The Whisper by Carla Neggers Page B

down the stairs. She sat at a high stool at the bar and ordered a glass of Guinness, watching the bartender, new since she’d worked there, go through the proper two-part process to pour it.
    She’d taken just two sips when Scoop Wisdom descended the stairs, eased over to her and pointed to a table. He had on a darksweater and dark khakis and looked as if he weren’t struggling with jet lag at all. “Come sit with me.”
    Sophie set down her glass. “As in, you’ll arrest me if I don’t?”
    “As in, we need to talk.”
    She wondered if Jeremiah had tipped Scoop off that she was on the premises, or if the man’s cop instincts were just on over-drive where she was concerned. He walked over to a small table under a window that looked out on Charles Street, quiet on the dreary late-September night. Sophie took another quick sip of her Guinness, welcoming its strong, distinctive flavor. She left her glass behind when she went over to Scoop’s table.
    “Amazing,” she said, sitting across from him. “Yesterday we met unexpectedly in an Irish ruin, this morning we run into each other at the airport and now here we are in a Boston pub. What’re the odds?”
    “Pretty good, I’d say.”
    She ignored his dry sarcasm. “It’s after midnight in Ireland. Can you feel the time change?”
    Scoop settled back in his chair. “What’s your game, Sophie?”
    He knew something. She could see it in his dark eyes as she decided on a response. He was an internal affairs detective, presumably especially good at telling when someone was dissembling. She wasn’t good at spotting liars. She was good at doing the painstaking, detailed work of an archaeologist and curious by nature, but, as Damian had reminded her, a good education and a curious nature didn’t make her a detective.
    Which at least gave her an angle to try on Scoop. “No game,” she said. “I’m just a curious person with a love for Ireland, archaeology and history. I’m borrowing my sister’s apartment. I have a few odds and ends lined up to put food on the table, and I’m teaching a couple of college classes next semester while I setup interviews for a tenure-track position. I have a good lead on one here in Boston.”
    “Will your work with the Boston-Cork folklore help?”
    “Sure. I’m looking forward to it. I have several people in mind already for my panel, but I’ll be putting out a call for papers in the next day or two. It’s an honor to work with Colm Dermott. He’s brilliant. Everyone I know loves him.” Sophie paused as a waiter placed what appeared to be a frosty glass of soda in front of Scoop. “Smart man, Detective Wisdom, staying away from alcohol in the middle of an interrogation.”
    “It’s not an interrogation. If it were, you’d know.”
    “Hot lights? Thumbscrews?”
    He gave her just the glimmer of a smile. “Tape recorder.” He didn’t touch his drink. “What else, Sophie?”
    “A friend here in Boston offered me a job tutoring student athletes a few hours a week. Hockey players, mostly. Ever play hockey, Detective?”
    “Yeah, I played hockey. Still do. You take the job?”
    “I did. I can start as soon as I’m able.”
    “Good. Start tomorrow.”
    “You know, Scoop,” Sophie said, “I don’t take to being bossed around. Even my parents had a hard time telling me what to do when I was a kid. My sister, too. We’re twins.”
    “Noncompliant personalities?”
    “I think of us as independent. When we were kids, we’d go off on our own and explore the little Irish village outside Cork where we lived.”
    “Sounds to me as if your folks didn’t watch you. Why were you living in Ireland?”
    “My father was sent there by his company. My mother taught school.”
    He raised his glass. “You used to work here at Morrigan’s as a student.”
    Sophie resisted the temptation to jump up and run. His scrutiny—his knowledge of her—was unsettling. “You’ve been checking me out. Has Lizzie Rush been helping?