Carla Neggers (19 page)

“Which brother?” Andy asked. “We have two in law enforcement. Kevin and Colin.”

“I’m not amused,” Yankowski said.

Andy shrugged. “I didn’t think you would be. Why’s the FBI involved? If this woman’s death was in Ireland, and it was an accident—”

Again the stony gaze from the senior FBI agent. “Who told you it was an accident?”

Mike nodded to the house. “You going in? We charmed Miss Barton, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s calling the police now, with the three of us out here. She says she’s armed, by the way. Glock in her jacket.”

The FBI agent grimaced. “I’ll talk to her. I can show her my credentials. You two, on the other hand, can get back in your truck and go home.”

Andy wasn’t a hundred percent sure Matt Yankowski would want to know what they’d discovered in the Hargreaves house. “Should we tell you what we learned?” he asked.

Yankowski took an audible breath. “What did you learn, Donovan?”

Andy kept his tone even. “David Hargreaves is more of an art collector than he’s let on. A seascape and a small Celtic cross by an Irish artist named Aoife O’Byrne were in his library last week and aren’t there now. Irene Barton says he told her they were being appraised.”

Mike ran the toe of his boot over the clipped grass on the edge of the walk. “Aoife is spelled
A-o-i-f-e
. Nice Irish name.”

“You two don’t know anything about art,” Yankowski said.

Mike raised his gaze to the federal agent. “I think I’m insulted.”

Yankowski was clearly unmoved. “But you’re not.”

“Lindsey Hargreaves and her father were estranged for years,” Andy said. “She showed up a few months ago—”

“Good night, gentlemen,” Yankowski said, then brushed past them.

Mike looked at Andy. “Guess we’d better go.”

* * *

Andy asked Mike to do the driving back to Maine. That way he could text Colin, although he no idea if his older brother would be awake in Ireland.

He was. He called three seconds after Andy hit Send.

“Where are you now?” Colin asked.

Andy had planned to leave Mike out of it, but Mike raised his voice as he drove up I-95. “Just talked to David Hargreaves’ housekeeper. You’ve got a problem, brother.”

“Talk to me,” Colin said, then listened without interruption as Andy relayed what had transpired on the North Shore. When he finished, Colin said, “Don’t do that again.”

“That’s pretty much what Matt Yankowski said, too. How’s Jules?”

“She cried herself to sleep.”

Andy’s throat tightened. He didn’t know if Colin was just twisting in the knife or if he really had heard Julianne crying herself to sleep in the next room. “What can I do?”

“Go back to Rock Point and stay there.”

“Colin, there isn’t one thing about Jules’s trip to Declan’s Cross that I liked before today. Now—”

“I know, Andy. That’s why you need to stay out of it. Mike, too.”

“How’s Emma? Are the Sharpes involved—”

But Colin was gone. Andy shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket and looked over at Mike. “We’ve got the feds mad at us.”

“We’ll live through it. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

He wasn’t—he was worried about Julianne—and Mike obviously knew it but said nothing further.

When they reached Rock Point, Andy saw the
Julianne
at its mooring out by Hurley’s. It was a classic wooden lobster boat that he was intent on restoring. Colin considered it a heap that was ready for firewood, but Andy saw its potential. Julianne’s father had named it for her, but it had been her grandfather’s boat. She was convinced Andy had swindled her father out of it, taking advantage of him when he’d been grieving over his father’s—her grandfather’s—death, but they’d had the deal in place for months.

The truth was, Julianne wanted a different life from the one Andy had. He didn’t have a chip on his shoulder. He wasn’t unambitious. He was a lobsterman, but the boat restoration work he did on the side was going well. If he couldn’t handle both jobs, so be it, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

It was all so simple to him, but Julianne was good at complicating everything.

Mike pulled into Hurley’s parking lot. The place was dead on the cold November night. He turned off the engine. “You should text Julianne.”

“Why?”

“Tell her you got back from the Hargreaves’ place okay.”

“It’s the middle of the night in Ireland.”

Mike was unmoved. “If she’s awake, she’ll see the text and won’t worry. She won’t feel abandoned. If she’s asleep, she’ll see it in the morning and realize you were thinking about her.”

Andy stared at his eldest brother. “Mike, are you giving me advice about women?”

“No, I’m telling you to text Julianne. You were a son of a bitch to her, and she’s still getting over you. Be nice now and text her. She’s like the little sister I never had. Colin, too.”

Great. Just what he wanted to hear. Andy complied and texted her:
Are you crying?

She texted him back almost instantly:
I’m asleep. Leave me alone.

Andy showed the text to Mike. His brother shrugged. “Okay, she’s fine. Come on. I’ll buy you a whiskey.”

Fin Bracken was at his table by the windows at Hurley’s. Kevin was with him, his cop face on, meaning he’d heard about Lindsey Hargreaves and possibly about Mike and Andy’s trip to the North Shore. Mike looked unconcerned as he sat down. “So, Fin, do you know this spot in Declan’s Cross where Lindsey Hargreaves died?”

“I do, indeed,” the priest said.

“How do you get there?” Andy asked, sitting between Mike and Finian, with Kevin across from him at the round table. The long drive down to the North Shore and back hadn’t done great things for his shoulder, but he ignored the dull ache.

“By car?” Finian asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s a road up from the village, through the Murphy farm, out to the tip of Shepherd Head where this terrible tragedy occurred. On foot, you can walk out the road, of course, but there’s also a trail up from a small beach.”

“How do you get to the beach?” Kevin asked.

“Another road winds onto the headland from the south. It doesn’t connect with the other road, except by the trail.”

Mike helped himself to the Bracken 15. “So there are two dead-end roads onto the headland,” he said.

“That’s right,” Finian said.

Kevin frowned. “Is it difficult terrain?”

“Fairly difficult, yes.” Finian eyed the three brothers. “Have any of you talked to Julianne tonight, or to Colin and Emma? I was busy with visitations all day. Now it’s very late...”

“I haven’t talked to them,” Mike said. “Andy’s talked to Colin and Julianne. Special Agent Sharpe remains enigmatic.”

Kevin grinned at him. “Enigmatic, Mike?”

“Hard to figure.” He turned to Finian. “Have you talked to your friend in Declan’s Cross?”

“Briefly.”

It was, Andy saw, all Finian intended to say on the matter. Across the table, Kevin pushed aside his glass. “You look tired, Andy. Shoulder hurt?”

“Some.”

“Where were you and Mike?”

“Hargreaves place,” Andy said.

Mike gulped his whiskey. “Colin already yelled at us.”

“Good,” Kevin said.

“Yankowski, too,” Mike added.

Kevin said nothing. Andy sometimes wondered if he’d missed his calling and should have been a cop, but not tonight. Tonight, hearing Julianne’s voice, then Colin’s voice, seeing Kevin now—remembering the housekeeper’s bridled emotions—he knew he wasn’t cut out for law enforcement work. He liked being out on the water. Restoring boats. Exploring tide pools with Julianne.

Hell.

He really was tired.

“Franny Maroney was here earlier,” Kevin said. “She was looking for you, Andy, but she settled for badgering me. Julianne had been in touch and told her about Lindsey. Apparently she didn’t want Franny to worry, but at the same time she didn’t want her to hear about what happened from one of us.”

“Telling Franny herself was the lesser of two evils,” Andy said. “Did Franny tell you she knew something was wrong?”

“Yeah.” Kevin kept his gaze on Andy. “She wants you to go to Ireland. I told her Colin’s there and that was already one too many Donovans as far as Julianne’s concerned.”

“It didn’t help,” Andy said, predicting Franny’s response.

Kevin sighed. “It did not.”

Finian Bracken poured more whiskey into Andy’s, Mike’s and his own glass. Kevin put his hand over his, signaling he was done for the night. The priest said, “I didn’t see this coming. I feel responsible somehow...”

Andy sensed that a dark mood was descending on his brothers, Father Bracken, himself. He took a swallow of whiskey. “What do you all think will happen with Colin and Emma?”

Mike grunted. “When? The next two weeks, two months, two years—”

“You know what I mean.”

“I keep hearing wedding bells,” Kevin said. “That would please the folks.”

Finian Bracken sighed. “That’s not a reason to have a wedding.”

“As good as any,” Mike said with a grin.

“You’re not an easy lot,” the Irish priest said.

“Some women like that,” Mike said. “Emma might be one of them. I always thought Julianne was.” He glanced at Andy. “We all figured you two would have the first Donovan wedding.”

“What about you, Mike?” Fin asked. “You’re the eldest brother. Any desire to settle down?”

“I live alone in the woods. Works for me.”

Andy wasn’t sure if Mike was kidding. He’d always been blunt but private, and never an easy man. Andy was more open about what was going on with him. Julianne was even more forthcoming. No secrets. He didn’t know how things had gotten so hot with them. Inevitable, maybe, but he still should have resisted. Anything between them was always destined to be temporary, and since she was a Maroney and he was a Donovan, he should have never had a bite of that apple.

Mike polished off his Bracken 15. Finian muttered about just using Hurley’s cheap stuff if it was going to be belted down. Mike grinned at him. “This is what happens when you start talking weddings with us.” He nodded to Kevin. “Need a ride home, or are you sober?”

“I’m sober, but I walked. I could use a ride.”

They left together. Andy stayed behind, watching as Finian Bracken lifted the whiskey bottle. “I don’t drink every night but tonight...” He sighed heavily. “Another
taoscán,
my good friend Andy?”

“Sure. Have you heard from your friend Sean Murphy?”

Finian looked pained. “I fear I sent trouble his way.”

“I have a feeling it’s not the first time.”

Finian stared out at the dark harbor.

“Were you trying to fix him up with Julianne? I don’t know if I can see her with an Irish sheep farmer.”

“Sean’s heart belongs to another and has for a long time. And farming is what his family does.”

“He’s a cop,” Andy said. “I want to know the rest, Fin. What you haven’t told me. I want to hear all of it.”

18

JULIANNE ONLY MILDLY
regretted her tart response to Andy’s middle-of-the-night text. What she
really
regretted was responding to him in the first place. Now he knew she’d been up, unable to sleep. He’d think it was in part because he wasn’t there.

If she could do it all over again, she’d dump him first, before he could dump her.

She put him out of her mind. Despite her tossing and turning, she was up early. It was only two o’clock in the morning at home and barely daylight in Ireland, but she was wide-awake as she grabbed her coat and headed into the village. The pretty streets were quiet, only a few people about as she found her way to the waterfront.

The garage that Lindsey had adopted as her “field station” was about what Julianne had expected. The location near the pier was good, but it took real vision to see a modern marine science facility here. It would take funding to make it a reality, and that was unlikely to happen now, with Lindsey’s death.

Brent Corwin came out a side door. He looked as if he’d done his own share of tossing and turning and still couldn’t decide if he should give up on trying to sleep.

He gave Julianne a ragged smile. “Thought you might make your way down here eventually.”

“It’s weird being here. I feel like I’m stepping into someone else’s unfinished dream.”

“I know what you mean.” Brent cleared his throat. “Lindsey had big plans. She was excited about having you here and getting your input as a marine biologist.”

Julianne averted her eyes, glanced at the van parked crookedly in front of the garage. “Have you talked to her father?”

“We had a drink last night. I think he was going to step in and see if he could make this thing happen. Least of his worries now. Mine, too. Without Lindsey, this place will stay an old garage.” He shoved a palm over his short-cropped hair, as if the meaning of his own words had just hit him. “Where are your FBI friends this morning?”

“We’re meeting for breakfast.” Julianne saw the dark circles under his eyes and felt guilty at her own bad night. He’d known Lindsey far better, even if he hadn’t been the one to find her body. She said softly, “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

He nodded grimly. “Same here. Wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t anyone’s fault.” He blew out a breath at the sky, then looked again at Julianne. “Have you seen Philip this morning? Do you know him—Kitty’s son?”

“I saw him at the hotel yesterday, but he was working. I haven’t seen him yet this morning.”

“He lost it last night at the pub. I hope he’s okay. I should have handled the situation better. I forget he’s just a kid. The police had been here, asking questions—they want to piece together Lindsey’s last day, figure out what she was doing out on the rocks. Philip was probably the last one to see her alive. It’s eating him up.” Brent shivered in a gust of wind. “Damn. It’s colder out here than I expected.”

Julianne turned so that the wind was at her back. “Did Lindsey plan on tearing down this place and building a new facility?”

“Lindsey had a million plans.” He sniffled, whether from the wind, the cold or raw emotion, Julianne couldn’t tell. “I feel like we’re all under the microscope.”

“Maybe that’s because we are.”

He grinned at her. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you?”

She smiled back at him. “I guess not.”

But she saw his seriousness return and felt her own smile fade as he walked over to the van and pulled open the door on the driver’s side. It still disconcerted her that it was on the right. He shut the door again. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’ve been spinning in circles since yesterday.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I know the police have a job to do, and it must look weird to them that Lindsey stopped in Declan’s Cross on Monday without telling any of us. None of us saw her. Well, except Philip, but that was just on the fly—he didn’t talk to her.”

Julianne put her hood up against another chilly gust of wind. The tide would be up, she thought. She glanced at the diving gear piled by the side door of the garage. She wasn’t much of a diver herself and wondered what Lindsey had had in mind for her to do here. Maybe just get ideas from her, as a marine biologist? Bounce ideas of her own off her?

She turned back to Brent. “The police will keep asking questions until they’re satisfied Lindsey’s death was an accident. Even if it was, they’ll want to know if anyone was with her.”

“And left her out there, you mean?”

“Panicked, maybe.”

He nodded thoughtfully, less shocked than Julianne expected him to be. “I can see that. The police wanting to know, I mean. Not someone panicking and leaving her out there and the rest of us to wonder. I feel like a royal jerk for assuming she’d stood you up because she was a flake.” He pivoted, gravel crunching under him, and went to the back of the van. “All the diving we did together and never a mistake, never a close call. Then one wrong step up on an Irish ledge and she’s gone.”

Julianne shoved her hands in her pockets. It felt like November this morning. Cold, wet, no promise of Indian summer. “You and Lindsey...”

“There was nothing serious between us,” Brent said. “She knew that. It’s what she wanted. Sharing the cottage with you was a way to get some space. She was thinking she might rent it herself and stay here through the winter. Get this place set up.”

“You?”

“She knew I would move on eventually.”

“The bad-boy diver,” Julianne said with a smile.

He laughed, despite his obvious sadness. “Yeah, I guess. Her dad thinks all divers are bad boys.” He tugged open the back of the van. “What about you? Any bad boys in your life?”

“Don’t I wish.” She wasn’t sure her tone came across as joking as she’d meant.

“Special Agent Donovan’s a bad-boy type, isn’t he?”

“He comes across that way sometimes.”

“He and the lady FBI agent are an item. Isn’t that a little awkward? Three’s a crowd and all that?”

Julianne noticed the back of the van was crammed full of gear. She suspected Brent would want to get out in the water again as soon as possible. “Are the police finished with you? Can you leave if you want to?”

“Yeah. No problem.” He bit down on his lower lip as if he were trying to control a wave of emotion. “I’ve gone through some tough stuff, but losing Lindsey—it’s awful. I liked her a lot. I’ll miss her.”

“Where will you go after here?”

“Caribbean. I’m not exactly sure which island. I can pick up some work there. Clear my head. Lindsey rented this place. I wasn’t involved. I’ll help her dad close up shop if he wants me to, but it’s up to him to figure out what’s next. It’s not easy to be here. I found that out last night. I don’t know if I ever saw what it could be the way she did.” He paused, visibly holding back tears, then cleared his throat and nodded to the van. “I have a few more things to toss in here.”

“I’m really sorry, Brent,” Julianne said, the words sounding empty to her despite the genuine sentiment behind them.

“Me, too.” He pushed a cardboard box, making a few more inches of room in the back of the van. “What about you? It’s not the Ireland trip you imagined. What are your plans? Will you stay at the cottage on your own?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m at the O’Byrne House right now.”

He stood straight. “Your FBI friends insisted?”

“It didn’t take much insisting.”

“I have a couple friends in law enforcement. They’re great, but they tend to think the worst. Trust me, no one around here is worried about a killer on the loose.”

“I hope not,” Julianne said.

He walked over to diving gear heaped by the side door. “This is all lightweight stuff. I’ve got most of the heavier equipment loaded into the van.” He grabbed two pairs of high-end goggles and brought them to the van. “What’s your specialty in marine science? I don’t think Lindsey ever said.”

“Cetaceans.”

“Can’t go wrong. Everyone loves cetaceans. Toothed whales and baleen whales. Dolphins, porpoises, humpback whales, right whales, beaked whales. Every kind of whale.
Cetus
meaning whale, or ‘large sea mammal.’” He grinned, looking more animated, less exhausted. “See? I picked up a few things diving besides a bad-boy reputation.”

Julianne smiled, more at ease herself. “Very good, Mr. Corwin.”

As he placed the goggles in the van, she noticed Philip edging onto the parking area. He looked haggard, his hair sticking out, his jacket hanging half off his shoulders.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

The wind was dying down, but Julianne still felt the chill in the air as she nodded at him. “Good morning.”

Brent stood back from the van. “Philip. Hell, man. Sorry about last night. How are you this morning? Hanging in there?”

“Never better,” Philip said, his appearance belying his words. “I’m not staying. I need to get up to the hotel to help with breakfast. Just wanted to see if anything was going on here. You’re leaving?”

“Not yet,” Brent said. “Soon, though.”

“Nothing to keep you here, I guess.”

“I thought I’d go out for a dive later on. Clear my head. Join me?”

“If I’m able with work, yeah. Sure thing.” Philip sniffled, clearly awkward. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Breakfast sounds good,” Julianne said. “Mind if I walk with you?”

He shrugged in what she took to be the affirmative.

“See you both later.” Brent resumed his packing. “Thanks for stopping by, Julianne. Join us on the dive if you’d like. We can suit you up.”

She thanked him as Philip spun around and started back up toward the village without a word. She quickly caught up with him.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Not a problem. You had a bit of a crush on Lindsey, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did. Doesn’t matter now, does it?” He didn’t wait for an answer and pushed on up the quiet street. “She wanted people to like her. Nothing wrong with that unless you manipulate them, lie to them so that they’ll like you.”

Julianne had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. “You seem to have good instincts about people. I don’t. I guess that’s why I’m a marine biologist and not a psychologist.”

He glanced at her, slowing his pace. “Do you have a fellow back in Maine?”

“Not anymore. I did for a while. We live in the same small town. You must be able to imagine what that’s like.”

“I can, for sure. Does he know you’re here?”

“Oh, yes.”

Philip smiled at her. “There’s a lot in that
oh, yes
, isn’t there?”

“I’ve known Andy—that’s his name—my whole life. Actually, he’s Colin Donovan’s brother.”

“Is that right? He looks as if he’s a good one to have around in a pinch.”

“All the Donovans are. There are four brothers.” Julianne grinned at the Irish teenager. “You pity me now, don’t you?”

“I suppose I have to,” he said easily, then drifted into silence as they came to the hotel and went through the gate.

“Philip, is something on your mind? You can tell me. I’m not an FBI agent or a garda detective. If you want to talk—”

“Sometimes it’s best to keep your mouth shut. My mother taught me that. My father didn’t. He’s always saying the wrong thing.”

“I can identify with that.”

He laughed a little but said nothing. He had to get to work, but Julianne was in no hurry. She wanted to savor her time in the hotel’s pretty gardens. Coffee and scones, however, did sound inviting.

She pulled off her hood and unzipped her jacket, warmer given the fast clip up from the waterfront. She decided not to pressure him to talk. Instead she asked casually, “Were you here when this place was broken into ten years ago?”

He seemed almost relieved at her question. “I was in Dublin with my dad. He and my mother had just split up. I was only eight. I thought the theft was exciting.”

“Cary Grant, Robert Wagner.”

“Lindsey said it made her think of Pierce Brosnan in
The Thomas Crown Affair.
”

“A good Irish actor. You and Lindsey talked about the theft?”

“Only for a minute.” Philip’s voice was barely audible. “It was nothing. We were just chatting and it came up.”

“Did she bring it up or did you—”

“Why does it matter?”

“It’s okay. Sorry.” Julianne smiled. “I don’t mean to interrogate you. Will you go diving with Brent today?”

“I don’t know.”

He was sullen again, preoccupied, but he didn’t break off from her. She said, “Where would you dive? Any idea?”

“He said last night he wants to go out to Shepherd Head. He thought it’d be good for us to do. We’ve done some diving up there. Brent, Eamon, Lindsey and me.” He kicked a small stone. “I guess that’s done. Back to washing dishes and sweeping floors for me.”

“I imagine you’re a big help at the hotel, but I understand you want to go into marine science.”

“It’s just a dream.”

“If you don’t take any action, yes.”

“Now you sound like my mother,” he said, but he managed a strained laugh.

“Yikes,” Julianne said, wincing slightly. “Seriously, Philip, if I can answer any questions, point you in the right direction—just let me know, okay?”

He thanked her and excused himself, ducking quickly into a staff entrance at the back of the hotel. Julianne paused by a stone statue of a woman with a water pitcher. Sunlight sparkled on the sea and glistened on the lush grass and flowerbeds, a beautiful, calming sight.

If only she didn’t have Lindsey’s death on her mind.

And Andy, she thought.

He was always on her mind.

* * *

Colin and Emma were in the dining room, at a table set for three. They already had coffee and a basket of scones, toast and brown bread. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Julianne said as she sat down, ignoring Colin’s scowl.

“I was just about to send out a search party for you,” he said.

“Meaning you were about to come look for me yourself. I didn’t realize I had instructions to stay put.”

“I didn’t think I needed to give them.”

“I appreciate your concern, and I’m sorry to worry you.”

He grunted at her. “You’re not sorry.”

She gave him a cheerful smile. “Good morning, Colin.”