Better Than Gold. Mary Brady

see if she could read what might be in his heart. He matched her gaze beat for beat with the deep earthy color that seemed to warm her soul and body. She snapped her gaze away—again—before she embarrassed herself. Drooling would not be good.

      “The museum does have a little information, but much has been lost to time and the salty air.”

      She should just send him there, not tell him the secrets of the town. Heather Loch, who ran the museum, would not tell him tell more than a few facts and maybe he’d be satisfied with that.

      “But you know. Don’t you?” His tone grew soft, seductive.

      ...and she was such a sucker.

      “It’s much more interesting when one thinks of Liam Bailey as...the town’s founder, and not Archibald Fletcher.” She sighed. “And as...”

      “As?”

      She didn’t dare so much as a look at him right now. “As a privateer.”

      “A privateer in the early 1800s was usually a—”

      “Pirate,” she finished.

      He laughed out loud. As much as she hated it, she liked the sound. He had a nice laugh, friendly, with a touch of boisterous.

      “I know. I know.” She grimaced.

      “So the town’s secret is a pirate’s treasure?”

      “I feel like such a traitor.”

      “You don’t think I would have found out?” His voice carried a teasing lilt now.

      “Maybe, but it would have taken you a couple of years to pry enough information out of the folks around here to be able to put things together and come up with pirate’s treasure.”

      “Why do I get the feeling you have much more to tell me about this pirate?”

      “Because you’re smart.”

      “That’s true.”

      When she chanced a glance, there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. “And humble.”

      “So my Aunt Margaret used to say.” The corners of his mouth turned up again.

      “I need to know you understand, the more I tell you, the more I feel my remodeling project slipping away. The more I hold off telling, the more dishonest I feel, but right now it’s no longer a matter of betraying a town’s trust. If this town doesn’t survive, there will be no one to betray.”

      He looked at her for a long time, as if measuring her, and then said, “Mia, I will be judicious with what you tell me.”

      She dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “That Liam Bailey founded the town of Bailey’s Cove, and that he had been a privateer, seem to be anchored in truth, as far as the people of Bailey’s Cove know it. What has been passed down through the generations is that there was a young woman in whom Bailey showed a particular interest, and she in him. Some say he was paid off by the young woman’s disapproving father, Archibald Fletcher, and with the cash in his pocket couldn’t get out of town fast enough. He was never heard from again. The story goes, Fletcher maintained Bailey went back to sea and some say he went west to find gold.”

      “You don’t think that’s what happened?”

      She gave a sharp laugh. “I have no idea. The other side of the story is the girl’s father started the rumor that all Bailey wanted was her substantial inheritance, and what really happened was the man had Bailey killed. It isn’t much of a leap to get from that to Liam Bailey being entombed in the wall of the hotel he built as part of the settlement’s initial push to become a town. Ironic.”

      She held up her coffee cup in a sweeping motion and continued. “As you can see, Bailey’s Cove hasn’t grown too terribly much since that time, so we can’t blame the world for ignoring us.”

      He poured more coffee. “And the treasure?”

      “Ah, the treasure. It’s custom here in Bailey’s Cove, like prayers before a meal or removing your hat before entering someone’s home. You don’t tell outsiders about Liam Bailey and especially not his treasure.”

      He gave her an honest and open look of interest.

      “The chief said he knew that when the university showed up, tongues would start flapping. Well, he actually used the term ‘troublesome gossip.’ That your arrival would give folks ideas about digging for treasure...again, and that didn’t turn out so well for the town last time.”

      “So if the pirate buried his treasure and then was killed before he could dig it up...”

      “Bingo. Until now, it was just a body in the wall. Chief Montcalm asked me not to talk to anyone about it, which I didn’t, well, mostly I didn’t. He made my workers quake in their boots, so I’m sure they only told a couple dozen people what they saw.” Something about this man made her want to spill her guts, to bare all. Oh, for pity’s sake. “Since the place hasn’t been raided, I believe official word has not leaked out from the chief’s department. The chief’s people say the bones are old. Will you be able to tell how old the remains are with carbon dating?”

      “Without a doubt.”

      “Oh, wow. That might be very helpful.”

      “I’ll be able to tell the age of the body to within a couple hundred years.” He shot a disarming grin at her and some unseen barrier between them seemed to fall away. “Carbon dating so touted in the media is much more accurate when dating eras—when it’s confined to thousands of years. Some archeologists believe it’s been fine-tuned to be able to pinpoint up to within a few hundred years, but it’s always under scrutiny. Telling how old a person was at the time of death is relatively easy nowadays, but the decade or even the century gets dicier. Though finding pirate’s treasure might help.”

      “Oh, please, don’t. Please, don’t.” She was absolutely sure she didn’t want to hear his answer, but she had to ask the next logical question. “If you suspect this is Liam Bailey, will you bring in a team of people?”

      “I could, but usually the more people, the more time spent processing a site, and more confusion.”

      “So you might still be able to get what you need and leave today?”

      “The more I hear about Bailey, the more complicated this investigation is getting.”

      Mia blew out a breath. “Of course it is.”

      She might have to gag that angel on her shoulder.

      * * *

      WHEN DANIEL GLANCED at the woman beside him on the bench, she looked deflated, as if she were tired of shouldering the bravado necessary to keep a project this size on schedule.

      “Was it something I said?” he asked quietly.

      “Yes, it was.” Her light blue eyes reflected the morning sky and for an instant he thought he might be able to gaze into them over a cup of coffee or even a glass of wine. Something he never thought he’d do again—stare into a woman’s eyes.

      He quickly changed his thoughts. “I think I said something like, the more I hear, the more complicated this whole investigation is getting.”

      “That’s the gist.”

      “Wouldn’t finding out a pirate was buried here be beneficial for the town, a tourist attraction?”

      “Yeeees,” she drew out the word. “The town needs the monetary boost tourists will bring. Skeletons were not part of the timeline for—well—for profitability.”

      He watched her closely, trying to figure out if there was something else behind her words. On the surface they seemed self-serving, but there was also an almost bleak tone to her voice, which made him suspect there was much more. “Earlier, you mentioned a dining room. A restaurant?”

      “That’s my goal.”