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?”

Nancy’s lips tightened. “Absolutely not. Unless it’s these necklaces, and Lucia’s letter indicates that it is not. The necklaces are the only connection to the Baruchins. Believe me, if I knew more, the first thing I would do would be tell the investigating officer.”

“You and your sisters should stop wearin’ those necklaces, if somebody might be willing to kill for ’em,” Charlie said bluntly.

Nancy’s hand shot up and clutched the thing, as if someone were trying to tear it away. “It…they were Lucia’s last gifts to us,” she said.

“Yeah. Could be the last gifts you ever get.” All the breezy good cheer was gone from Charlie Witt’s ruddy face. He was dead serious.

Nancy stared back, polite but defiant. “Lieutenant Witt—”

“Call me Charlie, honey.”

Nancy gave him an incandescent smile. “Charlie. In the first break-in, the forensics team found a set of fingerprints on my mother’s writing table that did not belong to her or the three of us. Do you suppose they might try comparing them with Baruchin’s prints? Or this mystery man? To see if they were ever in my mother’s house?”

Charlie looked doubtful. “I don’t see why it would have occurred to anyone, but why not? I’ll call Detective Lanaghan tomorrow, talk to her. Just remember—don’t expect any quick or easy answers.”

“Of course not,” Nancy murmured.

Charlie turned to Liam with a thoughtful frown. “I wouldn’t let her out of my sight, if I was you, kid. Not for a second.”

Liam nodded. It was a relief to have his own instincts verified. He hoped Nancy was paying attention. “That’s what I figured,” he said. “I’m still working on selling that proposal. She’s not convinced.”

“Work harder,” Charlie advised, his voice hard. He looked over at Nancy, his eyes lingering on her décolletage. “Not that it would be such a chore to keep your eyes on that, now, mind you.”

“That it wouldn’t be,” Liam heard himself agree, though the look on Nancy’s face indicated that he was going to pay for it.

“Kinda hard to take your eyes off her as it is,” Charlie commented.