Carla Neggers - The Whisper

"Just about. I ran into him on the Beara Peninsula the day before."

Rafferty's gaze was distant now, reminding her that he'd been a police officer. "Scoop's quite the ladies' man. He seems taken with you."

"I wouldn't know about that," Sophie said, heat rushing to her cheeks.

"Bet you'll find out." Rafferty winked at her unexpectedly, then withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "I need to talk to you. Not here. My place. I wrote down the address. Give me an hour."

Sophie folded up the paper. "I haven't had breakfast. Why don't we go for coffee? You can talk to me now."

"Nah. You come to me."

"What's this all about?"

"You're an expert in Celtic archaeology," he said. "I have something I want to show you. Get your opinion."

"Is it Celtic?"

"I don't know. If I knew..." He didn't finish, looking awkward now, even defensive. "I was a cop for thirty years. I might not have played things as straight and narrow as Scoop Wisdom would want, but I never hurt anyone."

"Can I bring someone with me?"

"Yeah, why not? Go find Scoop and ask him if he wants to go with you. See how far you get." He grinned at her, then raised his thin shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "Show up or don't. Your call. Just make it this morning. I'm working this afternoon."

He walked back to his car, got in and waved as he drove past her on the one-way street. Sophie watched him, trying to make sense of their conversation. Did he want to talk to her about stolen Celtic artifacts? His last assignment as a police officer had been working security at the Augustine showroom after Jay Augustine's arrest. He'd gone right from there to his job with the Carlisles.

Sophie headed back down the steps and through the gate and the archway into the secluded courtyard, dialing Taryn's number on her iPhone. Taryn picked up on the second ring, just as Sophie unlocked the apartment door. "Hey, Taryn," she said, "where's your car?"

"It's probably on Anderson or Myrtle, but it could be anywhere. I have a friend who moves it every ten days. Sophie, what's going on? You sound out of breath."

"That's because I'm walking fast."

"All right." Taryn didn't sound reassured. "I'm on my way back to London. If you need me, I'll be there."

"Thanks. What color's your car? I can't remember."

"Dark blue. It's a Mini--"

"That I remember," Sophie said with a smile, trying to sound less agitated. "All's well, Taryn. I'll be in touch."

Sophie disconnected and grabbed Taryn's car keys out of a drawer in the kitchen, then ducked back out to the street. She located the Mini in front of a small market on the next block. She still had time before meeting Rafferty and walked down to Cambridge Street--deliberately avoiding Charles Street and the Whitcomb Hotel--and got a coffee and a bagel. She ate the bagel on her way back up Beacon Hill and sipped her coffee as she unlocked the Mini and slid behind the wheel. It started right up.

Luckily she'd already set her coffee in the holder when Scoop Wisdom materialized by the passenger door. She hit a button to automatically roll down the window. "Good morning," she said. "Are you looking for me?"

"Uh-huh. Where are you off to?"

She didn't want to tell him, but she didn't want to lie, either. "Cliff Rafferty asked me to stop by his place."

Scoop opened the passenger door and got inside. "Talk."

"I don't want to be late."

"Then drive and talk. Or I'll drive and you can talk."

"It's my sister's car." Sophie noticed how close he was in the seat next to her. He had on a dark tan windbreaker, khakis and a chocolate-colored shirt that made his eyes seem deeper, richer. "Do you know where Rafferty lives?"

Scoop shook his head. "No."

She handed him the address. "I think I can figure out how to get there, but since you're a police officer--"

"I know the street."

She smiled. "Thought you might."

As she drove slowly down to Cambridge Street, Sophie told him about Rafferty's visit.

"You don't know what he has in mind," Scoop said.

"Neither do you. If he'd meant me any harm, he could have run me over going for coffee."

Scoop frowned at her, then shook his head. "I guess you can't be a shrinking violet digging up old bones."

"I generally don't dig up bones. My field is the Celtic Iron Age with a focus on Irish and British Celtic art."

"Such as?"

"Not necessarily 'art' as we think of it today."

"No sofa paintings?"

"No sofa paintings." She made her way to Commonwealth Avenue. Driving on the left had become natural for her in Ireland, but she readjusted quickly. "Think in terms of the art of everyday items--cauldrons, weapons, tools, jewelry."

"Is there a market for this stuff?"

"For the right collector, definitely, but there are rules for anything that's found during an excavation. I can't just pocket an Iron Age gold brooch and put it up on eBay."

"I read about that gold found in England by a guy with a metal detector."

"Yes, that's an amazing discovery. He unearthed a major hoard of early Anglo-Saxon gold and silver buried in a farmer's field in Staffordshire. It'll take years for archaeologists and historians to assess the objects. Most are articles of warfare. A true treasure."

"Who gets it?"

"Since it's over three hundred years old, it's been declared the property of the Crown."

"It'd be stealing if you tried to sneak artifacts out of Ireland?"

She wasn't sure he was asking a question, but said, "Undoubtedly, yes."

Scoop eased back in his seat as she drove past the sprawling campus of Boston University. "What happened to you in Ireland last year, Sophie?"

"You mean--"

"You called the Irish police."

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "What did you do, call the guards yourself over a Guinness last night? Why? What did I do to pop onto your radar?"

"I mentioned your name to friends in Ireland," he said.

She glanced over at him. "That's an incomplete answer."

"I'd get an F if you were grading me?"

"I'd hand your paper back and ask you to finish your answer," she said.

"That's because you would be the professor and I would be the student and therefore at your mercy. Right now--"

"It's the other way around. I'm at your mercy."

"We're just two friends talking in a very little car." He pointed at a throng of students about to cross from a Green Line MBTA stop on the track in the middle of Commonwealth Avenue. "Careful."

"I won't run anyone over," Sophie said, "and last year I got in over my head on an adventure."

"Treasure hunting?"

She shook her head. "I just told you that I don't treasure hunt."

"You didn't go off with a metal detector yourself?"

"Ireland has the strictest laws in the EU against metal detecting at possible archaeological sites. To answer your question, no, I did not go off with a metal detector."

She was aware of his dark eyes on her as they came to Allston. He directed her to Cliff Rafferty's street. She parked in front of a two-family brown-shingled house with a giant oak shading a small front yard, its roots breaking apart the sidewalk.

Scoop unfastened his seat belt. "Do you think Cliff wants to see you because you're an archaeologist or because you're friends with Percy Carlisle?"

"'Friends' is too strong."

"Were you two--"

"No," Sophie said quickly.

They got out of the car. "You and I aren't finished," Scoop said, going ahead of her to the front door.

Sophie mounted the steps behind him, checking the address Rafferty had scrawled on the slip of paper. "He's on the upper floor." She reached past Scoop's broad shoulders for the doorbell but noticed the door was slightly ajar. "He's expecting me. He probably doesn't want to come down to open up."