intently to the murmur of distant voices.
“What?” The fey expression on her face made him nervous.
“The crystal.” She shivered, even though the room was warm.
“The aquamarine cluster in Kirsten’s room?”
She nodded.
“What about it?”
Shea frowned at a spot on the wall just over his left shoulder. “I’m not sure. But when I touched it, I had the eeriest sensation. A communication, I think, but it came so fast, I couldn’t make sense of it.”
“In that case, you can count Kirsten out. According to Glory, the rock’s one of Beelzebub’s treasures. No connection to Kirsten at all.”
“There’s a connection,” she said flatly. “You didn’t feel what I felt.”
Teague took her hand between his. She vibrated with tension. Bizarre as her ideas sounded to him, she believed what she was saying. “If it bothers you that much to visit the island, don’t go back.”
“But I have to.” She tugged her hand free of his grasp and faced him directly. “Teague, are you absolutely certain that Kirsten’s dead?”
The pain had dulled to an ache over the years, but it still bothered him to talk about Kirsten’s disappearance. “Ninety-nine percent sure.”
“So who killed her? And why? You must have a theory.”
“Theories, yes. Proof, no.” He shoved his chair back and gripped the edge of the table so hard, the tips of his fingers looked white.
“Whom do you suspect?”
“Nobody. Everybody.” He shook his head. “The world is full of sickos.”
She put down her fork and shoved the pie plate away. “Since you brought up sickos, how about Ruth Griffin as a suspect? She’s definitely unbalanced.”
“In her own way, Ruth cared for Kirsten. She didn’t approve of everything Kirsten did, but she loved her anyway.”
“Maybe loved her to death.”
“But—”
“No, just listen for a second.” Shea cut off his protest. “If Ruth thought Kirsten was doing something that put her immortal soul in danger, Ruth might see murder as a way of ‘saving’ her.”
In a twisted way, it made sense. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but to my mind, Cynthia had a better motive.”
Shea looked skeptical. “Somehow she doesn’t strike me as the evil stepmother type.”
Teague shrugged. He’d never cared for Cynthia. Neither had Kirsten. “People aren’t always what they seem. Cynthia puts up a good front. She plays the lady of the manor role to the hilt, but she knows what it’s like to be poor. Before she married Jack, she scraped along on a secretary’s wages. The woman has a streak of stinginess a mile wide. She resented every cent Jack spent on Kirsten, thought he favored her unfairly over Kevin. Could be all the money he dropped on the damned wedding was the final straw.”
“Damned
wedding?” She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t in favor of it?”
“Truthfully?” He grunted. “I was dead set against it. Hell, we were already married. What was the point?”
“Kirsten didn’t just manipulate her father,” Shea said slowly. “She manipulated you too, didn’t she?”
“Kirsten …” He shrugged. “Nobody said no to Kirsten.”
“The elopement was
her
idea, wasn’t it? Kirsten’s.”
He stared at the scarred wooden surface of the table. “I would have married her eventually.”
“But not that way, not knowing how her father felt about it. About you. What did she say to convince you?”
Oh, hell.
“She told me about the baby.”
Shea shifted in her seat. He couldn’t read her expression but sensed he’d thrown her a curve. “The baby,” she repeated. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Now Kirsten’s back—without her child. How did you explain that little discrepancy to Jack?”
“I let him think Kirsten had miscarried as a result of rough handling during the kidnapping.”
“Logical.” She looked at him, her face inscrutable. “I wonder what really happened to the baby.”
Teague knew, but he didn’t enlighten her. Some secrets were
“What?” The fey expression on her face made him nervous.
“The crystal.” She shivered, even though the room was warm.
“The aquamarine cluster in Kirsten’s room?”
She nodded.
“What about it?”
Shea frowned at a spot on the wall just over his left shoulder. “I’m not sure. But when I touched it, I had the eeriest sensation. A communication, I think, but it came so fast, I couldn’t make sense of it.”
“In that case, you can count Kirsten out. According to Glory, the rock’s one of Beelzebub’s treasures. No connection to Kirsten at all.”
“There’s a connection,” she said flatly. “You didn’t feel what I felt.”
Teague took her hand between his. She vibrated with tension. Bizarre as her ideas sounded to him, she believed what she was saying. “If it bothers you that much to visit the island, don’t go back.”
“But I have to.” She tugged her hand free of his grasp and faced him directly. “Teague, are you absolutely certain that Kirsten’s dead?”
The pain had dulled to an ache over the years, but it still bothered him to talk about Kirsten’s disappearance. “Ninety-nine percent sure.”
“So who killed her? And why? You must have a theory.”
“Theories, yes. Proof, no.” He shoved his chair back and gripped the edge of the table so hard, the tips of his fingers looked white.
“Whom do you suspect?”
“Nobody. Everybody.” He shook his head. “The world is full of sickos.”
She put down her fork and shoved the pie plate away. “Since you brought up sickos, how about Ruth Griffin as a suspect? She’s definitely unbalanced.”
“In her own way, Ruth cared for Kirsten. She didn’t approve of everything Kirsten did, but she loved her anyway.”
“Maybe loved her to death.”
“But—”
“No, just listen for a second.” Shea cut off his protest. “If Ruth thought Kirsten was doing something that put her immortal soul in danger, Ruth might see murder as a way of ‘saving’ her.”
In a twisted way, it made sense. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but to my mind, Cynthia had a better motive.”
Shea looked skeptical. “Somehow she doesn’t strike me as the evil stepmother type.”
Teague shrugged. He’d never cared for Cynthia. Neither had Kirsten. “People aren’t always what they seem. Cynthia puts up a good front. She plays the lady of the manor role to the hilt, but she knows what it’s like to be poor. Before she married Jack, she scraped along on a secretary’s wages. The woman has a streak of stinginess a mile wide. She resented every cent Jack spent on Kirsten, thought he favored her unfairly over Kevin. Could be all the money he dropped on the damned wedding was the final straw.”
“Damned
wedding?” She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t in favor of it?”
“Truthfully?” He grunted. “I was dead set against it. Hell, we were already married. What was the point?”
“Kirsten didn’t just manipulate her father,” Shea said slowly. “She manipulated you too, didn’t she?”
“Kirsten …” He shrugged. “Nobody said no to Kirsten.”
“The elopement was
her
idea, wasn’t it? Kirsten’s.”
He stared at the scarred wooden surface of the table. “I would have married her eventually.”
“But not that way, not knowing how her father felt about it. About you. What did she say to convince you?”
Oh, hell.
“She told me about the baby.”
Shea shifted in her seat. He couldn’t read her expression but sensed he’d thrown her a curve. “The baby,” she repeated. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Now Kirsten’s back—without her child. How did you explain that little discrepancy to Jack?”
“I let him think Kirsten had miscarried as a result of rough handling during the kidnapping.”
“Logical.” She looked at him, her face inscrutable. “I wonder what really happened to the baby.”
Teague knew, but he didn’t enlighten her. Some secrets were
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