Liar's Key

by Carla Neggers

  “Nothing lately. Last year there were a few rumors that Claudia Deverell got mixed up with fraudulent antiquities, but we have no reason to believe she herself committed a crime.”

  “Alessandro Pearson and Claudia’s mother worked together to create training programs for mosaic conservation and preservation,” Emma said. “If I may be so bold, I suggest you take another look at his death.”

  “You may be so bold, but why?”

  “Nothing specific.”

  “Anything to do with one of your own turning up at the London party? I assume you’re aware Gordon Wheelock was in town. Interesting that he’s surfaced and now you’re calling.”

  “Yes,” Emma said, not going further. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Your grandfather was at Alessandro Pearson’s funeral. Did you know?”

  “I did, yes. He’s in Maine now. I’m bringing him doughnuts.”

  “Wish you could bring me doughnuts.” The British detective paused. “I’d keep an eye on your grandfather if I were you, Emma. He could be getting dotty. He met with Oliver York while he was in London, and I don’t need to tell you about our eccentric mythologist, do I?”

  “Are we dancing around something here?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Can you tell me about MI5’s presence at Claridge’s on Sunday?”

  “I’ve a call I need to take. Please stop by when you’re in London next. I’ll buy you a pint.”

  Emma stared at her phone after the detective disconnected. “Well, well.”

  Decidedly one of those conversations that was more interesting for what hadn’t been said than for what had been said. She needed more information. It was possible, however, that Gordy had let his imagination run wild given the combination of Alessandro Pearson’s death, the vague rumors about stolen mosaics and recognizing an MI5 contact from his FBI days. Throw in an enigmatic English mythologist/suspected art thief, her grandfather, attractive Claudia Deverell and the Norwood-Deverell family’s relationship with the Sharpes, and Gordy had the ingredients for a full-blown conspiracy theory. He could simply have taken the ball and run with it—exaggerated the importance of coincidences and vague rumors, and allowed speculation and drama to propel him to her office.

  But that wasn’t like the senior agent she’d known and respected, and it didn’t explain the bloody towel in his hotel room, the mysterious envelope, his side trip to Ireland or his apparent interest in the Deverells.

  Whatever the truth about the various events and rumors of the past couple of weeks, Emma hoped Gordy had gone home. If there was anything to uncover, she’d be the one to do it, and through official channels.

  She got out of her car and walked down to the pier. The tide was up and most of the lobster boats typically crowding the harbor were out checking traps. As a teenager, Colin had worked as a lobsterman with his brothers. He’d joined the Maine marine patrol after college and then found his way to the FBI. He’d never expected to do deep-cover work, but Matt Yankowski had seen his potential given Colin’s high degree of independence, his quick thinking, his strong, reliable gut instincts. Yank had come to Maine to talk to Colin about that first mission. They’d met here, at Rock Point harbor.

  On that same visit, Yank had driven out to the convent where Emma, a young novice, had been on the verge of professing her final vows. He’d made it clear he didn’t think she was destined to spend the rest of her life as a religious sister and wanted her in the FBI, but he’d never expected her to fall in love with his deep-cover agent a few short years later.

  Emma turned away from the water and headed into Hurley’s. Could MI5 have floated the rumors about stolen mosaics? But why would they? Could Oliver York have done it on his own, without their prior approval? Anything was possible with him. Claudia Deverell? Gordy?

  Then there was one Wendell Sharpe...

  Emma groaned and put her questions aside as she ordered the dozen doughnuts and, on the spur of the moment, coffee to go. Once back in her car, she helped herself to one of the doughnuts—Hurley’s doughnuts were a legend on the south coast—and called it breakfast.

  She drove to Heron’s Cove but discovered her brother and grandfather were in a meeting. She wanted to talk to them but she wasn’t prepared to barge in on clients—and she wasn’t, she reminded herself, part of her family’s business.

  She helped herself to a second doughnut and left the rest with the receptionist.

  * * *

  By midday, Emma didn’t have any solid reason to postpone her lunch with Colin’s mother. Between one thing and another, they’d canceled and rescheduled several times, but with just a few weeks until the wedding, today was the day.

  “Just so happens Colin’s thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic,” Emma said under her breath as she climbed out of her car. She’d found a spot almost in front of the restaurant, located in a narrow, weather-shingle building in the village of Heron’s Cove. Her slim skirt, print top, sweater and simple flats weren’t girlie-girl but were dressy enough for a prewedding lunch at one of the area’s better restaurants, and respectful of the occasion.

  A call from Sam Padgett delayed her entrance into the restaurant. “Oliver York is due to arrive in Boston any minute,” Sam said.

  “Alone?”

  “As far as we know. I just told Yank. Not a happy camper. I suggested he put cold compresses on his forehead to prevent a migraine.”

  Emma had no reason to doubt Padgett had done exactly that, given his sense of humor. “I have a hunch where Oliver’s headed,” she said.

  “So do I. I’d almost drive up to Maine for that show.”

  “Are you going to meet him at the airport?”

  “On my way there now. You and Yank had the same thought. Scary, isn’t it?” Sam didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ll stay in touch.”

  They disconnected as Emma entered the restaurant, her mind less on lunch with her future mother-in-law than it had been. Rosemary had arrived first, and Emma joined her at a small window table. A fit and vibrant woman in her sixties, Rosemary kept her dark, graying hair short and undyed, and she had blue eyes, a lighter shade than those of her husband, and a heart-shaped face that tended to soften her features. She was the wife of a retired police officer and the mother of four hardheaded sons who, as she’d told Emma early on, still managed to keep her on her toes. She loved being an innkeeper. It would be a mistake, Emma knew, to underestimate her in any way.

  “I bought a pottery vase at the sisters’ shop,” Rosemary said after she and Emma exchanged a greeting. “Did you ever teach at the studio?”

  The restaurant, coincidentally, was across the street from the art shop and studio run by the Sisters of the Joyful Heart. “I never did, no,” Emma said. “The sisters didn’t have the shop and studio when I was with them, so I was never a teacher.”

  “Well, it’s a lovely vase. It’s a simple blue—no wild blueberries or lupine. It’s just what we need to perk up the kitchen. I think your friend Sister Cecilia made it.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Emma noticed Rosemary had also worn a skirt to lunch. She favored classic, functional styles she could keep in her closet for years. She’d once told Emma that fashion trends didn’t interest her. She set the bag with her vase on the floor next to her chair. “Sister Cecilia is going to be your only bridesmaid, is that right?”

  “That’s right,” Emma said. “We’ve become good friends.”

  “You two met last September after Sister Joan was killed. Awful business that was. Do you have many female friends who aren’t nuns, Emma?”

  She’d become accustomed to Rosemary’s bluntness and took no offense. “I do, and some but not all will be at the wedding. Between the FBI and my family background, my friends are spread all over the world.”

  “A friend in e
very port but none to go to a movie with on the odd weeknight. Entering the convent in your late teens must have affected your formation of friendships.” Rosemary peered at Emma with an intensity that reminded her of Colin. “And you have no sisters. What about female cousins?”

  Emma shook her head. “I have a small family.”

  “It’s hard for me to relate,” Rosemary said. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help with the wedding, don’t hesitate to ask. I know your mom’s in London. I’m right here. By the way, tell her I’ve decided on blue for my dress at the wedding, unless she’s changed her mind about wearing rose.”

  Emma promised she would relay the message. They ordered lobster bisque, salads and iced tea. Rosemary caught up Emma on Donovan and Rock Point goings-on, including the latest on Mike’s security work in Africa, Andy’s upcoming trip to Ireland and Kevin’s training in Washington. “I assume you’ve told me what you can about what Colin’s been up to,” Rosemary said. “He asked us all not to talk about his work.”

  Given that three of Rosemary’s four sons were or had been involved in the military or law enforcement, Emma expected she had come to accept, if not like, that she wasn’t privy to all they did. Until last fall, Colin’s family had believed—or pretended to believe—he worked at a desk at FBI headquarters in Washington.

  “I had a text from Colin when I got up this morning,” Rosemary added, glancing out the window. “He says he’ll be back today. You knew?”

  “I had a text this morning, too,” Emma said without further comment. She didn’t want to get into a competition with Rosemary about what Colin told his mother versus his fiancée—and she doubted Rosemary did, either. She was experienced and pragmatic, but, at the same time, she was aware her FBI-agent son operated in a secretive and dangerous world. Emma suspected the question about the text arose more from concern and curiosity than envy she might know more about Colin’s work.

  Which, Emma thought, she really didn’t.

  “Having three sons out of town at the same time is strange,” Rosemary said. “Mike’s in his element protecting those volunteer doctors, but he’ll be happy to be back in Maine.”

  “How’s Naomi?”

  “Intrepid as ever. She’s back in Nashville. She’s crazy about Mike but careful not to get too far ahead of herself.”

  From what Emma had seen of Naomi MacBride, careful wasn’t really in her vocabulary. Now an independent intelligence analyst based in her hometown of Nashville, she’d worked with Mike in his army days, when she was at the State Department. She was back in Tennessee, having recovered from a gunshot wound she’d incurred on a wintry Maine day while uncovering a bad operator among her friends in private security. Emma had gotten caught up in that search, too.

  “Emma?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking about Naomi. I’m glad she’s doing well.”

  “So am I,” Rosemary said. “Kevin’s due back this weekend. Andy might as well be out of town—he’s preoccupied with finishing work on that antique lobster boat that’s been such a bone of contention between him and Julianne.”

  Andy Donovan’s on-again, off-again relationship with Julianne Maroney, a Rock Point native, was very much on again. Andy was due to take off any day for Cork, Ireland, where Julianne was completing a graduate-level internship in marine biology. The antique lobster boat in question had once belonged to her grandfather.

  “I think Andy’s bought Julianne a ring,” Rosemary said. “He won’t tell me.”

  The conversation moved to the upcoming wedding of her second-born son. Emma joined her future mother-in-law in indulging in wild blueberry pie, heated, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. “I had doughnuts for breakfast, too,” Emma said. “I should run to Acadia and back this afternoon.”

  “I’ve taken up running,” Rosemary said cheerfully. “I’m up to thirty minutes without stopping.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Thank you. I’ve no interest in running races. Where are you off to after lunch?”

  “I’m going to stop at the convent to check out a few things for the wedding.”

  Rosemary pushed her empty pie plate aside. “The convent gardens will be gorgeous for the wedding. I’ve been wondering, Emma—did the thought of children enter into your decision to go into the convent?”

  “I didn’t reject anything. I embraced something, or at least that’s what I thought I was doing.” Emma paused, debating how to explain—what to say to satisfy Rosemary’s curiosity without going too deep. “The process I went through prior to making final vows helped me clarify that I belonged elsewhere.”

  “The convent wasn’t a true calling, you mean? You won’t get cold feet about marriage, will you?” Rosemary gasped. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked that. I haven’t even had wine. I’ll blame the rich food.”

  Emma smiled. “It’s okay. I don’t mind saying that I won’t get cold feet.”

  “I believe you and it’s wonderful, but it’s not okay that I asked. I can hear Colin telling me to mind my own business. He hasn’t had much chance for real romance in his life with all the secret stuff he does. I’ve been patient, but I admit I’m ready for a wedding. Mike and Naomi seem serious about each other. I doubt Andy and Julianne will wait much longer—although it’s possible she’ll be so mad at him when he pops the question that she’ll say no. Kevin’s had a revolving door lately.” Rosemary sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t ask.”

  Emma gave up on the last of her pie. She’d had enough sweets for the week, never mind the day. “Colin and I are both the first in our families to get married,” she said. “It’s new territory for all of us.”

  Rosemary watched a couple with two young children walk past the restaurant window. “Raising four boys didn’t exactly put me in a hurry for grandchildren, although they were cute little devils. Mike and Colin took off to the harbor on their own when they were tots. They wanted to get themselves blueberry muffins at Hurley’s. The police brought the two miscreants home. I thought Frank would die when he found out, but I thought they’d gone into the water. Muffins didn’t seem so bad.” She chuckled at the memory and turned back to Emma. “What was your life like growing up?”

  “I read a lot. No muffin adventures.”

  “We’re all different,” Rosemary said warmly. “I’m delighted you and Colin found each other. Frank and I are here for you, Emma. I want you to know that.”

  “Thanks, Rosemary. That means a lot to me.”

  They left the restaurant together. Rosemary paused at her car, the spring sun highlighting the soft lines in her face. “I almost forgot—we’re looking forward to having your English friend stay at the inn this weekend. He’s arriving later today.”

  Emma frowned. “My English friend? You don’t mean—”

  “The strange one. Oliver York. I think that’s his name.”

  Oliver? Emma contained her reaction. The man had nerve. She nodded stiffly. “Yes, that’s his name, but I wouldn’t call him a friend. When did he make his reservation?”

  “Yesterday. He reserved over the internet with a note saying he’d be at your open house tomorrow and was eager to be back in Rock Point. He’s not a problem, is he? All you need is a gate-crasher.”

  Emma didn’t correct Rosemary on her use of your for the open house. An innocent mistake that would have no effect. Oliver’s presence, on the other hand, was another story altogether. “Oliver isn’t a gate-crasher but I’ll check in with him when he arrives.”

  “Of course. I’ll shoot you a text. I had a feeling...” The older woman sighed. “Never mind. I enjoyed lunch, Emma. Thanks for taking the time.”

  “My pleasure. It’s always great to see you.”

  “You, too.”

  She thought Rosemary meant it, even if they both understood she’d never imagined Colin marrying a woman who was not only an
ex-nun, but also a Sharpe, an art historian and an FBI agent who specialized in art crimes. And Rosemary was getting used to Mike’s new love interest, too, although she was ignorant of her firstborn’s history with feisty Naomi MacBride. Naomi’s rekindled relationship with Mike Donovan and their time together at his cabin on Maine’s remote Bold Coast seemed to have helped her recover from her gunshot wound.

  Complicated, the Donovan men and their women.

  Emma smiled as she climbed into her car. She was happy to be in that mix.

  But before she started the car, she called Sam Padgett.

  He answered on the second ring. “How was lunch with your future mother-in-law? Did you have that lobster and blueberry pie?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did. Lobster bisque, though, not lobster rolls. I’ve had enough calories already today to keep me going for a week. I’m heading up to my old convent. I’ll take a long walk while I’m there.”

  “Not much makes me shudder, but the mention of nuns will do it.”

  Emma smiled. “Good to know.”

  “I was about to call you myself. I don’t know if Colin’s been in touch but you could say that your mutual friend Oliver York landed in his custody. Oliver, Colin and charming Mary Bracken are currently on their way up there in Oliver’s rented car. I gather Colin has access to various Donovan vehicles, and Mary’s meeting her brother and therefore doesn’t need a vehicle.”

  “I see.”

  “Oliver’s get-out-of-jail-free card will only get him so far. That’s my news. What’s up with you?”

  “I called to tell you that Oliver’s booked a room at the inn Colin’s parents run,” Emma said, keeping her tone neutral.

  Sam let out an audible breath. “Oh, boy.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the info, Sam.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “We’ll stay in touch.”

  She disconnected and checked her messages. There was nothing from Gordy Wheelock, her family, Scotland Yard, MI5, Oliver York or a certain Special Agent Colin Donovan, on his way home to Maine.