Carla Neggers, page 20
“She was just a little girl when I first met her. She and her mother lived nearby—Cynthia fancied herself a painter. Seascapes.”
From Irene Barton’s tone, Andy guessed she didn’t think much of Cynthia Hargreaves’ artistic talents.
They came to the front entry. The housekeeper paused in the doorway of a small library, a single floor lamp lit. “I didn’t see much of Lindsey after her mother and David divorced. She was always welcome here, but Cynthia kept telling her that David wasn’t her quote-unquote real father. Isn’t that a terrible thing to tell a child? David adopted her. She was very much a real daughter to him.”
“Not a big fan of either the mother or the daughter, are you?” Mike asked, blunt as ever.
Irene Barton didn’t seem to take offense. “Maybe so. Lindsey was a sweet little girl, but she didn’t appreciate all David did for her—and for her mother.”
Mike glanced into the library. “Your boss much of an art collector?”
“He’ll tell you he buys what he likes.”
“Ever hear of Sharpe Fine Art Recovery?” Andy asked.
The housekeeper frowned. “I don’t believe so, no. Why? What do they do?”
“Recover lost and stolen art and antiquities,” Mike said. “Prevent their theft. They’re based in Maine. Heron’s Cove.”
Irene didn’t react to mention of the Sharpes or Heron’s Cove, but she rubbed the back of her neck, as if lost in thought. Finally she looked at her two visitors and said, “I have something to show you.”
She went past them into the library. Andy glanced at Mike, then they both followed her.
She pointed at an empty space on the wood-paneled wall. “An Irish seascape was here until last week.”
Not what Andy expected. “Where is it now?”
“David told me he was having it appraised.”
“But you don’t believe him,” Mike said.
“To be perfectly frank, I don’t know that I do, no. David bought it for Lindsey’s mother when they were in Ireland on a sort of second honeymoon.”
Mike walked over to a glass-front cabinet. “When was this second honeymoon?”
“It’s been at least fifteen years. They divorced not long after that. They were gone just ten days. Lindsey stayed here with me.”
“Odd coincidence,” Andy said, “having an Irish seascape out for appraisal the same time his daughter’s launching a marine science field station in Ireland.”
“Who’s the artist?” Mike asked.
“Aoife O’Byrne. I know nothing about her, but I remember the name because it’s unusual, at least to me. I had to look up the pronunciation. EE-fa. Of course, when I saw that David is staying at the O’Byrne House Hotel...” She waved a hand. “I’m sure there are loads of O’Byrnes in Ireland.”
“Anything else not here?” Mike asked.
Irene nodded. “Another Aoife O’Byrne piece, a beautiful Celtic silver cross. It was stored in that cabinet. Lindsey told me that her mother adored the cross and the painting but felt they belonged here.”
Andy noted Irene’s skeptical tone. “Do you believe that?”
“I’m not sure what to believe,” Irene said.
Mike turned from the cabinet. “The mother’s dead?”
“For at least ten years. She had problems. Lindsey blamed David for a long time.” Irene’s cheeks flushed. “I’m talking too much, and I’m sure I’m being far too critical. Having Lindsey here and then her trip to Ireland must have prompted David to finally have the appraisals done—he can be quite the procrastinator. Aoife O’Byrne was an unknown fifteen years ago.”
“Now she’s a rising international star in the art world,” Andy said. Mike raised his eyebrows at him, and Andy shrugged. “Like I said, I spent some time on the internet.”
The housekeeper’s cheeks flamed an even deeper red, and she bustled out of the library. Andy didn’t want to upset her further and saw that Mike didn’t, either. There was no point; she’d told them all she was going to tell them. They followed her back into the hall, and she showed them out quickly, formally, mumbling that David had nothing to hide as she shut the door behind them.
A man in a dark suit was getting out of a black sedan parked next to Andy’s truck. Andy swore under his breath, recognizing Matt Yankowski, a humorless, buttoned-down federal agent if ever there was one. They’d met a few times in Rock Point, never over anything good happening.
“Easy, brother,” Mike said. “Yankowski actually will shoot us.”
The senior FBI agent approached them on the walk. “Andy Donovan. Mike Donovan. What are you two boys doing down here?”
“Chatting with the Hargreaves’ housekeeper,” Mike said. “Irene. Nice woman. Early sixties. At first she didn’t want to let us inside.”
“Imagine that.” Yankowski didn’t let up on the stony gaze. “Didn’t your brother tell you two not to meddle in an official investigation?”
“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?”
