Nancy’s face was pink. “Did I mess up?” he asked her.
“I’m not used to a guys just grabbing me,” she said.
“Oh. Uh, sorry.” He ached to grab her again. “Did your other boyfriends ask nicely before they kissed you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said doubtfully. “I don’t remember. To be truthful, I don’t think it was ever much of an issue.”
He looked baffled. “Dickless wimps. What was their problem?”
He was rewarded by an startled crack of laughter from her, and he grinned, delighted with himself. “Can I get you a drink?”
“You said the Guinness was good?”
“Best this side of the Atlantic.” He elbowed his way to the bar and got her a pint. She sipped, and sighed with an expert’s appreciation.
“I thought you wouldn’t show,” he admitted.
She licked foam off her lip. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“Me neither, but I don’t care,” he said recklessly. He dragged another chair to the musicians’ table and sat her down next to him, taking her hand. He wound his fingers through hers to warm them. In the confusion that followed the end of the set, she leaned over to him. “I want to hear you play!” she shouted.
Her breath against his neck made his head swim. He picked up his fiddle, Mickey called another set, and they were off. It was a good group. Guitar, fiddles, bodhran, accordion, and Eoin, locked in a trance of perfect happiness, his fingers flashing as he played his Uilleann pipes.
Nancy clapped vigorously as they finished the set, and leaned over. “You guys are great!” she said, her eyes alight with pleasure. “You kick ass with that fiddle, Liam! Where did you learn to play?”
“My stepdad played the fiddle,” he replied. “He got me into it when I was a kid. And I picked up the flutes and whistles a few years back, just for fun. I’d rather mess around with them than watch TV.”
“You’re hot,” she said. “Did you ever consider going pro?”
He used the excuse of having to talk over the noise into her ear to kiss the soft skin behind it, and smell the scent of her shampoo. “For about ten minutes,” he admitted. “Figured that would take all the fun out of it.”
“Hmm. I guess that’s one way of looking at it. Who’s the piper?”
“Oh, Eoin? He’s my cousin. Second cousin, actually. Fresh from County Wicklow. He works for me. Lives in my basement. Good kid.”
“He’s fabulous,” she said.
“Yeah, isn’t he just?”
That was all there was time to say before they plunged into another set of the reels. After the set she leaned over to him. “Would he be interested in touring with a hot band that gigs a lot?”
He blinked. “Who, Eoin?”
“I don’t want to put you in a bind. But he rocks.” Her eyes glowed.
The world was warm and generous tonight, and so was he. “Ask him. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. He lives to play those pipes.”
They played a set of slip jigs as she talked into her phone, a big happy smile on her face, like a kid with a new toy. She sat down, looking satisfied. “This is the answer to my prayers. Matt and Eugene are on their way over, but I’m sure it’s a done deal, if he’s interested.”
“You work fast,” Liam said wryly.
She looked troubled. “You sure you don’t mind me stealing him?”
He shrugged. “I’ve just found him a fill-in job. Nothing big.”
Her face relaxed. “I love it when things work out perfectly.”
“Me, too,” he agreed, leaning over to breathe in her subtle fragrance, let her glossy, perfumed hair brush against his face.
A stocky redheaded guy with a guitar and a skinny guy carrying a fiddle pushed their way through the crowd about a half hour later. Their eyes fastened on Eoin, lost in the rapture of a set of fast jigs, his eyes closed, bellows pumping. They nodded to Nancy. The redheaded guy’s eyes lingered curiously on Liam, who was still smelling her hair.
“That’s Matt with the guitar, and Eugene with the fiddle,” she said in his ear. “I’ll introduce you after the set.”
Matt and Eugene pulled out their instruments and dove into the seisìun. Nancy patted Liam’s hand and extracted her own. “I have to go talk to Eoin,” she said, with a smile. “Be right back.”
He watched, fascinated, as she made her way through the crowd. She waited until the end of the set, tapped Eoin on the shoulder, and started talking in his ear. Eoin shot him a bewildered look. Liam gave him a thumbs-up. Nancy spoke again, and Eoin’s freckles disappeared in a deep blush. She made her way back to Liam and sat down.
“I’ll let the boys take it from here! He’s shy! Needs some convincing!” she yelled, as the players tore lustily into “The Abbey Reel.”
Some time later, Liam noticed a man across the bar lifting a pint in salute. It was Charlie Witt, a cop from Latham who’d been partnered with Eddie, Liam’s stepdad, back when Eddie had been on the force. Charlie was a good guy. Past retirement age, but he kept on working.
An impulse struck Liam, and he leaned over to Nancy’s ear, nuzzling his nose into her soft hair, sucking in a greedy chestful of that sweet warm scent that made him want to lick her all over. “There’s a guy I want to talk to over there,” he said. “Will you come with me?”
Nancy gave him a puzzled nod. They slid out of their chairs, and he clasped her hand and led her through the crowd just as the lads all followed Eoin’s lead and struck into a raucous reel.
Nancy’s fingers curled around his. Her hand was so small. He wanted to kiss it. Drag her out of there. Find someplace private.
He shook Charlie’s hand, introduced Nancy, and got a congratulatory thump on the shoulder from the old man as Charlie looked her over. “You got yourself a dish,” the older guy said. “Treat her good, huh? Or else I’ll steal her for myself.”
The next reel had a couple of bodhrans thundering along, so Liam had to speak right into Charlie’s ear. “I need some advice.”
“Anything for Eddie’s kid,” Charlie shot back.
“Remember that elderly Italian American lady in Hempton who died in a burglary attempt about ten days ago? D’Onofrio?”
Charlie’s smile faded. “Yeah, heard about that. Fuckin’ shame. They say the house got tossed again, even worse this time.”
“I was the one who reported it yesterday,” Liam told him. “And Nancy is Mrs. D’Onofrio’s daughter.”
Charlie looked at Nancy again, his round face grave. He jerked his chin toward the back of the bar. “Let’s go where there’s less noise.”
They followed Charlie into a quieter room, with a pool table and a pay phone. Charlie slid into a booth and took a swig of the pint that he’d brought with him. “I don’t know a lot about that case,” he warned them. “It ain’t my case, or even my town. I just heard about it because my partner, Henry, is hangin’ out with one of the evidence techs.”
“I just wanted your take on it,” Liam said.
He outlined the facts for Charlie, with a few interjections from Nancy, clarifying and explaining. Charlie read Lucia’s letter, peering through his bifocals for several minutes, and scowled, chewing his lip.
He looked at Nancy. “Your investigating officer knows about this letter, miss? You told him about the connection with the Baruchins?”
“It’s a her, Detective Lanaghan, and I told her about both things yesterday,” Nancy said. “And the letter was bagged by the forensics team. They might have even found more of it by now. God, I hope so. It’s our only hope of knowing more.”
Charlie shook his head. “Bad couple of weeks for senior citizens around here. The D’Onofrio lady, the clotheshorse. Now the Baruchins.”
“The clotheshorse? Who’s he?” Liam asked.
Charlie scowled. “Nobody knows. Strangest shit I ever heard. Kid finds a body in a vacant lot in Jamaica ’bout a week ago. Some guy in his eighties, neck snapped. No ID, but the guy was dressed head to toe in Italian designer clothes. Like, ten thousand bucks on the guy’s back. Steffi got on the Internet, did some pricing. His shoes alone would have cost two thousand bucks. But if he’s a rich bigwig, why doesn’t somebody report him missing? And if he’s a crook, his prints or DNA would turn up some priors, right?” He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s like the guy never existed. But somebody popped him, and now somebody pops Baruchin and his wife and mother-in-law, the same night that somebody comes back to the D’Onofrio house and searches it again? It stinks.” He gazed at Nancy. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t know what these clowns are looking for, right, miss?”