Three Fates

interested in the legend of the statue and whether or not the one Browne’s had purchased so long before had been authentic. When I heard that Wyley had owned one of the set, and had, by all accounts, taken it with him on the ship, I was more fascinated.”
    “But even if the statue Browne’s had bought was authentic,” Jack put in, “its value was diminished as the first Fate was, by all accounts, lost along with Wyley. So what was left was an intriguing connection to another Lusitania passenger, and a piece of a legend.”
    “Was it real? Where is it now?” Rebecca demanded.
    “My mother never tires of family history.” Rather than answering, Jack rose to put another log on the parlor fire. “I was raised on it, and the sinking of the Lusitania, the legend of the Fates were part of all that. And, I came by my own interest in antiques naturally,” he added, laying a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “When Anita mentioned the Fates, it stirred my interest in them again, enough that I phoned my mother and asked her to confirm the stories she’d told me. Enough for me to arrange for an overdue visit here, with a stop in Cobh to check out Sullivan and pay my respects to Felix Greenfield.”
    He crossed to a satinwood display cabinet, opened it. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered the Sullivans were just one more connection, to this.”
    He turned and held up the third Fate.
    “It’s here.” Though her legs felt like rubber, Rebecca rose. “It’s been here all along.”
    “Where it’s been,” he said as he held it out for her, “since Granddad closed the doors of Browne’s twenty-six years ago.”
    She held it in her cupped hand, testing the weight, studying the cool, almost sorrowful silver face. Gently, she ran her thumb over the shallow notch in the right corner of the base. Where, Rebecca knew, Atropus would link with Lachesis.
    “Another thread, another circle. What will you do now?”
    “Now, I take it with me back to New York, negotiate with Cleo Toliver for hers, then figure out how to get yours back from Anita.”
    “It’s good you remember the first is mine.” She gave the statue back to him. “I’ll be going to New York as well.”
    “You’ll be going back to Cobh,” he corrected. “And staying an ocean away from Anita.”
    She angled her head. “I’ll be going to New York, with you, or on my own, for I’m damned if you or my brothers will finish this off without me. You’d best resign yourself, Jack, that I won’t be tucked in a corner to wait while the men do the work. I pull my own weight.”
    “There now.” Mary cut her husband a second slice of pie. “What did I tell you? I like this one much better than the one you married, Jack. Sit down and finish your pie, Rebecca. Of course you’re going with him to New York.”
    Her expression was smug as Rebecca turned away and sat. She forked up a bite of pie. “Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham. I wonder if I should stop in Dublin and buy some clothes for the trip, or wait and buy some things in New York. I’ve only packed one change of clothes.”
    “Oh, I’d wait if you can. You’ll have such a fine time shopping in New York, won’t you?”
    “It’s not a damn vacation,” Jack snapped.
    “Don’t interrupt your Gram,” Rebecca said mildly.
    “Let it go, boy.” Steven waved a hand. “You’re outnumbered.”

Fifteen
     
     
     
     
    M ALACHI knew exactly how he would handle Tia, from his initial greeting, to his overall tone of approach. He would apologize again, of course. There was no question about that. And he would use all the charm and persuasion at his disposal to soften her stance toward him.
    He owed her; there was no question of that either. For the financial backing, but more, much more, for the help she’d given his brother.
    That he could repay by keeping their association completely professional, friendly but reserved. He thought he understood her well enough to know that was the way she’d prefer it.
    Once they were on the proper footing again, they would get down to business.
    He and Gideon would move into a hotel. Naturally they couldn’t continue to impose on her privacy. But he hoped he could convince her to allow the Toliver woman to stay. In that way, he’d be assured they were both safe. And, almost as important, that they were out of his way.
    A bit worn from the trip, he knocked briskly on her apartment door. And hoped her sense of hospitality would run to a cold beer.
    Then she