The Angel. Carla Neggers
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down the stairs again. Two deep breaths, and she entered the drawing room. Her cousin Fiona’s ensemble was playing a jaunty tune that didn’t fit Keira’s mood, but she tried to appreciate it nonetheless.
Owen immediately fell in alongside her, and she smiled at him. “I’m okay,” she said before he could ask.
“Good.”
He had a way about him that helped center people. Keira could imagine how reassuring his presence would be to a trapped earthquake victim. “Who was the man I saw you with earlier?” she asked. “Big guy. Another BPD type?”
She thought Owen checked a grin, but he wasn’t always easy to read. “You must mean Simon Cahill. He’s a volunteer with Fast Rescue.”
“From Boston?”
“From wherever he happens to be at the moment.” Owen smiled as he grabbed a glass of champagne from a caterer’s tray and handed it to her. “A little like you in that regard. I don’t know what happened to him. He was here two seconds ago.”
Just as well he’d taken off, Keira thought. She’d spotted him at the height of her distress, and if Owen was a steadying presence, Simon Cahill, she thought, was the opposite. Even in those few seconds of contact, she’d felt probed and exposed, as if he’d assumed she had something to hide and was trying to see right through her.
She thanked Owen for the champagne and eased into the crowd, realizing her hair was still damp from the downpour. For the most part, people she greeted seemed unaware of her earlier arrival, which spared her having to explain.
Colm Dermott, a wiry, energetic Irishman, approached her with his usual broad smile. She’d met him two years ago on a trip to Ireland, where he was a highly respected professor of anthropology at University College Cork. He’d arrived in Boston in April after cobbling together grants to put together the Boston-Cork conference and had immediately recruited Keira to help.
“The auction’s going well.” He seemed genuinely excited. “You must be eager to go off tomorrow.”
“I’m packed and ready to go,” she said.
“Ah, you’ll have a grand time.”
She’d given Colm a copy of the video recording she’d made of Patsy McCarthy telling her story, but hadn’t told him about her mother and her long-ago trip to Ireland.
They chatted a bit more, but Keira couldn’t relax. Finally, Colm sighed at her. “Is something wrong, Keira?”
She took a too-big gulp of champagne. “It’s been a strange day.”
Before she could explain further, her emotional younger cousin burst through the crowd, her blue eyes shining with both excitement and revulsion. “Keira, are you okay?” Fiona asked. “Owen just told me about the man you found drowned. I wondered why Dad and Abigail left so fast.”
Colm looked shocked. “I had no idea. Keira, what happened? No wonder you’re distracted.”
She quickly explained, both Colm and Fiona listening intently. “It wasn’t a pleasant scene. I wish I could have arrived sooner, but it might not have made any difference. He could have had a heart attack or a stroke, and that’s why he ended up in the water.”
“Do you know who he was?” Colm asked.
Keira shook her head. “No idea.”
“I hope he wasn’t murdered,” Fiona said abruptly. “I hope not, too,” Keira said, reminding herself that her cousin was the daughter of an experienced homicide detective. “The police are there in full force, at least.”
Owen returned and spoke to Fiona. “I just talked to your father. He’s going to be a while and asked me to give you a ride back to your apartment—”
“I can take the subway.”
“Not an option.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “My dad worries too much.”
But she seemed to know better than to argue with Owen. She and some friends were subletting an apartment for the summer that her father considered a rathole, on a bad street, too far from the subway and too big a leap for a daughter just a year out of high school. Keira had stayed out of that particular discussion.
“I’ll water your plants while you’re in Ireland,” Fiona said, giving a quick grin. “Maybe I’ll talk Dad into buying me a ticket to Ireland for a week. You and I could visit pubs and listen to Irish music.”
“That’d be fun,” Keira said.
“It would be, wouldn’t it? Right now I guess I should go pack up.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to hear more of your band.”
“They were fantastic,” Colm interjected.
Fiona beamed and headed across the room with Owen.
Colm turned back to Keira with a smile. “Fiona’s more like her father than she thinks, isn’t she?” But he didn’t wait for an answer, his smile fading as he continued. “If there’s anything I can do, you know how to reach me.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks, Colm.”
He rushed off to speak to someone else, and Keira found herself another glass of champagne. As she took a sip, feeling calmer, she noticed small, white-haired Patsy McCarthy in the foyer.
Keira immediately moved toward her. “Patsy—please, come in. I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” Within seconds of meeting almost a month ago, Patsy had dispensed with any formalities and insisted Keira call her by her first name. She nodded back toward the door. “I thought it’d never stop raining.”
“I know what you mean. It was quite a downpour.”
With a sudden move, Patsy clutched Keira’s hand. “I wanted to see you before you left for Ireland. You’re going to look for the stone angel, aren’t you?”
“I’ll be in the village that undoubtedly inspired the story—”
“You’ll be there on the summer solstice. Look for the angel then.”
The summer solstice played a key role in the story. “I’ll do my best.”
“The Good People want to find the stone angel as much as you do. The fairies, I mean. The angel’s been missing for so long, but they won’t have forgotten it. If you’re clever, you can let them help you.” Patsy dropped Keira’s hand and straightened her spine. “I’m not saying I believe in fairies myself, of course.”
Keira didn’t tackle the older woman’s ambivalence. “If they believe the angel’s one of their own turned to stone and want it for themselves, why would they help me?”
“That’s why you must be clever. Don’t let them know they’re helping you.”
“I’ll try to be very clever, then.”
“The brothers will be looking for the angel, in their own way. They and the fairies all want the tug-of-war over it to resume. It’s meant to resume.” Patsy tightened her grip on Keira’s hand. “If you find the angel, you must leave it out in the open. In the summer sun. It’ll get to where it belongs. Don’t let it go to a museum.”
“I promise, Patsy,” Keira said, surprised by the older woman’s intensity. “I’ll look for the angel on the summer solstice, then, I’ll be clever and if I find the angel, I’ll leave it out in the sun—assuming that’s up to me. The Irish might have other ideas.”
Patsy seemed satisfied and, looking more relaxed, released Keira’s hand and eyed a near-empty tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries.
Keira smiled. “Help yourself. Would you like to take a look around?”
“I would, indeed,” Patsy