LITMIR.BIZ

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Palladino at the Taj and to tell Emma and Aoife to wait, too. Back in his state marine patrol days, Colin had dealt with his share of federal agents. He didn’t blame the detective for his attitude.

      He ordered coffee. Palladino ordered iced tea and grinned across the table. “I’m not violating an FBI order by not having coffee, am I?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he glanced out the window at Newbury Street. “Day’s turned gray. If I lived out here, I’d have to go on Saint John’s Wort or some kind of happy pills this time of year.”

      “It’s still hot in Las Vegas?”

      “Cooling down. Ninety degrees when I left yesterday. Ninety doesn’t feel as hot there as it would here. It’s a desert. Dry air. I could feel the humidity today out on that island. Smelled like dead fish. I hate the ocean.”

      “Do you like lobster?”

      “I’ve never had it.”

      “It’s good. One of my brothers is a lobsterman.”

      “Ah. I don’t eat much shellfish, but I bet I’d love lobster. If it’s good enough for a G-man’s brother to haul out of the ocean, it’s got to be good, right? Where do you catch lobster around here?”

      “The ocean.”

      “Yeah. I know that. Funny.”

      “We’re from Maine,” Colin said. “My brother Andy just got back from Ireland. He spent some time in a little village on the south coast. Declan’s Cross. Ever hear of it?”

      Palladino shook his head. “I’ve never been to Ireland. I don’t know how Rachel got interested in Aoife O’Byrne, if that’s what you’re getting at.” His iced tea arrived. He gulped a third of it before he continued. “Rachel’s death doesn’t have anything to do with your brother, does it?”

      “There was a murder in Declan’s Cross last week. Andy’s girlfriend was there. It was in the papers.”

      “I don’t read Irish papers.”

      “It was in the papers here, too. The victim was an American diver, Lindsey Hargreaves. Her killer is dead.”

      “Case solved then,” Palladino said.

      Colin ignored him. “The uncle Aoife mentioned whose house was burglarized ten years ago is in Declan’s Cross. Several valuable works of Irish art were stolen. Aoife’s sister, Kitty, converted the house into a boutique hotel after their uncle’s death a few years ago.”

      Palladino yawned. “Okay. One of those small-world things. Or not?” Palladino watched in silence as their waiter delivered Colin’s coffee in a silver pot. When the waiter withdrew, Palladino leaned over the table, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “You think Rachel saw news reports of the murder and this unsolved theft and that’s how she got interested in Aoife and this movie idea of hers?”

      “I’m just asking questions.” Colin drank some of his coffee. It was ultrastrong. Perfect. He kept his gaze on the man across the table. “This is all news to you?”

      “Totally.” Palladino sat back. “No wonder you and Agent Sharpe have your knickers in a twist. What I know about art, Irish or otherwise, could keep us talking for thirty seconds. Emma Sharpe—did she investigate this Declan’s Cross theft? She seems young to have been a fed ten years ago.”

      “Her grandfather investigated. Wendell Sharpe.”

      “Don’t know him. Obviously, I came out here not knowing a whole hell of a lot about what’s going on. Could this have been a random shooting—some yahoo target practicing who pops Rachel by mistake? Where was she hit?” He waved a hand. “Never mind. I know you won’t tell me. Did Rachel call Agent Sharpe? Is that what happened?”

      “The detectives can fill you in as they see fit,” Colin said, drinking more of his coffee.

      “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” Palladino grinned, clearly not a man easily intimidated. “Don’t get excited. I’m not an ex-cop. I’m ex-military. Navy. I was on fast-attack submarines for twelve years. See why I hate the ocean? The only thing worse than being on the ocean is being under it. I grew up in Las Vegas, and I signed up for the navy. Go figure.” He polished off the last of his iced tea. “You and Agent Emma?”

      “We’re both with the FBI. It stands for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      Colin knew it wasn’t. “What about you? How did you start working for Ann Bristol?”

      “She’s a client. I don’t work for her. I’m an independent operator. She called my office one bright, hot, sunny Las Vegas day. A mutual friend had referred her to me. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was worried about her daughter more than about herself. I’ve done work for high-profile people. I know what I’m doing.”

      “The daughter—Maisie—is okay with her mother sticking her nose in her business?”

      “I didn’t say that.”

      “Are you married, Mr. Palladino?”

      “Nope. Never. I might get a dog, preferably one who likes the desert.” He glanced out the tall windows at the street. “I rented a room near Mass. General Hospital. I can walk from here. Can I wait there for the detectives?”

      Colin shook his head. “I’ll order you more iced tea.”

      “Won’t the detectives be pissed that you and Sharpe are talking to Aoife O’Byrne and me first?”

      “We did them a favor.”

      “Bet they won’t see it that way.”

      * * *

      Danny Palladino was right. The homicide detectives didn’t appreciate that two FBI agents had talked to him and Aoife O’Byrne before they could. Not a surprise, Colin thought as he followed Emma out of the Taj onto Newbury Street. The detectives also hadn’t appreciated his point that without said two FBI agents—particularly Emma—they wouldn’t have found out about Danny and Aoife as soon as they did.

      Emma had been more diplomatic.

      She buttoned up her jacket as two women in high-heeled boots breezed past them. “I’ve never been much of a shopper, but I could go for a Burberry coat.”

      “Our friends in the BPD would love for us to go shopping.” Colin resisted the temptation to put his arm around her. They were in public, working. “I’ll start saving now and buy you a Burberry coat on our fifth anniversary.”

      She grinned at him. “I’m going to hold you to that, Agent Donovan.”

      He could see the strain in her eyes. “The police aren’t going to like what Aoife has to tell them, are they?”

      Emma started walking up Newbury. “Aoife is in Boston as much to see me as Rachel Bristol. A stone cross arrived at her studio in Dublin on Thursday—by mail, just like the ones Granddad, Lucas, Yank and I received late last week.”

      “That’s a couple days after you stopped to see her at her studio on Monday,” Colin said.

      “It’s impossible to know if my visit and the cross are connected. I was careful when I went to see her. I don’t think I was followed.”

      “The thief could have been watching her.”

      Emma nodded. “She’s done similar crosses herself, designs inspired by the one stolen from her uncle’s house.”

      Colin slowed his pace. “Emma, where is the cross Aoife received?”

      “She debated calling the police in Dublin, and even my grandfather, but she had Rachel’s invitation to come to Boston and decided it would be more efficient—her exact word—to bring the cross to me herself.” Emma pulled her hands out of her pockets. “Aoife had the cross out on the desk in her suite last night when Rachel stopped

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