Megan knew she would never convince her father of the unlikelihood of her brother returning from the grave, so she tried a different tack. “Why would Dennis come back now? How could he need our help?”
“Why, that’s clear as a bell,” her father responded. “He’s asking us to avenge his death.”
“After ten years?”
“Sure, and he’s waited long enough, don’t you think?” Frank retorted, his Irish brogue thickening in his agitation. “It’s me own fault. I should have gone over there and taken care of that filthy murderin’ English lord as soon as we learned what happened to Dennis. It’s no wonder he’s come back to nudge us. The sin is that he had to. I’ve shirked me duty as a father.”
“Da, don’t.” Megan laid a comforting hand on her father’s arm. “You did nothing wrong. You couldn’t have gone to England when Dennis died. You had children to raise. Deirdre was but ten, and the boys only a little older. You had to stay here and work, and see after us.”
Frank sighed and nodded. “I know. But there’s nothing holding me back now. You’re all grown now. Even the store could get by without me, with your brother Sean helping me run it. There’s nothing to stop me from going to England and taking care of the matter. Hasn’t been for years. It’s remiss I’ve been, and that’s a fact. No wonder Denny had to come and give me a poke.”
“Da, I’m sure that’s not why Dennis came back,” Megan said quickly, casting a look of appeal at her sister. The last thing she wanted was for her father to go running off to England and do God-knew-what in his thirst to avenge his son’s death. He could wind up in jail—or worse—if his temper led him to attack the English lord who had killed Dennis. “Is it, Deirdre?”
To Megan’s dismay, her sister wrinkled her brow and said, “I’m not sure. Dennis didn’t say anything about his death. But he was so distraught, so desperate. It was clear he needs our help.”
“Of course he does.” Frank nodded. “He wants me to avenge his murder.”
“How?” Megan protested, alarmed. “You can’t go over there and take the law into your own hands.”
Her father looked at her. “I didna say I was going to kill the lyin’ bastard—not that I wouldn’t like to, you understand. But I’ll not have a man’s blood on my conscience. I intend to bring him to justice.”
“After all this time? But, Da—”
“Are you suggesting that we stand by and do nothing?” Frank thundered, his brows rising incredulously. “Let the man get away with murdering your brother? I would not have thought it of you.”
“Of course I don’t think he should get away with it,” Megan retorted heatedly, her eyes flashing. “I want him to pay for what he did to Dennis just as much as you do.”
Her brother had been only two years older than she, and they had been very close all their lives, united not only by blood, but also by their similar personalities and their quick, impish wit. Curious, energetic and determined, each of them had wanted to make a mark upon the world. Dennis had yearned to see that world, to explore uncharted territories. Megan had her sights set on becoming a newspaper reporter.
She had achieved her dream, after much persistence landing an assignment on a small New York City rag, writing for the Society section. Through skill, determination and hard work, she had eventually made her way onto the news pages and then to a larger paper. But it had been a bittersweet accomplishment, for Dennis had not been there to share in her joy. He had died on his first journey up the Amazon.
“Aye, I know,” Frank admitted, taking his daughter’s hand and squeezing it. “I spoke in heat. I know you want him punished. We all do.”
“I just don’t know what proof can be found, after all this time,” Megan pointed out.
“There was something more,” Deirdre spoke up. “Dennis was—I think he was searching for something.”
Megan stared at her sister. “Searching for what?”
“I’m not sure. But it was very precious to him. He cannot rest until he has it back.”
“He said that?” Again Megan felt a chill creep up her back. She did not believe that the dead came back to speak with the living. Still…
“He said something about having to find them—or it. I’m not sure,” Deirdre explained. “But I could feel how desperate he was, how much it meant to him.”
“The man killed Dennis for some reason,” their father pointed out, his voice tinged with excitement. “We never knew the why of it, but there must have been one. It would make sense, don’t you think, that it was over some object, something Dennis had that he wanted?”
“And he killed Dennis to get it?” Megan asked. “But what would Dennis have had that the man couldn’t have bought? He is wealthy.”
“Something they found on their trip,” Frank answered. “Something Dennis found.”
“In the jungle?” Megan quirked an eyebrow in disbelief, but even as she said it, her mind went to the history of South America. “Wait. Of course. What did the Spanish find there? Gold. Emeralds. Dennis could have stumbled on an old mine—or wherever it is you get jewels.”
“Of course.” Frank’s eyes gleamed with fervor. “It’s something like that. And if I can find whatever it is that he found and that murderer stole, it could prove that he killed Dennis. I have to go to England.”
Megan stood up. Her father’s excitement had ignited her own. For ten years she had lived with the sorrow of her brother’s death, as well as the bitter knowledge that his murderer had gotten away. Part of her passion as a journalist had come from her thwarted desire for justice for her brother. She had known she could not help him, but she could help others whose lives had been shattered or whose rights as human beings had been trampled. Among her peers, she was known as a crusader, and she was at her best in ferreting out a story of corruption or injustice.
She could not entirely believe that her sister had seen their brother. But her father’s words made sense. The man who had killed Dennis must have had a motive…and greed had always been a prime motive for murder.
“You’re right,” she said. “But I should be the one to go.” She began to pace, her words tumbling out excitedly. “I don’t know why I never thought of this before. I could investigate Dennis’s death, just like I do a story. I mean, that’s what I do every day—look into things, talk to people, check facts, hunt down witnesses. I should have done this long ago. Maybe I can figure out what really happened. Even after all these years, there must be something I can find. Even if it’s something that wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, at least we’d have the satisfaction of knowing.”
“But, Megan, it’s dangerous,” her sister protested. “I mean, the man has murdered already. If you show up there asking questions…”