Authors: Carla Neggers
Saint's Gate (25 page)
43
MATT YANKOWSKI JOINED EMMA ON HER BACK porch. She was painting another scene of the docks. “I tossed the other one I was working on,” she said. “I couldn’t look at the boat without thinking seagull.”
“Some things you just can’t fix.”
She pointed her paintbrush at her current project. “This is a lobster boat.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah. I knew that. I like lobster boats. They’re classic coastal Maine. I just don’t want to ride in one.” He sat on the balustrade, the docks behind him quiet so late on a cold autumn afternoon. “Is Colin Donovan the sort of man you used to dream about as a nun?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, hell.” Yank groaned. “You two are serious? I thought he was another of your whims. He’s not a lobsterman, and he doesn’t know anything about art.”
“Neither do you, and we’re friends.”
“We’re not that kind of friends.”
Emma set down her paintbrush. “Everyone else in my life knows art. He’s refreshing.”
Yank frowned as she stood back from her work in progress. “Colin can probably paint at least as well as you.”
She laughed, then looked at him seriously. “Yank, I’m not making a mistake.”
“He’s not going to change. You know that, right?”
“I wouldn’t want him to.”
“That’s easy to say now when he’s kayaking and picking apples with you in Maine. That won’t always be the case. What’ll you do if he disappears for a few months?”
Emma had a feeling they weren’t just talking about her. “I like what I’m doing with the team. I’m looking forward to being closer to Heron’s Cove. I’ll be fine. Sometimes the work has to come first, Yank. I know that.”
“Yeah. So you say.” Yank stood. “Colin’s always gone his own way. So have you. You both need space. I guess you’ll see what happens. He’s not easy, but you know that.” He paused. “Do I smell applesauce?”
“A pie,” she said.
He grinned. “Even better. Did you pick the apples yourself?”
She smiled back at him. “Colin and I did.”
Emma arrived late at Hurley’s. The Donovan brothers and Father Bracken were in the midst of a friendly, if heated, discussion on the art and science of whiskey distillation and the merits of various types of whiskey. Finian Bracken, of course, knew what he was talking about, but she’d already come to realize that a Donovan didn’t necessarily allow lack of knowledge to get in the way of a good argument. She liked that about them. They weren’t tentative, but they also didn’t mind being wrong—at least about the ins and outs of distilling whiskey. About lobstering, boats, law enforcement work and people—they hated being wrong, and seldom were.
As she approached their table, she noticed Colin’s gaze slide over her and she immediately reacted and was grateful for the dim light in the place. No one could see the heat rushing to her face or the slight wobble in her knees.
“We’ll do a taste test,” Father Bracken said, “and you can decide what you like.”
“I like them all,” Mike Donovan, down from the north of Maine, said.
“In moderation, of course,” Bracken added, as he always did.
Colin was on his feet and slipped an arm around Emma’s waist. He led her outside, down to the docks. She touched a finger to his lips. “Me first,” she said. “Vladimir Bulgov is talking. He’s a major player but not the only one.”
“Emma…”
“You have to go back.”
He didn’t argue with her, and she thought she could see his relief that she understood what he had to do. He nodded toward Hurley’s. They could hear the laughter of the Donovan brothers and Rock Point’s Irish priest. “You won’t be alone.”
“Neither will you,” she said.
He grimaced but there was a spark in his gray eyes. “Yank’s putting me on his team and making himself my contact agent. He’s turning me into one of his ghosts. It’s that or let him stick me at a desk for real.”
“You two,” Emma said with amusement, but she took Colin’s hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing his fingers. Then she held on to him as she raised her mouth to his and kissed him softly. “I can handle loving you, Colin. And I do love you.”
“Emma. Ah, Emma.” His voice was low, hoarse, as he kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back.”
She walked up to Hurley’s alone. Father Bracken and Mike, Andy and Kevin Donovan were taste-testing Bracken 15 year old and what she suspected was a very expensive single-malt Scotch.
They all insisted she join them. “I don’t even like whiskey all that much,” she said as she sat at their table.
Father Bracken pushed a glass toward her. “You’ll notice the complexity of flavors.”
She didn’t tell him she would notice nothing of the sort.
As the taste test got under way, he explained that in his research on various break-ins and art crimes, he had come across a manor house in Dublin with a long, complicated history that included multiple art thefts over the past half century.
He thought Emma would be fascinated.
She was, and she listened to him as she watched the sun set on the harbor. No one was on the docks.
Colin was gone.
“There’s nothing a Sharpe likes more than an unsolved art crime,” Father Bracken said, and poured a little of his rare and dear Bracken single-malt Irish whiskey.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Researching this book was both fascinating and fun. I wish to thank my friend Sarah Gallick, author of
The Big Book of Women Saints,
for her help and insights on saints and convent life, and for recommending such invaluable books as
Saints in Art
by Rosa Giorgi and
Saints and Their Symbols
by Fernando and Gioia Lanz. I also consulted many excellent websites and wandered through museums with a new appreciation and perspective on the art.
For sharing his expertise on whiskey and the southwest Irish coast, I wish to thank my friend John Moriarty. Kenmare is, of course, a real village, and the Park Hotel, Reenagross Park, the burial ground, the ruins of St. Finian’s church and St. Finian’s Holy Well are all places I’ve visited. I’ve hiked the Old Kenmare Road many times. My husband and I can’t wait to join John for another trek soon!
And there really is nothing quite like an Irish rainbow….
Heron’s Cove is fictional, but visitors to the southern Maine coast will recognize the unique and wonderful flavor of the area. We love Kennebunkport, York, Wells, Ogunquit, Cape Elizabeth—what a beautiful part of the world. It’s just a few hours over the hills from our home in Vermont.
A huge thank-you to my editor, Margaret Marbury, as well as to Valerie Gray, Adam Wilson, Giselle Regus, Katherine Orr, Don Lucey, Margie Miller and everyone at MIRA Books for their encouragement and enthusiasm. A special thank you to my incomparable agent, Jodi Reamer at Writers House.
Now I’m hard at work on the next book featuring Emma Sharpe and Colin Donovan, with more trips to Boston, Maine and Ireland in store.
I hope you enjoyed
Saint’s Gate!
Please visit my website, www.carlaneggers.com, and join me on Facebook and Twitter, and write to me anytime at [email protected] or at P.O. Box 826, Quechee VT 05059. I enjoy hearing from readers.
Many thanks, and happy reading,
Carla
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1180-3
SAINT’S GATE
Copyright © 2011 by Carla Neggers
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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