St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

about the genealogies that were their life’s work.”
    “But it was the past that compelled them, not the present or the future.”
    “You’re quick. It took me years to figure that out. They were fascinated by ancestors, by the past. Both Glenn and Martha taught at the university—European history and Latin. They were a well-matched couple.”
    Dan thought about a much younger Carly, bright and curious and energetic, raised by a couple old enough to be her grandparents, people whose life work was the past. “Any siblings?”
    “No.” She smiled wryly. “I think I was enough of a handful. They didn’t need more.”
    He clicked the beer bottle lightly against his chili bowl. “Did they ever say why they adopted you? Had they always wanted kids?”
    “They never said, but…” Carly sure had wondered more than once. She ripped off a bit of tortilla and nibbled. “Martha was the last of her family in the U.S., an only child raised by only children. It was the same for Glenn. No siblings, no aunts or uncles, no cousins closer than fourth or fifth. Nothing but a genealogy narrowing down to one name.”
    “Onlys raising onlys.”
    She nodded. “It was one of the many things they had in common. But Glenn and Martha couldn’t have even one child. So one day they got me, and here we are.”
    “Were they pleased that you loved the past as much as they did?”
    Carly nibbled some more. She wasn’t hungry. She just needed something to do with her hands besides twist a strand of hair around her finger. “I think so. We never talked about it in those terms.”
    “So what did you talk about, the rise and fall of the Roman Empire?”
    She laughed. “We talked about genealogical sources, how to trace female ancestors versus male ancestors, history at the time of their grandparents and the seventh generation in the past. That sort of thing.” She leaned toward him eagerly. “I loved that part the best, figuring out what people wore and ate in fifteenth-century England or Italy or Spain. I loved thinking about the consequences to ordinary people of the violent infusions of Viking and Dane blood and culture into a local population, of the Crusades, of the plagues and famines, of the adventurers and colonists and the ones who stayed home, of how the new generations of a family changed and forgot each other, of how much fun it is to find an American’s fourth cousin in County Clare, then listen to them when they finally get together and share family photos and memories that bridge time and the ocean.”
    “Connection,” he said.
    “Exactly. So many people take it for granted or don’t even care that they’re an entry on a much larger genealogical chart,” she said, spreading her arms, “a chart that could span centuries and countries and weave together the whole of—” She stopped abruptly as her right hand smacked against the wall and sent a piece of tortilla flying.
    Dan captured her left hand before it collided with his nose. He laced his fingers through hers and held her hand against his thigh. Safer that way. Felt good, too.
    “Sorry,” she said, flushing as she bent to pick up the piece of tortilla with her free hand. “I get a little carried away when I talk about my work.”
    “I like your enthusiasm.” He had felt the same way about his work. Once. When he’d quit the State Department and joined St. Kilda Consulting’s affiliation of loose cannons, he’d been enthusiastic again. Then the narcotraficantes who wanted him dead had opened fire in a crowd. Three schoolchildren and a nun had died. He’d survived. He wondered if God was happy with the body count. Dan sure wasn’t. “How did Winifred find you?”
    “She always has the TV on in the background when she’s with Sylvia. One of the yak-yak shows was interviewing me about a family history I’d just published. She was curious enough to call the show. I sent her a clipping from a recent newspaper article, along with the book I’d published for the family I’d just finished working with.”
    “You do it all yourself, even the publication?”
    “Sure. Computers make it easy and the result can look as good as anything you buy in the store. But if my clients want more than, say, two hundred books, I job it out to a printer.”
    Dan looked at the fingers interlaced with his. “No ring.”
    “No husband. No fiancé.”
    “Boyfriend?”
    She tilted her head and looked at him. “No. How about you?”
    “No husbands or