the hell did that happen?” Alexandre kicked the base of a black bucket, toppling it over. It was empty. “How’d she get free?”
“I don’t know, but heads will roll.” Twisting his neck against the tight muscle tugging along his jaw and throat, Slater nodded toward the black SUV that transported the crew into town each night. “You packing up?”
“It’ll be dark soon.”
“I thought you understood we are on a time crunch? I want to be out of here within the week.”
Everything else Frank Neville had his hands in was scheduled to come down to the week’s deadline. This wasted nonsense of digging in the dirt twisted his knickers the wrong way. He had not signed on for kicking about bones.
“I know that.” Alexandre stood before Slater. He was taller by three inches, but both men were aware that when push came to shove Slater held the upper hand. “I’ve uncovered the entire skeleton.” He gestured behind him and Slater eyed the ground. “She’s a beauty thanks to the peat. Preserves bones and bits of fabric real nice like. But not sure I’m going to find any more rocks.”
“Give it another few days. Don’t things tend to…move around over the years?”
“Erosion does tend to do that, though not so much in these conditions. We’ll strip the area for sure. Won’t leave a single pebble unscrutinized.”
“You think it could have spread as far as the other camp?” Slater asked.
“Unlikely. Such a contained cache is probably going to be within the marked area we’ve pitoned off. I think it would be next to impossible for the rocks to move from the bog to the dirt the other camp is working in. Unless an animal did it? That’s always possible. When’s the next truck come in?”
Slater tucked his hand under an arm over the pistol. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but tomorrow night.”
“Just want to know to get the crew out on time. Settle your britches, Slater, the operation is going well.”
“This operation is a joke.” Slater harnessed his anger. “The girl—Beth—should have never gotten away. I’m going to check on the guys down by the river.”
8
“We moved them.” Reggie Marks, the captain of the officious little barge that camped down by the river, scratched his belly, and slapped his grungy felt cap back onto his bald head.
“And in the process you managed to lose one helpless woman?” Slater fisted his palms. “I can’t believe your ineptitude. Who hired you?”
“Your boss, that Neville bloke.” The captain sniffed, drawing far too much phlegm into his nasal cavities for Slater’s liking. He hacked and spat a globule over the starboard side of the barge. “Ain’t gettin’ paid to babysit or mollycoddle. You want we should keep some woman fancy and entertained, then you’re looking at the wrong crew. Just be thankful I didn’t let Smelly Joe get his hands on her. That man breaks his women.”
Despite his managing to keep a handle on all the operations Frank Neville had set into place since arriving in Ireland, Slater hadn’t been quick enough on the draw when hiring the barge crew. Good men were few and far. Neville trusted Slater to oversee this operation and as a right-hand man for his business deals, yet he still did a lot of work on his own. He was too determined, and far too controlling, to sit back and let it all happen.
“What you standing there for?”
Slater winced as the captain snorted again. “Nothing at all.” He turned and strode off.
TO CLAIM THE OFFICIAL title of village in Ireland, the settlement had to have a church, a post office and a pub. No other buildings required. These three things met, you have got yourself a village, Annja thought.
Remarkably, the village of Ballybeag boasted the Four Corners. Each corner featured a pub, though for all proper purposes the east corner was more a grocery store/petrol station that sold diner food and poured Guinness, as well.
O’Shanley’s sat on the west corner and Annja chose it for its smiling pink pig painted on the window. Daniel had dropped her and Eric off at a quaint bed and breakfast and they’d dumped their gear in their respective rooms. They’d missed the supper call, but the proprietress had offered to make cold beef sandwiches for them. They had dinner plans, but she left Eric behind to gobble down a few.
She sat down at the bar next to an older gentleman and ordered a Guinness. The bartender nodded and went to work. She knew a properly poured pint was all about patience.
Eric ambled in while she was waiting. He set his video camera on the warped wooden bar, ordered a Coke and winked at her. “No drinking while on the job,” he said. “A man’s gotta stay sharp.”
“Did you get footage of Beth coming out from the forest?” she asked.
“Yep, and it rocks. Her face was all ‘Hey, what’s going on? Who are you people?’ and she was stumbling and looked like she’d been through hell.”
“But no faerie dust, eh?”
“Faerie dust? Damn, I wasn’t looking for any. It should have sparkled in the sunlight, right?”
“I’m kidding you, Eric.”
“But seriously.” He leaned in, spreading a hand between them on the bar. “Maybe when I run the video through the threshold the faerie dust will show up like a black light seeking…er, well, you know.”
She did. And that image made her hope the sheets in her room had been changed since the last guests had stayed there.
“You up for a home-cooked meal in a bit or did you fill up on Mrs. Riley’s sandwiches? Daniel Collins invited us over to his mother’s this evening.”
“I’m full. Mrs. Riley made me eat three sandwiches and a huge bowl of cole slaw. It was good, but by no means could her cooking compete with a Big Mac.”
“If that’s what you want you’ll have to drive into Cork.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said. “I may love to travel but I am a fries and burger guy all the way. I think I’ll pass on the invite. I want to check out the local music scene tonight.”
“Really? How much of a local scene is possible in a village this size? The population is less than two hundred.”
“You’d be surprised, Annja. On the way here, I saw musicians with guitars and flutes walking the street. I think they’re playing at the Hollow Bog across the way tonight.”
The south corner pub.
“It’s interesting that you’re into Celtic stuff, Eric. Good for you.”
“Celtic? Sure.” He tilted back the mug of soda, and Annja had to smirk. The kid hadn’t a clue what the local music was like. The Metallica T-shirt he wore promised he’d be more than a little disappointed upon hearing flutes and fiddles.
“You got enough money?” she asked, then inwardly cringed. She wasn’t the guy’s mother. But
