Emerald Fire

by Monica McCabe

  But it was too late for second guesses now. Whether or not this was the best decision, she was in.

  “Queen Louise of Prussia was despondent,” Chloe explained. “Napoleon had control of her country and her treasury. She also had seven other children with her husband, the king. Still, she needed to assure her daughter would be well taken care of and one day learn of her heritage. So she entrusted Desmond with the only thing she had that was truly hers to give. Her royal parure.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ronan said. “What’s a parure?”

  “In this case, a collection of priceless emeralds fit for a queen,” she replied quietly.

  Ronan’s eyes widened. “A nice story, to be sure. But how does NorthStar fit into all this?”

  Finn picked it up from there. “He took the emeralds and sailed to America. But as his mental state slowly declined, he needed to protect them, to create a hiding place.”

  Chloe turned the journal toward Ronan and pointed to the passage that started this journey.

  “The man from NorthStar will be your guide.” Ronan read the words out loud and sat back in stunned surprise. “How is that possible?”

  “That’s the mystery we need to figure out,” Finn said.

  His dad looked at it again and frowned, but Chloe flipped a couple pages and pointed to the maritime star. When she saw the recognition in his eyes, it only confirmed what she already knew. Somehow she’d stumbled onto a missing piece of the puzzle. Call it destiny, serendipity, or just plain luck, but there was something here at NorthStar that she needed to know.

  Finn and his dad exchanged glances. “I can’t explain why or how,” Finn said to him. “But our place is somehow connected to Chloe’s ancestor.”

  Ronan tapped his fingers on the table, a distant expression on his face. “This Desmond, he sailed to America in 1808?”

  “Give or take,” she replied.

  “That’s about the time our family immigrated to the Boston area,” Ronan said thoughtfully.

  “From where?” Chloe asked.

  “Western Ireland, Connemara region,” he said. “We’ve been called black Irish.” He pointed to a head of dark hair graying at the temples. “Most Kanes have dark eyes, too, but the blue turns up every couple of generations or so.”

  The timeframe matched with Desmond, but not the location. “Do you have any documentation on your family’s journey to America?”

  “Not really. It’s mostly word of mouth, handed down to each generation. But my grandmother took to writing some of it down.” He stood up. “It’s in the library. I’ll be right back.”

  Finn got up and rounded the island into the kitchen where he began getting the leftovers set up for the fridge. That left her and Uncle Jon at the table, and he rubbed his thigh as though it pained him. But he still smiled at her. “I’m proud of you, Chloe.”

  She was taken aback at his words. How could he say that? Because of her, the Emerald Fire lay at the bottom of the Caribbean, he’d battled pirates and been stabbed, and now he faced prosecuting his wife for serious crimes.

  “I don’t know why, Uncle Jon.” She glanced down at the journal, the thing that had consumed her life for too many years. “You’ve done nothing but give since the day my parents died.” She blinked back the moisture that threatened. “And I repay you by ruining yours.”

  “You’re wrong.” He reached over, grasped her hand, and squeezed. “Since the day you came to live with your Aunt Sarah and me, you’ve been the light of our lives. I’m the one who owes you an apology.”

  She shook her head, but he squeezed her hand again. “No,” he continued, more firmly now. “I fell apart after Sarah died. She’s the only thing I’ve lost that ever meant anything. I didn’t know how to live without her, and that weakness caused the biggest mistake of my life. I never should have married Lisa.”

  Chloe didn’t know what to say. Like everyone else, she’d been floored by his sudden marriage. But she’d done her level best to accept his new wife, no matter how hateful the woman was to her. But things had since taken a drastic turn, and though she couldn’t help feeling relief that he’d finally seen the light, she hated the pain it caused him. His unhappiness tore at her heart.

  Finn walked over just then and put a hand on her uncle’s shoulder. “Grief is unpredictable, Jonathan. I learned the hard way how much it can blind you. But there’s nothing that can’t be fixed, given time.”

  Her uncle nodded in silent agreement, and whatever doubt Chloe had harbored about Finn melted into a puddle on the floor. His gesture of sympathy was sincere and warmed her to her toes. He was full of unexpected surprises.

  “I should’ve known better than to believe her act,” he said. Uncle Jon leaned forward, elbows on the table, and dropped his head into his hands. “I’ve allowed a monster into my family.”

  “You’re not at fault here, Uncle Jon. If anything, it’s me. Owen was the only family I had left from my dad’s side, and I’m the one who invited him into your home. As much as he resented me for the life I had, I should’ve realized that was a bad idea.”

  “Owen introduced Lisa and I,” her uncle stated quietly.

  Chloe closed her eyes on a wave of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Jon. I’ve suspected for a while now that Owen and Lisa were somehow connected.”

  Her uncle shook his head. “It’s over and done. And regret does nobody any good. Getting even is much better. It’s time we strike back. We’ve got some outsmarting to do.”

  Ronan came back into the room carrying a black plastic tote that he gently set on the table. He popped the lid, reached inside, and pulled out a stationery-sized box that he slid over in front of Chloe. “This is what Briona Kane, my grandmother, wrote about our history.”

  Chloe carefully lifted out a sheath of papers and sifted through the loose sheets. Briona’s spidery handwriting looked like calligraphy, neat and evenly spaced, each paragraph starting with an oversize first letter. There were swirls and flourishes, typical of the more formal writing style of her day.

  “According to Briona,” Ronan continued, “the founder of NorthStar came to Mystic from Boston, right after his employer died and left him a stipend. The first dock was installed here around eighteen-forty or so. Anyhow, he’d served a nobleman for many years, even back in the mother country. It’s said he traveled to America with him.”

  Chloe quickly glanced up at Ronan. “What was his name?”

  “It’s in the papers,” he replied and shuffled through several sheets. “There.” He pointed. “Reginald Mathis.”

  Chloe sat back, stunned. “It can’t be.”

  All three men stared at her in expectation, but she was literally speechless. She couldn’t believe it.

  “So…” Finn started. “You recognize the name I take it?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re killing us, Chloe,” her uncle stated. “Out with it.”

  Glancing at the name on the papers again, she struggled to absorb the enormity of its meaning. “I’ve seen his name linked with William Desmond in multiple historical records. Government and church ledgers, the passenger manifest of the ship he crossed the Atlantic on, even a tiny mention in a Prussian war document.”

  The implications of that began to sink into their faces, but it was Finn who grasped it first. “My ancestor…worked for yours.”

  “Wait,” Ronan said in confusion. “The patriarch of NorthStar came from Ireland.”

  “And Desmond was English by birth,” Chloe said. “But he served a Prussian queen. It is just as conceivable that Mathis arrived in Boston from Prussia, not Ireland.”

  Finn pulled out a chair beside her and sat. “If that passage in his journal is true, then the name NorthStar had been established before Desmond died. And that means Mathis and Desmond planned for the future.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, still stunned at the whims of fate.

  “The chalice,” Finn said. “Is it in that tote?
”

  “Aye,” Ronan said and dug deep inside. He fished out a wooden chest and set it on the table. Roughly the size of a large shoebox, it was ornately carved with ocean waves, dolphins, and in the lower left corner, a directional compass.

  Chloe felt her pulse quicken the way it always did when she put another puzzle piece together. Up to now, her research had been historical documents and public records. Now though, she was about to see another tangible artifact from her ancestor’s life. That fact alone thrilled her.

  Her hands were shaking as she reached for the lid and opened the chest. Nestled in a bed of dark green velvet, a tarnished silver chalice gleamed up at her.

  “May I?” she asked.

  Ronan nodded his approval, and she reached for the goblet, lifting it from the protection of the chest and setting it on the table. She slowly turned it until she could see the maritime star. Then she flipped pages in Desmond’s journal until she found the drawing.

  It was a perfect match. That proved it. Desmond, Mathis, and NorthStar were intertwined, part of a grand plan to protect a devastating secret.

  “I’ll be damned,” Ronan said in a whisper.

  A line of tiny writing caught her eye, and she lifted the chalice to peer closer. It was hard to see through the discoloration of age, but she read aloud. “Faithful servant before God, Reward is a folly below ground.”

  Chloe glanced up at Ronan in question, but he just shrugged. “Never did know what that meant.”

  She set the chalice back on the table and returned her attention to the journal, leafing through the pages until she found the passage she wanted to share aloud. “A lover’s folly long buried, the future is bright.”

  “Two things repeat,” Finn stated with a frown. “Folly and something buried underground.”

  Ronan paced the end of the table. “Folly means reckless, foolishness, or madness.”

  “Yes,” her uncle agreed, “but back in the day, nobility had elaborate gardens, and a folly was similar to a gazebo. But why would you build one underground?”

  “Reward is a folly below ground,” Chloe muttered. “Folly long buried.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then said her thoughts out loud. “Desmond was slowly losing his mind. The woman he loved charged him with keeping a legacy safe for her daughter. She died before he could give her that birthright. He kept the secret and the emeralds. He’d want to protect them.”

  Finn was right there with her. “So he built a folly with an underground chamber to hide the valuables.”

  Excitement flared in Chloe. Things were finally making sense.

  “Where did Desmond live?” Finn asked.

  “Weymouth, Massachusetts,” she replied. “But the house wasn’t kept up and fell victim to age. It was eventually demolished. The original property was roughly two-hundred acres, but over the years it was parceled into three separate tracts. All changed hands a few times. About twenty years ago, a botanical society bought the biggest tract, the one where the main house and gardens existed.”

  “Was there a gazebo?” Ronan stopped pacing long enough to ask.

  “I visited a couple years ago to explore the property. I remember several gazebos in the gardens, but nothing that looked old enough to qualify.”

  “We need to go look around again.” Finn stood up. “Weymouth is about a two hour drive. We’ll head over tomorrow.”

  “What time are we leaving?” Uncle Jon asked.

  Finn shook his head. “Chloe and I will leave in the morning. You will be staying here. Out of sight and out of contact with anybody. A low profile is imperative.”

  Her uncle frowned, but he knew he was in no shape to go exploring. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll talk to Sam Brady and use the time to lock down some accounts. She’s not getting her greedy paws on everything I own. Putting up road blocks and cutting off her access to funds might paint her into a corner and force her to take chances, expose her for the fraud she is.”

  “That has merit,” Chloe said. “She probably knows you’re on to her, so building up your defenses behind the scenes is a good idea.”

  Uncle Jon stared hard at her. “She could be running, you know. The gig is up, and her future is behind bars. She’d be a fool to stay.”

  “It’s possible, but Finn has a point. She’s getting desperate and needs money to run. She’ll try to score first.”

  “She’s going to fail.” His eyes flickered, ice cold and angry.

  “Which is why you have to stay safely hidden,” she replied. “She’s desperate, and you’re the prosecution’s main witness.”

  “I’ll stay,” he agreed. “But you need to call, to check-in repeatedly.” The last he said with a sharp glance at Finn. “Promise me you will keep her safe.”

  “You have my word.”

  “That works both ways,” Chloe told her uncle. “You and Ronan need to be on guard. Hosea and his pirate gang are furious enough to risk coming to Boston. We all need to stay alert.”

  The last she said with a direct look at Ronan. He silently nodded his agreement. Her uncle seemed to slump in his chair then, rubbing at his thigh. Exhaustion haunted his face. He needed sleep.

  Chloe placed the chalice back in the chest and closed her journal. “Enough for tonight. Let’s get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

  Chapter 22

  Ronan’s house only had one spare bedroom, and they left it to Uncle Jon. Which meant she’d be sleeping at Finn’s house. Alone. Memory of that night in the Bahamas caused a crazy sense of anticipation to warm her insides and made her nervous. The man from NorthStar was turning into more than just her guide. The market lady said he was the one in love, but that wasn’t true. It was her. Logic warned her that she was falling for a man whose only interest in her might be the emeralds. Her heart adamantly denied that idea, though, wanted to believe in the strange sort of destiny written in the journal. But reality wasn’t that romantic.

  Still, just for tonight, she wanted to believe. How wrong could it be to shove aside every doubt, every negative thought, and just live in the moment? It might be every kind of bad idea, but it’s exactly what she wanted. The mere thought sent her pulse surging.

  Finn’s house wasn’t far, a hundred yards max, but it sat on a piece of high ground. They headed for the SUV, driving the short distance so they wouldn’t have to carry their bags over in the dark. A few scattered light poles lit the grounds, showing Chloe just how spread out the place really was, their pale yellow glow displaying a charming mix of old and new.

  The house porch light was on, and they climbed the steps without a word. Finn unlocked the door and ushered them inside.

  “When I built the house,” he finally said, “I intended to move Dad in here, too. It’s twice the size, better insulated, and equipped with modern appliances. But he refused, said the old place suited him just fine.”

  “I like the old place, too.”

  “Not surprised, not with all the history under that roof.” He flipped on a few lights and Chloe glanced around her with curiosity.

  The house was definitely bigger, but that was probably the high ceilings and open floor plan. Where Ronan’s house was all wood, quaint features, and old world in style, Finn’s house was large windows, gas fireplace, and long, clean lines. The walls were light, the furniture dark, and décor was minimal. It was more austere than cluttered and pleasing to the eye, a lot like the man himself.

  Finn dropped their bags on a sectional sofa that faced a large flat screen TV hanging on the wall above the fireplace. “I haven’t had time to do much with the place since building it. I’ve spent near every waking hour on NorthStar.”

  She nodded in acceptance of that and spotted an open set of pocket doors off the main room. Well-stocked bookshelves were visible, something no historian could resist, and she gravitated toward the threshold. It was an office and obviously a place where he spent a lot of time. Signs of his personality were everywhere, f
rom ship schematics to a geographical globe to a huge mahogany desk covered with a computer, open books, industry magazines, and a notepad filled with his strong handwriting.

  “How about another glass of wine?”

  She turned to see him standing in the kitchen, holding up a bottle of white and fishing in a drawer for an opener. She moved over to join him and climbed onto a high-backed stool at the island.

  While he expertly opened the chardonnay, she took in the pale gray cabinets, dark granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. Very masculine and attractive kitchen, but used very little based on the lack of usual items competing for counter space.

  “There’s probably not much in the fridge for breakfast in the morning. I usually join dad at his place. He’s the cook in the family.”

  That made perfect sense. “If he makes breakfast half as good as his stew, I’m so there.”

  Finn handed over a glass filled to the brim with chilled wine, and she sipped, enjoying the cool sensation on her tender throat. Then took another bigger sip for the false sense of courage it offered. The prospect of an entire night alone with him made her nervous. Or was that excited? She couldn’t decide, so she sipped again.

  “I keep thinking that I’ll drive over to Providence and pick up some…um…kitchen things.” He waved a hand to indicate the bare counter space.

  She gave a soft laugh. He really had no idea what things he wanted. Or needed. But the single most required appliance in any household was glaringly absent, and that could be problematic. “You do have a coffee maker, right?”

  He smiled. A grin that clearly said he was up to something as he stepped over to a cabinet that nested on the countertop by the fridge. He lifted a rollup door out of the way and slid out a stainless steel contraption that boasted a mirror finish, LED lights, and steam gauges.