Residual Moon Page 4

  Grayson woke with a start and bolted up. She quickly looked around the dark room. “Shit.” She ran her fingers through her hair. What the fuck kinda dream was that? She looked over at Eve, who was sleeping soundly. She took a moment to get her bearings and wipe the sweat from her brow. She then took a deep breath and slid out of bed.

  “Are you leaving?” Eve’s sleepy voice called out.

  “Yes,” Grayson said as she struggled into her boots. A feeling of guilt tore through her. Vic’s face crowded her vision as she slipped into her jacket. “Look—”

  “Don’t say it,” Eve said and lay on her side to face Grayson.

  Grayson felt Eve watching her as she lay there. She didn’t know what to say. Eve apparently did. “You’ve got some demon chasing you, don’t you?”

  Grayson stiffened and looked down at her, her body silhouetted against the filtered light from the street. She was naked under the sheet. “It’s these murders,” she said by way of an explanation.

  “It’s not the murders, Grayson MacCarthaigh,” Eve whispered.

  “I’ve got to go,” Grayson said and stepped back.

  “You know where I live.”

  “Yeah, I know. Goodbye, Eve,” Grayson said and walked out.

  Grayson walked into her apartment and tossed her keys on the small table. She glanced at the picture there of her and Vicky in Florida just before she died.

  They were happy and content—their lives planned and their love secure. Grayson shook her head roughly as if to stop her thoughts. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower.

  She dried off as she walked into the bedroom and tossed the damp towel on the chair. She slid under the sheets and let out a deep sigh. Eve now invaded her thoughts. Good grief, MacCarthaigh, you nearly came like a teenager and she didn’t even touch you. All at once, she was extremely aroused once again.

  Her breathing got shallow as her hand absently went to her breast, tweaking and tugging her nipple, the other hand went south and slid through her own wetness. Then the vision of Vic flashed through her inner sight. Their last night in this room was passionate and erotic. Grayson closed her eyes as she continued, feeling the orgasm start. Soon, she was lost in the visions of Vic as the orgasm shot through her.

  “Vic!” she screamed out as she arched off the bed. “Fuck,” she muttered when her breathing returned to normal. She rolled over and hugged a huge pillow. Fine, Grayson, now you’re reduced to diddling yourself.

  She faded off into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams, if she could call them that, were disjointed and unsettling. There were visions of Vic, Maeve, and someone she could not remember—someone in the shadows.

  Chapter 5

  The next two days found nothing new. Grayson was irritated, and Stan was the picture of understanding.

  “Stan, if you say don’t worry one more time, I’m gonna shoot you,” Grayson said through clenched teeth as she grabbed her leather jacket.

  Her impeccably dressed partner’s eyes widened and he hid his grin. “Sorry, Grayson. Where are we going?” he asked as he followed her down the steps.

  “Ms. Quigley’s aunt is flying in to take the body back to Boston. We’re picking her up at O’Hare.”

  Grayson was eating a hotdog as they stood by the baggage claim carousel in the United terminal.

  Stan grimaced. “It’s only nine in the morning. How can you eat that?”

  Grayson shrugged and took another healthy bite. She glanced past Stan and noticed a tall woman in sunglasses standing by the carousel. She had long red curly hair, and for an instant, Grayson thought she looked like Nicole Kidman. A closer look showed this woman was not as thin and her features were softer. She had a familiarity about her that Grayson couldn’t place.

  Then the passengers started to mill around waiting for their luggage. From the description Mrs. Quigley had given Stan, Grayson recognized her right off. She was a taller woman with white hair and wore the tweed blazer as she said she would.

  “There she is,” Stan said.

  Grayson noticed the redhead walking toward Mrs. Quigley and put a hand to his chest to stop Stan.

  “What?” he asked and followed her stare.

  The redhead walked up to Mrs. Quigley. They exchanged an emotional hug, and the redhead said something to the old woman, who nodded and smiled. Again, Grayson thought this woman looked familiar. It was driving her crazy.

  “Who is that?” Stan asked as he watched the exchange.

  “Don’t know, but I’m gonna find out,” Grayson said, and a small glimmer of hope and enthusiasm sparkled in her eyes for the first time in three weeks.

  “Mrs. Quigley?” Grayson asked. Both women looked up and the old woman smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Detective MacCarthaigh, we spoke on the phone. This is Detective Resnick.”

  Stan smiled warmly as they shook hands. Grayson met the piercing green eyes of the redhead. They stared at each other for a moment until the woman blinked and looked away.

  “Thank you so much for meeting me, Detectives,” Mrs. Quigley said kindly.

  Grayson smiled and nodded, then looked back at the redhead. “Well, it seems you already made arrangements,” Grayson said evenly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Neala Rourke. She was a friend of Nan’s,” Mrs. Quigley said. The redhead shook hands with Stan, then turned to Grayson.

  “Detective,” she said in a soft Irish brogue.

  Grayson heard her, but she showed no emotion whatsoever as she took the offered hand.

  “Well, why don’t we get your luggage?” Stan suggested.

  The old woman nodded in agreement and searched the luggage carousel. “There it is.” She pointed and Stan retrieved the small bag.

  “Ms. Rourke, will you be accompanying us?” Grayson asked.

  “Yes, please, Neala,” Mrs. Quigley said. “I really don’t want to do this alone. It was so nice of you to meet me here.”

  The tall redhead smiled. “Of course, I’ll come with you.” She held the old woman’s hand.

  “Would you like to go to your hotel first?” Grayson asked.

  The old woman smiled sadly. “Thank you, Detective, but I’d rather do this now,” she said in a tired voice.

  Mrs. Quigley held the handkerchief to her face as she cried. Grayson hated this part of her job.

  “How could this have happened?” Mrs. Quigley whispered sadly.

  Neala Rourke just stared down at the body covered in the sheet. Stan grimaced and Grayson spoke.

  “We’re not sure, Mrs. Quigley, but we’ll find out who did this,” she said confidently and led the woman out. “You said on the phone that your niece was here on business, but you had no idea what that business was.”

  The old woman shook her head. “Nan had a government job, I believe. She worked for the Boston City Archives, but that’s all I know,” she said with a helpless shrug.

  Stan grinned. “That’s more than we knew, thank you.”

  Grayson regarded the redhead curiously. “What about you, Ms. Rourke? What do you do for a living?”

  Neala Rourke raised an eyebrow. “I do not work for the government, Detective MacCarthaigh.” With that, her pager went off. She looked at the number. “I have to get back to work, Peg. Why don’t I take you back to the hotel? If the detective is finished, that is.” She gave Grayson a challenging look.

  Grayson’s jaw tensed and Stan stepped in. “We’re through, thank you. We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Quigley.”

  Grayson said nothing but got a quick wink from her partner. She merely nodded and watched as they walked down the steps and into Neala Rourke’s car.

  “Sorry, Gray, it was getting a little tense. I saw your jaw clench,” he said with a grin. “So what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking Neala Rourke knows something. And I will find out,” she said in a resolute voice as the BMW pulled away from the curb.

  Stan looked at his watch. “Hey, don’t you have to get to your mother’s?”

  “Shit!” Grayson shouted and ran down the steps.

  Maeve MacCarthaigh had just put the lid on the huge pot when the doorbell rang. “Why doesn’t that idiot use her key?” she asked as she wiped her hands on the towel.

  “This should be a regular occurrence, Grayson MacCarthaigh, every Sunday,” Maeve said, and her daughter smiled.

  “We’d kill each other,” Grayson said as she took a big whiff. “Hmm, I love that smell.”

  “You have a hollow leg. I don’t know how you keep in such fit shape, the way you eat.”

  “Vic used to say the same thing.”

  “She was right. Now sit.”

  They sat at the little kitchen table and ate their Sunday meal. Maeve noticed the distracted look. “How is the investigation going?”

  Grayson sighed angrily and explained all she could. Mrs. MacCarthaigh listened as she ate and waited until her daughter had finished.

  “That’s a horrible way to die and a horrible thing for her aunt to go through. She’s lucky to have the other woman there for her,” she said and watched Grayson’s brow furrow deeper. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

  “I don’t know, Ma. This woman, there’s something about her. I can’t figure it out. She looks so familiar. Damn it, I know I’ve seen her before,” Grayson said as she picked at her food.

  Maeve noticed Grayson still look exhausted. “Why don’t you stop thinking about it for a while? Let it rest, then come back to it later. God knows you see a lot of people.” She gave her daughter a smug grin. “Maybe you saw her at Mass on Sunday.”

  “Oh, very funny,” Grayson countered. “Just because I…” Her voice trailed off.

  Maeve saw the thoughtful pose. “What? You saw her at church?” she asked, trying to hide her incredulous tone.

  Grayson frowned and shook her head. “No, but…” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just know I’ve seen her.”

  Maeve said nothing as Grayson’s mind went to work. She sat back in her chair and looked around the room. “There’s something about this woman. I…” She stopped and the grin spread across her face.

  “I know that grin. Who is she?” her mother asked. “If you don’t tell me…”

  Grayson chuckled and sat forward. “Two weeks ago, I went to the funeral of Jane Monahan, the first victim. I sat in the back and watched everyone. And there she was, sitting a few rows back at the end of the pew, alone. Damn it, I knew it!”

  “So maybe she’s just a friend,” her mother said logically.

  Grayson snorted in disbelief. “What are the odds of her knowing both victims? No, Ma, this woman knows something. I can feel it,” she said, then tiredly rubbed her face.

  “What else, Gray? I can tell there’s something else bothering you,” her mother gently prodded.

  “I don’t know,” Grayson grumbled. “Both victims had markings on them.”

  “What kind of markings?” Maeve asked with a grimace.

  “I know you hate this, but I need…” She stopped abruptly. She sat back and took a deep stubborn breath.

  “Grayson, you need to talk this out. I know you. So start talking. I’ll be honest with you, kiddo, I don’t like this dehumanizing part of your job, but it’s the nature of murder, I suppose. So tell me what you’re thinking.” Maeve patted her hand.

  Grayson leaned in. “Both women were cut, Mother, under the left breast.”

  Maeve blinked and swallowed her revulsion. “Wha—, um, what,” she stammered. “Cut?” she asked with an incredulous squeak.

  Grayson leaned back and laughed quietly. “Cut as in with a knife or scalpel,” she said evenly. She reached over, took the pencil out of her mother’s hair, scribbled the markings on a paper napkin, and presented it to her stunned mother.

  Maeve blinked and looked at the napkin. She frowned and cocked her head to one side. “This looks familiar,” she said as she studied the markings.

  “That’s what I said. I know I’ve seen these markings somewhere before, but I’ll be goddamned if I can remember,” she said angrily.

  “Stop swearing,” Maeve said absently, as she continued to look at the napkin. She then blinked and sat back.

  “I know that look, Ma,” Grayson said. “You have the same look when you figure out the final word in a crossword puzzle.”

  “Shush for a minute, let me think,” Maeve said and waved her off.

  Without a word, she rose and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Grayson sitting there confused and impatient.

  After a minute of grunting and groaning, Maeve walked back into the kitchen. Grayson groaned as she noticed the huge book. “Mother, not the ‘How to Be a Druid in Three Easy Lessons.’ Please,” she begged in earnest.

  Her mother ignored the sarcasm as she sat and opened the leather-bound book. “Let me see. I know I’ve seen these before.”

  Grayson moaned helplessly as she looked at the book.

  “I see that look. Now stop scowling,” Maeve said as she leafed through the heavy book.

  “It’s the bible to the Druid world. I know,” Grayson moaned. “Druids, bards, and ovates alike all had this book or something similar. It’s the history of Druidism from the beginning with the Tuatha Dé Danann and the gods and goddesses, to Brigid to St. Patrick, who took all the Druid beliefs and made them ‘acceptable’ in the eyes of Rome,” she continued.

  “Don’t sass the Church,” Maeve said as she turned the old pages. “But I agree about St. Patrick.”

  “And they say that St. Brigid herself was a triple goddess,” Grayson said with a shake of her head.

  “Yes, they were all over the place back then,” Maeve said dryly as she looked through the book.

  “All my life, Druidism surrounded me. If it wasn’t you, it was Sally or even Grandma,” Grayson said and laughed. “I remember Grandma Grayson and you. You’d sit for hours at a time reliving and retelling Ireland’s history and mythology. As a kid, I was enthralled and felt a connection, but…”

  “But as you got older, it waned until it became a flight of fancy, nothing more than an old story one tells at Halloween to scare the daylights out of all the little kids,” Maeve said as she concentrated on the book. She looked up to see her daughter grinning evilly. “You’re thinking of Steve O’Brien, aren’t you?”

  Grayson laughed out loud. “I scared Steve O’Brien so bad he wet his pants. He deserved it being the bully he was.”

  Maeve continued leafing through the book in silence. Grayson still felt that inner pull in her gut whenever she thought about being a Druid.

  “You can’t deny it, sweetie,” her mother said softly. “It’s in your spirit, like it is mine and your grandmother and God knows how many other ancestors.”

  “It’s ancient folklore—mythology, Ma,” Grayson said logically. “Nothing has been proven that the Tuatha Dé Danann even existed. The Milesians were the first recognized inhabitants of Ireland…”

  Her mother waved her off. “I wish I knew where you got this annoying logical side. It had to be from your father.”

  “Yes, being logical is a curse.”

  Maeve smiled and looked up. “It is when you deny your heritage.”

  “Mother,” Grayson insisted. “I am not a Druid.”

  “No, you’re not,” her mother agreed. “You’re a Druidess.”

  “I give up.” Grayson sighed and rubbed her temples.

  “I knew it!” her mother said triumphantly.

  Grayson jumped at the exclamation. “What?”

  Her mother turned the big book, so both of them could see. Grayson peered at the symbols and markings. It was then she realized what it was. “Ogham, damn, I knew I saw these before.”

  Maeve nodded. “Each is a letter in the ancient Irish Ogham alphabet. Some mean whole words, some have a special meaning,” she said with such enthusiasm that Grayson had to smile as she watched the green eyes sparkle.

  “I’ll get the photos tomorrow and bring them over. I’ll look at them then. It has to be. This could be a big breakthrough if this is what I think,” she said in a hopeful voice. She ran her hand across her eyes.

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?” her mother asked.

  Grayson stopped in mid-rub and peered through her fingers when she heard the eager tone. “Why?”

  Maeve laughed at the terrified pose of her tough detective daughter. “There’s a benefit at the FieldMuseum. The Irish government has some historical artifacts on display. Chicago is their last stop. They’re here for a month, and this is their last week. Good grief, Grayson, don’t you read the papers? My God, you’re a detective.”

  Grayson narrowed her eyes at her mother’s grinning face but said nothing.

  “So I want you to go with me. I can bring a date,” she said, and Grayson cringed. “I know what you’re thinking. You love your mother, but the thought of spending the entire evening with Sally, Marge, Rose, and any other Druids was not on your list of top ten things to do.

  It’s not a Druid convention, though you’d do well to pay attention. It’s in your blood, as well, young lady. I’ve been invited because I teach Irish history and mythology, and for your information, I am very well respected in academic circles,” she said firmly.

  Grayson had the grace to blush. “Sorry, Ma. Let me think about it.” She yawned wildly.

  “Good grief, we’ve been sitting here for five hours. It’s nearly ten o’clock. It’s time for bed,” she said.

  Grayson looked at her watch. “Holy shit, I had no idea it was this late. I’d better be going.” She stretched as she stood.

  “You are not riding that rumbling beast home at this hour. You’re tired and you’ll run off the road. You’re staying and that’s final,” Maeve said in a firm voice as they cleared the dinner dishes.

  “Go on, your room is all ready for you. I’ll make breakfast in the morning and you’ll eat every bite. Now go take a hot bath and get to bed,” she ordered as she pushed Grayson out of the kitchen.

  The hot bath did the trick. Grayson nearly fell asleep in the tub. She took a pair of boxers and a T-shirt out of her old dresser drawer. As she slipped into the makeshift PJs, she chuckled as she noticed that her mother hadn’t changed much in her room.