The Whisper. Carla Neggers
day.”
“I wish Helen had been with me. She’d have loved it, but she has business in New York to clear up. She’s giving up her job at the auction house there. It’s a big change, but she’s excited about it. We’re moving into my family’s house in Boston, did you know?”
“I hadn’t heard, no.”
“Helen’s handling the transition. I’ve maintained the house since my father died, but I never thought I’d live there again.” Percy’s dark eyes lit up. “Helen is a ball of energy. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”
“I look forward to meeting her.”
Sophie smiled at his obvious happiness. He and Helen had been married only two months—the first marriage for both. His father—Percy Carlisle Sr.—had been an amateur archaeologist famous for taking off in search of lost treasure. Sophie remembered when he’d invited her into his office in the museum shortly before his death. He’d stood with her at a wall of photographs of his exploits and gone over each one, describing memories, enjoying himself. He’d acknowledged to Sophie that his only son wasn’t nearly as adventurous. “Perhaps it’s just as well,” the old man had said.
She pulled herself out of her thoughts. Her Guinness was making her head spin. Trekking out to the ruin on the Beara and meeting Scoop Wisdom—scarred, suspicious—had launched her back to her own trauma a year ago with an intensity that had left her off balance, on edge.
The waiter delivered Percy’s coffee. He took a small sip, keeping the mug in one hand as he nodded to her parents and sister. “I saw Taryn when she played Ophelia in Boston a few years ago. She’s quite amazing.”
“That she is. She loves her work.”
“Always a plus.” He set his coffee on the scarred table. “Do you love your work, Sophie?”
“I do, yes.”
“I’ve heard you’re involved in the upcoming Boston-Cork conference on Irish folklore. Will that look good on your CV?”
“Sure, and it’ll be interesting as well as fun.”
“But it’s unpaid,” he said. “How are you managing these days?”
“Same as I did throughout graduate school.”
“Tutoring, fellowships, teaching a class here and there?”
“Every job’s a real job.”
“I admire your attitude.” He picked up his mug of coffee. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Sophie, you’ve only to ask.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” she said. “I’m heading back to Boston tomorrow. I have a few leads on full-time work.”
“Best of luck to you.” Percy watched the musicians chat among themselves for a few moments. “I considered driving down to the village where Keira Sullivan says she found that stone angel.”
His comment caught Sophie by surprise. “Do you know Keira?”
“Only by reputation. Everyone’s still very shaken that Jay Augustine proved to be a killer.” He seemed to wait for Sophie’s reaction. She sat forward, but before she could say anything, he continued, “I wasn’t friends with the Augustines or even close to it. I’d see them socially from time to time at various functions in New York and Boston. Charlotte Augustine’s moved to Hawaii, did you know?”
“No,” Sophie said.
“She’s seeking a divorce. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her to discover she was married to a murderer.” Percy stared into his coffee. “The Boston police and the FBI interviewed me in July, not long after Augustine’s arrest. I wanted you to know so that you don’t get the wrong idea. It was routine. I’d done a few perfectly legitimate deals with him. The police talked to everyone who’d done business with him.”
“That makes sense, don’t you think?”
“Of course. I understood completely.” Percy faced her again, his expression cool now, slightly supercilious. “What about you, Sophie? Did you have any dealings with Jay Augustine?”
“No, none.” She tried to lighten her tone. “No money, remember?”
But he continued to look troubled and annoyed. “I’m a very careful, experienced collector, Sophie. Very few pieces available on the market today would interest me. My family…my father…” He broke off, sitting back. “Never mind. You probably know as much about my family’s art collection as I do.”
“I’ve never crawled through your attic—”
“We don’t keep anything of value in the attic. We are familiar with the protocols for storing and preserving works of art.”
Sophie sighed. “It was a joke, Percy.” She noticed with relief that the musicians were about to get started again. “Did you buy from the Augustines or sell to them?”
“Both.”
“What kind of—”
“Nothing that would interest you. Nothing Irish. Nothing Celtic.”
“Percy,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm, “why did you look me up last September?”
He frowned at her. “Last September? What are you talking about?”
She repeated her question.
“Just what I told you at the time,” he said. “I knew you were studying in Ireland and had a house here in Kenmare. I was here playing golf with friends and decided to find you and say hello.”
“No one put you up to it?”
“What? No. Believe it or not, Sophie, I’m perfectly capable of thinking for myself.”
“That’s not what I meant, and I think you know it. Percy, when you were here last year, did you find out that I was exploring—having myself a bit of an adventure between chapters of my dissertation?”
“Following in my father’s footsteps?”
“Making my own.”
“He never liked Ireland. He was far more interested in archaeological sites on the European mainland, in South America, Australia. However, to answer your question—I heard that you were chasing ghost and fairy stories with an Irish fisherman out here somewhere.”
“Did you tell Jay Augustine?”
The color immediately drained from his face at her blunt question. “I didn’t even see Jay Augustine.” Percy stood up, his coffee barely touched. “I have to go. I just wanted to stop in and say hello. Enjoy your visit with your family, Sophie, and good luck finding full-time work. Don’t forget to let me know if I can help.”
“I’m sorry, Percy. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“We should both forget this killer.”
Sophie thought she heard genuine concern and regret in his voice, but she didn’t know him well enough to be sure. “I’ve seen pictures of him. He looks so normal. I wonder what he’s thinking now, locked up in his Boston jail cell. This has upset you, too, Percy. It would be weird if it didn’t.”
“Of course it’s upset me.”
She noticed Tim glowering at her. He wasn’t aware that Percy Carlisle had looked her up out of the blue a year ago. She glanced at her family. Her father looked as if he were about to make up a reason to come over to Percy’s table.
Tim and his friends started to play again, jumping right into their own mad rendition of “Irish Rover.”
“You should get back to enjoying the evening.” Percy withdrew his wallet and pulled out a few euros. “Stop by the house and meet Helen when you get back to Boston. We’ve hired a retired Boston police officer as