That wasn’t modern-day New York City. People might just step over the homeless in the street, but they’d note a man covered in blood.
Henry Willoughby knew the city; he could probably bore dozens of people to death because he could go off on tangents, but he was a good man to know.
“Hamilton! Fascinating man, too!” Willoughby said.
“That Alexander, he was a busy man!” she agreed.
“And by the way, the musical is fantastic,” Kevin said, swooping in at the table to rescue her. “Excuse us, Mr. Willoughby, Kieran has a phone call in the office.”
“Excuse us,” Kieran reiterated, eagerly following her brother to the office.
The business phone was on the hook. She looked at her twin.
“No phone call. I was rescuing you,” he said.
She smiled and thanked him. “I didn’t even know you were here,” she said.
“Slipped by you a few minutes ago. Danny brought me up to date on what’s been going on.” He smiled at her and reached out to smooth a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “I’m so glad you found Sadie Miller alive,” he told her.
Kieran felt a pang in her heart. Kevin was glad. She knew, however, that her brother couldn’t help but wish that it might have been Jeannette who had been found alive.
“Have you seen the news about this afternoon?” he asked.
“No, not yet,” she told him.
He switched on the TV. The news came up midstory.
“Don’t worry, it will repeat,” Kevin said.
As Kieran watched, a dignified reporter faced the camera, saying Sadie Miller, missing since Friday, had been found. At the moment, they had no details on her condition, but she had been taken to a hospital somewhere in the city.
The scene switched to a press conference given by Richard Egan. He informed the public that they believed that Sadie Miller had been taken by the serial killer, that they were grateful she was alive and that women in the city needed to be vigilant.
A barrage of questions followed.
Egan was good at fielding them. He had a stern way of saying “this is a case still under investigation,” that almost shamed someone for pushing him.
“Doesn’t she know who did this? Wouldn’t she know?” a reporter called out.
“Ms. Miller has suffered incredible pain and trauma. We ask for the moment that you let her do a little recuperating. When there is more that we can give you, I promise we will get the information out as quickly as possible.”
“Where was she found?” someone else demanded.
Egan had already left the podium.
The scene turned back to the original reporter, who wrapped up the story. “We will be pursuing this information here for you, so please, stay tuned.”
“They don’t even know she was found at the photography shop?” Kieran said, incredulous. “There was an ambulance. And then a forensic team had to have come... I didn’t see them, of course. Danny and I were in a cab following behind right away. But...”
“Ambulances are always on the streets—it’s a big city. You guys were out of there quickly, and the cops didn’t arrive with sirens blaring. They want it on the hush-hush for now, I guess. Maybe a way to lure the killer out? I don’t know. Hell, I’m an actor, not law enforcement. But, I suppose, until they’ve investigated further and something is known, the police and FBI must be protecting the brothers who own the shop. With all this going on, you could get a crazy vigilante out there who believes that they were in on it, and they might suffer some violence themselves. People can get crazy. They weren’t—weren’t in on it in anyway, were they?”
“Oh, I really don’t think so. I mean, anything is possible, but I read people fairly well, and it would be hard to fake them crashing into one another and their amazement—and fear—at what was found,” Kieran said.
Her phone rang and Kieran started, looking down at it. “Craig!” she told Kevin.
“Hey,” she said into the phone. “Did she wake up?”
“She did, and she’s so sweet, so grateful.” He was silent a minute. “You know, your patient really saved the day.”
“My patient?”
“Yes, the woman who told you she had heard moaning during the ghost tour. Sadie said she actually remembered kind of waking and thinking that she was dreaming. And she heard something in her dream—moaning. She thinks that what she heard was her own moaning.”
“Craig, did she say who—”
“She has no idea. She can’t remember. She doesn’t even remember that she was at Finnegan’s the night that she was taken,” he said. “The last thing she can recall is a Sunday morning, and getting ready for church.”
“Could her memory come back?”
“Maybe. But she suffered severe trauma. The brain, according to her doctor, protects the body—and sanity, I suppose—by blocking out what was so horrible. This drug she was given in high doses, lorazepam, also causes the same effect.”
“I spoke with her that night in Finnegan’s. What if I were to see her now? Talk to her?” Kieran asked. “Such things can jog a memory.”
“We can try,” he told her.
“I’ll come back to the hospital.”
“No, she’s sleeping again, and I’ve been asked not to waken her. Her roommate—and best friend—is here. We’ll let them sleep and start fresh in the morning.”
He sounded weary. Bone weary. But, still, there was relief in his voice.
“We’re taking a drive tomorrow,” he reminded her. “Right after the hospital. There’s got to be something else we can discover about this killer. Maybe it’s in Virginia.”
“You should head home, then. Your place. I can meet you there.”
“No. I’ll come to Finnegan’s. You sit tight. I’ll be there soon. In fact, I’d love a shepherd’s pie if you can finagle some help from the kitchen.”
“I can do that. I know people here,” she told him.
The minute she hung up her brother Danny burst into the office. “They’re all here again. That whole crazy scientist crowd. And you know what? I know why kids wind up hating history. Those guys spew out dates and facts, and kids are supposed to remember them without any of the human touch. I get it with grad students—they have to be hard-core academics. But I’ve seen Gleason hanging with them on some nights. What the hell is a guy like Gleason doing with them? He has to be going crazy.”
What was Gleason doing with the academics? The guy was an entrepreneur.
Before she had a chance to answer Danny, Declan appeared, poking his head into the office. “Hey, could one of you run down for a couple of bottles of Jameson’s? Mary Kathleen let most of the servers go, and we’re suddenly short of whiskey.”
“I got it,” Kieran said.
“I’ll go,” Danny offered.
“It’s two bottles. I can handle that!” Kieran told him. “Kevin, Craig’s on his way. Can you send an order for shepherd’s pie back to the kitchen?”
“Mary Kathleen will see to it.”
Kieran left the office and headed to the basement. She reached for the Jameson’s and then paused, looking around their storage area.
No one had ever died there.
No one—not in known history, at least—had ever been buried there. And Declan kept the place well lit, so there was nothing creepy about this basement.
And yet she found herself thinking about the street, and where the basement would line up with the back of the building, and the hidden crypts at the old Saint Augustine’s.
She walked to the basement wall, where there were shelves of vodka and gin. She slammed a hand against the wall and winced. Solid.
And still...
She knew that the crypts were beyond that wall.
Shrugging off the uneas
y sensation, she hurried back up the stairs. As she headed to the bar, she saw that both Henry Willoughby and John Shaw were at the table, holding sway over the table of grad students.
She hurried to the bar with the Irish whiskey and then walked toward their table.
“The word sarcophagus comes from the Greek,” Willoughby was saying. “Sarx, meaning flesh, and phagein, meaning to eat. It’s from the Greek phrase lithos sarkophagos, which literally means flesh-eating stone. Lithos is stone. We all know about cremation. Well, in a way, a sarcophagus under the sun can do the same thing—the heat can literally ‘eat’ the flesh. Now, of course, the Egyptians were keen on preserving the body, the Peruvians had their way, and throughout history, many societies have tried to preserve the body. Different factors can be important—cold, for one. And, of course, the right chemicals in the body. Embalming. Ah, sad, is it not? All this time, and we’ve really not managed to preserve the flesh!”
“What does it matter?” Allie Benoit asked. “It’s just housing.”
“For the soul?” Joshua Harding teased her. “You’re a scientist, and you still believe in an afterlife?”
“Ah, well, the Egyptians—masters of embalming—believed that the old body was needed in the new life,” Willoughby said.
“I’m not so sure I’d want this old body,” John Shaw said. “A new body—ah, that would be lovely!”
“You know, this conversation would be considered strange in most circles,” Allie Benoit said, shaking her head as Kieran arrived. “The funerary practices that took place a couple of hundred years ago. Actually, though, it’s pretty interesting. You should come back down into the crypt sometime, Kieran.”
“I’ll do that,” Kieran said. “What? No Roger Gleason tonight?”
“He’s back up on Park Avenue, making plans. He’s going to reopen the club in the next couple of days. Most of our work is in the day, and we can close off—or at least, rope off—the area between the bar storage and the find. He’ll pay for a city guard,” Shaw explained, “in case people who know about the find try to sneak down to see it.”
“And we can’t have that,” Willoughby told her. “No, we can’t have that. I haven’t wanted the club reopened for that very reason. Can’t get people into museums sometimes, but offer them something creepy and they’re right there.” He shook his head. “But Gleason’s been decent. And if he’ll pay to protect the find, that’s great.”
“Did you see the news?” John Shaw asked Kieran. “They found the missing young woman! Of course, you know the police and the FBI. None of us knows if she’s really okay or not, but they found her and she’s alive.”
“Yes, and that’s great,” Kieran murmured.
“Ah! She knows more than she’s telling us,” Willoughby said.
“Well, of course, she does. Kieran is with that Special Agent Frasier.”
“Craig’s work is separate from our lives,” she said, wishing she hadn’t approached the table.
“Do you know where they found her?” Allie asked.
“I really don’t know anything,” Kieran lied. To her relief, she saw that Craig was coming in the door. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Hey, he’s here! The special agent himself!” John said with pleasure, rising to flag down Craig.
She groaned inwardly, thinking of the way this crew would pounce on him for answers. But she needn’t have worried.
When he came to the table, Craig silenced all the questions that had been hurled at him. “Sorry, folks, I’m not at liberty to say anything at this time. When we do let out information, I’ll be happy to talk to you.”
Kieran lowered her head, smiling. Craig could handle himself.
“Want dinner here or to go?” she asked him.
“To go would be great,” he told her.
She packed up his shepherd’s pie, kissed Declan on the cheek, waved to Danny and Kevin, who stood by the bar, and linked her arm in Craig’s to leave.
Craig had his car again.
“We can go to your place,” she said.
“No, I’ve got more stuff at your place right now,” he said. “It’s all right.”
She was quiet for a minute. “And...you’re really not angry tonight, right? I mean, I wasn’t crawling around any unknown tombs. We just went to lunch and to see the grave.”
He considered her words for a minute. Then he looked over at her. “You found a young woman alive.”
“You found her.”
“I found her because of you and Danny. Guess that means I ought to be sucking up to you.”
“Really? I like it!” she said.
A warble of an Ella Fitzgerald number followed them up the stairs to Kieran’s apartment. Craig ate his dinner and headed to the shower.
Kieran followed him, slipping in beside him, sliding her hands around his waist.
“I’m ready for my suck up now,” she told him.
“Elbows,” he said.
“What?”
“Elbows. You have beautiful elbows.”
He turned, catching her arms, lifting one to kiss a drop of water off her elbow.
“I’m so glad you noticed,” she said a little breathlessly. The water was hot; the sleekness of his body was evocative.
The way he touched her was incredibly arousing.
“I work very hard to keep beautiful elbows,” she said breathlessly.
“Really?” he asked.
“No. But I’m glad you like them.”
“Heels,” he said softly.
“Of course. I have exquisite heels,” she said. “And if you try to kiss one here...”
He laughed and swept her off her feet. She squealed, warning him they could slip in the sudsy tub.
But he kissed her lips and carried her from the shower to the bed. He lay over her, still wet, and he looked down at her and said, “I will never slip with you.”
She curled her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.
“A little slippage here and there isn’t such a bad thing,” she murmured.
He smiled and they made love, and she slept deeply, curled into his arms. It had been a really good day. A young woman had been found alive.
When Kieran opened her eyes again, she was sure that it was barely light out.
“Hey there,” Craig said.
He was already up and dressed.
“We have to get to the hospital. And pack a little bag. Depending on schedules with the ME and the detectives on the case, we may be spending a night in Virginia.”
“But maybe Sadie will be able to tell us something today,” Kieran said.
Craig didn’t seem hopeful. “Pack your bag anyway,” he said.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
AS THEY’D REQUESTED, there was a police guard at the hospital, just outside the ICU.
There had been no incident during the night. Craig thanked the officer, and he and Kieran were allowed entry.
Marie Livingston leaped to her feet as she saw Craig and Kieran arrive.
She didn’t know Kieran, of course, but she smiled at her as she said, “All Sadie’s vital signs are good, so they’re going to move her to a regular room today. She’s still sleeping so much, but the doctor said that’s natural. She’s doing really well!”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Craig said, introducing her to Kieran. “Has she remembered anything else?”
“No, not the last time we talked,” Marie said. “But she hasn’t woken up yet this morning. Did you find anything? Were there fingerprints—Oh, I guess if there was anything, everyone would know. I’m sorry I’m babbling.”
“It’s all right,” Craig assured her. “Has a doctor been in?”
“Oh, yes, they’re wonderful here. There was a n
ight man on and he was great, and then I guess her main doctor was in—the fellow who saw her yesterday.”
“Dr. Frederick Davies?” Craig asked.
“Yes, that was him. He said that she was doing really well.”
“Excellent,” Kieran murmured.
Marie let out a breath and smiled shyly at Kieran again. “Well, while you’re here, I guess I can run down for something to eat in the cafeteria. Is that all right? I don’t want to leave Sadie alone.”
“That’s fine, Marie. Take your time,” Craig told her.
The woman grabbed her bag, hesitated and then left.
Kieran stood by the side of the bed looking down at Sadie. She glanced over at Craig. “She seems to be sleeping so sweetly and peacefully.”
Craig nodded. “There’s a chair over there. You might as well sit down.” He glanced through the glass to the nurses’ station, at the nurse who was looking in at them dourly, a tall heavyset woman this morning. “We’ll just have to wait until she wakes up. I should have asked Marie to bring coffee back to us.”
Craig pulled up another chair and made himself comfortable. They might be in for a long wait.
But he had just settled when Kieran said softly, “Craig.”
He looked quickly over at Sadie on her bed. She blinked, and then her eyes opened and she was staring up at the ceiling.
“Sadie,” he said gently.
She turned to him and frowned for a moment, deep in thought. Then her face lit up. “I remember.”
“What do you remember?” Craig asked her.
“You. You found me...in the dark. You brought me here. And your name is...Frasier. Yes, you’re Frasier...”
“Craig Frasier,” he told her.
“Yes, sorry, it’s still so hard...”
“Sadie, I brought someone to see you. You saw Ms. Finnegan the night you disappeared.”
“I disappeared?” Sadie asked, and then she winced and said, “Yes, yes, I disappeared. And I remember darkness and thinking I heard someone crying, and I was afraid and then... Finnegan? I do know a Finnegan. It’s a him, not a her. Kevin. I worked with Kevin, a long time ago. He’s a great guy to work with...a great guy.”
A Perfect Obsession--A Novel of Romantic Suspense Page 20