Liar's Key (26 page)

“Not at all.”

“I haven't been to mass in years. I miss some of the rituals. I love old church ruins. Oliver has an affinity for the ruin in Declan's Cross, perhaps because he was left in one as a boy. He was found by a Catholic priest. Do you suppose that's why he's drawn to you? You both also have tragic pasts.”

“Oliver's an interesting man.”

“That's almost word for word what Colin Donovan just told me.”

Finian hugged her close. “It's good to have you here, Mary. I'm sorry the circumstances aren't better.”

“I don't mind for myself. I mind for this man who died and his family and friends. Ah, Fin...” She realized she was trembling with emotion. “I can see why your friends need you and appreciate you.”

“Thanks for that, Mary.”

She sniffled. “But I still want you to come home.”

24

The fog was finally lifting on the small peninsula where railroad magnate Edward Hart had built his Maine paradise and the Sisters of the Joyful Heart now lived and worked. Emma hadn't thought about these sorts of mornings in a long time, when she'd be toiling in a garden or meditating by a fountain in the fog, knowing it was sunny in Heron's Cove. When she'd arrived at the convent thirty minutes ago, she couldn't see the water even from the main garden. Now, in a meditative garden open to visitors as well as the sisters, she could see gray swells rolling onto the rocks and boulders below her.

“You're pacing, Emma,” her grandfather said. “It's wearing me out. Sit down, will you?”

She spun around at him. He was seated on a wooden bench facing a golden sundial situated amid clusters of yellow tulips, junipers and pots of multicolored pansies. Later in the season, the tulips and pansies would give way to summer flowers, always with an eye toward creating a soothing, restful spot for contemplation. Emma had been contemplating, but she hadn't been restful.

Her grandfather studied her, nothing about him frail, tentative, or that would suggest he was off his game. He wore a windbreaker and chinos that looked as if he'd pulled them out of a box in the attic, but Lucas had cleared out everything. No way would he have kept a pair of their grandfather's old, frayed pants.

“You had evidence of a corrupt FBI agent and you didn't tell me.”

“Not corrupt. Human.”

“Granddad.”

He sighed, no hint of impatience. “I didn't have evidence. I had an inkling. What was I going to do, knock on the FBI director's door with an inkling an agent was having a fling with a source?”

“You could have knocked on my door.”

“And put you in the position of dethroning the great Gordy Wheelock? You weren't working with him then. He wasn't your problem.”

“Another agent having an affair with a source, potentially coercing her, opening himself up to blackmail—Granddad, that
is
my problem.”

“You keep using these declarative statements. I don't know for a fact even now, sitting here with you pacing, that Gordon Wheelock and Claudia Deverell had an affair. Do you?”

Emma lowered her arms to her sides. She'd had them crossed on her chest as she'd paced. “We've talked with Gordy's widow. She knew. She didn't tell him, but she knew. They'd been having troubles with their marriage. His career had been all-consuming for him and the future scared him.”

“Her words?”

“Yes. His reputation meant a lot to him. To both of them. She talked to him on Thursday evening. She wasn't alarmed when she didn't hear from him on Friday.”

“Are you sure she didn't send someone after him?”

“Right now, Granddad, I'm not sure of much. Joan Wheelock didn't believe her husband was rekindling his relationship with Claudia or trying to make things right somehow.”

“He was on a case. The last case that he left unfinished.”

Emma noticed more of the ocean was visible, bluer with the lifting fog. “There's what we know and there's what we think we know. It's best not to confuse the two.”

Her grandfather rose, only his use of the bench arm suggesting any infirmity. “Maybe Joan Wheelock did some stepping out of her own. The world isn't as black-and-white for me these days, Emma. My eyesight isn't as good as it used to be—I see a lot of shades of gray.”

“Any ‘inkling' Gordy coerced Claudia?”

“I always suspected he had something on her, or enough. She was in a state because of her mother. She'd do anything to protect the Norwood reputation. If Gordy found out something shady about their family, Claudia would have been devastated.”

“Did Lucas know about her and Gordy? Is that what affected their relationship?”

“Probably. We've never talked about it. Lucas is a better catch than old married Gordy was, even in his heyday. He and Claudia are closer in age, they have similar interests and backgrounds, they're both single and world travelers. It could have worked.”

Emma noticed dew or mist dripping on the sundial. Her grandfather and her brother had suspected—
strongly
suspected—Claudia Deverell had had an affair with an active FBI agent, and they hadn't said a word to her.

“You're a Fed, Emma,” her grandfather said quietly.

In other words, she'd excluded herself from Sharpe confidences. “Did Mum and Dad know about Gordy and Claudia?”

He shook his head. “They're both in London. With Claudia there, too—let sleeping dogs lie, you know?”

“Sure, Granddad.”

“Mad?”

She let out a breath. “No. No, I'm not mad. I excluded myself from the family business when I came here to the convent. Then I went back for a while. Working with you in Dublin was special. I learned so much.”

“You were a good student,” he said. “I'd have loved for you to stay with the business and take over the Dublin office, but that was about me. You had to decide what was right for you.” He nodded to the sundial. “I remember when Sarah Jane—Mother Linden—made the sundial. I told her it could get her into trouble and she should stick to good religious symbols. She scoffed. She was a smart, kind woman, Emma. You learned a lot from being here, too.”

They took a path past the tower and on to the walkway, through the pine grove. Emma matched her grandfather's slower pace. Being here, in this place imprinted with his friend and mentor's vision and spirit, had obviously affected him. Emma had counted on that when she'd collected him and brought him out here.

“Granddad, is someone using the Norwood collection to help sanitize the provenance of illicit antiquities?”

“I don't know for certain.”

“Is that what Alessandro believed?”

“Yes.”

And Gordy, Emma thought. At least he'd suspected. And what part did Oliver York and MI5 play? But she didn't go there.

“That world's a morass,” her grandfather said. “I stay out of it as much as possible.”

“A wise choice.”

“That's part of the attraction of the FBI for you. I choose my morasses. You wade into all of them.”

She made no comment. Wendell Sharpe was welcome to his theories about his sole granddaughter's choices in life.

As they reached the front gate, she spotted Colin's truck parked next to her car.

“The law is here,” her grandfather said, pointing.

Emma smiled. “I am the law, too, Granddad.”

“As if I could forget, even if I wanted to.”

They went through the gate, sunlight streaming through the pine branches and shining on the small parking area. Colin got out of his truck. “Hey, Wendell. Maybe you can help with this one.” He turned to Emma. “For what it's worth, Mary Bracken found a key.”

He didn't seem that excited, but Emma and her grandfather both recognized it immediately. “It's similar to the key to an old Victorian chest here at the convent,” she said.

“I remember moving the thing after Sarah Jane bought this place,” her grandfather added. “I was all for junking it but she liked it.”

Emma noticed Colin's frown and explained further. “Horace Norwood and Edward Hart often traveled together. There's probably a similar chest at the Norwood-Deverell house in Heron's Cove. Claudia's been going through it. She could have dropped the key and someone found it and put it in Mary's pocket by mistake.”

“Or deliberately,” Colin said.

“If we're right and it's Claudia's key. Let's find out.”

They quickly formed a plan. Emma would return Wendell to his guest suite at the Sharpe offices and meet Colin at the Norwood-Deverell house.

She took the key, handing it to her grandfather to examine on the ride back to Heron's Cove.

25

Claudia pushed open the door to the bedroom her mother had used for storage and let Oliver York go in ahead of her. She'd been surprised when he'd arrived at the house, asking to have a look at some of the Norwood antiquities—out of curiosity, as a mythologist. She wasn't sure she entirely believed him but had no objection to bringing him upstairs. Her father and brother were out sailing with friends, and Isabel was in her bedroom, packing for her flight home.

Oliver glanced around at the jam-packed room. “One can imagine the reaction of an artisan of two thousand years ago discovering one of his creations stuffed in a container here, in a place he couldn't have known existed.” He glanced back at Claudia. “Do you know which pieces your mother collected as opposed to her father and grandfather?”

“For the most part, yes. I won't know for certain until I go through everything. My mother was more the stickler for documentation than my grandfather and great-grandfather.”

“But she added to the collection herself?”

Claudia nodded. “Oliver...what's this all about?”

“You saw Alessandro Pearson the day before he died.”

“Yes.” She hadn't hesitated but did now. “Why? How did you know?”

“Did you ask to see him or did he ask to see you?”

“He wanted to see me. We had tea. Look, I have nothing to hide. Why are you questioning me? Who
are
you?”

He stood in front of a stack of wooden crates, filled, she knew, with Grecian pots and urns. “An English mythologist. I'm not with law enforcement, Claudia.”

“It wouldn't matter if you were. I have nothing to hide. Alessandro called me. He was worried my mother or I had been duped, used by terrorists and fraudulent scumbags to help them sanitize antiquities coming out of hot spots on the Mediterranean—to give them a provenance. It wouldn't matter if the pieces in question were legitimately obtained but had just got caught up in the conflicts and chaos in their origin countries.”

“The poor fellow who discovers a few ancient pieces in the back shed?”

“All right, more likely Alessandro was worried about looted works.” She shrugged. “It was all so vague. Then he died, and I was coming back here.”

“And you called Gordy Wheelock,” Oliver said.

“That's right. I never expected him to come to London. I couldn't stop him from going to the open house—I was glad he didn't. I thought he'd gone home. I was as shocked as anyone to learn he'd been killed.”

Oliver took a few steps toward her. “Claudia, I believe your life could be in danger.”

“What? Are you trying to scare me? Why? What do you think I've done?”

“You looked after your beloved mother and left yourself open to being used. You'd do almost anything to protect your mother's legacy, but not quite as much as Gordy believed.”

She drew herself up straight and squared her shoulders. “You need to leave.”

But in the next split second, Claudia realized she was too late.

* * *

Colin parked across from the Norwood-Deverell house and jumped out of his truck as he saw Lucas Sharpe starting across Ocean Avenue. “Hold on, Lucas. What's up?”

“Granddad was telling me about the key Mary Bracken found in her jacket. It reminded me of a chest I helped Victoria Deverell move upstairs on her last visit out here. It was old—mid-nineteenth-century I think she said. Her grandfather and Edward Hart came back from one of their trips with twin chests, and each kept one. She wanted it for storage.”

“Was Claudia with her?”

Lucas nodded. “Henry stayed in Philadelphia. Isabel Greene came up for a day. I don't know that it helps figure out how the key ended up in Mary's jacket—assuming it's the same key. Just wanted to let Emma know. She walked up here after dropping off Granddad.”

“Thanks, Lucas. Go back and stay with your grandfather, okay? We'll be in touch.”

“Colin? Is everything okay?”

“Sam Padgett texted Emma and me on my way here. Isabel Greene didn't take a train to Boston from New York or anywhere else on Thursday.”

“But Claudia picked her up. They drove up here together. Why lie?”

“That's what I want to know. She needs to explain.”

“She must know you'd check, after yesterday. Maybe she and Claudia aren't such great friends after all.”

Colin gave a curt nod and started across the street.

A single shot came from the house.

Emma.

He turned to a shocked Lucas. “Take cover and call 911. Do it now, Lucas.”

Colin drew his weapon and broke into a run.

* * *

Emma intercepted Claudia pushing open the door to a bathroom at the top of the stairs. She was shaking, in a full panic with the gunfire. “Oliver pushed me out of harm's way. She's mad...” Claudia gulped in more air, her skin splotchy from hyperventilating. “She's looking for me. She'll kill Oliver.”

“Where is she now?”

“She was hiding behind a chest...in the bedroom. We didn't see her.”

“She's still there?”

A nod, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Where's Oliver?” Emma asked.

“Hiding. He dove after he pushed me. She... Isabel shot him.”

“Is anyone else in the room?”

Claudia shook her head. “I don't think so. Dad and Adrian have gone sailing.”

“You saw them leave yourself?”

“Yes.”

Emma held her by the shoulders. “I'm going to keep you safe, but I need you to listen to me. Stay in the bathroom. Lock the door. Wait for an all-clear.”

* * *

Claudia did as Emma asked.

Gun drawn, Emma edged to the open bedroom door. Colin materialized beside her.

“Isabel—it's Emma. Emma Sharpe. We'll figure this out. Let's keep everyone safe.”

“A little late for that, Emma,” Isabel, her voice clear and steady, said from inside the room.

“She's to your left of the door,” Oliver called out. “Two meters in, with a nine-millimeter pistol pointed in my general direction.”

He was finishing his statement even as Colin and Emma moved in unison, entering the room. Isabel had one chance to lower her weapon, and she took it, placing it on the floor. Emma kicked it aside as Colin tackled her, got her in cuffs and arrested her.

“It was self-defense,” Isabel said, cool. “I know you can't take my word for it now, but you'll see. Claudia will do everything to protect her mother and the damn Norwood reputation.”

Oliver stood up from behind a chest. “Bloody hell,” he said.

“Did she shoot you?” Emma asked him.

“Not really.”

“Yes or no, Oliver,” Colin said.

“A little. I'm not a fan of guns.” He dusted himself off, wincing in pain. Emma noticed blood dripping down his left arm onto his hand. “I think you'd call this a graze. I'm in a bit of pain but nothing a good Scotch won't cure.”

Colin shook his head at him. “All that tai chi isn't very helpful with bullets.”

“I ducked in time to avoid a bullet to the heart because of it. I could have dispatched this—this woman, but imagine the paperwork.”

“What the hell were you doing here, Oliver?”

“Looking for mosaics looted from one of Alessandro Pearson's former archaeological sites.” He steadied his gaze on Isabel. “You killed Alessandro and you killed Gordy Wheelock.”

“I haven't killed anyone.”

“You put a key in Mary Bracken's pocket,” Emma said. “Why?”

“Claudia did it. I saw her. You'll soon learn the truth.”

“You wanted her to take the fall,” Oliver said. “Bloody coward.”

Isabel's lips thinned as she smirked at him. “Claudia used her dying mother's odd behavior to cover up laundering antiquities. She continued after Victoria's death. Alessandro found out.” She glanced at Colin. “It's all right, Agent Donovan. You've read me my rights. I'm fine.”

He said nothing. Emma walked over to the chest where Oliver had hidden. “It's much easier to sell antiquities from the Norwood-Deverell collection than a looted archaeological site,” she said. “Hide them in an old chest, ‘discover' them and claim they were here for years. This particular chest isn't valuable. You could always just take an ax to it. You don't need the key. You only need what's inside.”

“Alessandro's mosaics,” Oliver said. “You create a history and a provenance and sell them to some hedge-fund manager who thinks he's doing good and getting something valuable in return.”

A flash of disdain from Isabel. “Not quite the lonely, eccentric mythologist, are you?”

“No, I am. I'm also observant, and I liked Alessandro and don't appreciate you shoving him down a flight of stairs. Thought you'd get lucky with Gordy in the same way?”

“It was Claudia,” Isabel said. “All Claudia.”