about O 'Connor or call the police last night? Shaking her head in confusion, she gripped the back of a chair. Her mind searched for reasons why. There simply was no excuse. Perhaps it was because no one would believe her, or a small part of her thought O'Connor was sincerely trying to do what he considered right. That didn't give him a reason to break into her apartment or follow her around like some crazed stalker. Still, he'd had two chances to hurt her and hadn't. Maybe some deep Freudian thing in her wanted the attention of a man so devastatingly masculine and dangerous. Someone so like the Irish heroes she'd dreamed about when she was younger. The mythic image of Finn Mac Cool immediately came to mind. One of the most famous of Irish heroes, he was supposedly the source of many Arthurian legends. Heather had always imagined a man like that would look like Gryphon O'Connor.
"Man, I'm a mess," she mumbled. "That guy is dangerous. I should call the cops." But she knew she wouldn't. At least not for the time being. The reason why escaped her, but her mind raced back to what the detective had said.
Maybe she hadn't taken O'Connor seriously enough because she had believed he was half crazy. But hadn't the detective confirmed some of what Gryphon had claimed? The man surmised that Ned had known his killer. Now, Heather didn't know what to think. Pouring her unfinished coffee down the drain, she walked into her bedroom to change. If Gryphon was to be believed, all of this was linked to the shipment of artifacts from Ireland.
Half an hour later, she was running up the steps to the museum. She wanted a chance to look through the crates one more time before anyone else showed up for work. Entering the labeling room where some of the crates had been placed, she threw off her jacket and began to examine everything without leaving evidence that she had done so. She thoroughly searched through each wooden box.
"Dammit," she muttered to herself, "there's got to be something here. That crazy Irishman knew all along what the police are only just finding out. Stones. He said there were three of them."
She continued to search, torn between helping find her friend's murderer and the possibility of implicating Professor McPherson. She looked until it was almost eight o'clock and time for Niall and Professor MacPherson to come to work. She was turning to pick up her jacket when she tripped on the corner of one of the crates and fell to her knees. As she pulled herself up, something caught her attention. A board at the bottom of the crate had been loosened when she hit it with her foot. Wiping her hands on her blue jeans, Heather pulled at the loose piece of wood. It came off easily. As though it had been removed before. She stared at the bottom of the crate then compared it with others in the room. Because the crates were so deep and so close to one another, it would have been impossible to detect the false bottom had she not tripped over the loose corner. Wiping off her sweating palms, she carefully reached inside the narrow space.
Her hands felt smooth, cool stone. She pulled out an object about the size of her own palm, and about an inch thick. It was a marble rune stone with Celtic emblems chiseled into its surface. One of the marks was that of Ceridwen, supposedly a female deity of regeneration. The other markings were unfamiliar.
Heather's heart began to race. She quickly reached back into the narrow space and found two more stones the same size as the first. The only difference were the markings each bore. They were like nothing she'd ever come across in her studies, but they were very definitely Celtic.
"My God," she breathed, "O'Connor was telling the truth."
A door closing at the end of the outer hallway warned her of someone's entrance into the collection department. Heather panicked and shoved the stones back into the space in what she hoped was the same position. She grabbed the wooden plank and forced it back onto the
"Man, I'm a mess," she mumbled. "That guy is dangerous. I should call the cops." But she knew she wouldn't. At least not for the time being. The reason why escaped her, but her mind raced back to what the detective had said.
Maybe she hadn't taken O'Connor seriously enough because she had believed he was half crazy. But hadn't the detective confirmed some of what Gryphon had claimed? The man surmised that Ned had known his killer. Now, Heather didn't know what to think. Pouring her unfinished coffee down the drain, she walked into her bedroom to change. If Gryphon was to be believed, all of this was linked to the shipment of artifacts from Ireland.
Half an hour later, she was running up the steps to the museum. She wanted a chance to look through the crates one more time before anyone else showed up for work. Entering the labeling room where some of the crates had been placed, she threw off her jacket and began to examine everything without leaving evidence that she had done so. She thoroughly searched through each wooden box.
"Dammit," she muttered to herself, "there's got to be something here. That crazy Irishman knew all along what the police are only just finding out. Stones. He said there were three of them."
She continued to search, torn between helping find her friend's murderer and the possibility of implicating Professor McPherson. She looked until it was almost eight o'clock and time for Niall and Professor MacPherson to come to work. She was turning to pick up her jacket when she tripped on the corner of one of the crates and fell to her knees. As she pulled herself up, something caught her attention. A board at the bottom of the crate had been loosened when she hit it with her foot. Wiping her hands on her blue jeans, Heather pulled at the loose piece of wood. It came off easily. As though it had been removed before. She stared at the bottom of the crate then compared it with others in the room. Because the crates were so deep and so close to one another, it would have been impossible to detect the false bottom had she not tripped over the loose corner. Wiping off her sweating palms, she carefully reached inside the narrow space.
Her hands felt smooth, cool stone. She pulled out an object about the size of her own palm, and about an inch thick. It was a marble rune stone with Celtic emblems chiseled into its surface. One of the marks was that of Ceridwen, supposedly a female deity of regeneration. The other markings were unfamiliar.
Heather's heart began to race. She quickly reached back into the narrow space and found two more stones the same size as the first. The only difference were the markings each bore. They were like nothing she'd ever come across in her studies, but they were very definitely Celtic.
"My God," she breathed, "O'Connor was telling the truth."
A door closing at the end of the outer hallway warned her of someone's entrance into the collection department. Heather panicked and shoved the stones back into the space in what she hoped was the same position. She grabbed the wooden plank and forced it back onto the
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