Carys didn’t want to go back to her apartment to get a suit, so Annie loaned her one that would look presentable for Nicola’s funeral. Annie had argued with her against going, and the two fought harder than they had in years. In the end, she convinced Annie that she’d be fine. She would just go there and back. No one but JJ and Harper knew who she was. She wanted to do this one thing for Nicola—pay her respects, which seemed so small in comparison to what Nicola had done.
The funeral was in a small Protestant church in Wellesley, near the lush, perfectly manicured, colonial town green. She noticed, for the first time, how much the landscape resembled that of Wales.
Nicola had been cremated, and her urn sat on a table at the foot of the altar, the sun streaming down on it through the stained-glass windows, bathing it in reds and greens. JJ and Harper sat in the front row, next to five grieving people who looked to be Nicola’s relatives or friends. She took a seat on a hard wooden pew in the back.
The eulogy, by Nicola’s sister, was a revelation. Nicola hadn’t just studied linguistics. She’d gotten her PhD. She’d taught at the university in Cardiff for many years before coming to the United States to do some postdoctoral work at Boston University.
That’s where she and Harper had met. The parts that were left out of the eulogy—why she was at Harper’s home, in his library, why she’d given up her life to protect an ancient manuscript—were the parts of Nicola’s story that only she and Harper knew. Having shared this secret with Nicola made her feel closer to her in a sea of unfamiliar, grieving faces.
Afterward, Harper had a small brunch catered at Adeona for the mourners. From where she was sitting, she could see Harper’s knee bouncing up and down under the table. He kept glancing over at the door to the hallway and his library. When brunch was finally over, Harper and Nicola’s relatives took the urn to the flower garden far behind the house and scattered the ashes. She stood quietly watching from the living room window.
I got your revenge, Nicola, she thought as the cloud of powdery white ashes flew up on the wind, then fell back onto the earth. We got him.
A few minutes later, she and JJ stood together in the hallway, waiting for Harper to be done in the garden.
“I can’t believe how well he’s doing,” said JJ. “He said you warned him it might be an infection, and you were right. The medicine worked immediately. How did you know that?”
“Just something I read about, thought it might be helpful,” she said.
“But his doctors couldn’t even figure it out,” he said.
“Well, sometimes you just have to ask the right questions,” she said. “May I go into the library?”
“Sure,” said JJ. He walked her to the door, and she opened it with her set of keys. They entered. JJ stood just inside the library entrance, gazing up at the balcony above him. “I got so close to selling this all off.”
“You did what you thought you had to do,” she said.
“I haven’t heard or read anything about my father’s illness in the tabloids, so I’m hoping this chapter is closed. Except for finding Nicola’s killer. The police say they don’t have any leads. Wish I’d never called Sothington’s in the first place.”
“I know your father understands,” she said.
JJ looked at her, his face intense, his eyes weary.
“You know, I’ll never really understand him the way you do. I want to, but I never will. Nicola understood him, though. She loved him very much. And he her.”
Carys flinched slightly.
“How long have you known about them?” she asked.
“Since they started up,” he said. “It upset me at first. You never want to think your parents could ever love anyone but each other. But I was glad he had someone to look after him.”
JJ smiled an odd little smile.
“And even if I hadn’t known, today certainly would have made it pretty clear. I mean, look at the guy. He’s absolutely crushed.” He pointed out the long windows down to the garden, where Harper stood alone, his eyes lowered to the ground and Nicola’s ashes. It looked like he was crying.
She turned to JJ. Her heart was aching for both of them.
“It’s strange,” she said, putting her hand lightly on his arm. “I didn’t cry when my mother died. Sometimes pain is so deep and hard that you can’t cry. All you can do is be numb. It’s the only way through it.”
JJ looked at her for a moment. Then he put his hand on top of hers and patted it lightly.
“I think I know what you mean,” he said. “I’m not sure when I’ll see you again, Ms. Jones. But thank you for helping my father.” They shook hands, then he turned and walked out of the library, and out the front door of Adeona.
She glanced around the library again, and her eyes lingered on the sanded patch of library floor. She would never feel like this wasn’t her fault.
Through the long, thin windows, she saw Harper down by the garden. She walked closer to the windows to get a better look. He had his hands to his eyes, and his back was heaving.
Grief washed over her. She put her hands against the window and her forehead against the cool glass. She let the tears stream down her face onto the wooden floor.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
When Carys got back to Annie’s apartment, she found her sitting on the couch watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta, one of her very few mindless pleasures. She hadn’t gone to work—she was serious about not wanting her to be alone for too long, although she wasn’t entirely sure what Annie thought she would be able to do if someone really did come after her.
Annie scanned her face as she came into the living room.
“How’d it go?” Annie asked.
“Gut-wrenching,” she said. “I am so jet-lagged I can hardly think right now. I’m going to go take a nap. Will you wake me in a couple of hours?”
“You know it,” said Annie.
She sank into a deep sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. What felt like mere moments later, she woke to Annie shaking her by the shoulders.
“There’s someone here to see you,” said Annie.
She snapped fully awake. “What?”
“A man named Dafydd,” said Annie, eyes wide. “Tall, handsome, Welsh. Ringing any bells? Do I welcome him in or get my gun out and call the cops?”
She bolted upright, her head still blurry from sleep. She rubbed her eyes.
“No, he’s my friend,” she said. “He’s here? How the hell did he know I was here?”
“He said your father told him you’d probably stay here once you got home,” said Annie. “He gave him the address. He’s outside. He’s the man who killed Frank, isn’t he?”
“Quiet,” she hissed. “Yes. Yes, it’s him. Jesus Christ. Do not let on that you know. He can’t know that I told you.” She jumped out of bed and began to throw on the clothes she had worn the day before.
“No,” said Annie, pulling a pair of jeans and a light sweater out of the bureau. “Please do not put those clothes back on. They stink.” She shoved the fresh clothing at Carys, who dove into them without protest. She ran a comb through her matted hair and smacked herself on the face a couple of times to restart blood flow.
“I need coffee,” she groaned to Annie.
“Pot’s full,” said Annie. “Now let’s get out there, shall we?”
She left the bedroom and went to the front door of Annie’s apartment and peeked out into the hallway. Dafydd was standing with his back to the door, a backpack over his broad shoulders. He turned when he heard the door open. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her knees wiggle, a physical memory from the night they’d spent together. He smiled broadly.
“Hi,” he said. She opened the door wide and backed up to let him in, and then found herself wrapped in his arms. She stuck her face into the crook of his neck, then looked up and gave him a deep and long
kiss.
“I’ll just go melt into the woodwork over here,” Annie said. She glanced back as Annie stepped into the kitchen.
“I asked you not to come,” Carys said.
“Your father begged me to,” he whispered. “And I wanted to. Neither of us could stomach the thought of you finishing this all by yourself. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“I’m not by myself. Harper and Annie are…” she said. Her protest was feeble. “I am glad to see you.”
“I should hope so,” he said. “Do we know where the old King is buried yet?”
“Believe it or not, we do. We located the only place on the northeastern coast that matches all the details,” she said with a smile.
“Where is it?” said Dafydd.
“You’re not going to believe it,” she said.
“I don’t really believe any of this,” said Dafydd. “Let’s have it.”
“Cape Cod.”
“Where?” asked Dafydd.
She shook her head and smiled.
“King Arthur is buried on a barrier island called Sandy Neck about one hour away from where we are standing right at this moment.”
His jaw dropped open. Then his eyes began to twinkle and an enormous laugh, almost like a roar, bellowed out of him.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Annie made small talk with them for a couple of hours, but when it became painfully obvious that she was in the way, she announced that she had some work to do down at the office. She hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes before Carys and Dafydd were in bed in her room, making love with an intensity that seemed like it would make her head explode. Afterward, they lay there, both staring at the ceiling, sweating.
“I am so glad you came to help me,” she said. “‘Cause I definitely couldn’t do that by myself.”
He laughed.
“When are we leaving for Cape Cod?” he asked.
She rolled onto her stomach so she could look him in the eyes. “You aren’t leaving for Cape Cod,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It’s not just me, Dafydd. This is my client’s hunt.”
“And now it’s mine. You have to admit that you never would have found that cave without me. Or survived the rest of the night.”
She stared at him. He was right. He had risked his life for her. He had saved her and her father. It was as much his search as hers now. She didn’t have the right to include him, but she would fight for his right to be there.
3
Tuesday, June 26
Carys and Dafydd woke early the next morning and made love twice more before finally rolling out of bed and getting into the guest room shower. There they made love once more standing up. Wrapped in Dafydd’s body, his thrusts making her come again, surrounded by the soothing drum of the hot water, she let her mind be completely empty of anything but the physical sensations of that moment. It was a level of blankness and physical awareness she’d never experienced in her life. She did not want to let the day’s thoughts and plans intrude on her quiet, blessedly empty mind. But the search awaited.
After they were both dressed, she packed a bag and put the two bags containing the manuscripts and translation into her large purse. Annie drove them to Adeona. Carys was surprised when JJ opened the door. She hadn’t expected him to move into the mansion with his father, but clearly some bond still held them.
“Good morning,” said JJ, backing up to let them in.
“Good morning,” she said. “This is my friend, Dafydd.”
Dafydd shook JJ’s hand, the two men sizing each other up.
“Nice to meet you,” said JJ.
“You too,” said Dafydd.
“Would you excuse me?” JJ nodded slightly and walked into the kitchen. Harper was in the library, hunched over his desk. She walked in and he turned around with a smile on his face, which disappeared when he saw Dafydd.
“Hello,” Harper said tentatively. Dafydd strode forward.
“Hello, Mr. Harper,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Dafydd Reynolds. A friend of Carys’s from Wales. I was with her on the—”
“Carys, what is he doing here?” asked Harper gruffly, ignoring Dafydd’s outstretched hand.
“He’s coming to the Cape with us,” she said.
“No,” said Harper, rising from his chair, his voice a barely controlled growl. A deep red splotch formed near the collar of his shirt. “No, he is absolutely not coming to the Cape with us. Jesus. Why don’t we just issue a goddamned press release? Invite the whole town. How much did you tell him?”
“John,” she said as calmly as she could, “I didn’t know until yesterday that he would be here, but now that he is, he’s in this with us. Dafydd is the only reason we found the original tomb. He is the only reason that we survived long enough to find out where Morfran’s manuscript led. He is the reason I survived that dive. We owe him everything.”
Harper stood, arms crossed, a foot jutted forward, his eyes narrowed and determined. He glared at Dafydd, who stood solidly, arms at his sides, meeting Harper’s eyes fully and without a trace of intimidation or fear. She felt ridiculously proud of Dafydd, as if he were hers to claim.
“Mr. Harper,” said Dafydd evenly. “I made a promise to Carys’s father that I would look after her and make sure that she got through this search unharmed, and that is what I am going to do. If she goes, I go.”
“Carys can take care of herself,” Harper barked. “I don’t think even she realizes how strong she is.”
“I don’t need Dafydd to go with us. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. My father will get over it. He doesn’t really even know me,” she said. Dafydd’s shoulders stiffen. “But I want him to go.”
“You trust him?” asked Harper.
“Completely,” she said. Dafydd smiled at her.
Harper waited a beat longer.
“Fine,” Harper said. “But there are far too many people involved in this now.”
She put her large purse on the desk, and retrieved the two manuscripts, wrapped in silk and stored inside plastic sealable bags, and the translation.
“What should we do with these?” she asked. “They’d be safer here, in the vault.”
“We may need them,” said Harper. He pulled the monk’s manuscript from its plastic bag, unwrapped it, and smiled at it like it was an old friend. He began to lift it to his face but stopped, glanced up at her, half smiled, and lowered it again. He rewrapped it and put it back in its bag, then put all the books back into Carys’s purse.
“JJ,” hollered Harper. “Can you come in here for a minute?”
“Be right there,” he said from what sounded like the kitchen. He appeared at the door.
“My friends and I are going to be gone for a little while,” said Harper.
“Your doctor said you’re susceptible to infection,” said JJ.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “If I have any problems at all, I promise I’ll come right home.”
“Where are you going?” asked JJ.
“Cape Cod,” said Harper.
“Strange time to take a vacation,” said JJ. “Since you just got out of the hospital.”
“It’s work,” said Harper. “Research for the library.”
“Of course,” JJ said. “When will you be back?”
“Not sure,” said Harper. “Will you be staying at Adeona while I’m gone?”
“If you’d like,” said JJ.
“Thanks, JJ,” said Harper. “I’ll call you when I know when we’ll be back. It won’t be long. I promise. Then maybe you and I can head up to New Hampshire to the cabin for a few days.”
JJ examined his father closely for a minute.
“Sure, Dad,” said JJ. “That would be nice.”
Then he turned and strode out of the library.
&nb
sp; “Don’t let those books leave your side,” Harper said to Carys. “They are incontrovertible proof of the identity of the man in that tomb—wherever it is.”
They loaded their luggage into the back of his Range Rover. It had already been nearly filled with a collection of detection devices. The target of the search was not a skeleton or tomb per se but metal—specifically, the metal of Ambrosius’s ring, and any other metal objects left behind. It was the only thing they could be certain had not deteriorated with age. To be careful, Harper also packed a crazy-looking ultrasound-like contraption that revealed whatever was below the surface of the earth in three dimensions. It looked like a very heavy, complicated vacuum cleaner.
Despite all of this advanced detection firepower, they had a problem, and it was the only one that mattered. Sandy Neck was seven miles long and thousands of feet wide. It had shifted, shrunk, grown, and evolved over the previous centuries. The grave might be submerged in wetlands or buried so far under a sand dune that even the complicated vacuum cleaner couldn’t find it. It could take an entire summer to properly canvass even a square mile of the area. And if there was still someone after them, they most likely didn’t have that kind of time.
They were counting on the Mattakeese having some kind of legend or song or history of where their ancestors had put the King. Mattakeese Sachem Mary Clark and her people’s memories were their only hope of ending this search. And Harper had already made an appointment to meet her.
They drove silently. Carys felt like she was on some strange family vacation. She checked Dafydd in the rearview mirror every few minutes. He’d met her eye with a grin the first few times, but after twenty minutes his head was back against the headrest and he was dozing. Harper sat rigidly, his nerves tight.
“What do we do if the tribe doesn’t know anything?” she asked quietly.
Harper sat still, staring straight ahead, and didn’t answer.
About half an hour into the drive, Carys’s regular cell phone buzzed from inside the cup holder in the armrest. She looked down. Plourde’s name popped up on the caller ID.
She huffed and hit the “send to voice mail” button on the screen.
The Ghost Manuscript Page 32
