Carla Neggers (25 page)

“Guilt,” Colin said.

“That sums it up, doesn’t it? I never should have married. I’m a solitary sort. I enjoy the company of friends and colleagues, but I’m not one for intimacy. I tend to be in my own world. Oblivious. I wish I could be oblivious again.” He started back into the cottage but stopped. “I’ve done nothing illegal. Unwise, perhaps, but not illegal. I wish I’d done things differently. Called the police when I discovered the theft, or the gardai when I arrived in Dublin. I thought I could handle this on my own, and I couldn’t. And now my daughter is dead.”

* * *

Colin walked with Emma back through the O’Byrne gardens, his mind on their conversation with David Hargreaves. “Lindsey wasn’t as interested in getting police to blame the Declan’s Cross thief as she was in getting her father to blame him. Hence her day trip to Maine. She’d see the sights. Stop at Sharpe Fine Art Recovery in case he checked, but not make a big deal of it—avoid being too obvious.”

“She hoped it wouldn’t come to that,” Emma said. “She wanted her ransom scheme to work.”

“It did work. It just got her killed.”

“What if her father killed her after all?”

“And all that back there was a show?” Colin considered the possibility. “I think he played her game until Dublin. Then when Lindsey didn’t fess up, he’d had it. The question is whether he went to Ardmore to get his head into confronting her—or whether he used it to cover for sneaking into Declan’s Cross and killing her.”

Emma ducked under a low branch of a rhododendron. “Maybe he arranged to meet her on Shepherd Head and confronted her there. Then things got out of hand, they argued—whatever—and she fell. He panicked. Here we are.”

Colin shook his head. “There were no other tire marks on the lane. He doesn’t know his way around up there. He’d have had to hike up the trail from the cove or hike out the lane.”

“If Lindsey met him and drove him out there...then how would he have gotten back to Ardmore?”

“We’ll be talking to our gardai friends soon. They’ll check out his movements in Ardmore, if they haven’t already.”

Emma slowed her pace as they came to the hotel terrace. “If we assume David is now telling the truth—which I tend to think he is—then why did Lindsey come down here on Monday and drive out to the tip of Shepherd Head?” She paused at a large flowerpot overflowing with bright cyclamen. “And where’s the money?”

“Maybe she was making a last stab at trying to blame your thief by hiding the money up by the crosses and church ruin.”

“And someone else found out—”

“Or was in on it from the start,” Colin said. “No one who knew Lindsey describes her as a good planner.”

Emma sank onto a bench overlooking the gardens and sea. “That’s what was going on at the Murphy cottage yesterday. Whoever knocked Philip was looking for the money.”

“She had an accomplice.” Colin got out his phone and called Yank, who picked up on the first ring. Colin didn’t wait for him to speak. “We need all you can get on Lindsey Hargreaves. Who her friends were. Her work at the Hargreaves Oceanographic Institute. Her diving. Everything.”

“You know it’s the middle of the night here, don’t you?”

“If you were a lobsterman, you’d be up.”

“Your brother Andy is in Ireland. He tell you?”

“He’ll be here any minute. We’ll have a pint together later.” Colin filled Yank in on David Hargreaves’ story. “I think he’s finally leveling about what happened.”

“This fits with what we’ve learned here,” Yank said, sounding less groggy. “Cynthia Hargreaves liked to brag that she owned two of Aoife O’Byrne’s early works and her ex-husband was holding on to them for her. She wasn’t a big talent herself, but she prided herself on recognizing talent. That she knew early on that Aoife would be a star meant a lot to her.”

“Whether or not Cynthia was lying, if her daughter believed her, then she wasn’t just after the money. Stealing those particular works was personal for her. She wanted her father to suffer because of them.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t want to return them,” Yank said.

“An accomplice would be interested just in the value, and in not getting caught.” Colin thought he heard pots and pans clanking on the other end of the phone. “Yank—where are you?”

“Rock Point. I’m at your folks’ inn. It’s nice. Everybody’s up. Your father’s making muffins.”

“Hell, Yank.”

“I had whiskey with Finian Bracken last night.” Yank’s voice turned serious again. “He vouches for the garda detective, Sean Murphy. Your brother Mike was there. I told Mike that in no way, shape or form do I need his help doing my job.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Sounds like Mike.”

Colin disconnected and sat next to Emma. He’d heard the concern in Matt Yankowski’s voice and appreciated that he was personally looking into the situation.

“How are things in Rock Point?” Emma asked.

“Yank’s having muffins with my folks.”

“Life could be worse.”

“Nope. I don’t think so.”

Emma placed a hand on his thigh. “I want to go back up to Shepherd Head where Lindsey died.”

He covered her hand with his. “I thought you might. I do, too. I want to talk to Sean Murphy and Lindsey’s diver friend, Brent Corwin.”

“It would be good to know what he was up to this weekend and on Monday when Lindsey died.”

“Yes, it would.”

As they got up, Colin saw he had a text from Julianne:
I’m at the spa. It’s gorgeous.

At least she was safe. He texted her back:
Good. Stay there.

26

SEAN WAS OUT
at the barn when Ronan Carrick phoned him. “David Hargreaves was in Dublin, as he says. He checked out a day early. Also as he says. We talked to a waiter at his hotel who described tension between him and his daughter. The accommodation manager remembered being in the elevator with them. Lindsey was trying to explain something, and he just stared straight ahead and didn’t respond.”

“Subject?”

“Marine science.”

“It’s not much, Ronan.”

“It’s not anything. We checked with the housekeeping staff. One of the housekeepers accidentally walked in on Lindsey. She was hyperventilating. She’d been sick.”

“Not a happy reunion with the father.”

“She also had a package on the bed. Nothing like it was found on or near her body, in her car or at her field station.”

“Any idea what was in it?”

“Not a clue.”

Sean bit back a sigh of frustration. “Ronan...”

Ronan ignored him. “So, Eamon is back in Dublin. He’s down to the pub and talks to the lads, and what do they tell him? Brent Corwin was there for a pint on Saturday. He told us he was diving all weekend.”

“He could have popped into Dublin and still said he’d been diving.”

“He never mentioned dropping in at the pub to Eamon. They went diving together on Sunday.”

“Monday?”

“Eamon worked out on his boat most of Monday. He’s got a good life, that one. He’ll dive with anyone, though. Put a mask and tank on the devil, and Eamon will go underwater with him.”

It took more to earn Ronan’s trust.

“What do you think, Sean?”

“It’s something.”

“It’s just not enough, is it?”

“Did forensics find anything on Lindsey Hargreaves or in her car that suggests she’d been up to the crosses or the church ruin? Any mud or grass or dung that’s not from the lane, the trail, the rocks?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll ask. What’s on your mind, Sean?”

“Liver fluke. It’s a terrible parasite that affects sheep.” But Sean couldn’t work up any real humor. He thanked Ronan, who promised to stay in touch.

In the quiet of the barn, Sean noticed the smell of hay, manure and wet sheep. Good smells. So many times since June, as he’d made his slow recovery, he’d told himself that becoming a detective had been the wrong turn in his life, and it was farm work he was meant to do.

He went back to the house. Paddy came into the kitchen, still in his jacket and cap. He’d gone out to the fields early, ignoring Sean’s concerns about the attack on Philip yesterday.

“No gardai up here today, thank God,” Paddy said, pulling off his cap. “Just the American diver. He must want to have a look at where his friend died.”

“You saw him just now?”

“Not ten minutes ago. He was in his van. I assume it was him. I was too far away to see who was inside.”

“I’m going out to see what he’s up to,” Sean said. “You stay here and watch yourself. Lock the doors.”

“What’s wrong, Sean?”

He wanted to make a joke, say he’d been off the job too long, but he couldn’t. “I don’t know that anything’s wrong. Let’s just be on the safe side.”

The phone rang. Paddy answered it and handed it to Sean. Kitty started talking before he could say hello. “Is Julianne Maroney up there?”

“I haven’t seen her—”

“She isn’t at the hotel. She hasn’t checked out. Her car is here. She was at breakfast and said she’d be in the spa, the gardens or her room, and she’s in none of those places. Normally I wouldn’t think a thing of it.”

“Where are Emma and Colin?”

“They just left. Sean, they said the guards investigating Lindsey’s death will be here soon to talk to her father.”

“Did you see Brent Corwin at the hotel?”

“Brent? No, why?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Where’s Philip?”

“He’s working in the kitchen.”

“Keep him there. Trust me, Kitty.”

“I always have.”

“You never have. You thought I was your blasted thief.”

* * *

Julianne shivered in the damp shadows of the hollow where she’d discovered Lindsey’s car. The cool air and her mud-soaked clothes made her ripe for hypothermia, but with a 9 mm pistol shoved in her ribs, freezing to death wasn’t her most pressing concern.

“You’ve got your money,” she said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “Just take it and go.”

Brent Corwin shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

He sounded almost sorry. He was close enough that she could smell his sweat and the mud caked on his hands and jacket. The money was inside the backpack he had slung over one shoulder. It, too, was muddy and wet. He’d dragged her out of this van and shoved her at the ancient stone wall and moss-covered ruins. He’d ordered her to start searching. A package wrapped in black plastic, a backpack, maybe even a small suitcase—it was here, he’d said. He’d finally figured it out. This was where Lindsey had hidden the money she and Brent had manipulated David Hargreaves into giving them.

It hadn’t been on her body or in her car. It wasn’t at the field station. It wasn’t at the Murphy cottage.

“The stupid bitch. The money’s here.”

They’d found her hiding place, a gap in the stone wall, almost inside the church ruin. Lindsey had chosen it well, and covered her tracks well—not that she’d have left much evidence of her presence in the moss, grass and rock.

Brent had leveled his gun at Julianne and made her do most of the work—digging through the browned, sodden mass of leaves and ferns that Lindsey had used to conceal the gap. She’d pulled out the muddy backpack. He’d unzipped the main compartment, and Julianne had seen a black-wrapped package inside.

He’d seemed satisfied and marched her back down to the lane at gunpoint.

She nodded to the backpack. “Are you sure it’s actually money inside the package? The wrapping is opaque. What if it’s newspapers and Lindsey hid the money somewhere else? The reason you’re in this mess is because she double-crossed you in the first place, right?”

He motioned his gun at her. “Up the trail, Julianne. Let’s move.”

She didn’t want to go up the trail. It led to the ledge, and the ledge was where Lindsey had died. Where he’d killed her. Not that he’d confessed, but Julianne knew. She’d known when she’d run into him in the O’Byrne gardens. She’d never been good at a poker face, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d needed a hostage. What had he said?
“You’re a soft target, Julianne.”

She’d gone out for a quick walk ahead of her visit to the spa. She’d hoped pampering herself a little before Andy arrived would help clear her head. She’d been dressed for the spa. Yoga pants, yoga top, lightweight zip-up fleece—they weren’t intended for digging in cold mud and muck in an Irish ruin. Even her shoes were useless. She’d slipped into pink flip-flops Granny had given her, insisting they’d come in handy on her trip.

If she died out here, she could hear the Donovan brothers now.
“What the hell was she doing out there in yoga pants and flip-flops?”

No socks, even.

She’d been at the far corner of the gardens, already cold, eager to get into the sauna and a soft hotel robe. Brent had come through the trees, up from the water, saying he’d heard about the attack on Philip Doyle and wanted to know if he was all right. Julianne hadn’t liked his flat tone, his sleepless eyes, and had suggested they go up to the hotel together and talk to Emma and Colin—then it was out with the gun, through the trees to a parking area by the water and into his van.

She wished she’d found a way to jump out of the van, knock him out while they’d searched for the money or just run away without getting shot. So far, all she could do was keep stalling for time until Colin realized she wasn’t at the spa. He’d be pissed, and he’d come looking for her.

Brent leaned in close to her. “Julianne.”

She was so damn cold. Her shivering was nearly uncontrollable now. “You don’t have to push me off a cliff. I’ll die of hypothermia first.”

“Just do as I say and you’ll be fine. It’s worked out so far, right? I have my money, and you haven’t done anything stupid. I just want to keep you with me until I’m free and clear of the gardai and your FBI friends.”

“Then leave now—by yourself.”

“I have a car down by the cove. I just need to make sure I get there without any trouble. Then we’ll part company. I get out of Ireland. You go back to your Irish vacation.”

“That’s what you did on Monday—you hiked up from the cove.” Julianne nodded at the dead-end lane. “But the trail’s that way. It’s not up on the ledge.”

“There’s a shortcut. You probably didn’t notice it the other day. It’s a little steeper, but we’ll be fine.”

She could hear in his voice he’d lost patience. Any words to the contrary were a pretext. The car-at-the-cove line was a ruse—a way to manipulate her so he didn’t have to actually shoot her. A gunshot would draw attention. He wanted to push her off the ledge, then get back in his van and drive away as the bereaved friend who had gone out to the spot where Lindsey had died and said his goodbyes on his way out of town. By the time anyone came up here, he’d be long gone.

On the other hand, he might have a car down at the cove, too—a backup plan.

There still was no shortcut from the ledge.

Julianne tried to stall him. “Where are you going from here?”

“Somewhere warm and sunny.”

“New identity?”

He pushed her toward the trail. “No more talking. One stupid move, and I’ll shoot you. I don’t want to. I want to let you go after you’ve served your purpose.”

He had her go first up the trail. She cut past the holly tree. She could hear him close behind her, no question he still had his 9 mm pointed at her. He’d have no trouble on the steep hill. He was in good shape.

Her feet, numb with the cold, nearly slipped out of her flip-flops, but she continued up to the ledge. Wind gusted off the water, penetrating her thin, wet clothing. She struggled not to fall to her knees into a ball. It’d help conserve body heat. She was already slurring her words. The wind would only speed up the onset of serious hypothermia.

If she collapsed, would Brent shoot her? Risk the sound of gunfire alerting Sean Murphy and his uncle—even people in the village?

He moved in front of her and watched her shiver, his gun steady in his hand. “Your lips are purple.”

“I’m freezing.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get you warm soon. I should have grabbed a jacket for you out of the van.”

She drew her hands up into the sleeves or her sodden fleece. “You didn’t come up here with the intention of killing Lindsey, did you?”

His look told Julianne that no, he
had
come up here with the intention of killing Lindsey.

And now me.

“I didn’t kill her.” His tone was distant, as if he didn’t care if Julianne believed him or not. “I just wanted my share of the money. She got crazy and fell.”

It wasn’t what happened.

“You didn’t realize she’d already hidden the money,” Julianne said. “You must have freaked out when it wasn’t in her car.”

“It didn’t occur to me she’d hidden it in the damn ruins. If it had, you and I wouldn’t be here right now. She didn’t do you any favors when she invited you here, did she? She liked you, you know. You’re everything she wasn’t. Smart, a go-getter, a self-starter. Hardworking. All she wanted was to please her father. When he put his foot down about the field station, it was the last straw.”

“That’s when you two cooked up the theft.”

“Everything worked like it was supposed to. I knew her father would figure out she stole from him, and all Lindsey’s efforts to make it look like this guy who pulled off the theft here was responsible wouldn’t amount to anything. I just also knew he wouldn’t do anything about it. He’d cooperate. He’d pay. He might confront her, but he’d never go to the police. He has his own reputation to consider. I had a drink with him after you found her. He really did love her in his own lame way.”

Another gust of wind howled up from the rocks and sea. Julianne tightened her arms around her.
Keep talking, keep talking.
“When did you realize she wasn’t going to keep up her end of the deal?”

“We were supposed to meet on Monday. When she didn’t show up...” Brent blew out a breath. “She started to get weird over the weekend. I shouldn’t have let her pick up the money. I should have been more careful when I was in Dublin helping her pull this thing off—but this was such a no-brainer. I wasn’t that worried about covering my tracks.”

“You weren’t thinking you’d have to explain your whereabouts to the Irish police.”

“You got that right.”

Julianne glanced at the waves rolling onto the rocks. She could hear birds in the distance. Crows, she thought. She turned back to Brent. “Lindsey wanted the field station to work. Maybe she came to Declan’s Cross because of her resentments, and maybe she was angry with her father for not helping her—”

“She knew he was onto her, but she still thought she could pull it off and get him to blame the thief. That’s why she hid the money out here. She figured it’s where the thief would hide it.”

“But she didn’t want anyone to find it, did she?”

“She wanted to keep it and put it into the field station. She thought I’d go along with her. The field station would be a success. I could work for her.”

“That’s what she told you on Monday?”

“I didn’t go along with her.”

“You wanted all the money for yourself.”

He shrugged. “I have bills to pay.” He raised his gun. “Your lips really are purple.”

“It’s mild hypothermia...”

“I know. Lindsey was so excited after she met you. She didn’t see the field station for what it was—an old garage, another of her ideas that wouldn’t work out.” Brent shook his head. “I wish she hadn’t met you, Julianne. I’m sorry she did.”

“You like having your way, don’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” He kept his gaze steady on her. “I know you’re cold. I’ve had hypothermia. It’s no fun.”

And it could be fatal—would be now, Julianne knew, if she didn’t get warm soon. She looked down at the rocks below the ledge, at the spot where she’d spotted Lindsey’s bright-colored scarf. Brent wasn’t going to shoot her, and he wasn’t going to make her death look like an accident—he was going to make it look like she’d come out here in despair, not dressed for the conditions...searching for answers to her new friend’s death. Julianne could see it. She’d be the young woman who came to Ireland to heal a broken heart and help with an exciting project, and instead everything went wrong.