The chapel at Saint Patrick’s Old Cathedral was filled with Rose’s friends, colleagues, and patrons, as well as with her fellow church congregants. The special Mass that followed was beautiful and meaningful—exactly what Rose would have wanted.
The cremains were laid to rest in the columbarium at the church, and both Fiona and Glenna were among the small number of people present during the Rite of Committal, where they bid good-bye to their dear friend, tears mixed with prayers.
Afterwards, there was a small repast, a lovely gesture that was open to all who wanted to attend. Still, Fiona was grateful for the gathering her mother had arranged for the night after next, so that everyone who couldn’t attend the Mass or who wanted the chance to celebrate Rose’s life with good food, good drink, and good stories could do so.
The only damper on the day was the presence of Detective Alvarez and her partner, Detective Shaw, at the church. Fiona had winced when she saw them. And even though they kept a low, respectful profile, and even though almost no one knew who they were, Fiona and Glenna did. Just as they knew the detectives were checking out all the attendees, following up on whatever avenues they were pursuing.
Fiona gave them a curt nod as she left the church—which she did alone. Despite her mother’s gentle protests, she explained to both her parents and to Glenna that she wanted some time just to walk and think.
She strolled through Nolita, stopping for a cup of coffee and then continuing on her way. She could go home, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to be outside with the falling leaves and the cool September breezes. Somehow that made her feel closer to Rose.
She brushed her hair off her nape, and with one fingertip, she touched the earrings she’d chosen to wear, a soft smile coming to her lips. She’d spent days making them as another tribute to Rose and her research. Round silver disks dangled from eighteen-karat gold handcrafted ear wires, hovering about an inch below Fiona’s earlobe. The earrings were framed by thin twisted wire that looped all around the disks. Small gemstones were scattered on the back. And on the front were the crown and the iconic Tree of Life, cut from gold sheet and soldered to the silver base. Tiny gemstones—ruby, emerald, and diamond—were set on the tree and points of the crown. It was a mini replica of the center tapestry. Later, Fiona would incorporate it in her new line. But for now… Rose, she thought, these are for you. Maybe they’ll bring you the peace that you deserve.
A cold chill invaded her heart. There could be no peace until Rose’s killer was caught.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Fiona stopped walking and took another sip of her coffee.
She didn’t notice the guy behind her. Or the way he raised his cell phone to take pictures of her and her earrings.
***
Marc was in his office at FI, reading an article about current research on the sociopathic mind, when Ryan poked his head in.
“Busy?”
“I’ve got time. Come in.” Marc saved the article on his computer to read later and waved Ryan in. He’d been expecting this visit; it was just a question of how long it would take for Ryan to reach the point where he’d show up at Marc’s door.
The point had obviously arrived.
“What’s up?” Marc asked.
Ryan dropped into a chair. “The detectives are blowing through Rose Flaherty’s contacts. So far, everyone’s checked out. No motives, all alibis verified—in short, a complete dead end.” Ryan bristled. “They’re actually investigating Fee as a possible suspect, doing all kinds of digging into her life.”
Marc didn’t look surprised, nor would Ryan had he any objectivity on the matter. “That’s routine, Ryan. You know that. Fiona found the body. She was alone at the shop and has no alibi before her 911 call.”
“And no motive.”
“They’ll figure that out.” Marc’s gaze was steady and his reaction was factual. Sheer habit from his years with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Listening. Watching. Waiting people out so the silence made them uneasy enough to talk. Of course the latter part wasn’t the case with the FI team. They, and his wife Madeline, were the only people he was totally himself with. But in this case, Ryan needed the voice of reason to lead him where he needed to go. And Marc was supplying it.
“Did you tell Fiona she was being investigated?” he asked.
“No.” Ryan shook his head. “She’s gotten about as much honesty as she can handle. I’ll tell her things on—to use your favorite phrase—a need-to-know basis. The whole thing just really pisses me off.”
A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted in a half grin. “You don’t have to hack into the NYPD’s database. Not a requirement.”
“It sure as shit is. Fee is strong, but she’s also unexposed to this kind of stuff. I’ve got to look out for her!” Ryan blew out a breath. “Sorry. I guess I just needed to vent.”
Marc made a wide sweep with his arm. “Vent away.” Then, giving Ryan one more thing to chew over, knowing exactly where this conversation was leading, he said, “You know, there is an upside to this.”
“Which is?”
“If the cops are checking out Fiona, they’ll also be checking out the research Rose was doing for her. Maybe something will show up in the file that interests you.”
“Point taken.” Ryan mulled that one over. “The more they learn, the more I learn. They’re investigating a murder. I’m making sure my sister isn’t a target. Our goals are different, but our needs for information are the same, at least about this. If they figure out that Rose’s research for Fee is the motive for her murder, they’ll put together as detailed a record as they can as to why.” His jaw hardened. “And then they’ll be back to grilling Fee.”
Marc watched as Ryan came to the exact place he knew he would.
“I’m not tagging along behind the NYPD,” he exploded. “I lead. I don’t follow. This passive bullshit won’t work.”
“Then maybe it’s time to discuss a way not to be passive.”
That made Ryan’s head come up—as Marc knew it would. The two men had different temperaments, different ways of attacking a problem, and different maturity levels—given that Marc had more than a half dozen years on Ryan. But when they worked together, they made things happen. Ryan was the rocket and Marc the seasoned igniter.
“How?” Ryan demanded.
Marc leaned forward in his chair. He and Casey had gone back and forth about this game plan for the past two days now. Casey had been right on Marc’s wavelength, and she’d given not only her approval but her full support of how things should be handled. Ultimately, though, they had to wait for Ryan to get out of his own way and come to them, probably to Marc. Well, here he was. Time to get into it.
“You’ve got to be willing to change tactics,” Marc said bluntly. “Cut out the tunnel vision, divert your efforts, and expand your resources.”
“Be more specific.”
“You’re focusing only on Fiona and any potential danger she might be in. Flip it around. Instead of Fiona, focus on everyone else. Rose’s killer is out there. He or she had a motive. Maybe it’s time to start investigating the murder, not just hovering over Fiona.
“As for expanding your resources, time to bring in FI. Turn the reins over to Casey and get the team involved. Whatever the police can do, we can do better. And faster. Download that contact list. We can divide it up and go through the people, one by one. Do a background check on Rose herself. Maybe she has a skeleton in her closet that no one knows about. Use Claire’s talent; maybe she’ll pick up something from our findings. Use Casey’s talent; she has a way of seeking out persons of interest at their local Starbucks and walking away with information they never knew they disclosed. Have Patrick put security on Fiona—just one guy, and just in case—so that you can focus on doing rather than waiting. We’ve just been sitting on our hands. Let’s use the time productively and proactively.”
Ryan’s eyes had narrowed as reality hit home. “You and Casey brainstormed this out. I hear her voice in all this.”
“Yup.”
“But at the team meeting, all she said was—”
“That was then. This is now. Days have passed and we’re still spinning in neutral. Not our speed. Certainly not your speed. But Casey wanted to make sure you wanted this badly enough to relinquish control. She’s our boss. If we make this our case, she’s in charge.”
Ryan nodded in understanding. “I hear you. I hear you both. A few days ago I wasn’t ready. Now I am. I’ll go to Casey. We’ll make this our case, whether or not Fee is a target.”
“And we’ll catch a killer.”
***
It was midafternoon when Fiona arrived home. She collected her mail and let herself into her townhouse.
The walk hadn’t done much good. If anything, her heart was heavier now than it had been before. She couldn’t stop thinking about the detectives’ presence at the Mass and the fact that Rose’s killer was still out there.
Slipping out of her jacket, Fiona hung it up on the coatrack and tossed the mail on the corner table in the hallway. A full-size Tyvek envelope peeked out from beneath the usual bills and correspondence. It immediately caught her eye—and the return address on it made her catch her breath.
Rose’s antique shop.
With trembling hands, Fiona picked up the envelope and glanced at the postmark. It was mailed on the same day as she and Rose were set to meet. So why had Rose sent it rather than placed it right in Fiona’s hands? And why was Fiona’s name handwritten when her address and the return address were printed on labels?
With a sense of foreboding, Fiona opened the envelope and removed the contents.
The print of the center tapestry Fiona had given her. Two plastic-sheathed pages, photocopied from two different archeology textbooks. Just looking at the copies, Fiona could tell that the original pages were yellowed and brittle with age, the printing faded. She could almost smell the musty aroma that emanated from these typical pages from Rose’s binders.
One plastic sheet holder had a Post-it on it, with Rose’s scribbled handwriting. Fiona would need some decent lighting to read it.
She walked into her living room, flipping on the overhead lights, and sank down on the sofa. She planned on poring over everything. But she began with the Post-it, which read:
Reminders: Shield. High Irish king. Symbol reference obscure. Still researching. Require other tapestry panels. Crucial tie to imperceptible imageries.
Other than that, there was no further explanation, nothing. Fiona’s brow furrowed, floundering as she read and reread the staccato phrases. Knowing Rose, she understood that she’d affixed the Post-it here in case she forgot to get into detail with Fiona on this subject.
But now Rose wasn’t here to explain, and Fiona was totally lost. What shield? What high Irish king? What imperceptible imageries?
Maybe the enclosed pages would offer some insight.
Fiona leaned forward on the sofa cushion, focusing intently on the first page, realizing at the same time that a paragraph on each page was highlighted. And both highlighted paragraphs had photos of that unknown spiral symbol that appeared on every one of the tapestry panels.
The words on the first page were small, typed next to the symbol itself:
The “light at the end of the tunnel” symbol goes back hundreds, maybe thousands of years and was originally seen among the common Celtic symbols. Its usage diminished in the last three hundred years and has now become so obscure it’s known mostly to scholars and to people living in Ireland for many generations. The symbol simply consists of a one-line drawing, starting with a spiral that becomes a tunnel-shaped outline. The spiral signifies light and the upside down U signifies a tunnel or a dark place.
That was it—other than the photo of the symbol alongside the paragraph.
Fiona turned to the second page, which had a similar photo of the symbol, along with the following paragraph:
This spiral and tunnel-shaped symbol is quite rare, and while scholars are in agreement that, when used, it appeared to have significant meaning, the meaning itself has been disputed. Overall, the following appear to be the most prominent interpretations:
Ancient interpretation: light after the dark, better days to come.
Religious interpretation: ascension to heaven after hard life on earth.
Most currently discovered interpretation: light at the end of the tunnel.
Thus the name “light at the end of the tunnel” has been assigned to this hard-to-trace Celtic symbol.
Fiona reread the paragraphs on each page several times, ascertaining that they were the only mention of this symbol at all. But in both cases, the paragraphs were capsulized segments of a longer page about obscure Celtic symbols.
Frustrated, Fiona slipped the page-protected sheets and the print back into the envelope, placing it on the coffee table in front of her.
Rather than answers, Fiona now had only more questions. Why did her great-grandmother focus on this symbol? What tunnel? What light? Was she describing their life in Ireland versus their life in New York? And Fiona’s initial questions remained. What shield? What imperceptible imageries? And what high Irish king?
She squinted at the print, then shook her head. She’d have to go back to her parents’ house right away and carefully study the actual center panel, not some paper replica. That had to hold some answers. But there were still so many questions.
For the easiest one, though, she was about to get her answer right now.
She took out her iPhone and called Glenna.
“Hi,” Glenna answered. “Are you okay?”
“As okay as I can be. You?”
“Same.”
“Glenna, I just got home and found a Tyvek envelope waiting for me. It’s from Rose. My name is handwritten on it, but my address and the return address are printed on labels. And it was mailed to me on the same day I was coming into the shop to meet with Rose. I don’t understand.”
Glenna blew out a breath. “I’m so sorry. I forgot all about that envelope. Rose had set it aside for you. Obviously, she meant to give it to you in person, but I didn’t realize that and printed labels and mailed it to you. Why? Is it significant?”
“I have no idea.” Fiona stared at the envelope. “But if it is, I’m grateful you mailed it to me. Otherwise the detectives would have confiscated it at the crime scene.” She paused, her mind racing. “Did you see my parents leave the church?”
“Yes, they left about a half hour before I did. I stayed to talk to some of Rose’s clients who were understandably shaken by the news and by the phone calls they’d gotten from the NYPD. A lot of them plan on coming to the gathering at your parents’ house. Niall Dempsey was kind enough to offer to provide accommodations for out-of-town guests—”
“That was really nice of him,” Fiona replied, only half listening at this point. She was eager to hop on the train and get to Woodlawn. “Glenna, I don’t mean to cut you off, but I want to check in with my mom and dad. I want to make sure they’re okay and also to see what dishes I can bring with me to the gathering.”
“Of course, go. Please ask them what I can bring, as well. I know a few of Rose’s favorite dishes. I’d be happy to make them.”
“Perfect. I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
Fiona was about to head out when she glanced down at the coffee table, her gaze focusing on the envelope.
Scooping it up, she tucked it in her tote bag and left the townhouse.
An unseen pair of eyes watched her leave.