Carla Neggers - The Whisper

The past year had turned their lives upside down and changed them forever.

Abigail sat between the two men. Her baby was due in six months. Talk about big changes, Scoop thought.

"Did your father ever mention Sophie Malone to you?" he asked.

"No, but that wouldn't be unusual. He's always tried to keep a firewall between his job and his family. It hasn't worked very well, though, has it?" Abigail was quiet a moment. "Strange how things work out sometimes."

"I don't think this was strange," Scoop said.

"Destined?"

He shook his head. "Deliberate. What happened at the Carlisle Museum seven years ago and on that island a year ago and what happened here in Boston this past summer are all of a piece."

Bob distributed the pads and pencils. "We can take our time," he said. "Fiona will be practicing that damn violin for at least a couple hours. You can save me from having to go down there."

Abigail seemed comfortable to be back in her role as a detective. "All right," she said. "Let's see what we've got."

26

Kenmare, Southwest Ireland

Josie was yawning when Tim O'Donovan arrived in the pub in which she and Myles had situated themselves for most of the day, with breaks for walks back to the pier and disturbing calls from Boston. Another violent attack on a police officer. She and Myles both had felt stunningly useless. Seamus Harrigan had met with them briefly, essentially to tell them to stay out of the investigation. By dark, even Myles had seemed ready to give up and return to Dublin. He could look dead tired--he could be dead tired--but would never let his fatigue, or anything else, for that matter, interfere with his performance. It wasn't just training. It was the way the man was hardwired.

O'Donovan wasn't performing that night but had popped in for a Guinness. He looked as if he had, indeed, spent the day at sea. "I thought you'd gone back to London," he said, pulling up a low stool to their table.

"It's been a decidedly frustrating day," Josie said. "Do you mind if I come straight to the point? We'd like you to go over the time line of Sophie's adventure with us in more detail. For instance, how did she find the cave on this visit to the island but not on the earlier visits?"

"It's at the center of the island. She hadn't got that far before."

"So she stumbles on this cave, and here's a Celtic treasure, right at her feet?" Josie raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Even if no one but one priest every generation knows this story of yours, don't you think someone in the past thousand or so years would have stumbled on this cauldron by now?"

"Stranger things have happened. Celtic hoards have been found in lakes, streams and rivers right where they were offered to the gods hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Farmers have come across Celtic treasure plowing their fields. Why in 1894 and not 1794?"

Myles tipped back in his chair. "Others could have known what you and Sophie were up to."

O'Donovan shrugged. "We didn't go out of our way to tell anyone, but we weren't secretive, either."

"Were you always the one to take Sophie on her expeditions?" Josie asked.

"She tried to go on her own once and almost drowned. She's not good with boats. Everything else." His expression was warm as he added, "She and her sister both."

"Carlisle could be a killer," Josie said crisply, "or he could have hired a killer, or he could be a victim or a potential victim. We need to know what he knows. The guards are looking for him."

"So I've heard."

Josie bit back her frustration. "Tell us all you can about Sophie, won't you? Did you ever get the feeling there was anything between her and Percy? Animosity, love, friendship? Anything at all? Was she jealous of the woman he ended up marrying? Was Sophie broke and looking to Percy for money--did she ask him for a loan, a job, a recommendation?"

"You fired off all those questions at once deliberately, didn't you?" O'Donovan was obviously no one's fool. "Here's my answer to you. I trust Sophie. She's the best. She loves her work, and she's honest."

"What about her relationships in Ireland?" Josie asked.

"Men, you mean? She saw a few academics from time to time, but nothing ever worked out."

"You two?"

His eyes were unchanged. "Friends."

"What about her family? They have a house here--"

"Friends, also."

"Ah." Josie saw the look in his eyes. "What about you and Taryn, the sister--"

"You're going too far now."

"Indeed," she said.

Myles stood up. Obviously he'd heard enough. "We want to see the island for ourselves. Can you take us?"

"Tomorrow. Bring a warm jacket, and fair warning--it'll be choppy."

"Splendid," Josie muttered without enthusiasm.

The Irishman headed to the bar and joined a group of men--other fishermen from the looks of them--who'd just come in. Josie debated interrogating them, too, but Myles slung an arm around her and grinned. "Looks as if we'll be bouncing in waves tomorrow."

"I hate boats."

"We'll be fine."

She shuddered at the prospect. "You're sure we won't turn over?"

"Positive."

"Liar. You spent time on Norman Estabrook's luxurious yacht, not on what Tim O'Donovan calls a boat."

"You don't trust me, love?"

"I don't know you well enough anymore to know whether or not to trust you. Despite last night, I remain wary."

She felt hot suddenly, thinking about their lovemaking. She wasn't embarrassed so much as mystified. They'd behaved as if they were completely and utterly in love, muttering sweet things, holding each other in the dark. It'd been a long time for both of them. Perhaps they'd simply needed to make love and be done with it in order to get on with their lives.

She was aware of Myles watching her and felt quite confident his thoughts weren't remotely similar to hers. She dismissed last night and nodded to O'Donovan, who was serious, not laughing as he sat with a pint. "You know our new Irish friend is reporting everything back to Sophie, don't you?"

"Of course he is."

27

Boston, Massachusetts

Sophie locked the door to her hotel room and flopped onto her bed, lying against the pillows and staring at the moldings along the edge of the ceiling. She had met her hockey-player students. By no means was every player on the team in need of tutoring, but she looked forward to working with them. One had guessed she'd had an eventful morning and another had heard that she'd found Cliff Rafferty; they all agreed that should she need them for anything, she had only to say the word. They'd be there.

As she walked back to Charles Street, she'd heard from Tim and had reassured him that telling the Brits everything wasn't just fine but also smart. She wished he could be left out of the investigation entirely, but it was too late for that.

Meanwhile, her brother was again threatening to come up to Boston. Sophie sat up on the bed cross-legged, texting him to ask if there was anything he could do on his end to help find Percy Carlisle.

Damian's answer was immediate: Stay out of it.

She texted him back: Helen came back early. To NYC. Maybe he's in NYC?

This time he called instead of texting her. "I thought you were tutoring."

"I was. It was just a meet-and-greet. The guys are great. They can see through BS a lot quicker than I can. I always see nuances and shades of gray, complications and pitfalls. Sometimes I want to live in a black-and-white, win-lose world."

"Yeah. I know the feeling, Sophie. We could be Taryn, raked over the coals if she sneezes on stage. Get yourself some hockey tickets and go enjoy yourself. Line up those job interviews. Stay focused on what's good for you."

"Who are you advising--me or yourself?"

He laughed. "Both of us."