“What’s a day in the life of a nun like?” he asked.
“I can only speak about my own experience. The sisters are up early—usually by five-thirty. First comes breakfast, prayer, meditation and mass, then their daily work, whatever that might be. Mornings tend to be quiet and reflective.”
“So you knew that Sister Joan asking you to go up there in the morning was out of the ordinary?”
“Yes,” Emma said, leaving it at that. “Some sisters leave the convent for the day to look after the studio and shop in Heron’s Cove or attend or teach at various schools and colleges. A few sisters are in residence elsewhere. I’m sure CID has a list—”
“I don’t need a list,” Colin said.
“Afternoons are less structured. Sisters will still do their own work but they’ll also work in the gardens and kitchen, clean, study—whatever needs to be done. Vespers are at five. Then dinner, cleanup and recreational time for reading, games, watching television.”
“It’s not a life of solitude, then.”
“There’s time for solitude, but sisters commit to communal life.”
Colin shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I guess you couldn’t, either, when push came to shove. What about Sister Joan? Was she a pain in the neck?”
Emma slowed her pace as they walked uphill, under a vine-covered arbor and past more lush subtropical greenery. “She was incisive and direct.”
“What would she do if she thought the convent had something to hide?”
“It would eat away at her, but she’d get her ducks in a row before taking any action.”
“Like call you without telling her Mother Superior?”
Emma nodded. She and Colin followed the walk to a stone terrace overlooking the inner waters of Kenmare Bay and the hills behind the old burial ground. Ignoring the cool temperature and the damp air, she sat at a painted cast-iron table.
Colin remained on his feet, his eyes on her, not the view. “You’re wondering if Sister Joan’s death and the missing paintings have something to do with your family. That’s bugging you.”
“Not having Sister Joan’s killer under arrest is bugging me.”
He grinned unexpectedly. “That was just a little self-righteous, don’t you think?”
“Self-righteous? Just because I was a nun?”
“Relax, Sister Brigid. I did that on purpose. I wanted to get your adrenaline flowing. You were getting pale, and I think you were a little winded from the walk up the hill.”
“I wasn’t winded.” She wasn’t ready to return his grin. Not even a little. “Have you considered that your friend Father Bracken isn’t telling the truth, even now? What if he targeted you—sucked you in, manipulated you, befriended you—for reasons of his own?”
“Then I’ll arrest his Irish ass.”
“He’s rich and connected. He could have figured out who you are and that’s why he chose Rock Point.”
“Have a glass of whiskey, Emma. Put your feet up and relax.” Colin slipped his hand into her jacket pocket and withdrew her cell phone. “I’ll put my number in here.” He did so, efficiently, then slipped the phone back in her pocket. “Call me if you need me.”
“Thank you, but I won’t need you,” she said.
“I know. You don’t need anyone. That’s what you’ve been trying to prove all this time, isn’t it?”
“I believed I had a calling to become a member of the Sisters of the Joyful Heart. I discovered I didn’t. I wasn’t running from anything, and I wasn’t hiding from life.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
She stared up at him, then shook her head and looked away. She noticed the sky was a deep lavender-gray now, clearing as the clouds pushed eastward. “Sister Joan always knew I didn’t belong. Asking for my help the other day must have been difficult for her.”
“Maybe she was setting you up, getting information from you—using you—and it backfired.”
Emma kept her gaze on the incredible view. “Maybe.”
“We can run scenarios all night. Here’s another. Maybe your granddad helped Claire Grayson unload the last of her family’s art collection and then split the profits with her. Or maybe she was young, pretty and vulnerable and he let her keep the money.”
“You’re a hard man, aren’t you, Agent Donovan?”
He grinned. “I hope so.” He leaned down to her and spoke in a half whisper. “Emma, it might be different if I’d known from the start you’d been one of the joyful sisters, but I didn’t, and now I can’t help it. I can’t get the idea of sleeping with you out of my mind.”
Before she could respond, Colin stood straight and headed off the terrace, back to the hillside garden.
CHAPTER 26
EMMA STAYED ON THE TERRACE AND ORDERED tea. No whiskey, Bracken or otherwise, for her. The tea came with cookies—“biscuits”—that were fat, soft, chocolaty and the perfect antidote to a grilling by one very sexy, relentless undercover FBI agent.
Finian Bracken came through the hotel bar and joined her outside, settling across from her at the small table. A waiter brought out his glass of whiskey and glass of water. “I’m sorry I’m late. I saw you chatting with Colin and didn’t want to interrupt. I have no intention of coming between you two. Aren’t you cold?”
“I have tea.”
“Yes, so you do.” He cupped his brandy glass, taking in the aroma of the whiskey. “It’s a fantastic Scotch, very peaty.”
“Father—”
“We’re not after some opportunistic SOB,” he said, peering at her over the rim of his glass. “We’re after a brutal, calculating, knowledgeable killer.”
Emma waited a moment before responding. “There’s no ‘we,’ but what have you found out?”
Bracken shrugged. “Nothing yet. In my mind, a profile is emerging of a violent, clever thief with a personal agenda that goes beyond profit and adventure.”
“Father, you can’t get mixed up in this investigation at any
