Carla Neggers - The Mist

“You don’t know where the guards have taken Keira, I suppose?” Eddie asked.

Will shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”

“I’d be wasting air asking them. As long as she’s safe.” He nodded to the coffee. “What else can I get you? I’ve a bit of blackberry crumble left. There’s soup, but Patrick made it, and it’s not fit for the pigs.”

“No food. Thanks.”

“You’re gloomy.”

He was, and he knew why. The evening had launched him back two years, to the cave in Afghanistan and the deaths of men who’d trusted him.

For their sakes, he had to focus on the task at hand.

He drank some of his coffee and addressed the barman. “Did you see Michael Murphy in the village earlier today?” He paused. “Before today?”

Eddie emptied the stainless-steel kettle into a small sink. “I don’t remember seeing him before tonight. I told the guards as much.”

“He could have a partner. I understand that strangers come in here on a regular basis-particularly this time of year, particularly this summer with the publicity over Keira’s stone angel. Did anyone strike you as not belonging? Someone who wasn’t a typical tourist, perhaps?” Will set his mug on the bar and kept his gaze on the Irishman. “Think, my friend. Who stood out to you in recent days?”

Eddie took the still-hot coffee press and dumped the grounds, then rinsed the glass container in the sink and set it to drain. Finally he said, “A Brit like the one our black-haired friend described was here a week ago, maybe more.”

Will got very still. “Tell me about him.”

“He had soup and left.”

“Were Keira and Simon here?”

Eddie shook his head. “Not yet. They arrived from the north five days ago on the boat you loaned them. This man was here before then.”

“Did he ask about them?”

“No. I’d recall if he did. Given his manner, I’d wager he was a military man. He had a self-control that reminded me of you, Lord Will.” Eddie slopped an overly wet cloth onto the bar. “Not that I know about military men.”

Will kept his hands steady even as his heartbeat quickened. So much for self-control. He envisioned Myles, arms crossed on his chest as he lay on his back and gazed up at the starlit Afghan sky and said, quite sincerely, he was as comfortable sleeping there, on the rocks in the open, as he’d have been at Buckingham Palace. In the eight years Will had known and trusted him, Myles Fletcher had never shown a hint of a grasping nature. He’d never shown himself to be a man who could betray his country-his mates.

“What else can you remember?” Will asked, keeping his tone even. “The smallest detail could be significant.”

“He paid with euros and sat alone, kept to himself. He asked for water-no coffee or alcohol. When he left, he walked down to the harbor, then down the lane. Aidan, Patrick and I took turns following him. He knew it and didn’t care.”

“Did he stay overnight in the village?”

“I don’t know where he stayed. We lost him eventually. He brought up Keira’s story about the stone angel when he was in here, but only for a moment, and he wasn’t the first nor the last. It’s been happening all summer.”

“What did you tell him?”

A spark of mischief flared in the Irishman’s eyes. “I told him to find a rainbow and follow it to a pot of gold.”

Will smiled in spite of his tension. Eddie O’Shea enjoyed keeping his pub, but he wasn’t one to suffer fools or intruders gladly. And he liked Keira and Simon. But who didn’t?

Eddie continued mopping the bar with his wet cloth. “Did we do the right thing after all, Will, in letting our black-haired woman go?”

“You’re worried about her,” Will said.

“What if she’s in over her head and a danger to herself? To others? We could have stopped her, Lord Will.” The barman stood back and dropped the cleaning cloth into the sink, then got a dry one and soaked up the excess water on the gleaming bar. “Not without a fight, I’ll wager, one I’m not sure we’d have won. She knows how to put her foot to the right spot on a man, I’ll say that. I could see it when she came in here.” He motioned toward the pegs by the front door. “The way she took off her jacket and hung it…Never mind the rest.”

“From what I witnessed,” Will said, “I’d guess she’s received training.”

“Of your sort?”

He let Eddie’s question slide unanswered.

“Is that why you let her go?” Eddie’s eyes shone with both amusement and suspicion. “A strapping Brit like yourself, worrying a tiny woman would best you.”

“She’d just bested an armed, hired killer.”

“Ah. You wouldn’t stand a chance, would you?”

Will pictured her at the fire with Keira’s book of folktales and smiled. “I didn’t say that.” He passed a business card that Josie had made up for him in London across the bar. “Call me anytime. For any reason.”

“And the same, Lord Will. You call me anytime. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Eddie took Will’s empty mug and set it in the sink. “Who’s the Brit you’re thinking I saw?”

Will knew he couldn’t answer. A lie, the truth-neither was acceptable, and so he said nothing.

Eddie seemed to understand the line his question had crossed. “If I see him again?”

“If you see him again,” Will said carefully, “treat him like a shopkeeper who’s here on holiday.”

“Or he’ll kill me in my sleep?”

Josie Goodwin answered from the door. “It won’t matter if you’re asleep,” she said as she unzipped her coat, its style more suited to London than a quiet Irish village. She walked over to the bar, steady if visibly shaken. “I came as soon as I could. I’ll be of more use here than in London should Keira need a hand, and perhaps I can persuade our garda friends to share information. I miss the city already. It’s bloody dark out there.”

A strongly built, attractive woman in her late thirties, she was as pale as Will had ever seen her. He’d been aware of her presence in the door, but he didn’t know how much she’d overheard. He started to introduce her to Eddie, but the Irishman put up a hand to stop him. “I’ll leave you two to your chat. I can see I won’t be wanting to hear what you have to say.”

As he retreated, Will felt Josie’s emotions, checked, under control but there. “Josie,” he said, “we don’t know-”

She cut him off neatly. “Let me just say my piece and get it done. You should go back to London, Will. Leave this mess to the Americans and the Irish to sort out.”

“You’ve more on our mystery woman?”

“Her name is Lizzie Rush.” Josie eased onto the tall bar stool next to Will. “She’s one of the hotelier Rushes. She’s in charge of their concierge and excursion services and leads quite an adventurous life.”

“What’s her connection to Simon?”

“She was with Norman Estabrook in Montana the day he was arrested. The FBI questioned her but didn’t detain her.”

“Are she and Estabrook romantically involved?”

“No. Absolutely not, according to what little I have managed to learn. He liked having attractive, successful people around him. She was one of them.”

“Does she have a connection to John March?”

Josie sighed. “I’m still digging.”

“March would use anyone to get what he wants.”

“He’s a suffering father right now, Will.”

“I know. The man’s in an impossible position.”

“He often is.” Obviously restless, she jumped down from the stool and went around to the other side of the bar, where she helped herself to a glass and a bottle of Midleton Rare Whiskey. “You can’t let your dislike of Director March interfere with your judgment.”