A lethal legacy, p.12
A Lethal Legacy, page 12
She tried to show mild curiosity and not surprise.
“Oh, we’re interested!” Danny said.
“And, we do have a connection to Douglas Island,” Kieran said. “But how did you know?”
“Ah, Miss Finnegan! I know that you looked me up on the internet. I simply did the same with you. You’re involved with the FBI.”
“I’m not an agent.”
“No,” he said seriously. “But I do see that you are quite constantly in the company of a particular agent, Special Agent Craig Frasier. The tall dark-haired brick sitting over there with his fellows, huh?”
“Yes, and we are a couple,” she said simply. “Our work often coincides.”
“His cousin is a Douglas.”
“Yes,” she said again.
“It’s okay,” Jay said, grinning. “I’m flattered that you thought to talk to me. I’ll try to give you my theory in a nutshell. The Ark isn’t just an Ark. It’s very special. The Ark was given to the Egyptians in history long before Ramses the Great. It was left by the aliens. It is like a super-duper cell phone. I think that’s been the cause of many a curse—you know when Tut’s tomb was opened, bad things happened. Very bad things. And there was a similar ark found in the tomb. I believe that the extraterrestrials are the ‘gods’ we believe in. The Ark was in Egypt when Moses was there, and it left with him. I sincerely believe in that whole theory that it came into the keeping of the Knights Templar. When Philip began his money-grubbing to destroy the Templars and confiscate their riches, a number of them took the Ark with them to Scotland, entrusted it to Norse traders who brought it to the New World to hide. Except that I don’t believe it went to Oak Island, I sincerely believe that it is more than possible that they came to their southernmost trading station—Douglas Island. Just as the Ark defended itself against ancient invaders, it has caused death and destruction on Douglas Island. Trust me, this is possible. And when the aliens are ready—and believe we’re ready—they will come again.”
Both Kieran and Danny were silent when he finished his speech.
Jay Harding laughed. “You think I’m crazy. Just like Mr. Scholar, John Smith, thinks I’m crazy—and writes all kinds of things to deliberately mock me and other believers. But you tell me—what religion out there isn’t a matter of stories of magic and belief? And, you tell me it’s not true that, once upon a time, any intelligent and rational man believed that the world was flat.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Kieran said. “You’re as entitled to your beliefs as any man.”
He smiled at that and then leaned forward, looking from Danny to Kieran. “Think about it—whether you believe that the Ark was created by aliens or not, isn’t it a fabulous idea to think that it might be there—right across the water—on Douglas Island?”
“Beyond awesome,” Danny said, nodding.
“So!” Harding sat back. “Can you get me on the island?”
“What?” Kieran said.
“I could go ask the FBI guy,” he said, shrugging.
Kieran shrugged as well. “He is right over there. Feel free—go ask him.”
Harding sighed and frowned. “Ah, come on. He isn’t going to like me. FBI. All logic and ‘get the bad guy.’ But if you were to ask him...”
“Everyone wants out to that island. Hope it still goes that way if Finn does get his resort up and running.”
“A resort? On an island that’s all but holy!” Harding said. “I’ve been contemplating my ways of getting out there, of asking Finn Douglas if I might have his permission—or even if I could just go without permission! But, now, of course, if I could get there first...”
“Mr. Harding—” Kieran began.
“Jay, please. Do I look like a guy who likes to be called mister?”
“Jay, there are endless caves and tunnels on the island. People could actually search a lifetime and not find what they were looking for. And Finn Douglas isn’t going to let a group in to dig up his property. I can find out if he’d be willing to let you come out and see the island, but...”
“At the moment, it’s still a crime scene,” Danny said.
“Right,” Kieran said.
“The entire island?” Harding asked.
“The police and the FBI aren’t going to allow anyone other than law enforcement on the island,” Kieran said. “Not to dig things up.”
“Crime scene? I thought a guy fell,” Harding said, looking perplexed.
“They want to check it out,” Kieran said. “There have been a lot of deaths out there.”
“Ah-ha! You see!” Harding said triumphantly.
“You could possibly see the island—maybe Finn would let you in the house. But I’m really afraid that you couldn’t explore or dig or anything like that,” Kieran said firmly.
“Would you try to get me an invite?”
Danny cleared his throat. “You could, Kieran, right?” he asked.
“Whether you do or don’t, you are welcome to join the Believers,” Harding told them.
“What do you do?” Kieran asked him. “Are you a club?”
Danny laughed. “Car washes to raise funds? Community projects?”
“You’re making fun of me,” Harding said.
“Honestly, I’m not. If your group wanted to be recognized, raising money for charity is one way,” Danny told him.
“We don’t need to be recognized. People who believe find us. We meet to discuss whatever research members have done. New theories. We draw comparisons in history,” Harding said. “You’d be amazed at similarities among events and structures worldwide when different people were yet to move around the globe. John Smith be damned—we’re rigorous scholars.”
“Sounds like it,” Kieran said.
“We meet Wednesday night. You want to show your interest—you’re welcome to join. Seven o’clock, at the coffee shop on the left side of the Grecian Spa Boutique Hotel, down in the Village. Do you know it?” Harding asked.
“I do,” Kieran said. Her apartment was in the village—the hotel wasn’t far. She even knew the coffee shop.
She’d just never known that ancient-alien theorists met there.
Harding folded his napkin and sighed. “This was a delicious meal. Thank you for having me. Have to go—beauty rest, you know. Come for a meeting.”
He stood and Danny rose politely as well.
“Thank you. Thank you for seeing us,” Kieran told him.
“An absolute pleasure,” Harding said. Hands in his pockets, he headed on out of the pub.
Danny sat. “He’s a total nutcase!”
“Maybe. Maybe worse,” Kieran said.
“Worse?”
“Someone has been out on the island,” Kieran said. “Maybe some of his ‘Believers.’ He may not need an invitation—he might have been out there already—time and time again.”
“Because they...believe?” Danny asked.
“Maybe. And maybe they pretend to believe. That way, they find out anything that’s going on at the island.”
“And they’re not bad at finding things out,” Danny said.
“You think?” Kieran asked him.
Danny sat back, drumming his fingers on the table as he stared at her. “He sure as hell found out a lot of details about you, didn’t he?”
“It wouldn’t be that hard,” she said softly.
“He knew about you and Craig—and knew Craig was Finn’s cousin.”
“But we’re not secretive. All you have to do is check certain social media accounts to see who was with who when and where. Of course, Craig doesn’t keep pages, but Danny does, my other brothers do—and we have a page for the pub. Easy enough. He looked up information on me. I looked up information on him.”
“Ah, but I’m willing to bet—he had more on you. Anyway, who knows? Maybe he is just a minor nutcase.”
“And we may have to find some faith ourselves if we’re going to discover what the Believers really think.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“NOW YOU WANT to have a UFO conspiracy group come out to the island? A guy who looks like a leftover from a ’60s commune?” Craig asked Kieran.
“You’re the one who found the word aliens written in the sand,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but...”
“I do believe we should start this way, though. Danny and I go to their meeting and we find out what is going on.”
He was lying in bed. She straddled him. “It makes sense. Stoning—something done in the Biblical sense. This man—Harding—definitely believes that aliens have been among us. And they have a communication device—the Ark—and because of that, bad things happen here. We’re not ready for the aliens to come again, or they’re not ready for us. So, if a group was protecting the Ark, they might well stone those who interfered, acting on behalf of the aliens—making bad things happen.”
“Good theory,” Craig said. “Or...a killer used stones as a weapon to make it appear that the victim had fallen from the cliffs.”
“Ah, but no clue goes unfollowed, right?” she asked.
He grinned. “Too bad you’re already using the hell out of me. You could bribe me.”
“Maybe bribery would work anyway?” she said.
“Maybe. You could always give it a try.”
“Hmm...tempting...”
“Let me tempt you a little bit more!”
He switched their positions, rolling over her.
He loved her eyes when she looked up at him with pure laughter and mischief.
And he loved the taste of her lips, and that of her flesh.
They made love, and then he lay by her, feeling so very lucky to be taking a moment with the love of his life...and then eventually allowing his mind to turn back to the case at hand.
“What are you thinking?” she asked him.
“That I have one incredible job. I’m working a case, and lying next to you, and all I have to do is turn and take you into my arms again, and...”
“Did the bribery work?”
He laughed softly. “There’s one thing I’ve realized since we’ve been together. You’re going to do what you’re going to do.”
“So this group meets at a coffee shop not far from the apartment.”
“May be interesting. Maybe I’ll go with you. We’ll see what’s going on.” He was serious. “I think we’ll move much more quickly now that we have Silverheels.”
She crawled out of bed and walked over to the window. He watched her move, loving the sight of her, like an ancient Aphrodite, sleek and beautifully formed, dark red hair tumbling down her back and over her shoulders.
He rose to join her at the window.
“You’re looking for that light again, aren’t you? It could be some kind of a reflection,” he said.
She turned in to him. “It could be. And I know that you always look at everything from all sides. But Craig, tell me you don’t think that something has been going on here, that people have been coming here—strictly for riches, or because of some arcane belief.”
“Yeah, it’s possible. But something bugs me. I can’t help but think that someone here knows more than they’re saying.”
“Who? Finn? I know you don’t believe Finn is in on it. Margie? She’s completely honestly distraught. That leaves Elayne. She might break a nail if she tried to dig.”
“Point taken. How about Evie? She’s a bit creepy.”
“Creepy?”
“Something about her. Too nice. Like a cross between...a surrogate mother and a dictator.”
Kieran laughed at that. Then she gasped. “There, Craig—there!”
He looked. There was nothing. Nothing but the moon playing over the dark rise of the cliffs.
“I missed it again,” he said.
“I’m not imagining it!”
“I would never suggest such a thing.”
“We need to get out there, Craig. Not just in the daytime. By night.”
He was quiet a minute.
“It would be interesting to find out if others go out at night—Finn, Margie, Elayne or creepy housekeeper Evie,” he said.
“We could go knocking on doors,” Kieran said.
“And we could find ourselves booted off the island,” Craig said. “But you’re right.”
He turned away and headed for the foot of the bed, finding his jeans.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to prowl the house at night.”
“Craig, I just saw the light. If someone is about—they’re out there.”
“I’ll still just take a walk around,” he told her.
“Wait, Craig. There’s another player. Victor Eider. Handyman extraordinaire. Finn is dedicated to him and to Evie. I think he’s staying somewhere in the house now, too.”
“Yes. He’s here somewhere. And, yes, both Victor and Evie have been with Finn a long time. I won’t be long—I’m just going to take a walk around. Oh, lock the door.”
She nodded. “Okay, but...”
He reached for a shirt and then his holster and gun. “Don’t worry—I’m not going unarmed.”
She smiled. “Don’t be long!”
“I won’t be,” he promised. He realized that she didn’t want him to go.
He left the room, pausing on the attic landing. All was silent.
He descended to the second floor. No one was stirring there, either.
On the ground floor, he stood in the great hall for a moment. And then he heard noise.
It was coming through the kitchen.
He walked through the White Room and the dining room and pushed open the kitchen door. He found Elayne Anderson there, busy fixing a tray with two glasses of what appeared to be milk.
“You, too, huh?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know what it is about the night. Finn can’t seem to sleep. Thought we’d try milk—and a few cookies. Funny, isn’t it? We grow up, and we still like our comfort foods.”
“Yes, I guess we do,” he said.
“Want me to get you something?”
“Ah, I was just coming for water,” Craig said. “Thank you. Let me get the door for you, with you carrying that tray.”
“Well, thank you, sir. A true gentleman.”
“I do try,” he said lightly.
She took down a bag of cookies and added it to the tray, and then collected it and swept by him.
There was more than milk in the glasses, he thought. She’d laced the milk with alcohol. Whiskey in tea—old-time Irish cure for sleeplessness, or so it seemed in Kieran’s family.
He held the door for her.
When she was gone, he wondered.
Had someone here had something to do with Frank Landon’s death?
The police were leaning toward the theory that it had been an accident, because it might well be impossible to prove that it had been anything else. However, he knew how the police worked; they were undoubtedly checking backgrounds of those here.
Too often, this kind of crime was committed by someone with an impeccable background. Because this kind of murder was specific—committed by someone with a specific agenda.
Someone here or someone close. Very close.
Finn slept each night with Elayne Anderson. But then... Once he was out, just how deeply did Finn sleep?
Tuesday morning
The household had wound up downstairs for breakfast. Evie had seen to it that they had a spread that included eggs, pancakes, toast, fruit, bacon, ham and just about anything that could be desired. They also discovered that now a boat was coming every morning at 5:30 a.m., bringing in staff for the day. The boat left again every night at four thirty, taking the daytime maids and workers back to the mainland. There were five maids who were preparing the rooms and common areas of the house and two groundskeepers who were working to restore the pool and patio area. It seemed Finn was still moving toward his dream of a resort on the island. “We really don’t need service in our rooms,” Kieran told Finn on learning that they could now have maid service. “Craig and I can make our own bed.”
“We prefer no one clean our room,” Craig had said firmly.
“As you wish,” Finn assured them.
Agent Silverheels was introduced to the gathered group, with a brief rundown of his area of expertise.
“So, were your people here, on this island, originally?” Elayne asked.
“Not that I know about. There were Mohawks in New York State, part of the Iroquois Confederacy, but to the best of my knowledge, my dad’s family were always in what’s now Canada. They were never part of the battles that went on between tribes in this area,” he told them.
“But there were Native Americans here, right?” Margie asked.
“Many. Seneca, Oneida and Cayuga, to name a few.”
“Craig says that you’re down in the DC area now,” Finn said.
“I’m with the DC office.”
“And they call on you when caves are involved?” Elayne asked, apparently enthralled.
Bracken shrugged. “And heights.”
“Nice,” Margie murmured absently. For some reason, that caused a silence at the table. She seemed to realize that she was being watched. “I’m sorry. So sorry. It’s just... Frank is dead. He’ll be dead no matter what you find out. Forgive me.”
“It’s all right, Margie,” Finn said. “Please, understand. I have to do this.”
“And, please, understand,” Craig said, “that the FBI has opened an official investigation. Neither Finn nor I could stop it if we chose.”
