Carla Neggers (12 page)

Sean sat on a taller boulder across from Julianne, his back to the water, so that he could see anyone approaching. “I’m sorry about all this, Julianne,” he said with genuine sympathy. “You’re not having the best introduction to Ireland, are you?”

“This isn’t Ireland’s fault.”

No argument from him. He saw a movement up on the ledge and got to his feet. He recognized Emma Sharpe and Colin Donovan.

Julianne’s two FBI agents.

Just what he needed.

12

EMMA HANDED A
pair of black wool gloves to Julianne, who’d moved up from the rocks near Lindsey Hargreaves’ body and collapsed onto the stone wall by the lane. “Warm hands always help,” Emma said, sitting next to her.

“Thanks.” Julianne’s hands trembled visibly as she slipped them into the gloves. “I didn’t expect to be out here this long. I just meant to take a quick morning walk. You know. Wake up, get used to the time change. Look at sheep. Maybe see a dolphin or porpoise.”

“It’s spectacular scenery up here.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Julianne stared down at the muddy lane. “I couldn’t remember the Irish version of 911. That’s why I texted Colin. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did exactly the right thing.” Emma kept her tone neutral, not wanting to say anything that would put Julianne on the defensive and shut her down. “It’s 999, by the way. Ireland’s emergency number. 112 also works—it’s good anywhere in the EU.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I hope you never need it again.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” She ran her toe over a small, sharp stone embedded in the mud. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get in trouble if I left Lindsey, but I knew I had to get help. After I tripped...a million things went through my head. Probably not even half of them made any sense. I started yelling for help. I figured I’d give it a few minutes before I figured out a Plan B.”

Emma felt the cold of the stone wall through her jeans. She’d hoped to spend the morning at the spa. “Luckily, Sean Murphy and his uncle were within earshot,” she said.

Julianne nodded. “I haven’t met his uncle yet. Sean seemed to know just what to do. He’s solid. I’m glad he was here.”

He had stayed down on the rocks with Colin, who wanted to take a closer look at Lindsey, without intruding on the immediate scene. As a former Maine state marine patrol officer, he had dealt with more accidents, homicides and suicides than Emma had in her three years with the FBI, but this death investigation would be in the hands of the gardai.

Julianne raised her chin, focused on Emma. “I’m sorry this interrupted your romantic getaway. I know you and Colin are in Declan’s Cross because of me, but I’d hoped...” She glanced away. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m sorry Lindsey’s dead, Julianne.”

She blinked back tears. “It’s not what I expected. From what everyone said about her, I really thought we just had our wires crossed and that’s why she didn’t pick me up and I couldn’t reach her. It never occurred to me she was dead.” Julianne looked at the ground again and started toeing her stone free. “I never imagined she was lying out here on the rocks.”

“No one did,” Emma said softly.

“What happens next?”

“Once the gardai get here, they’ll have a look at the scene and decide what to do.”

Julianne’s nose and cheeks were red from emotion and the cool wind. She seemed oblivious to the scrapes on her wrist and knee. “I’ve seen dead stranded whales and dolphins, which is hard, but never a dead person,” she said half to herself. “Except in a casket.”

“It’s not easy, I know.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re here, Emma. Thank you.”

Emma looked up when she heard Sean Murphy and Colin on the trail. Any evidence there had already been contaminated. They dropped onto the lane, Colin saying something about checking a nearby cove and beach for potential witnesses.

“Is the beach accessible only by boat?” he asked.

Sean shook his head. “There’s a road from the village. It doesn’t connect with the lane up here. The gardai will see to it.” He stopped in front of Julianne. “Your color’s better. That’s good.”

“Some of the shock is easing,” she said.

“Paddy and I didn’t see anything amiss from where we’ve been working in the fields. I wish we had. Then we’d have been the ones to find Lindsey instead of you.”

Julianne made no response, but Emma thought she appreciated the Irishman’s comment.

Colin glanced at the Mini, then up at the Celtic crosses on the grassy hill above them. “Declan’s Cross named for those crosses up there?”

Sean leveled his blue eyes on him. “No. They were erected long after Declan’s Cross was named.”

Colin pointed at the remains of a stone structure overgrown with mosses, trees and vines. Mostly a foundation, but a partial wall was visible. “Looks like an old church or something.”

“It is.”

“Saint Declan’s?”

“That’s right.” Sean’s tone was cool. “A church was first built on this site in the ninth century, they say. It was sacked by Nordic raiders. Another was built in its place.”

“And I thought my folks’ inn was old. It was built in the 1890s. Just yesterday around here. Do the ruins and crosses attract tourists?”

Colin’s irreverent tone, Emma knew, was deliberate, but it seemed to have no effect on Sean Murphy. He said, “Some, but not as many as the ruins in Ardmore. We do get walkers up here. The ground is wetter and rougher than they sometimes expect, but we’ve never had more than a twisted ankle and a few bruises and scrapes.”

“Did Lindsey express an interest in coming out here?” Emma asked. “The crosses are especially beautiful. The stone is decorated in a distinctive, intricate Celtic Christian motif. They’re works of art, really.”

“A Celtic motif,” Colin said, as if he were translating a foreign language.

“Knots, circles, spirals, sometimes animals and human figures. The center cross—the tallest one—has a figure of Saint Declan chiseled in the middle of its shaft.”

“Then you’ve been up here before,” Sean said.

“I have, yes.” She didn’t elaborate.

Colin’s gaze settled on her for an instant before he shifted back to the Irishman. “Do you let passersby onto your farm?”

“I don’t escort them if that’s what you mean. I don’t always see them. People walk up here from the cove as well as the village. I wouldn’t see them unless I was down here myself.”

Colin gave the smallest of grins. “Don’t sic the dogs on tourists, do you?”

“No. And it’s one dog. My uncle sees to him.” Sean’s voice was even, without anger or humor. “He does the work of ten men.”

“Your uncle or the dog?”

Sean cracked a smile. That was Colin, Emma thought. He could get to anyone.

He touched Julianne’s shoulder. “How you doing, kid?”

She jumped as if he’d startled her. “I’m fine. Don’t call me kid.”

He winked at her. “That’s the Julianne Maroney I know. Straight-A student and a sharp tongue.”

She sprang to her feet. “I didn’t mean to snap at you—”

“Easy. It’s okay. It’s been a rough morning. The police will need to talk to you.”

“I understand.” Her voice was a notch above a whisper. She glanced around her, as if reminding herself that she was in Ireland. “I hope Lindsey wasn’t lying out on the rocks, injured, unable to call for help.”

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Colin said quietly.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you? Because of your work.” She looked out the lane, in the direction of her cottage. “I heard a banshee this morning....”

“Lindsey was dead long before then, kid.”

She nodded, obviously appreciating his blunt response.

“The wind can shriek up here,” Sean added.

“Yeah. That’s probably what it was.” Julianne wobbled slightly but shrugged off any help from Colin as she steadied herself. “I ran into two divers last night. Brent Corwin and Eamon Carrick. They said Lindsey spent the weekend in Dublin with her father. He was there for a last-minute visit. She needn’t have worried about picking me up in Shannon, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve been trying to figure out why she would have come out here. I wonder if she wanted to have a look at the cottage. Then she drove out the lane not realizing it dead-ended. That doesn’t explain why she got out of the car. Maybe something caught her eye. A rainbow, or she just wanted to look at the scenery.”

Emma wanted to go through Lindsey’s car and suspected Colin did, too—but that wasn’t their job.

She heard a vehicle out on the lane.

“The gardai,” Sean said. “Special Agent Donovan, Special Agent Sharpe, why don’t we let them to do their work? This isn’t an FBI investigation. I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

“No problem,” Colin said, tilting his head back, eyeing the Irishman.

He had Emma’s attention, too. His manner had changed. He wasn’t as casual and convivial. There was no hint of defensiveness or irritation in his voice or manner, but still...something.

Then she knew. “Garda?”

He shrugged. “On leave.”

In another moment, a white garda car pulled in behind her and Colin’s rental and two uniformed gardai got out. The deceased might be American, but the gardai were in charge and would determine what happened next. Emma had confidence in them.

The two young gardai clearly knew Sean, even deferred to him. He briefly introduced Emma and Colin, then Julianne, who looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but on the south Irish coast. Emma touched her hand. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Julianne nodded. “Thanks.” She looked at Colin. “I was just trying to clear my head by coming to Ireland—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, kid.”

She fixed her hazel eyes on him. “You don’t think Lindsey’s death was an accident.”

“Just talk to the gardai, okay?”

“I know. I will. I don’t need you to—” She stopped herself. “Never mind. Just go back to your hotel and have a massage or something. I can take care of myself.”

Colin didn’t respond as the gardai led her away. Sean accompanied them. Emma knew the drill. They would take control of the scene, establish an entry point for arriving support personnel, limit further contamination and do all they could to figure out Lindsey’s movements from the moment she parked her car at the stone wall until her death—and, if warranted, prior to her arrival on Shepherd Head.

Her friends at the field station would have to be told of her death and likely interviewed, too. A cause of death would help decide the direction of the investigation but wouldn’t necessarily provide a clear-cut determination of whether Lindsey’s death was suspicious or non-suspicious. If she’d died of injuries sustained in a fall and there were no witnesses—the truth was they might never know exactly what happened.

Colin would understand that, too, Emma thought as she stood next to him in the dappled shade of what should have been a perfect morning. He said, “There’s nothing I could have said to Julianne that wouldn’t have gotten her back up, you know.”

“I know. Right now it’s easier for her to be defensive and irritable with you—someone she’s known forever—than to admit how afraid and uncertain she is.”

“It’s not a problem. I have broad shoulders.” He watched a garda van pull up behind the patrol car. “Tight quarters. It’s going to get crowded fast.”

“It could be a while before we can get the car out of here,” Emma said. “It’s not easy to be on the sidelines.”

“No, it isn’t. Would you mind going with Julianne back to her cottage? I’ll meet you at the hotel later. I want to talk to our Garda Murphy.”

“I expected as much.” Emma felt a cool breeze, no hint of dampness in it. “Julianne can’t stay at the cottage by herself until we know what happened here. She must know that.”

“This isn’t the spa break you were hoping for,” Colin said, touching a finger to Emma’s cheek, settling his stormy gray eyes on her. “Is this the place depicted in the unsigned painting stolen from the O’Byrne house?”

She nodded. “The center cross is also virtually a direct copy of the silver cross that was stolen.”

“There’s more.”

It wasn’t a question, and Emma said nothing as more garda vehicles arrived.

* * *

The Murphy cottage was surprisingly warm, the kitchen sunlit and cheerful as Emma waited for water to come to a boil in the electric kettle. The gardai had been quick with Julianne. They knew where to find her if they had any follow-up questions. The walk back to the cottage had seemed to help her get her bearings. She was in a small mudroom off the kitchen, peeling off her raincoat, which she hadn’t ended up needing.

Emma had appreciated the walk, too, although the beautiful weather was deteriorating. She looked out the window above the sink. A pearl-gray mist had settled on the horizon, and high clouds had moved in, the sun angling through them onto the gray-blue sea. The cottage lawn was green and trimmed, bordered by a stone wall topped with barbwire and overgrown with coppery ferns, woody vines and shrubs. A hydrangea, drooping with a few late-season blossoms, reminded her of home in Heron’s Cove. Her grandmother had loved hydrangeas. Emma didn’t know yet if she would have to postpone her flight back to Boston. She wouldn’t be returning until she had a better idea of how Lindsey Hargreaves had died, and whether her death had any connection to a decade of unsolved art thefts.

“I can’t tell Granny about this morning,” Julianne said as she left her raincoat in a pile by the back door. “I just can’t. For her, Ireland is all fairies, shamrocks and brown bread.”

Emma opened a tin of loose-leaf tea and scooped several heaping spoonfuls into a pottery teapot. “She doesn’t have to know just yet, does she?”

“I don’t want her to find out from Father Bracken or a Donovan. That would just upset her more.” Julianne came into the kitchen, her hair hanging in her face but her overall color improved. “Granny just wants me to have a good time and tell her how much I love Ireland.”

“I have a feeling Franny Maroney’s been around the block a time or two.”

“Doesn’t mean she needs to know I found a dead body my first morning here.” Julianne winced. “Sorry. That was blunt. Do you think Colin will tell Andy?”

“Andy’s his brother, Julianne.”

“They’re so alike but different, too. Andy’s more easygoing, which isn’t saying a whole lot, I know.” She crossed her arms in front of her, as if she wanted to hug herself. “Colin treats me like I’m ten. Then I act like I’m ten. It’s a vicious cycle, and being jet-lagged and totally freaked out doesn’t help.”

Emma lifted the kettle and poured the hot water into the teapot. “When Lindsey was in Rock Point, did she mention Heron’s Cove or my family?”

Julianne shook her head. “She just said a mutual friend in Declan’s Cross had mentioned Father Bracken. She didn’t give a name. We stopped in Heron’s Cove when I played tour guide, but Lindsey didn’t say anything about your family. I’m sure I’d have remembered if she had.” Julianne got two mugs out of a glass-front cabinet. “Hot tea right now sounds good. Later on I’ll be looking for a Father Bracken–approved whiskey.”