“Do you ever buy my books?” he asked politely.
“Of course. Sometimes. I will now, of course.”
“Of course. You want to see how it ends.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Right. You have work to do today.”
“Yes.”
She tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm. He didn’t hurt her, just brought her too close against him.
“What did you want?”
“What?”
His body seemed as hot as a furnace. His hold on her flesh reminded her of the lean power in his arms and chest. The anger in his eyes seemed to shoot through her.
“You’re in my room. What did you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Just nosy?”
“No…I was…looking for you. To make sure you’d help my father if he needed it until I got back. I’ll only be gone four or five hours.”
“You’re a fool, Moira.”
“The computer was there—”
He shook his head with impatience. “Do you think I give a damn if you read what I write?”
“I’ve got to go,” she insisted.
“Moira, damn it, you need to talk to me.”
“Why, Danny, when you’ve never really talked to me?” she asked.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Moira?” She heard her father’s voice as he called from the bar.
“Let me go. My father is calling me.”
His eyes pinned her for another moment, and he pulled her slightly closer. “Moira, I…damn,” he muttered, then released her, almost pushing her away.
He watched as Moira fled past him.
16
“Michael is here,” Eamon said as she rushed to the bar. “Let me get the car keys.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll be back for the post-dinner rush.”
“Thanks, but you go do your own work. I can manage the pub.”
“I’ll be back,” she said firmly, catching the keys as he tossed them to her.
Michael was standing at the door, waiting, a backpack with camera equipment thrown over his shoulder. He slipped an arm around her shoulders as she joined him at the door.
“You’re shaking.”
“Am I? Just a little chill. Let’s go.”
The attendant at the garage brought the car around. When it arrived, Michael set a hand on her shoulder. “I think I should drive.”
She was about to protest, but he was right.
They pulled onto the road.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” he asked her, sliding a hand over hers. “This is a rough time for your family. Even I could see that Seamus was much more than a customer.”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m happy to be getting out of the city. And I’ve given so little attention to what I’ve been doing, I’ll be amazed if we have a show left.”
“You’re not supposed to worry about the technical aspect of the operation, Moira. You’re the talent.”
“I’m also a producer.”
“Josh is on top of everything. You don’t need to worry. And,” he reminded her lightly, “you do have me.”
“I’ve used and abused you both.”
“I love it when you use me, you know.”
He was teasing. His fingers tightened around hers, and she smiled again, but she was sure it was a sick smile. He didn’t know that she had betrayed him. With a man who might be planning murder. Who might already have tried to murder her.
Then again, Danny had been there, picking her up each time. Of course, if he’d failed in his attempts to cause her harm, what better way to disarm her suspicions than by being the man to rescue her?
What about the night she had come downstairs? They had been alone together for a very long time. He could have done something then. What? Slit her throat in a bed in her father’s house?
“Moira, what’s wrong? I’m here, you know.”
She looked at Michael. What was wrong, indeed? Here was a man most women would kill to be with. He had done nothing wrong; she had. But she wasn’t ready to come clean with him—not while all this was going on. And she knew she couldn’t resume their relationship until she had done so.
“I don’t know. I suppose I’m just upset, worried about a lot of things.”
“You know, we don’t need this segment. We could just take the day off. Find a charming New England inn and…forget about everything.”
“Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry, I’ve been horrible, and—”
“It’s all right. We’ll go to Salem.”
He kept driving, then said, “I’m sorry—I think I upset you more, telling you what I found out about O’Hara.”
“It looked like you two were getting along fine on your pub door excursion.”
“Yeah, well…” Michael murmured ruefully. “I think I’m sorry about what I told you. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Why?”
“Because we did have a decent day. You know, it’s a little intimidating when the family friend turns out to be a man who looks like real competition.”
“He isn’t competition,” Moira murmured. Lord, she was lying. Or maybe she wasn’t. Some things didn’t change easily. Maybe Danny would always have a physical power that beckoned to something in her senses. And maybe the sheer logic of everything she knew about him would be enough to convince her that even if he wasn’t contemplating murder, he wasn’t what she was looking for in life.
“No, I guess not. He told me that if I made you happy, no one could ever wish me greater blessings in life. Sounded a lot like your brother. We had an interesting day.” He fell silent for a moment, then said in a serious tone, “You think there’s something going on in your dad’s bar, don’t you?”
“Pub,” she corrected automatically, giving him a rueful shrug. “There is a difference. And there could be something going on anywhere,” she murmured.
“I think you should stay close to me for the next few days. Will you?”
She turned and looked at him. “I’m with you now, and we’re on our way out of town.”
“So let’s have a good day.”
“Michael,” she murmured. “I—”
“No more talk about the pub or Seamus. You have your interview with Brolin, and everything is going to be all right.”
“How can it be all right? Seamus is dead.”
He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Moira, I talked with your dad. I know what happened, and I know you’re disturbed. But it was an accident. A man trying to help a friend. Now let’s just try to enjoy the day, okay?”
She smiled and agreed, but inside she was still cold and worried.
“Josh, where did she go?”
Dan had barely waited until Moira left his room to call her business partner, hoping he would be in his room at the hotel.
“Hang on,” Josh said. “I just got in, but I’ve got a message here. They went to tape in Salem, with Moira’s friend. Sally Adair. I never met her. Do you know her?”
“Yes, I met her years ago. She used to live around here, then moved up the coast. Are you going to join them?”
“I wasn’t planning to. I’m assuming Moira planned on using just the handheld camera, and since Michael is with her, he can handle it.”
Dan hadn’t closed the door to his room; he was startled to see Patrick Kelly standing in the doorway.
He lifted a hand in acknowledgment of Patrick’s presence.
Patrick smiled and nodded, waiting for him to finish his conversation.
“I think I’ll take a drive up,” Dan said. “Just in case they need a hand.”
Josh was silent for a minute. “Dan, I’m sure they’re going to be fine. And…you know, this is none of my business, but…she’s been seeing Michael steadily ever since they met.”
“I know. Look, if it turns out that he’s what she really wants to be happy, I swear, I’ll back off so far you’ll never know I was around
. Moira has been really upset though, lately, with Seamus and all…. Why don’t you drive up with me?”
“All right. But if we don’t move—”
“We’ll move now. Right now. We can catch them. They just went out the door.”
“All right. I’m on my way.”
“Where are you moving to?” Patrick asked from the doorway.
“Salem.”
“Dad said Moira had taken off with Michael to see Sally.” Patrick studied Dan. “You don’t think you should leave the two of them alone?”
“Maybe I should. But I’m not going to, not now, in the midst of everything here…with Seamus’s loss and all. Hell, did you need me for something?”
Patrick shrugged and laughed. “Actually, I came to see if you wanted to take a drive up to Salem.”
“You were planning on following them?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“I guess I’m a little worried about her. And Michael…well, maybe she’s madly in love with him, but he hasn’t really known her that long. I’m her brother. I’ve known her forever, and if she needs support right now, I think I’m better qualified to offer it. And I had a feeling you might be willing to join me.”
“Yeah, I’m willing. And Josh is on the way.”
“Good. That makes it okay for us to go up and you to get into the middle of her relationship, right?” Patrick asked. “Never mind, don’t answer. I’ll drive.”
“Hey, do me a favor. Make sure your dad is going to be okay, then keep a lookout for Josh. Give me a minute here. I’ll be right out.”
“Sure.”
Patrick left. Dan dialed the phone again. He never called Liz on the house phone. This time, however, he did.
“Liz, tell me you’ve got something new for me.”
“All right. This charity fellow that Patrick Kelly is working with…Andrew McGahey. There’s a man walking a really fine line. Want to hear about him?”
“Shoot.”
“You’re on the house line,” she accused him suddenly.
“Just tell me quickly what you’ve got.”
“He was in Belfast several times in the last few years. Each time he went, he had a number of meetings with Jacob Brolin—and members of the Real IRA. You need to keep your eye on him—and Patrick Kelly. Although I will say this, McGahey has been doing all the right things legally for that charity. His papers have all been filed correctly.”
“Well, of course. Patrick Kelly is a good attorney,” Danny said dryly.
“There’s been another man in the pub, as I’m sure you know.”
“I’m aware of Browne.”
“Good. Watch yourself. He’s not working alone.”
“I know the main prize, Liz. I’ve been watching out for Browne. Jesus, there should be something else by now. Have you gotten anything else on Michael McLean?”
“Why? Are you itching to take the fellow down? Don’t go getting obsessive.”
“Just keep at it,” he said. Obsessive? Well, yes, he could be obsessive. And he wasn’t even sure why. He’d managed to spend the afternoon with Moira’s new beloved and discovered that if there was something behind the facade, it was damned well hidden. The guy had been decent all day, humorous, intelligent. It appeared that he really loved Moira, which should have made Dan feel some guilt, but didn’t. Maybe he was wrong, and the guy was simply perfect, and he himself had blown everything over the years.
“I told you,” Liz said wearily, “every record we have squeaks. Don’t go getting tunnel vision. There’s too much at stake.”
“I don’t have tunnel vision.” Maybe he did. Liz was right; there was too much at stake.
“You know that Moira Kelly went to see Brolin today.”
“Yes, of course, I know that.”
“Good. You’ve been on that line too long.”
“I was on it too long the second I called you,” he said impatiently. “Listen, I want to see what you have.”
“On what?”
“McGahey, Patrick, the charity. And on McLean.”
“Dan…” she said warningly.
“I want to see what you’ve got. It’s my ass on the line here, big-time. Now I’ll get off the phone.” He hung up, grabbed his coat, patted the inner lining to make sure he had everything and went out. He spoke quickly with Eamon, praying the man would tell him that he was fine and had plenty of help. Eamon said exactly that.
Dan hurried outside to join Patrick. They waited on the street for Josh to arrive.
As they passed the sign telling them that they were entering Salem, Michael asked Moira where she wanted him to park.
“There’s nothing much by the shop. I usually park in a space around the common when I come here. It’s only a few blocks to her shop, and the town is really charming.”
Michael drove past pretty houses to park in the first space he could find around the common. He took the camera from the trunk, and they walked along the street, past the Hawthorne Inn toward the waterfront.
She grinned at him. Getting away from Boston had been good. She felt as if she had cast aside a burden, if only for a short time. She could almost forget that tomorrow would bring a wake, that Seamus was dead.
“One more block to Sally’s shop.”
The camera was over his shoulder. He took her hand as they walked. She didn’t protest.
“Ah, there you are.”
Sally was standing outside her shop, as if supernaturally aware of just when they would arrive.
“See, she is a witch, she’s expecting us,” Moira told Michael seriously. She moved ahead, hugging her friend. Sally had ink-dark hair that went well with the slinky black caftan she was wearing. The V neck of her garment displayed the silver pentagram she wore. Silver orbs dangled from her ears and highlighted her almost powder blue eyes.
“You must be Michael,” Sally said, stepping forward and extending a hand.
“I must be. Sally, great to meet you. I admit, you’re my first witch.”
“Sally. I love the window,” Moira said, looking into the display window, where her friend had created an Irish tableau with fairies and leprechauns and a charming statue of Saint Patrick.
“Thanks. You don’t think it’s overkill? I had such a good time.” She grinned at Michael. “The Irish may be very Catholic in general, but they do love their fairies, leprechauns, banshees and the rest.”
“Michael comes from an Irish family, too.”
Sally laughed. “Probably not quite as Irish as yours. Is anyone—even in Ireland—as Irish as your dad? Hey, come on in,” Sally said, slipping her arm through Moira’s, leading her into the shop and whispering a mile a minute, as she tended to do. “He’s a hunk. Of course, I’d already heard he was good-looking. The others are already in the shop.”
“The others?” Moira asked, frowning, pulling back. But they were inside, and she came to a standstill, frozen as if she’d suddenly been sheathed in ice. Patrick, Josh and Danny were all there. Josh had a camera and was already filming, Patrick was studying a display case, while Danny seemed to be perusing the sachets of herbs that offered to heal or bring money, love or peace of mind.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Josh asked cheerfully.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Moira exploded without thinking.
Josh frowned. “Sorry. I thought I was part of this.”
Moira quickly gathered her wits. “No, Josh, I’m sorry, I—”
“I don’t think she meant you in particular, Josh,” Patrick said.
“Or you,” Danny murmured, so softly Moira wasn’t sure she really heard him.
“You didn’t know they were coming? How nice that they’ve surprised you,” Sally said cheerfully, apparently missing Moira’s tone. “Anyway, the window is special for Saint Patrick’s Day. I have some books on Ireland over there. Oh! And there’s my banshee. Isn’t she great?”
The banshee was great. She was swathed in black and seemed to float in the air in the a
rchway between the front of the shop and the rear. She had a strangely beautiful porcelain face, with dark eyes and a mournful expression.
“She’s very impressive,” Moira heard herself murmur.
“She’s beautiful,” Michael said.
“Well, originally, banshees must have been beautiful,” Sally said. “You see—”
“Wait, wait,” Josh protested. “Moira, sit down with Sally. You can interview her about the banshee.”
A few minutes later she was seated in a chair alongside Sally, the banshee swaying to Sally’s right. Moira introduced the piece and filming began.
Sally’s discussion of the banshee made a nice complement to Granny Jon’s tales. When she was done, Moira smiled and looked at Josh. “I think it’s perfect.”
“Really? I did well? You’re going to use the tape?” Sally asked.
“It was great.”
“And I won’t end up on the editing room floor?” Sally queried.
“No way,” Danny said. Moira looked at him, irritated that he would answer such a question in her stead. “Well, she was definitely more interesting than the pub doors we taped,” he said with a shrug. He spoke lightly, but the way he stared at her disturbed her. He was still angry, she thought, that she had been on his computer, reading what he had been writing.
“Well, then, I have to take you to lunch to celebrate,” Sally said.
“No, we’ll take you to lunch, for your wonderful speech,” Moira said.
“I insist,” Sally said.
“We’re going to make big bucks on you, Sally. Let the production team of Whalen and Kelly take you out,” Josh insisted.
“All right,” Sally agreed. “Randall and Meg will be here in just a minute. They do palm reading,” she explained to the others. “They’re wonderful, if anyone is game for a palm reading.”
“I’m afraid I’m more game for lunch,” Josh said. “It’s nearly three. I’m going to embarrass myself with abdominal rumblings soon.”
“Why don’t you guys go ahead? I’ll call my friend Martin McMurphy, so he’ll be expecting us all. Just introduce yourselves—he’ll have a table.”
Michael, near Moira, leaned to her and whispered softly, “Martin McMurphy? Is that name for real?”