if they just made it up? The whole story?”
“I refuse to believe they made the whole thing up just to have us scrambling around looking for keys.” Thoughtfully, Dana bit into a cookie. “No matter what we believe, they believe it’s true. So there’s got to be some root, some basis for this legend or myth or story they told us last night. If there’s a root, it’s in a book. Somewhere.”
“Actually . . .” Zoe hesitated, then went on, “the book I was reading talked about how a lot of the Celtic mythology and legends didn’t get written down. They were passed orally.”
“Those damn bards,” Dana muttered. “Look, Pitte and Rowena heard it somewhere, and whoever told them heard it from someone else. The information is out there, and information is my god.”
“Maybe what we have to do is get information on Pitte and Rowena. Who the hell are they?” Malory spread her hands. “Where do they come from? Where do they get the kind of money that allows them to pass it out like cupcakes?”
“You’re right.” Annoyed with herself, Dana blew out a breath. “You’re absolutely right, and I should’ve thought of that before. It happens I know somebody who can help us with that while we’re looking into the myth.” She glanced toward the doorway as she heard the front door open. “And here he comes now.”
They heard a thud, a slam, a scramble, and a curse.
It was just familiar enough to have Malory pressing her fingers to her temples. “Holy Mother of God.”
Even as she spoke, the huge black dog raced in. His tail swung like a demolition ball, his tongue lolled. And his eyes went bright as stars as he spotted Malory.
He let out a series of ear-shattering barks, then leaped into her lap.
Chapter Four
F LYNN saw three things when he charged into the room after his dog: his sister sitting on the floor laughing like a lunatic; a sharp-looking brunette standing at the end of the couch heroically trying to dislodge Moe; and, to his surprise and delight, the woman he’d been thinking about for the better part of the day, mostly buried under Moe’s bulk and insane affections.
“Okay, Moe, down. I mean it. That’s enough.” He didn’t expect the dog to listen. He always tried; Moe never listened. But it seemed the right thing to do as he gripped the dog around the barrel of his belly.
He had to lean down—well, maybe not quite as far as he did. But she had the prettiest blue eyes, even when they were shooting daggers at him. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
Muscles jumped in her jaw when she clenched it. “Get him off!”
“Working on it.”
“Hey, Moe!” Dana shouted. “Cookie!”
That did the trick. Moe leaped over the crate, nipped the cookie out of the hand Dana held in the air, then landed. It might have been a graceful landing if he hadn’t skidded several feet over the uncarpeted floor.
“Works like a charm.” Dana lifted her arm. Moe loped back, the cookie already history, and insinuated his bulk under it.
“Wow. He’s really a big dog.” Zoe eased over, held out a hand, then grinned when Moe licked it lavishly. “Friendly.”
“Pathologically friendly.” Malory brushed at the dog hair that had transferred itself to her once pristine linen shirt. “That’s the second time today he’s landed on me.”
“He likes girls.” Flynn took off his sunglasses, tossed them on the crate. “You never told me your name.”
“Oh, so you’re the idiot and his dog. Should’ve known. This is Malory Price,” Dana said. “And Zoe McCourt. My brother, Flynn.”
“Are you Michael Flynn Hennessy?” Zoe crouched to stroke Moe’s ear, looked up at Flynn under her bangs. “M. F. Hennessy, with the Valley Dispatch ?”
“Guilty.”
“I’ve read a lot of your articles, and I never miss your column. I liked the one last week on the proposed ski lift up on Lone Ridge and the environmental impact.”
“Thanks.” He reached down for a cookie. “Is this a book club
“I refuse to believe they made the whole thing up just to have us scrambling around looking for keys.” Thoughtfully, Dana bit into a cookie. “No matter what we believe, they believe it’s true. So there’s got to be some root, some basis for this legend or myth or story they told us last night. If there’s a root, it’s in a book. Somewhere.”
“Actually . . .” Zoe hesitated, then went on, “the book I was reading talked about how a lot of the Celtic mythology and legends didn’t get written down. They were passed orally.”
“Those damn bards,” Dana muttered. “Look, Pitte and Rowena heard it somewhere, and whoever told them heard it from someone else. The information is out there, and information is my god.”
“Maybe what we have to do is get information on Pitte and Rowena. Who the hell are they?” Malory spread her hands. “Where do they come from? Where do they get the kind of money that allows them to pass it out like cupcakes?”
“You’re right.” Annoyed with herself, Dana blew out a breath. “You’re absolutely right, and I should’ve thought of that before. It happens I know somebody who can help us with that while we’re looking into the myth.” She glanced toward the doorway as she heard the front door open. “And here he comes now.”
They heard a thud, a slam, a scramble, and a curse.
It was just familiar enough to have Malory pressing her fingers to her temples. “Holy Mother of God.”
Even as she spoke, the huge black dog raced in. His tail swung like a demolition ball, his tongue lolled. And his eyes went bright as stars as he spotted Malory.
He let out a series of ear-shattering barks, then leaped into her lap.
Chapter Four
F LYNN saw three things when he charged into the room after his dog: his sister sitting on the floor laughing like a lunatic; a sharp-looking brunette standing at the end of the couch heroically trying to dislodge Moe; and, to his surprise and delight, the woman he’d been thinking about for the better part of the day, mostly buried under Moe’s bulk and insane affections.
“Okay, Moe, down. I mean it. That’s enough.” He didn’t expect the dog to listen. He always tried; Moe never listened. But it seemed the right thing to do as he gripped the dog around the barrel of his belly.
He had to lean down—well, maybe not quite as far as he did. But she had the prettiest blue eyes, even when they were shooting daggers at him. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
Muscles jumped in her jaw when she clenched it. “Get him off!”
“Working on it.”
“Hey, Moe!” Dana shouted. “Cookie!”
That did the trick. Moe leaped over the crate, nipped the cookie out of the hand Dana held in the air, then landed. It might have been a graceful landing if he hadn’t skidded several feet over the uncarpeted floor.
“Works like a charm.” Dana lifted her arm. Moe loped back, the cookie already history, and insinuated his bulk under it.
“Wow. He’s really a big dog.” Zoe eased over, held out a hand, then grinned when Moe licked it lavishly. “Friendly.”
“Pathologically friendly.” Malory brushed at the dog hair that had transferred itself to her once pristine linen shirt. “That’s the second time today he’s landed on me.”
“He likes girls.” Flynn took off his sunglasses, tossed them on the crate. “You never told me your name.”
“Oh, so you’re the idiot and his dog. Should’ve known. This is Malory Price,” Dana said. “And Zoe McCourt. My brother, Flynn.”
“Are you Michael Flynn Hennessy?” Zoe crouched to stroke Moe’s ear, looked up at Flynn under her bangs. “M. F. Hennessy, with the Valley Dispatch ?”
“Guilty.”
“I’ve read a lot of your articles, and I never miss your column. I liked the one last week on the proposed ski lift up on Lone Ridge and the environmental impact.”
“Thanks.” He reached down for a cookie. “Is this a book club
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