

Somehow, the moment passed.

She looked at Zachary again.

He studied her speculatively, then turned back to the piano.

There was so much noise in the house that none of them heard the birds.

Not until everyone else left and they tried to sleep.

Then there was no avoiding the cacophony of screeching and cawing, or the wind’s howl.

It was like a chorus from hell or some dark legend.

As if all the banshees of Ireland were singing as one.

B
ridey was buried the next afternoon. It was a beautiful winter’s day. The sun was shining, and the weather had taken a turn upward; the temperature had reached the midforties.

Her service was a mass, just as she would have wanted. At the graveside, the mourners joined hands to sing “Danny Boy.”

Caer liked the other Flynns very much, and she found Rowenna to be charming, but Zach had taken to keeping a distance from her. He seemed angry.

She should have expected it, she thought.

She had told him the truth, but he didn’t believe her. Perhaps he didn’t want to, or perhaps he simply couldn’t. What had she been thinking to blurt things out as she had? She’d had to say something, and she’d had plenty of time to think up a clever answer. So why hadn’t she?

She didn’t know.

They held the post-funeral gathering at a large pub, which they’d rented for the evening. There were at least two hundred people in attendance. Caer found herself constantly in the company of one of the O’Rileys, Cal and Marni, or Tom and Clara. She was made to feel valued, almost a part of the family.

There was plenty to eat and drink, and Bridey was honored, but, as always among the living, people couldn’t keep from talking about the latest news.

That morning, the newspaper had reported the disappearance of Gary Swipes. The article noted that he was a highly trained police officer, that he was well versed in self-defense, and that the amount of blood suggested that he had been murdered.

Eddie’s case was brought up again, one disappearance leading the reporter to try to link it to another.

Detective Morrissey was there, along with a large number of off-duty officers, Sean and Bridey being fixtures in the community. Lots of local businesspeople were also in attendance, including Jorey, who kept trying to park himself near Caer.

Looking up at one point, she noticed that Zach was watching the two of them and frowning.

She excused herself and walked over to join him. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then seemed to relent. He shook his head. “Nothing. I guess I’m just worried about Jorey now. He did what I asked him to do—he called Morrissey. And then he went above and beyond, and went down to the station. So now I’m worried about him, too.”

Sean called Zach over to say hello to an old friend, and Caer turned to rejoin Jorey, but she didn’t see him anymore. Perhaps affected by Zach’s fears, she wandered through the crowd looking for him, but she still couldn’t find him.

She left the restaurant and walked down the steps. The day had been warm, but the temperature was dropping as darkness fell. She hugged herself, feeling the chill ripple through her. Flesh and blood. Not always comfortable.

“Jorey?” she called. Nothing. She called louder.

Then she saw him, caught in the glow of a streetlight further down the sidewalk. His hands were in the pockets of his jacket, and Caer watched as his shadow lengthened. He must be going home, she thought.

She almost turned to go back in.

But then she saw the birds.

They were covering the roof of the restaurant. They were perched on nearby fences, and even atop the cars in a nearby parking lot.

“Jorey,” she called again, genuinely uneasy now; she hurried along the sidewalk in the direction he’d taken.

She couldn’t tell who, but someone else was passing beneath the streetlamp. His shadow was huge, stretching up and out. It was a trick of light, she knew, yet…

Caer started running. She suddenly knew that she had to reach Jorey.

The second figure turned as she ran past. She ignored him and had almost reached Jorey, who heard the sound of her footsteps and turned.

And then she felt the pain.

Staggering, horrible, numbing pain.

She had felt it before, but…

This time it was different. Now…

There was something in her back. A knife.

Oh, yes, she knew exactly what it was!

She knew she had to remove the object, and quickly. She caught hold of the hilt and strained to pull straight out.

Jorey ran back toward her, and he was staring at her in horror.

“Help!” he screamed. “Help!” He caught hold of Caer, who held the knife in her hand as Jorey helped her gently down to sit on the curb.

“My God,” he said to her. “You saved my life. That was meant for…for me. Help!” he shouted again. “You’re bleeding…you could bleed to death. We have to get you to a hospital.”

The knife was covered with blood, but she could already feel the pain receding; the wound was closing quickly.

“I’m all right. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“Are you insane? You were stabbed in the back. Help! Someone help!”

“It’s all right,” Caer told him.

By then people were spilling out of the pub. Caer swore silently. Whoever had attacked her had either run off or merged into the crowd.

The first person to reach her was Zach. Jorey was talking a mile a minute, trying to explain what had happened, but she barely heard him, because Zach was there. He was on his knees before her, his eyes naked for once, their pain and concern vivid as they met hers.

She could hear the roar of a siren; an ambulance was coming.

“Caer,” Zach said, his voice soft, concerned, a little desperate.

“What the hell happened?” It was Morrissey, shouting over the din. And then she was aware of the paramedics, insisting that she lie down on the stretcher so they could take her to the hospital. Aidan and Jeremy Flynn were there, and then Sean and the rest of the household pushed their way up front.

“I’m going in the ambulance,” Zach told his brothers, who nodded, and she realized that she was suddenly…
jealous.
They had a family; they were close. Brothers. When one of them needed something, the others were there. She ached terribly just thinking about it.

She wanted to be loved. To feel that bond of family. To know there was someone in the world who would move heaven or hell for her.

“I don’t need an ambulance,” she said, holding tight to Zach’s lapel. “I swear to you.”

But it was no good; she was being taken to the hospital.

They didn’t let him in with Caer, and Zach understood, so he paced the waiting room, trying to think. He had been afraid for Jorey, and he hadn’t been wrong. But Caer had stepped in front of a knife.
The knife.
They had to examine the knife. No, it was all right; the cops were still there, and so were his brothers.

He felt a chill sweep through him. They’d just been at a funeral.

And they had almost been required to hold another.

“Mr. Flynn?”

He spun around to see the E.R. nurse. “You can go in. Miss Cavannaugh is waiting to see you.”

“How bad is it? Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s already healing. It really was just a nick.” The woman smiled.

“There’s no internal damage? You’re certain?” Zach demanded anxiously.

“She’s fine. She thinks the knife was stopped by the underwire in her bra, and I suspect she’s right. Now go on in and see her.”

He walked into her cubicle and saw her lying on the bed, her eyes closed, her porcelain skin even paler than usual, her hair a raven-black frame around her features. Shaking, he sat at her side and took her hand.

Her eyes flew open and she smiled slowly, then asked anxiously, “Jorey is okay, right? I mean, nothing else happened? Did they catch who did it?”

“Are you kidding?” he replied in disgust. “There were a hundred people out there. But you…Caer, how the hell can you be all right? You must be the luckiest damned woman in the world. Even so, you shouldn’t go throwing yourself in front of knives.”

“I didn’t, really. And I’m all right, Zach. I really am all right.”

“Good, but you’re still staying here tonight. If you’re good, you can come home tomorrow.”

“But I’m fine.”

“They call it observation, and you’re staying for it.”

“There’s too much going on,” she said.

He smiled. “I’ll be here with you.”

“But…what about Sean?”

“You don’t need to be worried. My brothers are there.”

“You know how on TV the killer always makes a mistake?”

“Yes?”

“Well, he did. Jorey saw him, and he’s afraid of being recognized, even though he was wearing a costume, so he tried to kill Jorey, but Jorey is alive.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Zach said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“I think the killer was there at the pub, enjoying the hospitality of the O’Rileys. I bet he stole that knife from the kitchen, then followed Jorey when he left.” He paused, looking at her. “Caer, I think my heart stopped. My God, there was so much blood….”

“The luck of the Irish,” she said lightly.

Her eyes were starting to close. They’d given her something, because no one would believe that she wasn’t in pain. His face was blurring in front of her.

“I told you, Zach. I’m a banshee,” she said. But the drug was getting to her. “All right. I’m part of a worldwide spy organization. No, just a branch of Irish nationals determined to watch over our brothers and sisters across the world. I’m…”

She never finished. Whatever they had given her, it kicked in fully then. She slept. And she dreamed.

And in those dreams, her future was bright.

They let Caer out the following afternoon. Zach had spent the night with her at the hospital, but the doctor had told him that he would need to be treated for a bad back before Caer had a problem. “She barely needed stitches, and the wound is practically healed. It’s amazing, a real miracle.”

The minute they returned to the house, Kat rushed out to meet her, as if she’d been watching at the window, and even Amanda was downstairs, ready to fuss over her. Zach was glad to see it, and especially pleased that Caer and Kat seemed to have grown close.

And as to Amanda…well, Caer had made the news and was a guest in her house. Maybe it was a novelty—and would wear off.

But at the moment Caer was a heroine. The paper had even carried her picture.

Zach suggested she rest, since she must still feel weak and tired, but she refused to be put to bed, and though he wanted answers, he wasn’t leaving her.

Not that day.

He had checked in with Morrissey that morning, and the detective had assured him that the department was working overtime to find the killer, so Zach decided to let them do their work without him looking over their shoulders for a day.

Aidan and Jeremy had gone out earlier to cut down a Christmas tree, which was now being set up in the parlor. Caer insisted that she was going to help decorate it.

Everyone ended up getting involved. Cal and Marni came over, since they and Sean had decided to keep the business closed for a few more days, and Clara and Ted were in the parlor with everyone else. Amanda wasn’t even making them work as if they were indentured servants. While the younger men struggled with strings of lights—and Aidan said he’d done all the work, actually chopping down the tree, while Jeremy claimed he had done more than his share by paying for it—

Sean came into the room bearing a tray of steaming cups.

“Bridey’s Christmas concoction,” he announced. “Tea, sugar, whiskey and a touch of cream. Enjoy.”

He lifted his cup. “To Bridey!”

Around the room, the others scrambled for their own cups, then toasted.

“In her honor, we’ll be happy,” Sean said. “She’s watching over us, I know, so we’ll decorate just as we always have, as if she were sitting in that corner with her knitting, telling us when something’s uneven.”

“Hear, hear!” Kat managed, with only a glint of tears in her eyes.

The doorbell rang while they were still at work on the tree. Zach told Clara to keep hanging tinsel and went to answer the door himself.

It was the postman. He was carrying packages, along with the usual mail, and Zach carried everything into the parlor. Then, as he started to set them down, he froze.

“What is it?” Sean asked.

Zach held up a box that was no more than six inches square and bore Sean’s name. Written above the address, in Eddie’s big, identifiable style, were the words
Sean, you old buzzard, do not open ’til Christmas.

Marni let out a gasp.

“What?” Amanda demanded.

“It’s from Eddie,” Cal said.

“Then he’s alive!” Marni said, a smile splitting her face.

“No,” Zach corrected her. “I’m sorry, but he sent it before he went missing.”

Sean stared at Zach, hope in his eyes.

“Sean,” Zach said. “We found the mail receipt. But under the circumstances, I think you should open it now.”

Sean sat down on the overstuffed chair nearest the tree. His hands were trembling as he worked at the outer wrapping.