Deadly Gift

by Heather Graham

  “No tension, Kat,” he reminded her.

  “Who, me?” She feigned innocence for a moment, but then the pose dropped away and she suddenly looked very young and hurt and worried. “Zach, I adore my father. I would never hurt him. I’m just afraid that vultures are circling around him. But now that you’re here, I really do feel better.” She flashed him a sudden smile. “My CD is getting great reviews, Zach, and sales are climbing. And I have you to thank for that.”

  “Hey, you’re the one with the talent.”

  “Aren’t people strange? All these years, there have always been two of you, like a puzzle. The musician who invests in studios and other musicians. And the detective.” She shook her head. “It must have been horrible, the stuff you had to deal with back in forensics.”

  “There you go. You just solved the mystery of me. It’s not so strange, really. Death can be ugly. Music is beautiful. The one helps to negate the other.”

  “Well, I’m glad. And grateful.” She studied him with her huge hazel eyes, a touch of tears shimmering in them. “As a musician, you’ve given me the life I dreamed of. Now you’re going to save my father’s life. As a cop.”

  “Private investigator,” he corrected her. “And, Kat, as an investigator, I’m telling you that despite my own suspicions, it’s possible that the two incidents—Eddie’s disappearance and Sean’s illness—are totally unrelated.”

  “Right. And maybe the sun is purple.” She started out of the kitchen, then turned back and said, “If you’re not down by eight, I’ll come get you. Detective Morrissey will be here at nine.”

  “I’ll be up,” he promised her.

  He watched her leave and wished that he were going to see Morrissey alone. He would have to make that happen later in the day.

  He hesitated, then went to Sean’s room and opened the door a crack. He watched Sean sleep, watched him breathe. Satisfied that his old friend was safe for the night, he almost closed the door. Then he looked across to the door to the adjoining room. They’d put Caer in there. He could hear her moving, and he found himself thinking of the strange way Bridey had looked at her earlier.

  Talk about a puzzle…

  But there was one thing he definitely believed about her. She was there for Sean, and she meant to see that he got well.

  He closed the door silently and headed up to his room, the same one he had stayed in as a boy, whenever he came to visit. The one he thought of as home.

  It was quite a household, Caer thought, unpacking her few belongings in the room that had been assigned to her.

  It was perfect. There was actually a connecting door to Sean’s room, so she would easily be able to keep an eye on him. He was a proud man, and he had insisted on getting himself ready for bed, but when he had lain down and dutifully taken his pills, she had seen how exhausted he really was. He would see his own doctor in the morning, but she was ready for any questions the man might ask about Sean’s care. She had been studying the book Michael had insisted she read, and she had checked out every pill the man was taking. One, taken only at night, was a mild sedative so that he could sleep. Another was to prevent further stomach difficulties, and a third was for blood pressure, with a fourth for his heart. There were vitamins, as well, but she wasn’t worried about those, only about seeing that his prescriptions weren’t misused. She had managed to politely insist that his medications stay in her room and under her control. Kat and Clara had both been perfectly willing to trust her, and Amanda had retired to her own room to freshen up after the journey, so she hadn’t been around to object.

  With her belongings all in drawers or the huge closet, she explored her small but elegant space. The room was beautiful, with an old-fashioned sleigh bed, soft beige and blue Persian carpets, and a massive dresser and matching nightstands of gleaming hardwood. There was also an entertainment center; should she feel the urge, she could watch TV on a massive screen that was as thin as a mint.

  The bathroom had been stocked with everything she could imagine: a choice of soaps, shampoos, conditioners, bath salts, moisturizers and more.

  She quietly opened the door between the two rooms and saw that Sean was resting easily. She stood in the muted light and watched his chest rise and fall.

  She closed the door, sat on the foot of the bed and closed her eyes, envisioning the household. There was Amanda, of course. Sean—and Zach, who she was coming to know perhaps too well. And then Bridey. She had sensed a bit of danger there, in the way the woman had looked at her. She was suspicious. Well, there was nothing for Bridey to worry about. Kat…Caer had to smile at how obviously Kat doted on her father and loathed Amanda. As far as she could tell on first look, Tom and Clara were exactly what they seemed to be: honest employees who loved their employer. That left Cal and Marni. Cal, who looked honest. Marni—who honestly wasn’t pleased that Caer was here. What dangerous dynamics were at work in this house. So much hatred, and all of it barely bottled up.

  She almost laughed, thinking back to the chaotic scene when they had arrived. Sean seemed certain that he could make those around him love one another. Not an easy task, maybe not even a possible one.

  She sobered.

  Someone was threatening Sean’s life, and the only two people she could take off her list of suspects were Bridey and Zach, and Zach only because he hadn’t been in Rhode Island when Eddie had disappeared nor in Ireland when Sean had gotten sick.

  Zach Flynn was everything he purported to be, she thought. Strong, confident and, she was certain, well-versed in the investigative techniques that would help him figure out what was going on here.

  And that would be to her benefit, having someone else there with the ability to investigate.

  But he also seemed to be the type of man who wanted to know the truth about everything.

  An unnerving thought.

  Because she couldn’t afford to let him find out the truth about her.

  She rose, unwilling to contemplate the matter at that moment, and suddenly thirsty. Kat had shown her around the house and told her to help herself to anything she wanted from the kitchen at any time.

  As she stepped into the hallway, the quiet of the house seemed strangely deafening. The others had all gone to sleep, or at least up to their respective rooms.

  She headed over to the stove and found the kettle. It was quite a stove, she thought—even quite a kettle, a work of art in well-polished copper. She put water on to boil, then turned, suddenly aware that she was being watched.

  Bridey was there. Tiny, slim, yet straight as an arrow. She had silver hair, blue eyes and a face creased with kindness and compassion. She had smiled often in life, Caer thought.

  But she wasn’t smiling now, as she pointed at Caer.

  “I know who you are. What I don’t know is just what you’re doing here.”

  7

  It was damned difficult to be in a man’s house, trying to prove or disprove the idea that said man was the target of a murderer, and that the murderer, according to the man’s daughter, was his wife.

  Zach tossed and turned for a while, then gave up and got out of bed. He was beyond exhausted, and he knew he wasn’t going to be any good to anyone if he didn’t get a decent night’s rest, but he was awake—wide awake. So he rose, slipped into his robe, and padded out of his room and down the stairs in his bare feet.

  He paused just outside the kitchen, aware of the murmur of voices. He held perfectly still for a moment, trying to listen in. He wasn’t actually fond of eavesdropping, but right now, anything going on in this house was of interest.

  But the voices were too low for him to make out any words, though he recognized both speakers: Caer—and Bridey.

  He headed in, glad he had eschewed slippers for his bare feet, even though the hardwood floors were cold where there were no throw rugs. He was almost upon the two before they saw him, though it did him no good. He heard nothing, only saw Caer putting on the kettle, while Bridey sprang to life at the sight of him and headed for a cab
inet for an extra cup.

  “Zach,” the old woman said with pleasure. “You’ll be joining us, then, for a spot of tea?”

  “It’s just what I came down for,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “We’re brewing the real stuff, nothing herbal,” Caer warned.

  “Ugh. Herbal,” he said, and smiled.

  The two women had been engaged in an intense conversation. Now, they were talking about tea. What the hell had he interrupted?

  Bridey, little bit of a thing that she was, pulled out a chair and said, “Sit, Zach.”

  “Why don’t I serve you?” he suggested.

  “Because I’m still whole in mind and body, and can manage to pour tea,” she said firmly. “Now, sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and did as he was told.

  Caer measured tea into the small strainer sitting on the teapot and poured boiling water through, while Bridey set cups, sugar and milk down on the table, along with spoons and napkins. “We’ve some scones somewhere,” she muttered.

  “Just tea is fine,” he said.

  “You’ll have a scone,” she said.

  Caer looked at him, amusement in her eyes, along with a warning that he should simply obey.

  She was wearing a flannel robe. Pale blue. Her hair was a cascade of midnight waves over the soft color, and her eyes looked like sapphires in contrast to the light shade of the robe. She was wearing pajamas beneath the robe, and matching slippers. They were new, he thought, and had come from one of the upscale shops whose bags she had been carrying the other day.

  She wore the ensemble well. Very well.

  “Caer and I were just talking about Ireland and the old ways,” Bridey said.

  “Ah,” he replied, and smiled. Bull. Something important had been going on between the two of them. But neither one was going to tell him now.

  Divide and conquer, he decided. Tomorrow, he would talk to each of them alone.

  “Aha!” Bridey said with pleasure, opening the breadbox. “Fresh-baked blueberry scones. I’ll just pop the little darlings in the microwave and they’ll be ready to eat.”

  Caer brought the steeping tea to the table and flashed the old woman a smile as she said, “Warm scones. That sounds lovely, Bridey.” She gazed at Zach. “You must be exhausted. What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Overtired,” he said simply.

  She poured his tea. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Of course. Bridey will insist.”

  “It’s the best way,” Bridey agreed, popping three scones into the microwave and setting the timer.

  “So what were you two saying about Ireland?” he asked, nodding his thanks to Caer as she prepared his cup and handed it to him.

  He couldn’t help noticing the thick dark lashes that covered her downcast eyes.

  Bridey was the one to answer. “Oh, we were just talking about the old beliefs, such things as leprechauns—and the coming of the banshee.”

  “Now, Bridey, you can’t still believe in leprechauns, can you?” he asked.

  “I do,” Caer said lightly. “And why not? Never offend one—you’ll have bad luck forever.”

  “Ah,” he acknowledged dryly.

  “Hmph,” Bridey said. “You might think her highness got off the plane and offended a leprechaun the minute she stepped onto Irish soil, Sean was sick so quickly.”

  Evidently Bridey wasn’t fond of Amanda, either.

  “Oh, come on, what could Amanda have done so quickly?” he asked.

  Bridey looked around for a moment, as if she thought the walls might have ears. “She thinks that love of the old country is rot,” she said, nodding knowingly. “She cares nothing for the past.”

  “But Sean loves her,” Caer reminded her.

  Bridey shook her head. “My nephew was so wise for most his life. I don’t know what ever compelled him to consort with someone so…so empty-headed.”

  “Now Bridey,” Zach said, “Sean’s no one’s fool, and you know it.”

  “Every man is a fool when it comes to love,” Bridey said sagely, as she took the plate of scones from the microwave, set it on the table and finally took a chair herself. The aroma of the heated scones was delicious and somehow soothing.

  Bridey didn’t look soothed, though. She looked restless. “And then there’s the fact that Eddie is dead,” she said quietly.

  “Right now he’s just missing, Bridey,” Zach told her. There had been a curious finality in her voice, though, he thought. As if she knew something.

  She shook her head and looked at Caer as she told him, “I know he’s dead. I’ve been seeing him in my dreams.” She looked at Zach. “You know he’s dead, too. The thing is, you have to find out why. And who did it,” she said flatly. “They have to pay.”

  He reached across the table and closed his hand over hers. “I will find out what happened, Bridey,” he promised her gently.

  “The same person is after Sean,” Bridey said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he said carefully. “And no matter what you think of her, you can’t go around accusing Amanda unless you have some kind of evidence.”

  “Well, then, you’d best start finding some, eh?” Bridey said. “And eat your scone before it cools.”

  Caer was already taking a bite of hers. “This is delicious, Bridey,” she said.

  Bridey looked at Caer, and it looked to Zach as if she shivered just slightly. But then she smiled, and it seemed to be sincere.

  “You can take the baker out of Ireland, but never Ireland out of the baker. You can be gone forever, but you never forget the old ways, or the truths you learned as a child.”

  “And glad I am of that,” Caer told her. “You keep me from being homesick.”

  Bridey nodded gravely.

  Something had definitely gone on between the two women, Zach thought, wondering if he would ever break through and discover what had been said before he arrived. For some reason, it seemed important.

  Divide and conquer, he reminded himself.

  He finished the last of the scone and his tea, and rose. “Bridey, thank you. I believe I’ll sleep like a log now.”

  She flushed, pleased.

  Caer had risen, as well, and was picking up the cups and plates. He couldn’t help but think that even if she wore a burlap bag, she would still be seductive. She certainly hadn’t set out to entice in her flannel pajamas and robe, but somehow…

  Bad thought to linger on.

  “Good night,” he said to them both.

  “Good night,” Caer echoed.

  “Sleep well,” Bridey told him.

  His eyes seemed drawn to Caer’s. It was the color, he told himself, framed by that long raven-dark hair.

  He gave himself a mental shake. In a moment, he would be imagining the physical assets beneath the flannel, and that wouldn’t be a good thing. He needed to know more about her, not find himself falling victim to her strange Irish spell.

  He didn’t believe in leprechauns, pixies or banshees. And wasn’t it strange that he’d thought of himself as falling victim to her spell?

  Bridey was most likely right, and Eddie was dead. There was a terrible logic in that conclusion. And as he’d told Kat, there seemed to be more than coincidence at work here, which meant Sean just might be next on the killer’s list. A killer who had to be found and stopped.

  That was real.

  He turned without another word and went back to bed, where he slept at last, and yet, even in his sleep, he was listening.

  Listening for what?

  Even in dreams, he wasn’t sure.

  Detective Brad Morrissey was about forty, solid and steady, blunt and, apparently, bluntly honest. He had an iron-gray crew cut, jowls and sad eyes, and though Newport, Rhode Island, wasn’t particularly known for being a hot spot of violent crime, Morrissey had the look of a man who’d been around.

  “I’m telling you,” Morrissey was telling Sean now, as Zach sat nearby and listened, “we’ve tried. Coast Guard found the
boat out there—she was drifting in Narragansett Bay, almost out into Rhode Island Sound, but nothing whatsoever was amiss. We checked the charter office, and Eddie Ray had left the books neat and clean. There was a notation with the passenger’s name and reservation time, and another that he’d paid cash. A single passenger, Mr. John Alden. The boat was towed in, and I inspected her with some techs from the crime lab. We dusted for prints and found dozens of them—mostly partials, and mostly, from what we’ve discovered so far, belonging to Eddie Ray, or other members of your staff and family. We’re still sifting through them, but I’m not hopeful for much. It’s winter. Whoever Mr. John Alden was, he probably wore gloves. The weather’s been pretty warm for December, but even during a mild winter, you know as well I do, it’s cold out there on the water.” Morrissey sat with his hands folded in his lap as he spoke, addressing Sean, but looking at Zach on occasion, as if seeking confirmation.

  Zach knew what the police and he himself were up against. Eddie Ray had gone missing from a charter boat. Clean as the boats might be kept, there were probably prints left over from the last several excursions, and many of the prints that were there were also likely to be smudged.

  “There was absolutely no sign of a struggle of any kind?” Zach asked.

  “No, I swear. I looked the boat over myself,” Morrissey said. “Not a thing overturned, not a thing that appeared to be out of place. It was as if both Eddie and his passenger simply vanished.”

  “And there’s been no sign of either one since?” Zach asked.

  “No sign at all,” Morrissey replied. “We haven’t had a single call on the hotline—although it doesn’t help that we don’t know what Alden looks like or even if that’s his real name.”

  Morrissey was being patient; Zach had to grant him that. He’d clearly been over all this before, but he was willing to sit through the questions again, to explain everything his department had done, no matter how many times he was asked. It was evident he was frustrated himself by the lack of progress in the case, and perhaps that made him more willing to understand incredulity and frustration in others.