Declan's Cross. Carla Neggers
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hit the Irish roads.
The lane continued past the cottage, narrowing even more as it turned to dirt and disappeared around a bend. She noticed a man come around the bend, ambling toward her. He wore muddy work clothes and muddy dark green Wellies, as if he’d just come in from the fields. As he approached her, she saw he had thick dark hair and piercing blue eyes, something of a devil-may-care look about him. She guessed he was in his late thirties—Father Bracken’s age, maybe a little younger.
“You must be Julianne,” he said in a pronounced Irish accent. “I’m Sean Murphy, Fin Bracken’s friend. Welcome to Declan’s Cross.”
“Thank you. It’s great to meet you, Mr. Murphy.”
“Sean.”
She smiled. “The cottage is fantastic. I’m glad it worked out on such short notice.” The wind whipped her hair in her face as she stifled yet another yawn. “Father Bracken sends his best.”
“He’s been telling me tales of bean-hole suppers.”
Better than tales of attempted murder, Julianne supposed. “I never got a chance to ask him how you two know each other. He’s not from around here, is he?”
“He’s from Kerry, but he’s visited Declan’s Cross many times.” Sean glanced at her car, still parked crookedly on the side of the lane. “You drove yourself down from Shannon, did you?”
“I did. I’m a little wobbly, but I did okay. Necessity forced me out of my comfort zone. Lindsey Hargreaves was supposed to meet me, but—well, she didn’t, for whatever reason. Has she been in touch with you, by any chance?”
“No, she hasn’t,” the Irishman said. “She’s not here, then?”
“I don’t know if she’s in Declan’s Cross, but there’s no sign of her at the cottage. You know her, though, right?”
“We’ve met. A friend of mine has done some diving with her.” Sean glanced toward the sea a moment, then back at her. “Have you heard from Lindsey at all today?”
Julianne shook her head. “Not since Sunday afternoon. We emailed each other about plans to meet at the airport. She offered. I didn’t ask. I didn’t expect to hear from her again before I arrived this morning. My flight got in so early. I think my phone’s working okay—I’ll check my messages again when I go into the village. I gather there’s no cell service up here.”
“It’s spotty at best.”
“That’s fine with me.” She realized she sounded as if she didn’t want to talk to anyone back home, but it was just Andy she didn’t want to talk to. And her brother, since he’d ratted her out to Andy, who’d ratted her out to Colin. She pushed windblown hair out of her face and added, more cheerfully, “I’ll let you know if I hear from Lindsey. I’m sure I will.”
Sean studied her a moment, as if she wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “Fin says you’re a marine biologist. I see dolphins and porpoises now and again.” He nodded toward the water. “I saw a whale once.”
“Recently?”
He smiled. “I was a boy.”
Julianne didn’t know what she expected an Irish farmer to be like, but Sean Murphy wasn’t it. It was like having a mix of a young Liam Neeson and Colin Farrell up the lane. “I thought I’d get some fresh air while I can. They say sunlight can help jet lag. It’s in short supply right now, but it was sunny on the drive down here. I’d rather crawl in bed and sleep, anyway.”
“You’ll find it gets dark early this time of year.”
“Maine does, too, but Ireland’s even farther north. The Gulf Stream helps keep the climate mild here, but it doesn’t help with the short winter days.” She suddenly felt self-conscious, as if she’d already said too much. “I’m thrilled to be here, though.”
“You’ll have to come back in June when it stays light until late into the evening.”
She relaxed some. “That would be great. I start an internship in January in Cork that runs until May. I’d love to stay on a couple more weeks just to go sightseeing. Maybe I’ll get my grandmother to join me. She’s always wanted to see Ireland.”
“I noticed you had company earlier,” Sean said, checking a wooden fence post that was leaning to one side. “Friends of yours?”
Julianne nodded. “Colin Donovan and Emma Sharpe. They’re staying at a hotel in the village. The O’Byrne, I think they said.”
“It’s a good place.” He straightened some of the wrapped-wire fencing strung between the posts. “Donovan—Fin’s FBI friend?”
“That’s right.” She couldn’t tell if he also recognized Emma’s name. “He and Emma have been in Ireland a couple weeks. They borrowed Father Bracken’s cottage—I think it’s in County Kerry.”
“She’s with the FBI, too, as I recall.”
Julianne wasn’t that comfortable discussing Emma and Colin’s FBI status. “They’re not here on official business or anything like that. They just came to welcome me to Ireland.” She decided to change the subject. “Have you always lived in Declan’s Cross?”
He nodded to the bungalow. “I grew up right here. It’s been redone since then.”
“It must have been something, being a kid out here. The village lives up to the pictures I saw on the internet. Of course, my heart was in my throat when I drove through it just now, but I’m looking forward to exploring. I love to walk.”
“It’s a good place for walking. If you need anything, just find me. My uncle is up here most days, too. Paddy Murphy. Give either of us a shout anytime.”
Julianne found herself not wanting to be alone just yet. “Farming must be a ton of work,” she said.
Sean smiled, fine lines at the corners of his eyes. “Most things worth anything are a lot of work, don’t you think?”
“That’s a good attitude. I’ve always loved whales and dolphins, but it’s not as if organic chemistry came naturally to me.” She turned her back to the water—and the wind—as she looked across the rolling fields. Several sheep stared back at her. “The sheep look all set for winter. Father Bracken says Irish winters are cold, dark and damp.”
“He’s right, but I wouldn’t know any different.”
“I hope he doesn’t think a Maine winter will be any better. It’s at least as long as an Irish winter, and it can get very cold and snowy. Helps to like to do things outside. I like cross-country skiing in perfect conditions, and snowshoeing’s a lot of fun. I’ve never gone ice fishing.” Julianne remembered that Andy was into ice fishing. She’d thought they’d be together over the winter, and he’d take her out to his fishing hut on a lake up north. She shook off that image before it could take shape. “I hope Father Bracken’s enjoying Maine.”
“From what he tells me he seems to be. He said you showed Lindsey the sights while she was in Maine last week.”
“I did. We had a great time.”
Sean stepped back onto the lane. “I’ve never been to Maine. I think of lighthouses and lobsters.”
“We saw one lighthouse and a lot of lobsters, especially in Rock Point. I also showed her summer houses, art galleries, a nature trail, a couple of sandy beaches. We did a whirlwind grand tour.”
“Was she interested in seeing anything in particular?”
“She was interested in everything.” Sean Murphy might be an Irish sheep farmer, but he was starting to remind Julianne of Colin with the questions, the suspicion—but she was tired and on the defensive. She’d trust her reactions better after lunch and a nap. “I’ve kept you from your farm work long enough.”
“Not