“Georgina,” Henrietta said, “Oliver tells us he met you and your father in London last Saturday. Bill Hornsby recommended him. He’s a friend of ours. I’m Henrietta Balfour, by the way. I’m a garden designer.”
“I deserve answers,” Georgina said, holding her ground.
Emma nodded to the paper. “What’s that, can you tell us?”
Georgina placed the sheet on the table. It was crookedly folded, but she opened it and smoothed out the thick sketch paper. It was wrinkled and sweat-stained given her run, but the pencil drawing was clearly visible. Openmouthed snakes, horned devils, a winged dragon, something that looked like a goblin. A mishmash of images, as if to experiment without wasting paper.
“I found it in my cabin,” Georgina said, calmer. “I was gathering up some packing materials to drop off at the marina’s dumpster. It was in between some of the brown paper and plastic wrap, like it’d gotten stuck there.”
“These are the packing materials for the painting Bill Hornsby brought you?” Colin asked.
She nodded. “Yeah.” She raised her eyes to him. “The sketch isn’t my work. I don’t draw that well, and it’s creepy. I don’t do creepy.”
Emma peered at the images. “What about the dragon sketch in the galley?”
Georgina looked blank. “What dragon sketch?”
“It’s not your work?”
“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I only draw wild edibles. I love dragons but I don’t draw them.”
“When did you last touch the sketches in the drawer?” Emma asked.
“What difference does it make if—”
“When, Georgina?”
“I worked on them in England and put them in the drawer when I got back. I didn’t look at them.”
“Did you show them to anyone?”
Her lower lip quivered.
“Georgina,” Colin said quietly.
“My father.” It was a barely coherent mumble. “On Friday. Then I put them in my suitcase and didn’t think about them until I boarded the yacht in Boston and unpacked. I put them in the drawer in the galley.”
“And this sketch?” Emma asked, pointing at the sweat-stained sheet Georgina had brought with her. “Did your father—”
“I never saw this sketch until just before I went on my run. I didn’t say anything then. I needed to think. I don’t know if it was there when I unpacked the painting. I was focused on the painting itself. I could easily have missed it and binned it with the packing materials.” She bit her lip, holding back tears. She raised her chin defiantly at Henrietta and Oliver. “Did MI5 find anything like it when they searched my father’s flat? Because if you’re not MI5, you’re in touch with them.”
“Let’s not leap ahead,” Colin said. “Could your father have done these drawings?”
Georgina’s eyes teared up. “I don’t know. My first impulse is to say no, but what do I know anymore? He loves art and talks about taking up drawing now that he’s retired, but he hasn’t that I’m aware of. He was pleased that I was drawing plants as a way to learn to identify them. He said he thought that was great.” She spun around to Oliver. “Could the sketch be Aoife O’Byrne’s work?”
Oliver didn’t hesitate. “No.” He took a closer look at the drawing. “We talked about some of the images here, but not all of them. Dragons and devils didn’t come up.”
“It’s so bloody weird it could be my father.” Georgina pushed back her chair hard, as if she wanted to jump out of it, but she stayed put. “I never saw anything like this when I visited him. It’s pathological, isn’t it? He has something wrong with him, and that’s why he’s in a coma.” She narrowed her eyes on Oliver. “Do you think he did the sketch?”
“He didn’t mention sketches to me,” Oliver said. “We had a general conversation about poisons in mythology. He didn’t seem overly concerned about anything.”
“And Bill Hornsby recommended you. And you’re here in Maine with him and two FBI agents who happen to be mutual friends.” Georgina stopped, her breathing less shallow and rapid as she seemed to take a moment to process her thoughts, think before blurting something that would later haunt her—like mentioning the Aoife O’Byrne painting in the first place. “How interesting given my father’s expertise in chemical weapons.”
“We know each other through the Sharpes,” Henrietta said.
Oliver gave Colin a cheeky smile. “Even FBI agents have friends. Right, Colin?”
For a split second, Georgina smiled, and Emma thought she might break out of her dark mood. But it was only for that fleeting moment. “Here’s what I think.” Georgina cleared her throat. “I think Bill Hornsby is a lying spook who’s kept an eye on my father and used him for years. What’s the word nowadays? Counterintelligence? You’re all worried my father has gone mad in his retirement and he was trying to sell his knowledge about chemical weapons to the black market and ended up poisoning himself. Well, he’s weird, but he...” Tears spilled out of her eyes. “Oh, damn. Damn, damn. I hate this. The hospital called while I was on my run. If I want to see my father, I need to get to London, fast. There’s nothing I can do to stop this from happening. He’s going to die and I won’t see him...”
Finian returned with the water and towel. She took them and gulped down most of the water in one go. She set the glass on the table, away from the sketch and thanked Finian, her eyes widening as Jeremy Pearson—Bill Hornsby to her—staggered into the dining room.
He raised a hand. “Georgina.”
She balled her hands into tight fists and leaped up, charging toward him. Emma started to her feet, but Colin had better position and swooped between her and Jeremy. He swung an arm around her. “Easy, Georgina. Just take a deep breath and get hold of yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I ran too fast. I probably should eat something. I obsessed for—what is it, five miles? Six? I obsessed about the sketch and my father and you people. He can’t die because of me. Because I visited him and we had two great days together and it gave him a chance to say goodbye. That’s why he bought me that painting. It was a farewell gift. If he did this to himself, let it be because of his work, not me.”
Jeremy edged toward her, his bloodshot eyes filled with compassion, but he wobbled, then collapsed to his knees. Colin went to him, but he waved him off. He took Georgina’s hand instead, steadying himself as he got back to his feet. “I wish I could make everything better for you, Georgina. I’m so sorry.”
She seemed taken aback by his kindness as well as his weak condition. Emma stood next to her with the towel and the rest of the water. “You might not want to dive into a casserole right now, but we can find you something to eat.”
“That’s okay.” She patted her running belt. “I have an energy bar with me.”
“Great,” Emma said. “There’s a bathroom down the hall if you need one. We’ll get you back to Heron’s Cove. You don’t have to run.”
Mention of such practical matters had an impact. “Thanks. I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’m not usually one for big emotional displays. My dad taught me well on that score.”
Jeremy held on to the back of a chair. “Who else knows about the sketch?”
“No one. I’m leaving it here. You can burn it for all I care. I never want to see you again.”
“I want you off that yacht, Georgina,” Jeremy said, unsteady, hoarse. “Stay here. You can have the couch, or you can stay with Colin and Emma. We’ll put you up at an inn.”
She looked less tight, angry and emotional. “I’m fine, I promise. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I want to pack and get myself to London. Thank you for understanding my state of mind. Please know that my father would never tell me or anyone else anything he shouldn’t about his work. He’s eccentric but he’s incorruptible.”
Jeremy started to protest, but he lost hold on the chair. Colin
was there, steadying him. Jeremy cursed, but he didn’t have much strength behind it.
“Come, my friend,” Finian said. “Let’s get you back to the den.”
“Don’t argue,” Colin said. “Otherwise I’m the one who helps you.”
“Been there, done that,” his friend and colleague muttered.
Georgina shivered. Now that she’d stopped running and the sweat was drying on her, she was getting chilled. Her hands trembled as she held the glass. “I usually bring water and an anorak with me.”
Henrietta pointed at the window. “Your ride?”
Emma saw Nick Lothian making his way up the front walk. Georgina almost managed a laugh. “He texted me. I told him where I was going, and he said it was too damn far to run to Rock Point and back before dark. He looks after everyone. The Fannings are lucky to have him on the crew.”
Emma walked with her into the entry. “If you change your mind, we will help you find a place you’re comfortable staying.”
“I appreciate that. I feel perfectly safe with the Fannings and the crew. And for the record? I didn’t poison my father.”
“And the mushrooms yesterday?”
Her lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry people got sick,” she said as Nick came to the door. “Sorry, again, and thank you. Please tell Bill I hope he feels better soon.”
Nick said a quick hello and took her water and towel. He held them up to Emma. “They won’t be missed for now?”
“Take them,” Emma said.
He turned to Georgina. “You all set or do you want to run back to Heron’s Cove? Me, I’m driving.” He grinned at her. “Always thinking ahead.”
His infectious cheerfulness had Georgina smiling as they shut the door.
Oliver sank back in his chair. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m ready to put the drama aside for a bit and enjoy Franny Maroney’s noodle casserole.”
“For once we agree,” Colin said as he returned to his seat.
Emma set the sketch aside. It raised questions, but they’d keep for now. Colin had those incredible ocean blue-gray eyes on her, and she smiled as he served the casserole and Finian returned with a bottle of wine.
* * *
“No good deed goes unpunished, Colin.”
Jeremy’s voice was raspy but stronger than it had been that morning. Colin considered that a good sign. His MI5 colleague was stretched out on the sofa, propped up with pillows. “Thought we’d have to call another ambulance for you.”
“So do I. I should have let Robin ship the painting to Georgina. Instead, I had to volunteer to take it to her.”
“Nah. You wanted to spy on her and her friends.”
“I didn’t do a good job of it, did I? Carted off the yacht in an ambulance. A night in hospital. Now here with you. I should have said I’d recuperate on the yacht.”
Colin shook his head. “That makes no sense.”
Jeremy sighed. “I’m more worried about Georgina’s mental state than anything else. She doesn’t know those people. She’s alone and her father’s dying.”
“She wouldn’t be alone if you hadn’t eaten those mushrooms.”
“Go to hell.”
Colin grinned at him. “Glad to see you’re getting your spine back.” He placed the sketch on the coffee table. “What do you think?”
Jeremy eyed the images. “I didn’t get a good look when Georgina was going for my throat. Someone’s been having fun with a sketchpad, I see.”
“Thought you might have seen it before you passed out.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
“Is this sketch or one like it why you set up the meeting between Robin Masterson and Oliver?”
“I’ve never seen this sketch or one like it.”
“Not what I asked.”
“No,” Jeremy said, sinking into his pillows. “It’s not why Robin got in touch with me. He had—he has a long-standing interest in art. He said he’d taken a course on how to read paintings and understand various biblical and mythological themes. He wanted to talk to someone who could answer questions he had about mythology and folktales.”
“Nothing to do with his daughter?”
“Georgina was visiting. He was worried about her—that he didn’t know enough about the Fannings and she would be exploited by them and people in their world. I didn’t take that to mean anything to do with his work.”
“Until he turned up near death on a park bench,” Colin said.
Jeremy looked drained, gray. “Yes.”
“Was he losing it, do you think? Mentally ill?”
“Eccentric but clear-eyed. He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. His ability, or whatever you want to call it, to hyperfocus on his work has been an asset for us—and for the world, I would argue—but not for his daughter.”
“Did she do this sketch?”
“Is she playing us? No, Colin. She’s a twenty-three-year-old chef. I’d have liked to talk to her properly, but best I wait until I’m more in my head.”
He flopped against his pillows and shut his eyes—or his eyes shut on him. Colin waited a moment, not knowing if his friend was done for now or could continue. “Can I get you anything? One of Fin’s parishioners made us a noodle casserole.”
“I don’t know what that is, but I smelled it and almost hurled.”
Jeremy hadn’t opened his eyes. Colin figured that he was talking was a good sign. “It’s the best. You’re missing out.”
“I’m sure I am, but no, thank you, I’ll stick to tea and toast for now.”
“I’ll let you recuperate, but you and this sick neurotoxicologist. What else do I need to know?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s this about, Jeremy? Is Georgina the daughter you never had? Is that it?”
“Just as well I never had kids. I wouldn’t have been a good father. You would be.”
“So it’s Henrietta,” Colin said. “She’s the daughter you never had?”
Jeremy opened his eyes. “You shouldn’t taunt a sick man.”
“Henrietta’s a little old to be your daughter.”
“Damn right. Her parents neglected her emotionally, but she had Posey—and she remembers Freddy, her grandfather who died when she was five.”
“Freddy Balfour, MI5 legend.”
“She has Oliver now, but he’s always been there. He and Henrietta bonded as children, even before his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped.”
“They still have time for children,” Colin said. “They can make you the honorary grandfather.”
Jeremy grunted. “You just said I was too old to be her father. How could I be her kids’ grandfather?”
“I said honorary.”
“Oliver’s redeemed himself. She’s done her bit. Time for a new chapter in their lives.”
Colin sensed as tired and spent as he was, Jeremy appreciated having a chance to talk and think about something other than whether he was going to upchuck again. “Thought you roped Henrietta into staying with the service.”
“She could have a quiet job with us, or do her garden design for real. Oliver can do more with the farm, and he set up a small foundation in memory of his parents. I don’t think he’ll go back to Hollywood to consult.”
“He could do something useful with his stone-carving skills.”
Jeremy grinned. “You’re an unforgiving bastard, Donovan.”
“As if you aren’t.”
He coughed, moaned, swore. “You and Emma are young. What are your plans for the future?”
“Figure out who poisoned Robin Masterson, who poisoned you, what happened to the Aoife O’Byrne painting, who drew that sketch and why Georgina is lying about the mushrooms and who knows what else.”
; A wry smile from Jeremy. “I meant after all that.”
“I know you did. I notice you didn’t argue with me.”
“What’s the point?”
“The Fannings?”
Jeremy leveled his gaze on him. “You are avoiding the topic of your future.”
“Noted.”
“I didn’t get a chance to do a background check on the Fannings and their guests.”
“Dived in headfirst,” Colin said. “What about the passengers, guests and crew?”
“Nothing jumped out at me before I ate those bloody mushrooms.”
“You really didn’t notice the bad taste?”
“I wasn’t alone in that.”
“Or people were too polite to say anything. When your hosts are Bryce and Melodie Fanning, I guess they get the benefit of the doubt.”
Jeremy’s eyes shut and his head drooped to one side.
“You’re done in, my friend. Get some rest. Stay put. Call me if you decide to tell me more.”
Jeremy lifted two fingers but said nothing as Colin left him and went to the kitchen. Finian was alone, cleaning up a few dishes while his guests had tea in the dining room. “I’m sorry about all this, Fin.”
“I’m happy to help.” He shut the dishwasher. “Is Aoife involved, Colin? Is she safe?”
“Georgina’s father bought a painting from her. As far as I know, that’s the extent of her involvement.”
Finian rinsed out the sink, turned off the faucet and arranged a dish towel on a hook. “Sean and Kitty are delighted to have Aoife in Declan’s Cross. I hope she’ll be happy there.”
Colin saw the strain in Finian’s expression.
“It’s your second autumn in Maine. Is the novelty wearing off?”
“I’m not here about novelty, Colin.”
“Here to hide from your life in Ireland?”
“I’m not hiding from life.”
They’d been down this road before. Colin didn’t know why he was bringing it up again. “I know. You’re embracing your call to the priesthood. Visiting the sick, burying the dead, hearing confessions. Weddings, baptisms, First Communions, confirmations. Mass.” He smiled, trying to take some of the edge off his mood. “Drinking whiskey with me.”
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