Carla Neggers (15 page)

Had the thief pounced on Lindsey Hargreaves’ presence in Declan’s Cross as an opportunity to plot another theft? She was a member of a wealthy family. It was a good bet they owned some expensive art. Maybe not a bet for the thief. Maybe he knew what art the Hargreaves family owned.

Was the thief
in
Declan’s Cross? Had he learned of Lindsey’s trip to Maine and decided Rock Point was too close to the Sharpes in Heron’s Cove? Then how did killing her in Declan’s Cross, in Ireland, make sense? Had the thief followed her to Rock Point?

Was he planning to steal art from the Hargreaves family?

What you know versus what you believe.

Anything was possible. Colin was in Sharpe territory. Art crimes weren’t his area of expertise. Still, a thief was a thief, and murder was murder.

The thief hadn’t been violent in the decade since his first heist in little Declan’s Cross. If he’d escalated to violence and the Sharpes and FBI didn’t know yet, it still didn’t mean he was involved with Lindsey Hargreaves’ death.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t, either.

Colin entered the bar lounge. No one was there. A fire crackled in the fireplace. He could find a cozy chair and drink whiskey the rest of the day. Garda Murphy would approve. Yank probably would, too.

Colin realized he was tempted.

Who wouldn’t be?

Hell.

He headed out to the stairs and up to find Emma and check on Julianne.

14

EMMA WASN’T NORMALLY
a restless person, but she’d bounced from the terrace to the fire to her room and now was back on the terrace, at a different table from earlier. She’d spotted Kitty outside, pulling a browned, dead leaf from a vine that crawled up a trellis. Colin was upstairs in the shower. Julianne was resting in her room. A long day. An awful day.

“The gardai are talking to my son.” Kitty crushed the leaf in her hand and tossed it aside. “They’re at the garage Lindsey wanted to turn into her marine science research facility. I’m so sorry about her death. It’s a terrible thing.”

“How is Philip doing?”

“He’s sad. He’s in shock. He only knew her for a few weeks, but it will take time...” She snatched another dried leaf. “He loves diving. That will help. He knows I’m afraid of the water and tries to spare me worrying, but there’s no way, is there?”

“He seems like a good kid,” Emma said, sitting at a small round table, welcoming the cool air. She’d bundled up in a wool sweater.

“He might have been the last to see Lindsey alive,” Kitty added, half to herself. “It was Monday afternoon, at the garage. I didn’t see her myself. I was busy here all day. Well, Philip will tell the gardai what he knows, and that’ll be the end of it. What can I get you?”

“Nothing, thanks. Colin says I missed a double rainbow.”

“It was gorgeous, yes.”

Emma wanted to ask her about David Hargreaves. Where he was, had the gardai finished talking with him, his plans now given his daughter’s tragic death. But Kitty was obviously distracted and slipped back into the bar lounge, and it wasn’t, technically, Emma’s place to ask her anything about the investigation into the death, even of an American, on Shepherd Head.

The gardai would take their investigation step by step and only come to her about the unsolved O’Byrne art theft if warranted—if it could lead to answers about how and why Lindsey Hargreaves had died. Right now, Emma reminded herself, they had nothing more than coincidences easily, if not comfortably, explained.

It was dark, overcast. The moment had passed for rainbows. Emma checked her messages, but there was still nothing from her grandfather. She’d left him another voice mail when she’d tried him earlier. He couldn’t interfere with an Irish investigation any more than she could, but he didn’t have Matt Yankowski to deal with if he did. Emma had known she was giving up a certain level of freedom by heading to the academy.

She wanted to talk to her grandfather because he knew Ireland better than she did, and he knew this thief.

Emma got to her feet, restless again. Maybe she’d try to just sit in front of the fire. She wondered if Colin felt like this all the time. She started for the bar lounge, but noticed the silhouette of a man down in the gardens.

David Hargreaves.

He came up the walkway and stepped onto the terrace. In the soft lamplight, he looked exhausted and grief-stricken. He’d arrived in Declan’s Cross expecting to share in the excitement of his daughter’s new project. Now he’d be arranging for her burial.

Emma could feel his agony. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Hargreaves.”

“Thank you. The police came here and gave me the news. I never did call them last night. I just thought...” He made a sound of pure self-disgust. “I wasn’t worried enough. But it wouldn’t have changed anything if I’d called. Lindsey probably fell on Monday. It was decent of them to come find me. Did you tell them I was here?”

“I didn’t. Colin might have.”

He nodded. “It’s not a secret, of course.”

Emma gestured toward the bar lounge. “Can I buy you a drink, Mr. Hargreaves?”

“David. Please.” His expression softened slightly. “I’d love a drink.”

They went inside. A middle-aged couple was on the love seat in front of the fire, sharing a bottle of wine. No one was at the bar. David chose a stool on the end, against the wall, but he waited for Emma to sit first. He struck her as socially awkward, which on top of his grief had to have him spinning internally, not knowing what to do, where to turn.

Instead of Kitty, an older man Emma had noticed last night took their order. David went for an expensive Scotch. Emma chose a clear, triple-distilled Bracken blend, hoping it would remind her of Finian Bracken and their whiskey sessions in Maine and help keep her grounded.

“I feel so damn helpless,” David said as he stared into his whiskey. “I had planned to meet Lindsey this morning and have a look at her field station. Do you have any idea why she would have been out on Shepherd Head?”

Emma shook her head. She tried her whiskey. It’d last the evening. She wasn’t much of a drinker, certainly not much of a whiskey drinker. “Tell me about your daughter,” she said with a smile. “Everyone seems to agree she was a fireball of energy and loved marine mammals.”

“I’m not sure I’m the right one to tell you about her.” He picked up his whiskey glass. “Lindsey and I...” He exhaled heavily. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Had you two been estranged?”

He drank some of his whiskey, shutting his eyes as he held his glass midair. Emma couldn’t tell if he was debating how to answer her question—whether to answer it—or just savoring his Scotch. Finally he opened his eyes and set his glass back on the bar. He leveled his gaze on her, more awkward, she thought, than direct.

“Yes,” he said finally, abruptly. “You could say we were estranged. She was already five when I came into her life. I adopted her. Her mother didn’t ask me to, but I was thrilled to be a father. Lindsey’s father. She was a sweet, bubbly child. After her mother and I divorced—well, it was a difficult time. Lindsey was thirteen. Her mother struggled in life.”

“Did they live close to you?”

“On and off. Cynthia, Lindsey’s mother, liked to move around. We lost touch. Then in July, Lindsey knocked on my door, so to speak.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near Gloucester. The North Shore of Boston. I wanted to do what I could to help Lindsey get on her feet. She took a job at the Oceanographic Institute and lived in the guesthouse—her choice.” He touched the rim of his glass. “She was a hard worker, Special Agent Sharpe.”

Emma wasn’t surprised he knew she was a federal agent. Despite his reserved manner, she suspected David Hargreaves made a point of knowing what was going on around him.

“Cynthia died when Lindsey was eighteen,” he said quietly. “It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years. That’s part of why Lindsey reconnected with me. She said she’d suddenly realized how much time had passed. She said she wanted to impress me. Prove herself. I told her that wasn’t necessary.”

“Unconditional love,” Emma said.

“Exactly. She said she wanted to measure up as a Hargreaves. I don’t even know what that means. Maybe it’s something her mother told her.”

“If she had a job, how did she end up diving in Scotland, then coming here?”

“Scotland was part of her job, or at least her job as she saw it. She worked in the events office and, as a diver herself, wanted to create a series of diving events. One of them was in Scotland.”

“When was this?” Emma asked.

He glanced sideways at her. “Now you do sound like a federal agent,” he said with a smile. “Lindsey left for Scotland in mid-September. That’s where she met Brent Corwin. By the first of October, she’d quit her job at the Institute to devote herself to diving. She and Brent moved on to Declan’s Cross. He’s far more experienced, but her enthusiasm—” David broke off, his shoulders slumping as he drank more of his whiskey.

“From what I gather, this is a good area for diving,” Emma said.

He recovered his composure. “She loved it here. She hated to leave, but she wanted to get things started to secure funding for the field station. That’s why she came home last week.”

Emma waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. “Were you surprised she took a day to go up to southern Maine?”

“Not under the circumstances. I’m not the best communicator. I wasn’t happy about her quitting her job, of course, but I wanted this field station to work out. I’m afraid I wasn’t as outwardly enthusiastic about Lindsey’s project as she wanted me to be. I asked questions. I expressed concerns. It was out of a desire to help. She took off to Maine for the day.” Blinking rapidly, he looked across the bar lounge toward the dark gardens and sea. “Did you notice the double rainbow earlier?”

“I missed it,” Emma said.

“When I saw it, it was as if Lindsey were telling me she was okay. At peace.” He cleared his throat and turned back to his whiskey. “She reminds—she reminded me so much of her mother and the good days we had together. Cynthia was everything I’m not. Vivacious, outgoing. Artistic. She was a painter. Strictly amateur but she loved it. And she loved people. Well, I do, too, of course, but I’m more selective, more reclusive. Finally that drove us apart. The divorce wasn’t her fault. It was my fault. All my fault.”

Emma had a dozen follow-up questions she could have asked, but she said only, “I’m truly sorry, David.”

He inhaled sharply. “How’s Julianne managing?”

“She’s sorry about Lindsey, too.”

“She’s not staying at the cottage by herself, is she?”

“She’s staying here tonight.”

“That makes sense. Will it bother her that I’m here? I can only imagine what she’s going through. I don’t want to make it worse for her.”

“It’s decent of you to consider Julianne’s feelings, but please take care of yourself. If there’s anything Colin or I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

His eyes misted but he kept any tears at bay. “Thank you, Special Agent Sharpe.”

He drifted into silence, and she suspected he wanted to be alone and was perhaps a little embarrassed at how much he’d told her. She left him and headed upstairs.

She knocked on Julianne’s door. “It’s Emma. How are you doing?”

Julianne opened the door. She had on a fresh sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back in a damp ponytail. She looked less ashen, less in shock. She managed a quick smile. “I’ve had a bath, cried, looked at the view, cried some more. Then Andy called.” She sighed. “It’s annoying how good it was to hear his voice.”

“Understandable, don’t you think?”

“That doesn’t make it less annoying. I’ll put some color on my cheeks and meet you downstairs. I need that whiskey.”

Emma could see it wouldn’t take much to push Julianne from rallying, annoyed with Andy Donovan, to the edge of despair. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Julianne nodded, then shut the door. Emma continued down to her room. Colin was there with a thick white hotel towel wrapped around his waist.

He was so damn sexy. Solid, earthy, utterly reliable.

“Long day,” she said.

He swept her into his arms. His skin was warm from the shower. She sank into his chest, wrapped her arms around him and breathed in the smell of his aftershave, the soap, the sea air coming in through the cracked window.

He kissed the top of her head. “How are you, Emma?”

“I’m glad we’re here given what’s happened, but I wish it hadn’t happened.”

“And Julianne? How is she?”

“Better. Calmer.”

“If she gets sweet and sugary with me, we know she’s going into shock and it’s time to call the paramedics.” He tightened his hold on her. “She should be enjoying Ireland, and we should be at the spa.”

“At least we’re here and she’s not alone.”

“I hate that this has happened.”

Emma raised her head and kissed him softly. “I love you, Colin. You’re a good man.”

He grinned. “Would you be saying that if you’d caught me dressed instead of in a towel?”

“Imagine if I’d caught you in no towel.”

Emma smoothed her hands down his hips, feeling his hard muscles through the towel. It would be so easy to whisk it off and fall to the bed together.

He drew her against him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me Julianne is waiting for us at the bar?”

She kissed him, then smiled. “Julianne is waiting for us at the bar.”

He was dressed in two minutes, also sexy in his dark sweater and pants. He tossed his cast-off towel into the bathroom. “We have iron willpower, don’t we, Special Agent Sharpe?”

She laughed, and realized how keyed up she’d been. On their way downstairs, she told him about her chat with David Hargreaves. “He’s torn up about Lindsey’s death, clearly, but they didn’t have an easy relationship. Her mother was a painter. I’d like to know more about that. At the same time, I don’t want to muddy waters that don’t need muddying.”

“It’s also not our investigation.”

“Maybe not,” she said.

Colin slowed his pace. “Emma.”

She knew she didn’t have to explain to him that if an international serial art thief was involved in whatever was going on in Declan’s Cross, then it was very much her investigation. But that was a leap she couldn’t make yet, and wouldn’t without discussion with the gardai.

They found Julianne curled up in front of the fire, staring at the flames. David Hargreaves was no longer at the bar. The couple had disappeared. It was so quiet. Just the crackle of the fire.

Julianne managed a faltering smile. “What a couple of lovebirds you two are. Whiskey by the fire, you think?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Colin said.

Kitty breezed in from the front hall. “You can stay right where you are all evening if that suits you. We’ll serve you dinner here, or anything else you’d like. We have a beautiful tomato bisque tonight with bits of blue cheese.”

Colin sat in a soft-cushioned chair and grinned up at Kitty. “I’ve never had blue cheese in my tomato soup, but I’m game.”

His irreverence obviously didn’t faze her. “You’ll love it. We’ll keep the fire hot while you relax. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need. Anything at all.”

Emma found herself liking the owner of the O’Byrne House Hotel. “I had whiskey earlier, but Julianne and Colin might want to dip into your Bracken 15.”

“No ‘might’ about it,” he said.

Julianne nodded in agreement, and Kitty said, “Perfect,” and bustled off, clearly less preoccupied than when Emma had talked to her on the terrace. Philip must have finished talking to the gardai.