Carla Neggers - The Whisper

Scoop hadn't interrupted Acosta's rant. "You need to take it easy, Frank."

Acosta ignored him. "Your Dr. Malone could have thrown Percy Carlisle off some damn Irish cliff before she flew back to Boston."

"The Irish are looking for him," Scoop said. "We can talk about all this after the paramedics have checked you over."

"What if your archaeologist was behind the break-in here seven years ago? She's smart as hell. She could have orchestrated the mess with the old man in Ireland, then broken in here so that we'd all look to some disgruntled employee. Maybe the son suspected her but couldn't prove it. Maybe he went to Ireland to confront her."

"You're speculating," Scoop said.

"Brainstorming. There's a difference." Acosta's dark eyes--bloodshot, red-rimmed, accusatory--were riveted on Scoop. "I'm not emotionally involved."

"You are emotionally involved." Scoop's voice was calm. "Cliff was your friend."

"Friend? Cliff didn't have friends. He was a lazy, cynical SOB who blamed his problems on everyone else."

"Was he involved with the thugs Estabrook hired?"

"How the hell would I know?"

Museum security and two uniformed BPD officers arrived. Acosta shook off their help, then stumbled. They caught him as he fainted.

Scoop touched Sophie's elbow. "You okay?"

She nodded. He walked with her back to the conference room. Paramedics and the homicide detectives investigating Cliff Rafferty's death arrived next.

Bob O'Reilly was right behind them. "Damn," he said, glaring at Scoop, then at Sophie. "You two again."

By the time she finished with the BPD, Sophie was dry enough to head over to the main part of the museum. She'd loved wandering through the different collections as a student and welcomed being among the familiar paintings, sculptures and artifacts. The homicide detectives had been thorough and professional, but she had no illusions. They grilled her not just about how and why she'd come to the museum this morning, what she'd seen, what she'd done, but about everything--her life from meeting the Carlisles as a student to sitting in the conference room answering their questions.

Scoop hadn't stayed with her. She wasn't sure he would have been allowed to, and he had his own questions to answer. The police and museum security had shut down the museum and searched it for possible assailants, witnesses and evidence.

Sophie was staring blankly at a trio of Early Medieval Irish silver chalices behind a glass case when Scoop found her. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" Her voice was hoarse, but she continued. "You can see the Celtic motifs. The spirals, the knots. The museum doesn't have a lot of Irish works--these are on loan from a private collector."

"You don't have to be here."

She looked up from the chalices and saw that his gaze was on her, nothing about him easy to read--easy on any level. "I didn't wait for you this morning because I wanted to come here alone. It was a beautiful morning for a walk. It never occurred to me I'd find..." She didn't finish. "Security's obviously not as tight in the administrative offices as out here in the exhibits."

He touched a hand to her upper arm. "I can take you back to the hotel."

She nodded but moved over to a series of small, dark paintings. "If Percy's in Boston--if he's into dark pagan rituals, twisting them for his own purposes, and all this is his doing..." She shook her head. "I can't imagine. Helen would be devastated. Everyone here would be. When Detective Acosta was 'brainstorming,' all I could think about was how many possible explanations there are to what's happened. Percy could be hiding and afraid--he could think he's being framed for something he didn't do. He could have been working with Rafferty or Augustine."

"That's why you have to leave the investigation to the police. They'll follow the evidence wherever it takes them."

She turned from the paintings. "Was it blood on the torc and the ivy?"

"Yes."

"At least it wasn't Detective Acosta's blood." She glanced at Scoop. "There's much, much more to the Celts than human sacrifice."

Scoop almost smiled. "Feeling a little defensive about them?"

"I just don't want to paint too incomplete a picture."

"Makes sense a killer's not going to pick happy Celtic symbols and whatnot to latch on to, right? What a Celt who's been dead for a couple thousand years would think about what's going on here doesn't matter. I want whoever tried to drown Acosta." Scoop's expression, although still grim, softened somewhat. "You did all right in there, Sophie."

"Detective Acosta wouldn't have been here at all if I hadn't--"

"Don't go there. It won't get you anywhere."

Probably it wouldn't, Sophie thought. The police would talk to Jeremiah Rush, if they hadn't already, and find out if he'd told anyone else where she was headed. She hugged her arms to herself, suddenly cold again. "You all are taking another look at the incident with Percy Sr. in Ireland and the break-in here, aren't you?"

"We're taking care of it, Detective Malone."

She attempted a smile. "I think I like the sound of Agent Malone better, although my brother would find a way to keep me out of the FBI academy."

"What about Professor Malone?"

"That has an even better ring to it."

Helen Carlisle swept into the room, alone, wearing a long, lightweight coat as if she'd just walked in from the street. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, her red lipstick standing out against her pale skin. "The director of the museum called me as soon as he could, and I came right away. Thank heavens no one was seriously hurt."

"Where were you?" Scoop asked.

"The house. Alone. The housekeeper might have seen me if you'd like me to provide an alibi." When he didn't respond, she turned to Sophie. "Did someone offer you something to drink? Would you like to sit down?"

"Walking around in here helps."

"Of course. It's a fantastic museum. It needs updating, but the trustees are working on a long-term plan..." Helen faltered, tears rising in her big eyes. "I'm trying to put up a brave face, but I feel so vulnerable. I keep thinking the phone will ring, or the door will open, and Percy will be there." She spun around and faced Scoop. "I don't believe my husband is involved in whatever's going on, Detective Wisdom. Not for one second."

"We just want to find him, Mrs. Carlisle," Scoop said.

She nodded, tightening her coat around her. "I'm thinking about going to New York for a few days. I just want to be on my own--away from all this. I had a moment of panic about security, but if I were a target, I'd be dead now. It seems to me police officers are more vulnerable than I am. It's frightening, but whatever's going on doesn't really involve me." She added coolly, "Or my husband."

Scoop buttoned up his own jacket. "Then you're not worried about him?"

"I wouldn't think twice about where he is if not for Cliff's death and now this with Detective Acosta."

"Did your husband ever mention the break-in here?"

"No, why should he have? You're grasping now, aren't you, Detective? I have to go. I'm meeting the director. I never..." She shuddered, a glamorous, beautiful woman caught in the middle of a violent drama. "This isn't what I signed on for. I don't know if I'm up to it."

She didn't wait for a response as she swept back out of the gallery.

Sophie felt her energy flagging. "I have to stop at the tutoring center...and I promised a friend at BU I'd come by at the same time. I'm teaching a class there next semester." She reined in her thoughts and focused on Scoop. "What about you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Hauling Detective Acosta around didn't tear open any of your injuries?"

He shook his head. "All set."

She smiled. "Would you tell me if you were about to double over in pain right now?"