As luck would have it, Fiona’s parents weren’t home when she got there.
Her father had probably gone directly to work, and her mother was undoubtedly already food shopping for the upcoming gathering. That meant she could do what she came here to do without having a cup of tea and chatting about how lovely the special Mass had been. She adored her parents, but sometimes she just had to get things done without fanfare.
This was one of those times.
Fiona let herself into the house and went straight up to the attic. She knelt down beside the memory box and lifted the lid. Carefully, she took out the largest tapestry panel and spread it out on the floor. Next, she pulled the Tyvek envelope out of her tote bag and placed the plastic-sleeved pages beside the tapestry for easy reference.
She’d done some quick research on her iPhone during the train ride. Yes, in fact, there had been high Irish kings. But they dated back to medieval times, with the last one being recorded in the twelfth century, and many of them were only legendary. As for shields, she’d researched both kinds of shields: weaponry and coats of arms. The latter didn’t date back as far as the twelfth century and—even after they began to appear—neither they nor the weaponry shared any of the tapestry’s images. Besides, why would her great-grandmother be weaving images from ancient times? It just didn’t make sense.
She leaned forward and began studying every inch of the tapestry from top to bottom. Obviously the crown and throne-like image holding the Tree of Life spoke of royalty. Maybe it was symbolic rather than actual. But a real high Irish king? What could Rose have dug up?
Fiona’s gaze shifted farther down, down the Tree of Life—and abruptly she was stopped by two tiny images she’d never noticed before. They were almost an identical color with the background, so much so that they blended together, and, unless one was studying the design as closely as she was right now, they would miss them altogether.
She squinted one eye to see them more closely.
Just below the Tree of Life, there was a tiny fist clutching what looked to be a trophy or a goblet of some kind. The depictions were so small that it would take some major zooming in to make out any further details. These had to be the imperceptible images Rose had been referring to. Did they have some special meaning? Was that part of what she was still researching or had she already gotten her answers?
Using the camera on her iPhone, Fiona zoomed in as close as she could and took a few pictures. She then sat back on her heels and studied the photos she’d taken. They were good, but certainly not of professional quality. Plus, they, just as the print, were blurred by the woven texture of the tapestry. She’d need to have someone capture all the nuances she was missing.
And then what?
She dragged both hands through her hair, feeling both anxious and frustrated. It was no longer a mere supposition that Rose had vital information to share with her, nor was there any doubt that there was more to this tapestry than just its beauty.
Fiona took out all the other tapestry panels and spread them out on the attic floor. True, Rose hadn’t seen any of these. But maybe there were more imperceptible images on them that would relate to the ones she’d just found. Maybe there’d be a tie that she could build on.
That led to an obvious thought. She needed a new antiquities expert. No one could replace Rose, but she had to talk to Glenna and find out who Rose generally consulted with on matters such as these. Maybe she could even figure out the exact professionals she’d gone to about the tapestry panel she’d already researched. If so, Fiona would follow up with them; she didn’t care if it was here or in Dublin. She’d call and ask for their help, also asking for any information they’d already passed along to Rose.
For now, she’d take the necessary photos and forward them to Ryan. Maybe he could find a way to smooth out the texture of the woven tufts and make the photos clearer. Then she’d have something more than just Rose’s Post-it and the pages she’d sent her to share with the contacts she hoped to make.
Then there was the problem of photos versus the genuine objects. Fiona needed access to the tapestries themselves. She couldn’t keep relying on pictures to capture the details she needed. And she couldn’t keep running back and forth to her parents’ house to see and hold the panels themselves. She’d have to get her mother’s permission to borrow the tapestries—which would require an explanation she’d have to be ready to offer.
That could wait a bit. For now, she had her work cut out for her.
Still clutching her iPhone, she bent over the smaller panels and began her scrutiny.
***
Ryan was downstairs in his lair, intently researching Rose Flaherty’s background and life, when his cell phone bing-ed. And bing-ed. And bing-ed.
A series of texts from Fee.
Quickly, he opened them. A bunch of photos along with the message: Tapestry images, zoomed in as much as I could. Clarity sucks. Can you enhance these to make them look more like drawings than blurry photos of tapestry panels?
Ryan frowned. He didn’t like the fact that Fiona was doing her own investigating.
The sooner he took this out of her hands, the better.
I can do anything, he typed back. Give me an hour or two.
Upstairs in FI’s third-floor yoga room, Claire was sitting quietly, the lights turned down low, her mind flitting from image to image—each tapestry she’d seen, every detail she could recall—as she desperately sought an awareness that was just not coming, not without physical contact.
Her eyes flew open as a dark, dark energy slammed into her consciousness, flowed through her like poison.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. It was happening right now.
And it involved Fiona.
She jumped to her feet and raced out of the room.
***
The sun was already setting when Fiona got back home.
She was feeling pretty wiped. She’d spent long, tedious hours in her parents’ attic, after which she’d spent a while with her mom, who’d arrived home. Fiona hadn’t gone into details, just saying that she’d taken some additional photos of the tapestries for her jewelry line. She didn’t mention borrowing the tapestries—not yet. She was still pondering the best way to approach this so the answer would be yes. To get her mother to lend her anything from the memory box—much less these revered tapestry panels—would take a lot of convincing, and just saying that having them in her hands was for creativity purposes wasn’t going to cut it.
Scrutinizing and taking photos of the tapestries had been a long and tedious task, and she’d sent Ryan everything she had in the hopes of coming up with a starting point. Not that there’d been anything new on the smaller panels. No fists. No trophies. But she still wanted sharp photos of them for when she approached whoever she hoped would help her further research this.
Ryan, of course, had cheerfully told her he’d accomplished what she wanted in record time—typical oh-so-modest Ryan—and he’d both texted and emailed her the finished photos, adding that she should forward him anything else she needed—and to let him run with any future adventures she planned on taking.
He was protecting her. She got that. It wouldn’t stop her from acting on her own. Still, she might be taking him up on his offer to help.
Fitting her key in the lock, she pushed open the door, stepped inside, flipped on the pale hall light, and froze.
The place had been trashed. Drawers hanging open, sofa cushions torn apart, lamps overturned. The living room looked like a bulldozer had plowed through it. And from the doorway, she could see that the same applied to the dining room and kitchen.
For one long, heart-pounding minute, she just stood there, gaping. Then she ran outside, shaking on the sidewalk as she pulled out her phone.
First, she called 911. Then she called Ryan.
He answered on the first ring, and he sounded totally freaked out. “Claire just burst in here. Are you okay?”
“Ryan, someone broke into my house.” Fiona could hear the panic in her own voice. “The place is trashed.”
“Did you get the hell out of there?” he demanded. She could hear the feet of his chair squeal loudly and she knew he was already in motion.
“Yes. I’m outside. And I called 911.”
“He could still be in there. Go down the block. I’m on my way.”
Ryan screeched up to Fiona’s townhouse in the FI van, having made the short but congested trip in just over five minutes. He’d zigzagged through traffic, blown through every yellow light, and ignored the drivers who gave him the finger.
He jumped out of the van—paying no attention to the fact that he’d parked willy-nilly with the back end jutting halfway into the street—slammed the door, and broke into a sprint. A white van with the bold lettering Crime Scene Unit was sitting prominently in front of the building, which meant they were already on the scene, dusting for fingerprints and collecting evidence. Flashing red lights also told Ryan that a patrol car from the First Precinct was here, as were—no surprise—Detective Alvarez and her partner, Detective Shaw. Both the First and the Sixth Precincts were part of the First Division of Manhattan South, which meant the same dispatched calls reached cops from both precincts. No doubt, Alvarez and Shaw had been out investigating the murder and had picked up the dispatch, thus shooting right over to Fee’s.
This should be a great party, he thought grimly, pacing up the sidewalk to where Fiona stood, arms wrapped around herself to ward off the shock. The First Precinct and Alvarez. Who could ask for more?
The First Precinct served Tribeca as well as SoHo, so the cops there were acutely aware of Forensic Instincts and their habit of pushing the boundaries of legal protocol. And now Alvarez would learn that Fiona’s brother was that Ryan McKay.
Well, screw them. All he cared about was Fee.
His sister sagged with relief when she saw Ryan, and she hurried away from the police to get to him.
“Thank you for coming,” she managed as she reached his side.
“Are you okay?” Ryan wrapped her in a huge hug.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know.” She drew back, visibly trying to get a handle on her emotions. “You and I both know that, whoever did this, it’s no coincidence. It has to do with the tapestries and Rose’s murder. There can’t be any other explanation. Something she uncovered triggered all this. Oh, God, what if I’m responsible for her being killed?”
“Cut it out.” Ryan gave her a gentle shake, more worried about the ramifications to Fiona’s well-being than anything else. “You’re not responsible for the actions of a killer.” Glancing over his head, he saw Detective Alvarez glaring at him, tapping her foot impatiently. “What have you told the police?”
Fiona’s jaw set. “Nothing. I don’t have concrete answers and I’m not about to get into my suspicions. They asked me to call my roommate, which I already did. Lara will be on the next flight from Paris. She sounded pretty hysterical. And her parents aren’t going to be too happy. After all, this is their place.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Ryan said. “What did the cops say is next?”
“They want me to walk through the house with them after the Crime Scene detectives are finished to see if I notice anything missing. In the meantime, Alvarez and Shaw just keep grilling me. They want answers I either don’t have or am not ready to give. So I’ve just leaned on the fact that I’m in shock—again—and am clueless about their questions. Which isn’t far from the truth.”
“Smart girl.” He draped a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Let’s stick to that approach—at least for now. You and I can talk later, once law enforcement is gone.”
“Will they let me move back in? I’ve got a cleanup disaster to tackle. I only saw the first floor. That leaves the second-floor bedrooms and my entire third-floor loft. God only knows what they did to that.”
“They’ll let you in after CSU leaves. But if the place is as bad as you say, you’ll stay with me for a few nights. I’m sure Lara will stay with her parents or a friend. I’ll arrange for a cleanup crew.”
“Mom and Dad will order me home,” Fiona reminded him. “They were upset enough when I didn’t move back in after the murder. Now I’m somehow targeted. They’re going to flip out.”
Ryan nodded. “Yup. But they’ll be okay if they know you’re with me. And even if you go out without me, you won’t be alone. That’s been taken care of.” He waved away Fiona’s oncoming question. “Not now. I’ll get into it when it’s just us.”
“Okay.” Fiona didn’t look thrilled to be kept in the dark about her life, but she acquiesced, realizing the timing of this conversation sucked.
Together, she and Ryan walked back to the group of police gathered around.
Unfortunately, Ryan recognized one of the uniformed cops who was perched just outside Fiona’s townhouse—a cop he wasn’t on the best of terms with. Ryan had acted on a lead in FI’s most recent case that had bypassed NYPD involvement.
“So the name McKay isn’t a coincidence after all,” Officer Colby said, his mouth set in a grim line. “No wonder our victim called her brother to the scene.” He waved his arm toward Detectives Alvarez and Shaw. “Meet Ryan McKay—of Forensic Instincts fame.”
Alvarez processed that with a tight nod and a glance at Fiona. “And here I thought you were just bringing your brother into the precinct for emotional support.”
“That’s all she was doing, Detective,” Ryan said. “I specifically asked Fiona to leave out my first name so you didn’t think Forensic Instincts was encroaching on your investigation. I was strictly there to hold my sister together. I’m sure you can imagine the kind of state she was in. And now this.” He pointed at the townhouse.
“So I’m supposed to believe that your team isn’t involved in this case?”
“Originally, we weren’t. Now—things have changed. If Fiona chooses to retain our services, then we have a client and, yes, we’ll be involved.” Ryan continued, striving for a note of comradery, knowing he was lying even as he did, “If that happens, we won’t work at odds with you. We’ll try to dovetail our investigation so we’re all on the same page.”
“Yeah,” Colby said in disgust. “Right.”
“What do you know about what’s happened?” Alvarez demanded.
“Exactly what you do. Fiona had an appointment with Rose Flaherty the other night and instead walked in on a murder scene. Now her place was just trashed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out there’s a link between the two crimes.”
“And you have no idea what they were looking for?”
Murky waters. “Nope,” Ryan replied. “But whatever it was, they obviously want it badly. Fiona said the place is a disaster.” Quickly, he turned the tables around so he was the one doing the asking. “Have you determined the point of entry?”
“No broken or open windows,” Alvarez replied. “No visible tampering with the front door. Which suggests to me we’re dealing with an accomplished bypass team.”
“So they picked the lock.” Ryan looked less than happy. “Pros. Great. Are you going to request the precinct gives this address special attention by the patrol force?”
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?” Fiona asked.
“It means that a uniformed patrol car will make a pass every hour—for your protection.” Ryan didn’t bother mentioning the twenty-four-seven security Patrick had already placed on Fiona. That would keep her safe. The hourly pass would ensure that no one else paid the townhouse a visit. It was a comforting plus.
“I appreciate the precaution,” Fiona said in a tight voice. “Thank you.”
Ryan glanced at Fiona, who was clearly both scared and grateful but, at the same time, furious. And rightly so. Her personal space had been invaded. After long hours of detective work at their parents’ house, how much did she know about the why?
Time to find out.
“Detective, my sister has taken all she can,” he said. “The Crime Scene Unit will be in there for at least an hour, maybe two. It’s getting cold out. I’ll buy coffee for everyone. But let Fiona drink it in my van and try to relax. She’ll have an easier time with the walk-through procedures if she’s calm.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Detective Alvarez said. The slightest hint of humor. “And if you buy me coffee, I’ll try to overlook the fact that you’re illegally parked.”
Once all the cops had been plied with caffeine and were hunkered down in their respective vehicles, Ryan settled Fee in the van and hopped back into the driver’s seat.
“What were those photos I enhanced?” he asked without preamble. “And what else don’t I know?”
Fiona eased the Tyvek envelope out of her tote bag and slid it over to Ryan’s lap, keeping it flat and low so the police wouldn’t spot anything. “This came for me in the mail.” As Ryan glanced over the material, Fiona explained everything that she’d discovered today.
“That’s all I know so far,” she concluded.
“So whatever all this means, whatever your friend Rose found, it clearly ties to something valuable. And whoever killed her thinks you have the key to that something.” Ryan blew out a breath and whipped out his cell. “I’m asking Casey to call a late team meeting. Once you and I finish up here, we’re going to FI.”
Fiona blinked. “We can’t just spring this on her.”
“We damn well can. FI moves fast. Besides, she’s already up to speed. So is the rest of the team. And to answer your earlier question, Patrick assigned security detail to you right after we agreed to treat this as a case. Now he’ll assign it to your townhouse, as well.”
“You did all this before the break-in?”
“Yup.”
“Wow.” Fiona acknowledged that with wide eyes. “You really are the Ryan McKay, aren’t you?”
Ryan chuckled. “The very one.”