“Because you’re bat-shit crazy,” Colin said, echoing Kevin’s own words.
“Yeah, and forty years later, here we are. This killer hasn’t left us much of a trail.”
“We’re looking for a ghost,” Colin said.
Kevin set his beer on the counter. “You know how hard ghosts can be to find.”
“Kevin—”
“You don’t have to say anything. You know how to reach me if you need me.” Kevin grinned suddenly. “I’m on my way to dinner at the Donovan family inn. Dad’s trying out a new recipe. All I know is that it involves apples and leeks. Hell.”
He left, and a few minutes later, Colin abandoned his beer and headed out. Emma wouldn’t stay in Boston. She’d be back in Heron’s Cove tonight. He had work to do before she got there.
CHAPTER 28
LUCAS OPENED HIS FRONT DOOR BEFORE EMMA could ring the doorbell. It was already dark by the time she’d crossed into Heron’s Cove from Boston. She’d stopped at the HIT offices, then walked back to her apartment. Colin, at least, had made the bed after he’d searched the place. She noticed he’d stacked the throw pillows in the closet. She appreciated his directness, anyway. Being skilled in the art of deception as an undercover agent didn’t mean he wasn’t direct.
Lucas was in a tux, on his way to a charity event in Kennebunkport that he’d had on the calendar for weeks. He was good at mixing, a necessary and often worthy part of being in their business. Their parents were, too. Emma was more like her grandfather, best at the work itself.
She smiled at her brother. “Aren’t you the heartbreaker.”
“I hate tuxes. I almost decided not to go to this thing after what happened in Dublin but there’s no point staying here and stewing. I talked to Granddad a few minutes ago. He’s on the mend. He wants to find whoever attacked him. Mum and Dad must be sitting on him to keep him from going off on his own manhunt.”
“If I’d gotten there fifteen minutes earlier…” Emma could feel the fatigue from her long flight. “I was late again.”
“You’re not clairvoyant,” Lucas said.
She noticed one of his two cats perched on a side table in the entry. He liked to say they were easier to live with than women. Most days Emma thought he was joking.
He left the outer door open. “We’re all doing everything we can to find out what the hell’s going on.”
“If Sister Joan hadn’t violated her own protocols, we’d have more information on this painting Ainsley dropped off. Are you working the Claire Peck Grayson angle?”
“The Pecks were avid, even reckless, collectors. It’s been tougher to pin down information on the Graysons. Claire’s husband died about fifteen years after she did.” The outdoor light above the door struck Lucas’s face, accenting its sharp angles, and his tension. “We’re looking into any art theft cases involving Vikings, Norse mythology, Catholic saints, Maine, Jack d’Auberville—all of it. I assume you are, too.”
“Was Ainsley into Vikings last summer when you were seeing each other?”
“A budding obsession,” he said wryly.
The cat leaped off the table, almost upending a lamp. Despite minimal furnishings and much work ahead, Lucas had managed to make his antique house feel like his space. He wasn’t putting his life on hold, waiting for a wife, children. He was getting on with things. Waking up in her Irish hotel that morning, Emma had been half tempted to call Yank and tell him she’d stay there until the killer was under arrest. If he or Maine CID had any questions, they could find her at the spa.
Of course, she’d dragged herself out of bed and down to the hotel’s elegant dining room, taking Finian Bracken’s advice and having the full Irish breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausages, black and white pudding, with a garnish of grilled mushrooms and tomatoes and a basket of scones, toast and brown bread.
A good thing, too, because she’d hardly eaten a thing since.
She watched Lucas’s cat slink off down the hall. “Ainsley was at the house a few hours before I discovered the bomb. She said she was looking for you.”
“I haven’t seen her since June, and then only for a quick hello. We ran into each other in the village.” Lucas gestured toward his tux. “I do this, Emma, but I’m an art detective, heart and soul. Ainsley wants something different.”
“Gabe Campbell fits what she wants?”
“I don’t know him well. He strikes me as easygoing. She’s not into appearances but she likes a lot of attention. She gets along with people—everyone’s her best friend—but she’s also firm in what she wants. I do okay, Emma, but we Sharpes are still working stiffs compared to Ainsley’s family. She’s not a snob, though. The opposite. She just isn’t a hard worker.”
“Did your long hours get to her?”
“We weren’t together long enough for anything to get to her. Gabe’s not your average housepainter. He’s in high demand by architects and designers, but my bet is either he comes from money or he and Ainsley won’t last.” Lucas grabbed the door. “I have to go. Sure you don’t want to join me?”
Emma shook her head. “I’ve been traveling since before dawn East Coast time, and I feel it.”
Her brother frowned. “You’re not staying at the house, are you? You can stay here, or I can stay there with you—”
“Relax, will you? I’ll be fine, Lucas. Don’t worry.” Emma cuffed him on the shoulder. “I’ll sweep for bombs before I go to bed.”
“That’s not even a little bit funny. Where’s Colin Donovan?”
“I don’t know. Ireland, maybe.” She doubted that, though.
“I know you’re a tough FBI agent and all that, but be careful. I’ll stay at this thing tonight just long enough to make an appearance and get back to work.”
She headed back out to her car. After the dry, hot
