Inspector Daniel of the local Clifden police force came over. Joe started to stand up but he raised a hand. “Tis appearing ye might fall over should ye rise. Best ye sit there, where y’ll not fall so far.”
“Do join us,” Bridgid invited.
“Gladly.” He pulled another chair over and sat.
This time it was Tommy who placed a Guinness in Insp. Daniel’s hand. Gretchen was across the floor chatting with Fel, but Tommy joined the group. Bridgid noted the men all seemed quite relaxed with each other. Of course, all except Da were police officers, and Da was always relaxed in any situation, especially when Guinness was a factor. Bridgid was going to have to become accustomed to being surrounded by police officers who were simply friends and people, not officers. But as a fully licenced paramedic, she was already comfortable in the world of firefighters. Joe had said that people in public safety—fire and Garda—gravitate to one another.
Insp. Daniel saluted Joe and Bridgid with his bottle. “Me best to ye both. Ye realize this comes as nae surprise to me. The way the two of ye meshed during that little altercation at y’r farm last year, ye seemed soulmates. Still do.”
“And will be, I hope, forever.” Joe gave Bridgid a bit of an extra squeeze.
“But I wish y’rself and Tommy could hang about a bit longer. I could use ye just now.”
“That murder on the pony farm?” Tommy asked.
“Aye, the very thing. A robbery, it was. Some gold trophies and loving cups from pony shows, some quite expensive saddles, cash in a register in the barn. They had to smash the register to get it open, it being locked.”
Joe perked up, like a weary hunting dog on a fresh scent. “So the thieves knew the most costly things to steal.”
“Aye. We surmise that with the pony show in town all this last week, there be many horse folk about who know the value of saddles and such, and they’ve come in from all over the world. Although the murder occurred a fortnight ago, many came in early, to secure accommodations. So I’ve no shortage of suspects.”
Tommy was nodding. “The trophies can be melted down, of course. And y’ve no leads?”
“No fingerprints that should not be about—the victim’s, Mr. Applegate’s, the hired help. We checked ‘em all. We even rolled the Flahertys’ here, since they were the last customers on the farm. Their prints did not appear anywhere.”
“The victim was attacked in the barn?” Joe asked.
“Aye, near the tack room. Tis quite a large room, for it doubles as a showroom. They sell saddles, harness, and other tack as well as ponies, and there be pony traps out back. Indeed, one of the traps was taken; quite a fancy one and the costliest of the lot.”
“Ah,” purred Tommy. Obviously he too was a hunting dog on a fresh scent, wrapped up in the puzzle. “Then most likely y’r perp probably drives a pickup truck, a ute, able to carry away the cart. Or hired a trailer. Except on farms, trailers be not common in Ireland, so there’s another prospect. The guilty fellow is a rube, as we would call him in America. Of rural circumstances.”
Joe studied nothing on the floor. “Have you explored the possibility that one of Applegate’s employees is responsible? When Mr. Stover came by to wish us well, he said that Applegate hires additional help just for the pony show.”
“We investigated that line thoroughly, aye.”
“And Mr. Applegate himself as the perpetrator?” Tommy added.
“Aye, since he would know how to sell the stolen goods for the best price. Twould all be profit, for he’s filing an insurance claim. But his frustration seems genuine. Mr. Wilkie was by far his best employee and a most profitable one. Indispensible. Twould be like killing the goose that lays golden eggs. Part of the frustration stems from losing Mr. Wilkie and all that merchandise only three days before the show. Monstrous bad timing, and a great financial loss. Mr. Wilkie had a knack for talking up the ponies so well that people who were just looking, if ye will, would end up buying. Mr. Applegate was counting on him.”
“Aye.” Bridgid shifted a bit. She was getting stiff. “What is the American idiom, Joe? Schmooze? He was very good at schmoozing the customer, hearing what was wanted and exactly serving that need. Da and I talked casually of hiring him away from Mr. Applegate to run the animal husbandry aspect of our resort farm. If Declan goes off to school, we’ll need someone.”
“From what I’ve ascertained, he would’ve been a fine one. Have ye considered hiring the other full-time employee, Mr. Stover?” The inspector shifted in his chair. He was sitting in one of the folding chairs, not these comfortable throne ones.
Da wagged his head. “Nae. Sure and the lad is bright, but twas obvious that he has nae heart for animals. He cares for them, but he does not care about them. Declan noted that. Declan has a big heart for animals.” Da appeared a wee bit saggy as well. He was probably quite as weary as Bridgid and Joe.
They continued chatting, talking about various cases, and Bridgid found herself starting to drift off. Imagine falling asleep on your wedding night instead of…Honestly, Bridgid! Think shame. Aye, but what if she did, Heaven forbid?
Eventually people started drifting away. The wedding coordinator, Mrs. Patel, stopped by, and for the first time today she was smiling. “It is appropriate for you two to leave whenever you wish now. Mrs. Rodriguez, I’ve directed many, many weddings, including some where fights broke out. This was the happiest, most positive and beautiful event in quite some time. That bodes very well.”
Bridgid stood and took Mrs. Patel’s hands in hers. “I especially thank ye for y’r perfect management. Twas y’rself made it flow so smoothly. And explaining the symbolism to me, which made it so much richer. I be most grateful.”
Joe rose also, and when he took Mrs. Patel’s hands, Bridgid noticed him slipping her some bills. Tipping, a fine Yankee custom. She was going to have to become accustomed to remembering that.
There was far more to which she would have to become accustomed. For example, she had never before slept in a bed with another person in it. And the future was all going to commence tonight, her wedding night.
Chapter 2 Maria Mercado
“There they are.” Gretchen watched Joe and Bridgid come in through the door of The Owl’s Roost, one of Tommy’s favourite pubs. She could see why it would be one of his favourites. Not only did it ooze Old World charm with dark wood and bright brass, the ale was very good.
Joe spotted them immediately and brought Bridgid to their table.
Tommy stood and shook hands with Joe. “So now our great nation has finally admitted that y’re married.”
“Aye, indeed. We just came from the civil ceremony.” Bridgid sat down. She still glowed from the wedding yesterday, or maybe it was the wedding night last night.
A serving girl brought ale to them and announced, “Coming up, he says.” She left.
“I took the liberty of ordering for us all,” Tommy explained. “Their pork stew be beyond scrumptious.”
Gretchen got right to it. “Janet called me last evening, filled me in on the news back home.”
“Any progress on keystone?” Joe sipped his ale.
“She didn’t mention it, so I’d venture a guess, no. Remember Ron Hooker?”
“In Robbery. Grouchy, overweight, unpleasant to be with. He’s been living with a Karen somebody in traffic detail for years. She’s grouchy too.”
Gretchen nodded. “Thirteen years. That’s the one. He suffered a massive stroke, so of course Karen rushed to the hospital. They wouldn’t let her in to see him or to say goodbye. Immediate family only. She protested, but no. Apparently sleeping with him for over a decade is not immediate enough, but divorcees are immediate family, though, because they did let his ex visit. There he is, lying there unable to speak but still able to hear, and she laced him up one side and down another, explaining what a miserable toad he is. The nurses finally took pity on him and escorted her out. When he died two days later, the ex refused the body; wanted nothing more to do with him, and legally,
they couldn’t make her take him. So they called Karen to come get him. I’ll bet you can guess where she told them to stuff him.”
Joe smiled. “If she’s the one I think she is, where you go to get a ticket vacated, it must have been a colourful conversation.”
Tommy cackled. “Colourful indeed. However, Ron and Karen got us thinking. Ye see, we be in that selfsame situation, with both of us equally likely to bury the other. So we’re doing something about it and we would enlist y’r help, if ye would.”
Grinning outrageously, Gretchen displayed her left hand, and the large, brand new diamond thereon.
Bridgid squealed a teenager kind of squeal, which reminded Gretchen that no matter how smart and poised and self-possessed she might be, Bridgid was still just a kid. Gretchen stood up and they hugged across the table as Joe congratulated Tommy effusively.
They settled back, for the stew had just arrived.
Gretchen picked up her fork. “Bridgid, I would love it if you would be my matron of honour.”
“Oh, of course! Tommy getting married. Tis amazing to me. And so fine!”
Tommy added, “And Joe, if ye would…?”
“Absolutely. Where and when?”
“We’re taking this next week off and Tommy is going to show me Ireland. Our honeymoon.” How weird that sounded. “Today at three, simple ceremony in the St Nicholas ladychapel with the same priest you two used. Tommy set it up.”
“Eh, then ye’ve only a few hours left to pick out a wedding gown.” Bridgid was still grinning effusively. “I know a lovely little bridal shop.”
“You sure do. Your dress yesterday was spectacular. But I’ll be in these street clothes.”
Tommy finished off his ale. “Uncle Seamus will be there, and the boys. Aunt Maeve will not; she has a headache.”
“And now meself shall say a terrible thing.” Bridgid looked at Tommy. “I be very glad y’r father Eamon died a few months ago.”
Gretchen sure didn’t see that one coming.
But Tommy simply nodded in agreement. “Aye, twould have broken his heart, had he any heart left. Marrying a foreigner, I am, not a colleen of the Auld Sod. And y’self his favourite niece, marrying outside the faith, outside the race, outside the continent. The times be changing, but me da did not, not a millimetre.”
Gretchen was beginning to see how much baggage Tommy had carried to America, and how well he had managed to get rid of it, to rise above it. And she loved him all the more.
The fasten seatbelt sign went dark. They were home.
Joe looked out the plane window at the tarmac. It shimmered in the heat of the vivid sun, just another lovely August day in Phoenix, 102 degrees and the heat of the day yet to come. Bridgid was raised in a refrigerator and now he was bringing her to live in an oven, with everyone except her mother blindly expecting it to work out. Tommy made the transition, so there was hope.
He stepped out into the aisle and backed up to give Bridgid room to get out. He wiggled into his backpack and held hers for her. Then he cupped his hand around her cheek, turned her face to his, and kissed her roundly. “Welcome to Arizona.”
“Ta.” She arched up on tiptoe and kissed him back. “Welcome home.”
On the other side of the cabin, Rico and Glo were up and ready. They wormed their way forward to where they could join Joe and Bridgid.
At the door, their attendant was smiling brightly. “Have a lovely life, you two.”
“Great flight, sir. Thank you,” Joe told the pilot. He didn’t mention that he really, really hated flying.
“Thank you, sir.” Rico was grinning as he had been grinning pretty much constantly this whole last week. Joe was deeply grateful the kids were okay with all this.
Fortunately, they had already cleared customs in Chicago. Also fortunately, the customs agent who detained Bridgid did not keep her past her flight time, as he drilled into her the severity of punishment for marrying simply to get into the country. They were, though, the last aboard; the cabin door closed behind them. Bridgid was here on a student visa that she was issued months before marriage, and marriage had nothing to do with it, or the agent would probably still be haranguing her. Joe regretted the blip; it was not a pleasant or auspicious introduction to America.
As they emerged from the jetway, he pointed. “Eleven o’clock.” Rico and Glo surged out onto the concourse ahead of him. They were too short to see the group near the far wall, but they knew which direction to take now, and those red and green helium balloons floated high.
Rudy, almost eleven, and little Con, five soon, held the bright balloons. Linda, now fourteen, looked like she was going to forget to be cool and start jumping up and down. And his sister Fel. And the children’s nanny, Inez. And there were Jerry and Maria! What were Jerry and Maria doing here?
Captain Jerry Hocks was the head of Homicide and therefore Joe’s boss, and Maria Mercado was the department’s psychologist. How would Bridgid do with these added Important People? Joe had emphasized that although everyone followed orders, of course, rank went virtually unrecognised, especially in Homicide; they were simply people and friends who worked together and had each others’ backs. But her whole life long, Bridgid’s mum had instilled into her the importance of Kowtowing to Those Above You, a strong awareness of rank and its privilege, or lack of it. It would be an attitude difficult to dispel.
Joe introduced Jerry and Maria, and Bridgid rose brilliantly to the occasion, shaking hands, saying the pleasantries. She unconsciously exuded charm, and that made her charm all the greater.
Fel the family organizer waved her arms about. “After baggage claim, Rico, you and Glo will go home with Inez and the kids. Bridgid, you’re going shopping with Linda and me. You need a sunhat, sandals, and summer clothes. And sunscreen. Joe, you’re going with Jerry and Maria. They’ll bring you to the house at suppertime. The Midget is still at the apartment, so I’ll take you two up there in the morning on my way to work.”
Inez smirked. “Fel, you really should have gone into the military. You’d be a six-star general now.”
Joe frowned. “Six?”
“They’ll add a couple just for her.”
Out in the parking garage, Joe offered Maria the front seat of Jerry’s classy LeBaron, but she declined and climbed in back. He slid in and pulled his seatbelt around. “Where are we going?”
“Chico’s Rincon for happy hour.” Jerry slipped out into traffic and headed north. “The chief is on my case about letting you go to Ireland after taking human life but not getting debriefed, so we’ll do it with tapas and ale.”
There was a saguaro, which some landscaper had planted a thousand feet of elevation below where it naturally thrived. It didn’t look happy, but it was still alive. And a barrel cactus by the road. And creosote. And a plethora of palm trees, eucalyptus, and salt cedar lining all the canal banks. Ah, home. Joe was more tightly tied to this land than he’d realized.
Jerry was smirking. He glanced into the rearview mirror at Maria. “I’d say that pretty much explains it.”
“I agree,” she returned.
“Explains what?” Joe watched some oleander go by, and reveled.
“You’re a fairly stable, reliable guy with your head on straight. So Maria and I couldn’t understand how some chick could turn your brain into mush.” He shrugged, grinning. “Now we know.”
Joe laughed. “Jerry, I have never been so completely, totally happy.”
“A good lay makes the day.”
“Infinitely more than that.”
“Yeah.” Jerry smiled wistfully. “That’s what Marj and I have, too.”
Joe twisted around to Maria. “Bridgid is afraid I’m stuffing that fatal takedown the day I flew to Ireland. I’m not. That’s what this is about, right?”
“That and a little embezzling problem Jerry is fretting about.”
“Embezzling.” Joe looked at Jerry. “I didn’t know Homicide took on embezzling. Did our in-basket empty out?”
“H
ardly. We still have keystone. But it became our problem when embezzlers started dropping dead by mysterious means. And in the middle of it is one of your favourite people, Miriam Stegener.”
“You’re kidding. No, you’re not that evil. And her husband too, I trust.”
“Charlie Stegener, the guy you love to hate. I think you’re going to find this case interesting.”
“You know why you come through these sessions smelling like a rose, Joe?”
Smelling like a rose? After over half of a 24-hour day flying from Ireland through Chicago to Phoenix? And over two hours in session here with Maria, the Dragon Lady Who Can Read your Mind? Seated in the corner chair of their favourite table at Chico’s, Joe kept his thoughts to himself and sipped at his ale.
She closed her notebook. “Because you listen and use what you learn. I get guys who think they know it all, or they’re tough, and they’re not open to suggestion. You’re a joy to work with.”
What can you say? “Thank you.”
“I’ll write up my report to the chief and we can consider the case closed. You know the signs. If any problems at all seem to be developing, call me immediately.”
Joe nodded and turned to Jerry. “What’s this about accountants falling over dead?”
“You’re oversimplifying again. You’re aware that Miriam Stegener dropped out of the mayor’s race about a week before the primary. Her opponent coasted to an easy victory. Her husband thinks it was you who dug up the dirt that killed their campaign.”
“Me? Harvey Spruce put together the team of PIs who found the smoking gun. Guns. Plural.”
“And you had nothing to do with it?”
“Nothing anyone can trace.” Then he added for clarification, “and nothing illegal or unethical. I started nosing around using search engines any common, ordinary citizen can get into. Most of the sites I learned about from Rico. He uses them to research his essays. I did not use any sites available only to police or fire. No proprietary information.”
Pony Up Page 2
