The Angel Read Online Free PDF Page B

her spine and pushing a sopping lock of hair out of her face. She was dressed for the woods, but even as obviously shaken as she
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    was, she had a pretty, fairy-princess look about her with her black-lashed blue eyes and flaxen hair that was half pinned up, half hanging almost to her elbows. She was slim and fine-boned, and whatever had just happened, Simon knew it hadn’t been good.
    “There’s a body,” she said tightly. “A man. Dead.”
    That Simon hadn’t expected.
    Owen touched her wrist. “Where, Keira?”
    “The Public Garden—he drowned, I think.”
    Simon was familiar enough with Boston to know the Public Garden was just down Beacon Street. “Are the police there?” he asked.
    She nodded. “I called 911. Two Boston University students found him—the body. We all got caught in the rain, but they were ahead of me and saw him before I did. He was in the pond. They pulled him out. They’re just kids. They were so upset. But there was nothing anyone could do at that point.” Despite her distress, she was composed, focused. Her eyes narrowed. “My uncle’s here, isn’t he?”
    “Yes,” Simon said, but he wasn’t sure she heard him. He noticed Detectives Browning and O’Reilly working their way to Keira from different parts of the room, their intense expressions indicating they’d already found out about the body through other means. They’d have pagers, cell phones.
    The well-dressed crowd and the lively Irish music—the laughter and the tinkle of champagne glasses—were a contrast to stoic, drenched Keira Sullivan and her stark report of a dead man.
    Abigail got there first. “Keira,” she said crisply but not without sympathy. “I just heard about what happened. Let’s go into the foyer where it’s quiet, okay?”
    Keira didn’t budge. “I didn’t see anything or the patrol 40
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    officers on the scene wouldn’t have let me go.” She wasn’t combative, just firm, stubborn. “I’m not a witness, Abigail.”
    Abigail didn’t argue, but she didn’t have to because Keira suddenly whipped around, water flying out of her hair, and shot back into the foyer, out of sight of onlookers in the drawing room. Simon knew better than to butt in, but he figured she wanted to avoid her uncle, who was about two seconds from getting through the last knot of people. Simon wished he still had his champagne. “I wonder who the dead guy is.”
    Owen stiffened. “Simon—”
    “I’m just saying.”
    But Owen didn’t have a chance to respond before De
    tective O’Reilly arrived, his hard-set jaw suggesting he wasn’t pleased with the turn the evening had taken.
    “Where’s Keira?”
    “Talking to Abigail,” Owen said quickly, as if he didn’t want to give Simon a chance to open his mouth. O’Reilly gave the unoccupied doorway a searing look.
    “She’s okay?”
    “Remarkably so,” Owen said. “She’s not the one who actually found the body.”
    “She called it in.” Obviously, that was plenty for O’Reilly not to like. He sucked in a breath. “How the hell does a grown man drown in the Public Garden pond? It’s about two feet deep. It’s not even a real pond.”
    Good question, but Simon didn’t go near it. He wasn’t on O’Reilly’s radar, and he preferred to keep it that way. The senior detective glanced back toward his daughter, Fiona, the harpist. She and her ensemble were taking a break. “I need to go with Abigail, see what this is all about,”
    O’Reilly said, addressing Owen. “You’ll make sure Fiona stays here until I know what’s going on?”
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    “Sure.”
    “And Keira. Keep her here, too.”
    Owen looked surprised at the request. “Bob, she’s old enough—”
    “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t let her go traipsing back down to the Public Garden and getting into the middle of things. She’s like that. Always has been.”
    “There’s no reason to think the drowning was anything but an accident, is there?”
    “Not at