Rock Point (Sharpe & Donovan) Read Free

waterfalls and cliffs, cold lakes and misty bays, sheep wandering down grassy lanes, lively villages, lonely cottages and tourists oohing and aahing at the gorgeous Kerry scenery. He’d stopped in pretty places for a bite to eat, sitting in the sunlit grass, or on a hilltop, or amid wildflowers, taking in his surroundings.
    When he heard the voice of God calling him to another life, he had no doubts. It wasn’t the work of depression, grief, alcohol withdrawal, loneliness or insect bites. He couldn’t explain and eventually realized he didn’t have to. He just had to decide what to do.
    It hadn’t been an easy road. It still wasn’t.
    Finian slowed his pace as he and Sean came to the top of the hill. With the lights of the village no help to them now, Finian produced the key-size flashlight he had with him, a lesson learned from previous walks up to the Murphy farm with his friend. Sean would never have a flashlight. He didn’t need one on this land.
    “I have a favor to ask, Fin,” Sean said, still clearly preoccupied.
    “Of course.”
    “Don’t be too quick. There’s only so much I can tell you, even as a priest.”
    “It’s about an investigation, then.”
    Sean gave a curt nod.
    “I’ll do anything I can,” Finian said. “You know I will.”
    Sean walked a few steps ahead, then stopped, a dark silhouette against the shadows of the night as he turned to Finian. “This you won’t want to do.”
    Finian heard a sheep close by, near a fence. “Let me be the one to decide. What do you need?”
    “A name,” Sean said. “I need a name.”

Chapter 2
    An ewe cried out in distress just before dawn. Finian went out to the barn with Sean and helped deliver a healthy lamb. With mother and baby safe and warm, Finian followed his friend back to the farmhouse, grinning as he hung his coat on a hook. “I hope I didn’t misunderstand and this is the work God called me to do.”
    Sean laughed. “Farm work, Fin? Delivering lambs at dawn? I don’t think so.”
    The kitchen was cool, a dampness in the air, but Sean got a turf fire going in the old fireplace and it was soon warm enough. Finian sat at the pine table. He’d jumped into jeans and a wool shirt. No clerical suit for working in the barn.
    Sean put the kettle on to boil. “A full Irish breakfast this morning, Fin?”
    “Perfect.”
    Sean set to work, and Finian’s mind drifted, as it sometimes still did. He could see his fair-haired, beautiful wife, and he could hear her laughter when, years ago, facing the uncertainties of business, he’d wondered aloud if he should be a farmer.
    “ You a farmer? Oh , Fin. That’s just so funny. ”
    “ We were farmers as boys. Declan and I. ”
    “ And now you’re whiskey men. ”
    He and Sally had been enjoying a pint and traditional Irish music at a Kenmare pub. She was such fun—and so smart. A young marketing consultant who’d just finished a project for Bracken Distillers.
    He’d fallen for her on the spot and asked her to marry him three months later. They’d been hiking in Killarney National Park. She’d said yes without hesitation and burst into tears and laughter as she’d hugged him so hard they both fell to the ground.
    He’d been twenty-four. She’d been twenty-three.
    Kathleen had been born the next year. Mary three years later.
    My sweet girls.
    Finian returned himself to the present. He smelled the turf fire, and he noticed the chipped paint on the old-fashioned dresser, the plates lined up on its open shelves, the crooked lower doors worn with age and use. He watched Sean drop tea bags into a brown pot and then fill the pot with the hot water. His garda friend looked at ease, totally natural, in his torn flannel shirt and muddy work pants. Maybe at heart he was a farmer after all, meant for a life out here on Shepherd Head instead of the occasional few days off to help his uncle.
    Sean Murphy had been a young, ambitious garda when he’d located Finian in his office at the old distillery