Free Carla Neggers by Declan's Cross Page B

hobby,” Philip said. “I’m thinking of becoming an oceanographic research diver.”
    Sean wasn’t one to puncture a young man’s dreams, but he said, “A college degree would help, I would think.”
    “It would if I decide I want one.” He tucked the empty tray under one arm. “What if I wanted to join the garda water unit like Eamon’s brother?”
    “Think you could pull a body out of the water?”
    Philip didn’t flinch. “I could.”
    “It’d be in addition to your regular garda duties.”
    “Good.”
    Practical considerations didn’t necessarily interest Philip, but that could be youth and the attitude of some of his diving friends rubbing off on him. From what Sean had gleaned in the three or four weeks since Lindsey and Brent had arrived in Declan’s Cross, they’d been bouncing from place to place in order to indulge their passion for diving. Brent in particular was a respected diver, willing to cobble together a living if it gave him the freedom to dive. Their arrival in Declan’s Cross had attracted local divers. Everyone had assumed they’d move on. Then came the idea for a research field station, the rented garage...and now Julianne Maroney.
    Sean decided to get Philip’s opinion, gauge his reaction. “What’s the status of this marine science research field station?”
    “Lindsey’s securing funding from her family. She wants it to be a proper field station.” Philip opened a lower cabinet and shoved the tray inside, then stood straight, his cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. “I’ve volunteered to do what I can to help.”
    Meaning he wasn’t getting paid. Same with Lindsey’s new friend from Maine. “Lindsey seems to have a knack for getting people to help her.”
    “And what’s wrong with that?”
    Sean shrugged, unruffled. “Nothing on the face of it. What about Brent and Eamon? Are they volunteers?”
    “I don’t know, but Eamon’s not involved with the field station that I can see. Brent could be on a Hargreaves Institute grant. He hasn’t said, and I haven’t asked.” Philip was less combative, his interest in the field station plainly genuine. “Can I get you anything?”
    Sean shook his head. “Just passing through. You haven’t seen Lindsey, have you?”
    “Not since yesterday.”
    “Yesterday?”
    “Yeah.” Philip lifted a bottle of wine from a rack and checked the cork, obviously looking for something to do. “She stopped by the garage—the field station. I was in back with the tanks. By the time I realized she was there, she was on her way again.”
    “Did you speak to her?” Sean asked.
    “Not a word. I don’t think she saw me.”
    “You were alone?”
    “Yes. Sean—geez, man—”
    “What time was this?”
    “Two o’clock or so. After lunch.” He gave a half nervous, half sarcastic laugh. “I wouldn’t want to get into real trouble with you. I’m sweating.”
    Sean eased off the stool, attempting to look less as if Philip were a terror suspect. His months of inaction—healing, thinking, tending sheep—had taken a toll, and now he was overreacting to absolutely nothing. “Where were Eamon and Brent yesterday?” he asked casually.
    “I don’t really know. Off diving, I expect. You don’t think anything’s happened to Lindsey, do you?”
    “I’ve no reason to think so.”
    It was a careful answer, and Philip seemed to recognize it as such. He returned the wine bottle to the rack and grabbed a wet rag out of the small, stainless-steel sink but didn’t seem to know what to do with it. He finally slopped it onto the edge of the sink and scrubbed at some possibly imaginary stain. The color in his face was all the confirmation Sean needed that the lad was taken with Lindsey. She was at least a decade older, but that wouldn’t stop an eighteen-year-old’s fantasies.
    Not much did, Sean thought. At the moment he had no desire for alcohol. He stood by the fire, burning hot with no one to enjoy it. Above the marble mantel was a mirror