Deadly Gift by Heather Graham

he’s dead, and you’re worrying about Sean,” she told him.
    “Yes.”
    “You know Eddie?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you think that maybe…I don’t know? That he’s maybe gone into hiding for some reason?” she asked.
    “I wish I did,” he answered.
    She was silent; then she pointed to one of the spires rising into the night sky and said, “Christ Church Cathedral. It was built by a man known as Silkbeard. He was actually Sitric, a Norse king of Dublin. Did you know the city was founded by the Norse? Then there were the Normans, the Norman English and the English. Can you imagine all the plotting and fighting that’s gone on here?”
    He was surprised; she sounded as if she were actually trying to lighten his mood.
    “You really love this city, don’t you?” he asked her.
    “What’s not to love?” she replied softly. “Dublin is one of the most wonderful cities on earth.”
    He laughed. “You told me you’d never been outside the British Isles.”
    “I’ve seen the Travel Channel,” she said defensively.
    “I’m not arguing. It’s a wonderful city,” he assured her, trying not to laugh at her indignation. And she was right. Dublin was an amazing city. So much history, a lot of it tragic, but nowadays the city was as alive and cosmopolitan as any place he knew. Walking along the street, he could hear people speaking in foreign languages, just like in New York, London or Paris, though the majority were speaking in English with the same Irish lilt that made everything Caer said sound so melodic. “The pub is right ahead,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “See? Irish Eyes.”
    Caer led the way through the groups gathered outside to smoke, and Zach noticed that every eye followed her as she passed. She was not just beautiful but strikingly beautiful.
    She would be noticed wherever she went.
    He followed her inside, realizing that everyone was looking at him, as well.
    Because he was with her.
    As they walked in, he was certain that she was about to apologize and tell him that her friends hadn’t been able to make it after all.
    He was wrong.
    She was recognized the minute they walked in. An attractive woman of about forty headed straight out from behind the bar, wiping her hands on an apron with “Irish Eyes” handsomely embroidered on the edge.
    “You came!” she said with pleasure.
    “I said I would,” Caer told her.
    He introduced himself. “Zach Flynn.”
    “American?” the woman said.
    “Yes. Wretched accent, sorry. Caer invited me along. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Mind?” Why ’tis lovely, ye’ve come. I’m Mary Donovan, Mr. Flynn.” She turned back to Caer. “Sit down now. You must be hungry, spending all day in the hospital and all.” She waved her hands at a couple of young men in tweed caps sitting at the bar. “Make way, you two scalawags. ’Tis Caer. I told you she might be coming in tonight.”
    The place seemed to be hopping. There was a family in one corner: parents, a grandfather, what looked like an aunt, a teenager, two smaller children and an infant. A group of blue-collar workmen sat next to them, and a group of thirty-something men in suits was next to the workmen. The various parties didn’t seem to be segregated, though. Someone popped up now and then to take ketchup or mayo from one table to another, and now and then one of them called out to someone at another table.
    “Caer,” one of the men at the bar said, as he tipped his cap. “Glad to hear you were there to be so kind to the old missus.”
    “It was nothing,” Caer demurred.
    “We don’t need to take your seats,” Zach said. “We’re not in that much of a hurry.”
    But the bar stools had already been vacated for them.
    “Sit,” Mary said.
    “Well, thank you,” Zach told the pair whose seats they were usurping.
    “Dale has to be gettin’ home, he’s a brand new wee babe waitin’ there with his wife,” Mary explained.
    “I was just droppin’ in,” the man identified as