The Whisper by Carla Neggers

himself. He’d acknowledged to Sophie that his only son wasn’t nearly as adventurous. “Perhaps it’s just as well,” the old man had said.
    She pulled herself out of her thoughts. Her Guinness wasmaking her head spin. Trekking out to the ruin on the Beara and meeting Scoop Wisdom—scarred, suspicious—had launched her back to her own trauma a year ago with an intensity that had left her off balance, on edge.
    The waiter delivered Percy’s coffee. He took a small sip, keeping the mug in one hand as he nodded to her parents and sister. “I saw Taryn when she played Ophelia in Boston a few years ago. She’s quite amazing.”
    “That she is. She loves her work.”
    “Always a plus.” He set his coffee on the scarred table. “Do you love your work, Sophie?”
    “I do, yes.”
    “I’ve heard you’re involved in the upcoming Boston-Cork conference on Irish folklore. Will that look good on your CV?”
    “Sure, and it’ll be interesting as well as fun.”
    “But it’s unpaid,” he said. “How are you managing these days?”
    “Same as I did throughout graduate school.”
    “Tutoring, fellowships, teaching a class here and there?”
    “Every job’s a real job.”
    “I admire your attitude.” He picked up his mug of coffee. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Sophie, you’ve only to ask.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate it,” she said. “I’m heading back to Boston tomorrow. I have a few leads on full-time work.”
    “Best of luck to you.” Percy watched the musicians chat among themselves for a few moments. “I considered driving down to the village where Keira Sullivan says she found that stone angel.”
    His comment caught Sophie by surprise. “Do you know Keira?”
    “Only by reputation. Everyone’s still very shaken that Jay Augustine proved to be a killer.” He seemed to wait for Sophie’s reaction. She sat forward, but before she could say anything, he continued, “I wasn’t friends with the Augustines or even closeto it. I’d see them socially from time to time at various functions in New York and Boston. Charlotte Augustine’s moved to Hawaii, did you know?”
    “No,” Sophie said.
    “She’s seeking a divorce. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her to discover she was married to a murderer.” Percy stared into his coffee. “The Boston police and the FBI interviewed me in July, not long after Augustine’s arrest. I wanted you to know so that you don’t get the wrong idea. It was routine. I’d done a few perfectly legitimate deals with him. The police talked to everyone who’d done business with him.”
    “That makes sense, don’t you think?”
    “Of course. I understood completely.” Percy faced her again, his expression cool now, slightly supercilious. “What about you, Sophie? Did you have any dealings with Jay Augustine?”
    “No, none.” She tried to lighten her tone. “No money, remember?”
    But he continued to look troubled and annoyed. “I’m a very careful, experienced collector, Sophie. Very few pieces available on the market today would interest me. My family…my father…” He broke off, sitting back. “Never mind. You probably know as much about my family’s art collection as I do.”
    “I’ve never crawled through your attic—”
    “We don’t keep anything of value in the attic. We are familiar with the protocols for storing and preserving works of art.”
    Sophie sighed. “It was a joke, Percy.” She noticed with relief that the musicians were about to get started again. “Did you buy from the Augustines or sell to them?”
    “Both.”
    “What kind of—”
    “Nothing that would interest you. Nothing Irish. Nothing Celtic.”
    “Percy,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm, “why did you look me up last September?”
    He frowned at her. “Last September? What are you talking about?”
    She repeated her question.
    “Just what I told you at the time,” he said. “I knew you were studying in Ireland and had