by Candace Sams
"Heather, could I speak with you?"
She turned as Professor McPherson entered the room where some of the artifacts were being labeled. "Yes, Professor?" She turned back to the books she'd been shelving, rolled her eyes and tried to keep her temper in check. He was the last person on Earth she wanted to speak with. After she told Detective Dayton about McPherson's smuggling, and having compiled sufficient evidence to turn over to the prosecutors, the police were preparing to charge him with numerous crimes. Nothing could make up for what he'd done. Maybe it was some sense of revenge, but she wanted to be there when the man found out he was going to be arrested and the cuffs were slapped on. For several days, she'd held her tongue in his presence until the police were ready to make an arrest. They would be coming very soon, and whatever happened to McPherson was his own problem. He deserved the worst. Any trust and faith she'd placed in her mentor had been destroyed. Though she was sure he'd never intended for anyone to get hurt, people were still dead, and he'd be implicated in the murders through conspiracy.
"Some of my finds from the last trip to the British Isles are missing." McPherson took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't seem to be able to locate them anywhere. Niall was helping me catalogue that inventory. Without him, I'm afraid I won't be able to easily locate the artifacts I want. I can't imagine what's happened to him, just disappearing like that."
Knowing Detective Dayton was on his way with a warrant, Heather lost what little control she had left. She quickly got up and closed the door to the room so that no one would hear what she had to say. "Professor, and I use the term loosely, most of the artifacts you're looking for have been carefully labeled, set aside where you can't get your hands on them, and will be used as evidence by the police. I've kept it as quiet as I could so you wouldn't have a chance to hide them, and to give the museum time to salvage what will be left of its reputation when all of this gets out," Heather angrily informed him.
"What? What are you talking about? What's going on?" He put his glasses back on and glared at her.
"You took most, if not all, of those artifacts without the authorization of the appropriate governmental authorities. In short, Professor, you stole them. I guess you thought I'd be too naive or intimidated by your position here to say anything. I've been saving everything I could find. Shipping labels, dig permits, correspondence...everything. And just so you know, everything I've done has been authorized by the museum Board of Directors. When the police show up this afternoon, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do," she finished.
He sighed in resignation and sat heavily on a nearby stool. "I knew I'd be caught sooner or later. It was, as they say, only a matter of time."
"Why, Professor?" Heather asked as she leaned across the work bench toward him. "You're a renowned archeologist. Why would you risk your reputation, and the museum's, by doing such a thing. It violates everything you've ever preached to your students."
McPherson laughed. "The oldest possible reason, my dear. Money. Pure greed. You see, I've been acquiring antiquities for almost thirty-five years. I've absolutely nothing to show for it. I was scheduled to retire next April. The museum would have given me a nice plaque and little else in the way of income. When private collectors approached Niall with some very lucrative offers, he and I planned everything out. We provided false documentation about our collection data, filed the appropriate shipping information. Everything. It was almost too easy. Until a young protégé of mine started asking too many questions."
He smiled at her sadly. "I told Niall you'd catch on, that we'd never be able to get the things we stole to the collectors while you were inventorying them. Niall said we'd just pretend to have loaned the items out, or that they were in the vaults for safe keeping. We only needed the false documentation to get the objects out of their respective countries and into the States. He was going to destroy all of the paperwork, including your inventory sheets, later. You're by far the brightest of all the assistants with whom I've worked. Niall thought he could bring you around in time. He was always so confident of himself and what we were doing. I just couldn't resist so much money. It's that simple." He sighed as if a load had been removed from his conscience. "Of course, I didn't bargain on him taking off and leaving me to face the Board and criminal charges alone. I suspect that's what he's done."
"That's not all he's done. Niall is a prime suspect in the murders that have been committed. Some kind of evidence has been found that links him to the crime scenes. Nowadays, detectives can place a person in the vicinity of a crime with all kinds of forensic techniques. Some of the same procedures we use in archeology work, as it happens."
When McPherson looked up with a shocked expression and his face turned pale, Heather felt a small sense of satisfaction. Some of the same science he'd used to find artifacts and smuggle them would be used to convict him. She continued.
"That's why the police think Niall has disappeared. Several investigators believe Ned walked in on something Niall didn't want seen. So, he killed him and made it look like some wild psychopath had done it. Then, to lend further credence to the maniac-on-the-loose story in all the newspapers, Niall killed the prostitute in the park the same way. He just butchered them both." To her dying day, that's what Heather would let the police believe. It was near enough to the truth.
McPherson choked on whatever he would have said, and his hands began to shake. Then he broke down and wept uncontrollably. After several gasping breaths, he finally spoke. "Heather, I-I didn't know anyone would get hurt. It was all about the money. J-just the money. You have to believe me? I know it's next to nothing, but I'll tell the Board you had nothing to do with any of this. I'll take full responsibility for what I've done, and I'll cooperate."
She slowly shook her head. "Tell it to the police. I don't ever want to see you again."
As if on cue, footsteps echoed through the vast hallways leading to the room where she and McPherson had logged in so many items. She crossed her arms and glared at him in disgust. There was no pity in her, nothing left to keep the anger from pushing aside her normal sense of mercy.
"There's just one more thing, Professor."
"Yes, anything. I just want this to be over." He slumped dejectedly.
"Niall had a set of three rune stones stolen from Ireland. I've found where two were hidden. Do you know where the third is?"
"No, h-he was obsessed with those damned things, though. They weren't worth much as they were. Niall was at the museum using our archives to decipher them until all hours. I let him do what he wanted with them because he said deciphering their meaning would increase their sale value with the collectors." He broke into another bout of tears.
She believed him only because Niall would never have let the Professor near enough to decipher the stones. McPherson's apparent lack of curiosity over them had probably been all that had kept him alive. But, sooner or later, no matter what ever else happened, Niall would have killed the professor, too.
Heather sighed in resignation. "Well, if you can tell me where he may have had them last, I'll search that area."
"He had them in his office. That was the last place I remember seeing them."
"Open the door," an authoritative voice boomed from the hallway. "It's the police and we have a warrant,"
Heather quickly opened the door. She got her wish, watching as McPherson was handcuffed by two uniformed police officers. He turned into a sobbing mass of jell that had to be half carried away. Several other officers, including Detective Dayton, entered the room and began to carry out large boxes of Irish artifacts.
That was the part of the arrest that made her want to cry. Those antiquities might never be returned to their countries. They'd be locked away somewhere, rotting in some evidence locker, never to be seen by anthropologists. Never to peak the curiosity of school children or have their mysteries unlocked. All because a dollar sign was more important to two fools. Gryphon had been so right. If only she'd listened sooner. What if she'd t
aken the three stones with her the first time she'd found them? Would that have saved his life?
Heather sat down on a bench, put her face in her hands and tried to hold the tears back. Then she shook it off and began to search with new determination. No one was ever going to get their hands on those rune stones. Not if she could help it. Gryphon, Ned, and the unknown woman in the park weren't going to have died in vain.
***
Several hours later, Heather straightened from her stooped position and rubbed her aching back. She had systematically searched every place she could in Niall’s office. The job was more difficult because she had to make it look as though she hadn't been rummaging around. She knew the police would want to go through his belongings. But there was simply no trace of the stone. Heather knew the last people who should find the stone were the police. If they did, they might want it translated, realize there were others and start asking questions. She had to find it.
Where would Niall have hidden an object of that kind? The last one had been in a vase from a different part of the world. Would Niall have hidden the third stone in a different section of the museum? Gryph had been right about so many things. It could take a person their lifetime searching the museum for something the size of a human palm. Glancing at her watch, Heather gasped at the time. She'd been at it for hours and was too tired to go on. She turned off the light, making sure everything was still in its place before leaving. The security guard walked her to the parking lot and left. Heather opened the door to the rental car she'd picked up after Niall had pulled the door off hers. The lie she told the insurance company about opening the car door on the street and having a passing truck pull it off had seemed to satisfy her insurance agent. How many more lies like it will I have to tell before all this is over?
A cold wind blew her hair across her face. She had brought up her hand to move it back when she saw the tree. In the parking lot stood a huge maple tree with a knothole a little above eye level. She remembered a part of her nightmare the last time she'd seen Gryphon and he'd held her. The tree looked exactly like the tree in that horrible dream. In a trance-like state, Heather felt herself walk toward it. The knothole was too high for her to reach inside and search thoroughly. A trash can sat under a lamppost a few yards away. She ran to it, pulled it to the tree and upended it. The ground was level below the branches, so it was no hardship for her to stand on the can, reach inside the knothole and pull out the stone.
She swallowed hard as her hand closed around it. How in the world the stone was in the same place as in her dream, she would never know. Perhaps it was part of the magic that had encapsulated her life since this ordeal had begun. Now, all she had to do was get the last stone to Gwyneth and James. She prayed they were still in the country and would come to her. Believing she might get them into trouble with Shayla, she dared not approach their temporary residence. Mailing the stone was out of the question. So Heather decided to keep it with her. She stuck it in her coat pocket, replaced the trash can and drove home.
***
Almost two weeks later, she still had the last Rune Stone of the Tuatha De Danann in her pocket. Gwyneth must come for it sooner or later, and Heather wanted to be able to hand it to her when she did. Gryph's parents and Shayla could leave quickly and go back to the Shire, that place they called home. Then she could try to forget him. She could try.
Heather was walking toward her car after work when she was grabbed from behind and held by two very strong arms. A hand went to her mouth to keep her from crying out.
"Quiet, Heather. I don't want the security guard seeing me," a low, reassuring voice spoke.
When she immediately quit struggling, Gryph released her. She turned, backed away and would have fallen to the ground had he not caught her. Alive! How could that be? She began to tremble, her breath left her, and a mist formed over her eyes. She remembered Gwyneth had never actually said he was dead. The woman had just let her believe it was true to protect her son. That didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that he was alive.
Gryph picked her up and carried her into the nearby woods and away from the lights in the parking lot. “I’m alive, Heather. I'm sorry you were led to think otherwise. My mother didn't mean to hurt you. It took a while for my wounds to mend, and no one was sure I would get over them. But when she thought about how upset you'd been...well, Mother's conscience got the better of her and she helped me get back here to see you. Please don't cry so," he begged, as he stoked her hair and studied her face in the moonlight. "You'll make yourself ill."
"Oh, God, Gryph" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged hard.
He winced in pain, but managed to smile. "Easy, baby. I'm still on the mend."
Heather immediately released her hold and pushed slightly away from him. She looked up and down his tall frame, searching for the source of his discomfort. Then she half-cried, half-laughed and walked more gently into his embrace.
"There's a love. Now...don't be so upset. I'm here. It's all over," he crooned and rocked her back and forth. His heart was near bursting. This kind of affection and devotion was more than he'd ever hoped for. Tears filled his own eyes. He needed her so much.
It took some time for her to come to grips with his appearance. He gladly held her close while prodding her further into the nearby woods. When he was sure their voices wouldn't carry on the wind, that the security guards were gone, he slowly tilted her head back with his hands and gently kissed her. The kiss went on and on. The world could have fallen off its axis, and he wouldn't have noticed or cared. When their lips finally parted, Heather looked up at him and there was starlight reflecting in the depths of her eyes. They stared at one another until she finally spoke.
"Who was it that said, 'reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated' ?
"It was one of your own countrymen. Mark Twain."
Her eyes welled up again, and she buried her face against his shoulder.
He sighed in pure contentment. Though he knew it would be short-lived, for this moment in time, they could be happy. He held her until she backed away, ran her hands over his arms and finally took control.
"These past few weeks have been the worst of my life. Even when my parents were killed in a car accident, I could console myself with the fact that they were together. But you don't have anyone."
The statement puzzled him. How could she know about that? But Heather was still recovering from the shock of seeing him alive. She might have said anything, and it wouldn't have mattered. He was so glad to see her, hold her again before he'd have to leave. He saw her shiver when the wind blew leaves around them. She put her hands on his chest.
"You're as cold as stone, aren't you, darling?"
"Stone?" She blinked up at him, smiled brightly and reached into her jacket pocket. "That reminds me. I've been carrying this thing around for weeks now. I promised Gwyneth I'd find it."
"Herne's antlers, girl! You're incredible." He kissed and hugged her again as he placed the last rune stone in his shirt pocket. He paused, knowing he had to tell her. "You know I killed Niall, don't you?"
"I understand why," she said solemnly.
"Do you?" He watched her expression closely and gazed into her starlit eyes.
Heather lightly touched his cheek, wanting to be near him as much as possible. "He'd have killed others. I know he would. Nothing would have ever stopped him."
"He'll never hurt anyone again." And never hurt you.
She moved into his embrace and felt safe and warm there. It was as though she was meant to be in that special place. His heart beat so strongly beneath her cheek.
Gryph plunged his hand into her hair, pulled her head back and kissed her with an urgent helplessness. Knowing he couldn't have her filled him with a low, burning passion that wouldn't end. The kiss deepened, as before. Only the salty taste of Heather's tears stopped Gryphon from going further.
"Heather," he said, ending the kiss slowly, "I told you once that it was a mistake for us to get involve
d. There are things about me that you'd never believe or understand. I have to go, and I won't be back again. I'm sorry if I've hurt you. But, if it's any consolation, I'll never be this close to a woman again. You're all I've ever wanted. If things were different, if I wasn't..." his voice trailed away. And he was aware of the painful sound of it.
"I know," she stopped him by placing her fingers over his lips. "You're alive and that'll have to be enough."
He took a deep breath, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a leather pouch about eight inches long. "I want you to have this. It isn't much, but..." He shrugged his shoulders and handed her the bag.
Heather knew the rest. Whatever the bag contained, it was probably all he had. And she recognized the significance of the object used by Druids to carry ceremonial items. "This is a crane bag, isn't it?"
He smiled and nodded. "I knew you'd understand. It's not much in the way of thanks, especially not after what you've been through. When you look at the contents, I hope they'll explain what I'm trying to say. I haven't words to..." He bowed his head and tried to think what his last words to her should be. "I'm doing a very poor job of this."
"Go on, Gryphon," she softly encouraged. "I'm listening."
"Whenever there's a full moon, open the crane bag and try to think of me kindly. And not as someone who's brought you pain." He placed one of her hands on his chest. "Can you do that?"
"Yeah, Gryph. Yeah, I can do that," she said softly. Then she smiled up at him and held the bag close to her heart. She was standing on her toes in order to kiss him again when a voice echoed from the woods.
