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 at all.” He zipped up his jacket against the stiffening wind. “Have a good walk.”
She thanked him again. As he headed back down the lane, he didn’t really strike her as an Irish farmer—but what did she know about Irish farmers?
She decided to skip her walk and instead returned to the cottage, the wind whistling in the rocks now. A grilled cheese sandwich definitely sounded good, and maybe a nice fire to take the damp chill out of the air. She’d give it a while longer before she really started to worry about Lindsey Hargreaves.
6
THAT THE UNRELIABLE, cheerful Lindsey Hargreaves had failed to pick up Julianne Maroney in Shannon was enough to distract Sean Murphy from farm work but not enough for him to raise the alarm. These days it didn’t take much to distract him from farm work.
He’d changed into a clean jacket and hiking boots after deciding against returning to the barn to finish up the antifungal spraying he’d started that morning, one sheep hoof at a time. He hated the spraying, but it had to be done to prevent “foot rot.”
He started down the lane toward the village, feeling the residual ache of injuries he’d sustained in June. Broken ribs, a punctured lung, a messed-up rotator cuff.
Sean took in a deep breath and told himself that any physical pain was in his head at this point. Fin Bracken had brought a bottle of rare, dear Bracken 15-year-old whiskey on his last visit to Declan’s Cross earlier that year. Sean hadn’t opened it until September. During the worst days of his recovery, he hadn’t touched so much as a pint. He stayed away from alcohol when it was all he wanted.
He’d taken time to heal before he’d opened the Bracken 15, and even then, he hadn’t drunk alone. He’d invited his uncle in for a taoscán. A few days later, he’d been able to walk into the village for a pint at his favorite pub.
Now it was early November, and what had changed? The Bracken 15 was still on the top shelf in the farmhouse kitchen. He was still walking into the village for the occasional pint.
Still working on the farm.
Sean didn’t known what Fin had told Julianne Maroney about him, but it had obviously been very little. She struck Sean as feisty and yet uncertain, perhaps not fully trusting her motives for coming to Ireland. He wondered if her FBI agent friends had picked up on that ambivalence and that’s why they were in Declan’s Cross checking on her.
Interesting that the main offices of Sharpe Fine Art Recovery were in Heron’s Cove, just down the coast from Rock Point where Fin was. Fin had mentioned Emma Sharpe. She was the granddaughter of Wendell Sharpe, who, last Sean had heard, was on the verge of retiring in Dublin.
Had Julianne’s choice of Declan’s Cross for her Irish sojourn piqued Emma’s interest, given the theft at the O’Byrne place ten years ago and her grandfather’s interest in the unsolved case?
It had Sean’s.
He hadn’t been a farmer ten years ago.
Then
