But I don’t. I don’t because his anniversary party is tomorrow and I promised my family I would let everything go until after the celebration.
I won’t ruin this milestone for my mother and father.
But already I know where my father was.
The only other person who knew I was worried about my mother being ill again is Brendan. Why would my father be talking to Brendan? Why would Brendan be talking to my father?
I will find out.
I head back into the tattoo shop.
Cy hands me a piece of paper. “How do these look?”
I widen my eyes. “Wow. These are magnificent.”
Three images. The first is a triquetra in basic black with a lightning bolt poised above it, also in black. In the third, the triquetra is completely cut in half by a jagged line, presumably representing the lightning.
But the second… The second is exactly what I had in mind. The triquetra is severed by the bolt diagonally. Perfect. Just as I saw it in my head.
“I recommend the second one for a tattoo on your hip. It’s a little less intricate, and we can make it smaller.”
“Yeah, I totally agree. All of them are beautiful, but the second image does stand out to me.”
“I can do the triquetra in whatever colors you want. The lightning, of course, should be either black or yellow.”
“I want the triquetra in plain black, with the lightning strike in yellow. I think that will be the most vibrant. The most… I can’t think of the right word, but it’s what I want.”
He smiles. “That’s what matters. Do you want to make an appointment?”
“Can you do it right now?”
“I wish I could, but I have to get home. Lavinia’s making wild rice and turkey soup, and we’re going to eat it this afternoon and watch football together.”
“Okay. Why don’t I stop by after the holiday, and we’ll set up an appointment?”
“Sounds good. See you, Ava.”
“See you, Cy.”
I walk out of the tattoo shop and head straight for Murphy’s bar.
Brendan owes me some answers.
Chapter Four
Brendan
“Can we do this another time?” I say to Pat. “I really have to go up and get showered so I can open the bar.”
Pat shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “I suppose so.”
“Good, because honestly I don’t know anything about your grandmother. I’m not sure why you’re here, anyway.”
“I’m here because I got this really weird email.”
“Oh, God,” I say.
“Yeah, and it said to ask the Murphys.” He pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me.
I scan it quickly. It’s the same cryptic message that came to me through Hardy’s office.
When echoes navigate down yonder, many anchors destroy ideas generated about neglect.
Still clear as mud. “What address did this come from?” I ask.
“Nothing I recognized, and when I tried to email them back, it bounced.”
I shrug. “I don’t know what the hell this means. But I got the same email, and so did the Steels.”
He raises his eyebrows. “The Steels?”
“Well, Ava Steel. And mine didn’t come directly to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It came to the sheriff’s office. Did this one come to you?”
He nods. “It came to one of my email addresses, but not the one I commonly use.”
I cock my head, eyeing him. “Why would you have more than one email address?”
“I opened a few email accounts when I was researching my relationship to the Steel family.”
“Again…why?”
He shrugs. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn’t want to bog down my regular email address with all this stuff.”
He’s lying, and I’ve lost all patience. “And for the third time… Why, Pat?”
He drops his gaze to the floor for a moment. “I don’t know. Hell, I don’t know which end is up these days. All I know is that the woman in the hospital is the only link I have to who I truly am. Her name is Dyane Wingdam, and my mother is her daughter, Lauren Wingdam.”
“And where is she? The daughter? Er…your mother?”
“I don’t know. I only recently found out her name. I haven’t been able to track her down. She may be dead for all I know. But her mother, Dyane Wingdam, using the name Sabrina Smith, is alive. Alive and sedated and in the hospital.”
“And you’re sure this woman is related to you?”
“I’m sure.”
He doesn’t offer any more explanation, and I don’t push. First, I don’t have the time. Second, I’m not sure I care.
Except I have to care because Ava and I got the same message.
“Look, I feel for you. I really do. But I have to get moving. The bar is going to be hopping this afternoon.”
Pat shakes his head. “Come on. You’ve got to know something. Why would they send me to you? What is your connection to the Steels?”
“Christ.” I rub my forehead. “This isn’t a secret, so go talk to my dad. The only connection we have to the Steel family”—other than my dating Ava, which I keep to myself. Hell, he may know already—“is that my great-uncle died at Bradford Steel’s wedding fifty years ago.”
Pat’s eyes widen. “He did?”
“Yeah. He OD’d. But the guy never used drugs in his life, according to people long gone now. My dad always wondered why it happened, but he was never able to trace it to the Steels.” I hand the hard copy of the email back to Pat.
He shoves it in his pocket. “All right. I’ll talk to your dad. Where do I find him?”
“Didn’t you used to live here? His name is Sean Murphy. He used to run this place, and he lives here in town. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to shower and get the bar open.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He shuffles out the back door, and I’m ready to lock it when—
“Brendan Murphy, what the hell is going on?”
Ava.
Right at the back door of the bar.
And damn, she’s as beautiful as ever, all fiery and angry—about what, I have no idea.
So I smile, hoping my pearly whites can defuse whatever’s got her going. “Hey, baby. What can I do for you?”
Her full lips are turned down into a frown. “Don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me.”
I raise my eyebrows. So much for the patented Brendan Murphy smile. “What’s wrong? I thought we left things great between us today.”
“I thought we did too.”
“What’s going on, Ava?”
Man, is she pissed. If she were a volcano, she’d be spewing hot lava on me right about now.
“You tell me,” she demands. “You’re the only one I told about my fear that my mother was sick again, but I found my father walking along Main Street today, and I stopped him to talk to him. He told me point-blank that my mother’s not ill.”
Uh-oh.