“Zack? Hey, buddy, what’s up?”
“Vance, I think I have someone tailing me.”
“What? Are you sure? It couldn’t be someone just heading in the same direction as you?”
“I was on my way out of town when the dogs spotted them,” I said, while I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I waited for the traffic light to change. “I made a few other turns, and then sped through an intersection just as it was changing, and wouldn’t you know it, the Mercedes followed us.”
“A Mercedes, huh?”
“Black, with tinted windows.”
“Where are you at now?”
“We just passed Cookbook Nook. We made a right on 3rd, and are currently heading north.
“Meaning, you’re going to hit D Street and, let me guess, you’ll turn right so you can pass the police station, right?”
“Right,” I confirmed. “Care to help me out, pal? Is there something I can do to get these people off our backs?”
“I was getting a cup of coffee, which means I’m by the front door right now. I’m heading outside to see this for myself.”
“Perfect. We’ll be there in about two minutes.”
“Got it. What do you think your new pal wants?”
“What do you think?” I returned, exasperated. “They want the chest, what else? I haven’t had anything else mysteriously appear in my life. It has to be what those people want. I think I’m going to need to find a place to stash it.”
“I hear you. Hey, I see your Jeep coming up 3rd. Okay, just tell me how far back the Mercedes is, all right?”
“No problem. They’re … what? What are they doing? Vance, I don’t get it. They just turned on C Street, as though they knew exactly where I was going!”
“Hmm. How sure are you that they were following you?”
“A hundred percent. Why do you ask?”
“Pull over. I think I know why they pulled away at the last minute.”
Once parked on the side of the road, the dogs and I watched Vance hurry over to my Jeep. He motioned for us to stay inside while he slowly walked around my vehicle. What was he doing? Was he looking for something?
Vance appeared at my driver side door and then made the hand motion to roll down the window.
“What …?” I began, but before I could finish, Vance held up a finger to his lips.
My detective friend hurried around the car and carefully opened the second passenger door so that he could see the dogs, who naturally went ballistic once they saw him. Still saying nothing, Vance gently picked up Sherlock and moved him to the front passenger seat. Watching silently, I noticed Sherlock’s ears jump straight up. Within moments, he was staring at my air freshener, currently dangling from the rearview mirror.
Pulling the vanilla-scented air freshener free of the mirror, Vance held it up close to his face as he gently rotated it this way and that. Grunting softly, I saw him picking at something, as though a drop of glue had fastened itself to the surface, and he was trying to scrape it off.
Something akin to a short, fat, green needle was extricated from within the freshener. I could see a tiny, blinking red light and just like that, I knew what Vance was doing. He had suspected my Jeep had been bugged. No wonder the Mercedes had sped off. They had been listening when I called Vance! My detective friend held a finger to his lips when he noticed I was about to ask a question. He studied the thin bug for a moment or two before he snapped it in half, as if it was a pencil. The red dot blinked twice and then went dark.
“How long has this been there?” Vance curiously asked.
“I didn’t know I had it.” I hooked a thumb at the corgis. “Neither did they. How did you know Sherlock would find it?”
“Dog Wonder? Are you kidding me? That corgi is the smartest dog I have ever encountered, and don’t ever tell Tori I said that. She thinks the world of Anubis, but between you and me, our dog is Lennie, while yours is George.”
“Of Mice and Men,” I said. “I get the analogy, only I don’t think it’s true.”
Vance waggled the high-tech bug in front of my face.
“If you’d like, I’ll take this off your hands. Maybe our tech boys can figure out where it came from.”
“It’s all yours, pal. Thanks for the backup.”
Vance held out a fist, which I quickly bumped. He then looked at the dogs and immediately produced two biscuits. For the first time ever, Sherlock ignored the biscuit and, instead, looked over at the closest parking lot, which was where the employees of the police station stored their vehicles.
“You don’t want the biscuit?” Vance incredulously asked. “Dude, get him over to see Harry, pronto!”
I chuckled, but then noticed that Sherlock seemingly wanted out. Watson, intent on accompanying her packmate, was right there, with him. Turning off the ignition and exiting the Jeep, I set both dogs on the ground and was immediately pulled toward the rows of parked cars.
“What are you doing?” Vance wanted to know, as he fell into step behind us.
I pointed at the dogs. “Go ahead and ask them. If they indicate what’s on their minds, then please have them inform me, all right?”
Vance laughed, but then sobered as we were pulled over to a very familiar beige Oldsmobile.
“Why are we at my car?” my friend wondered aloud. “What’s …”
Vance trailed off as Sherlock thrust his nose under the front driver-side wheel well and woofed. Frowning, Vance squatted next to his car’s front tire and, using the LED from his phone, inspected his car’s wheel-well. I watched my friend give a visible start, and then mutter a curse. Reaching in, Vance retrieved a small black square. It had a tiny antenna and blinking green light. He glared angrily at me before he inspected his bug for a moment or two. Pulling out his pocket knife, he pried the cover off the black cube and made a flicking motion with the blade. I noticed something small and silver go tumbling, end over end, until it hit the ground and rolled away. By the time I looked back at the second bug, I noticed the blinking green light was gone.
“Your car was bugged, too,” I guessed.
“I was gonna break it, like I did yours, but decided to see if our lab boys can get anything off of it,” Vance explained. “Who the heck are these people, Zack?”
I gave my friend a helpless shrug.
“Follow me, pal. I’m gonna pull my car around to the back. We’re gonna let the crime scene boys check them to see if we’ve picked up any more unwanted friends.”
THREE
“So, I thought we already did this,” I began, as I fished a long, orange extension cable between several rows of white folding tables.
“Last Wednesday?” Jillian asked. “That was a trial run; a rehearsal. I was making sure Cookbook Nook could handle a gathering of that magnitude.”
“Proof of concept,” I said, nodding.
“Exactly.”
“And so all these people cooked their dishes again?” I asked.
Jillian pointed at a nearby table, where an even larger bowl of colcannon was sitting.
“Does that look familiar?”
I immediately checked the surroundings. “Oh, tell me the Bradigan sisters aren’t nearby. I just know they’ll try to make me eat that stuff again.”
“Is it really that bad?” Jillian asked. Her lovely face was smiling and I could see she was trying so hard to suppress the giggle that was trying so hard to escape.
“It is if you don’t like cabbage,” I returned.
“Then, you’d better hide,” Jillian told me. “Here they come.”
I dropped straight down to the ground, as though Wile E. Coyote himself had placed a one-ton anvil in my hands.
“Stay there for a moment,” Jillian quietly instructed. “Saoirse! Aine! I’m so glad you made it back!”
“We wouldn’t dream of missing your céilí,” Aine assured us.
“I think I can speak for my sister,” Saoirse began, “when I say we both enjoy being useful again. Thank you for a
llowing us to help.”
“Are you kidding?” Jillian exclaimed. “You two are our guests of honor! Having so much experience in Ireland makes you two my secret weapons!”
“Put us to work, dear,” Aine instructed.
“I don’t see your handsome fiancé anywhere,” Saoirse observed. “Will he be able to make it tonight?”
“I’m sure Zachary will find time to stop by,” Jillian assured the two elderly sisters.
“See that he does,” Aine said. “Now, what can we do?”
Jillian pointed at the rows of tables that had been set up all throughout her store.
“You two are officially in charge of ensuring all dishes brought to the céilí are properly heated. The catering company has provided boxes and boxes of warming plates. If you need a buffet warmer, they are over there, in that stack.”
“Do you have any tablecloths?” Saoirse asked.
“Tablecloths? You ask if I have tablecloths? Please. They’re on the table behind you, arranged by type, texture, and color.”
“We’re on it,” Aine announced. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, dear.”
After the sisters had moved off, Jillian lightly rapped her knuckles on the table I had been hiding under.
“The coast is clear. I’d keep a low profile, if I were you.”
“You have my eternal thanks.”
“If you’d like to relieve Rose, that’d be fine. Tell her I need her to keep an eye on International. I’ve already had half a dozen people ask me which Irish cookbooks we keep in stock.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, Zachary! Here comes a couple I’d like you to meet! Tell you what. Head over to the recliners and I’ll bring them over to meet you.”
“They’re not going to guilt me into eating anything, are they?”
“The food is foreign,” Jillian began, “but I guarantee you’ll like it. Maggie has got to be the best cook I know. The icing on the cake is that, like the Bradigans, she and her husband have lived in Ireland for most of their lives.”
Looking past the boxes, and the tables, and the overall clutter of a party that was still being readied, I noticed an elderly man holding the door open for his wife. It made me smile. I don’t know what it was about that particular chivalrous act, but it made me automatically like this particular couple. In fact, the two octogenarians held hands as soon as they entered Cookbook Nook and, catching sight of Jillian, veered in her direction.
“Mr. and Mrs. O’Sullivan!” I heard Jillian exclaim. “I’m so pleased you could make it!”
“Never turned down an invite to a céilí yet,” Mr. O’Sullivan announced, with a very noticeable Irish lilt to his voice. “I have no intention of starting now.”
I hurried over to Jillian’s duly-designated reading section, which had four oversized plush armchairs circling a large, antique coffee table. Once there, I could see that my two corgis were once again schmoozing with Jillian’s employees. This time, they were cuddling with someone I hadn’t met yet.
“Oh, they’ve trained you well,” I began, as I approached the dogs.
Sherlock and Watson perked up. The girl, a flaming redhead wearing thin black-framed eyeglasses, looked up at me and smiled.
“You must be Mr. Anderson. You’re the lucky man who gets to go home with these two adorable fluff-muffins?”
“Adorable fluff-muffins,” I repeated, with a chuckle. “That’s cute. I’m sure those two just ate that up.” After a few moments, I held out my hand. “Zachary Anderson.”
“Rose Murphy. The pleasure is mine, Mr. Anderson. Or, should I say, Ms. Wadsworth?”
“Not you, too,” I groaned, but not before I gave the girl a smile. “Let me guess. Jillian told you.”
“She’s proud of you,” Rose stated, as she rose from her recliner and tried to remove the dog hair that had collected on her clothes. “She talks about you all the time. I told her my favorite genre of books is romance, and that’s when she let it slip that I had more than likely read something of yours.”
“And have you?”
Rose nodded. “The vast majority of your titles, yes.”
“How long have you worked for Jillian?”
“About three weeks now.”
“Is she a good person to work for?” I asked.
Rose nodded. “Absolutely. She talks to me like she’s my best friend, and I can tell she genuinely cares about me.”
“That sounds like Jillian, no doubt about it. Well, thank you for watching the dogs for me.”
“Anytime, Mr. Anderson!”
“Oh. Rose? Jillian told me to tell you that she needs you to keep an eye on ‘international.’ I assume you know what that means?”
Rose nodded. “Yes. The International Cookbook section has been gaining in popularity the past year. Now, with this Irish festival happening today, I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a run on all things Irish. You can tell her I’m on my way.”
Since I didn’t see Jillian anywhere, I pulled out my phone and texted Rose’s response. There was no reply, but that wasn’t surprising, seeing how many people were streaming into the store and how easily Jillian could be pulled away from the counter. Not only that, there was a significant increase of noise.
Naturally, right after that, I heard a peal of laughter, and I knew Jillian was close. Remembering she wanted me to meet the elderly couple who had just arrived, I looked at my two dogs and gave them each a pat on the head. Sherlock and Watson had both curled up on either side of my recliner, content to enjoy one of their favorite pastimes: people-watching.
More and more people wandered by, and as each of them noticed the dogs, everyone, and I do mean everyone, stopped to offer them a greeting, followed by a thorough scratching behind the ears. Sitting where I was, on the recliner, I had a clear view of Cookbook Nook’s front entrance. I should also mention the céilí wasn’t slated to begin for another hour. This crowd must really be in the mood for a party!
Suddenly, Sherlock and Watson perked up. They were seemingly staring through a small group of people who were headed our way. Glancing down at the dogs, I could see both had risen to their feet and were studying the approaching individuals. That’s when the small group veered left, deeper into the store, and the three people behind them came into view. Jillian was there, and she was escorting an elderly couple.
The old woman stepped forward first. She was standing before me and inspecting me as though she was a general and I was the infantry, getting ready to head out to battle an unknown enemy.
“And who might this be?” a surprisingly strong and clear female voice asked.
I motioned for the dogs to stay put and then stood up. Holding out a hand, I smiled at the woman.
“Zachary Anderson. Down there are Sherlock and Watson.”
“The writer!” the eighty-something woman exclaimed, delighted. “And your two famous dogs! We’ve heard so much about Sherlock and Watson, haven’t we, dear?”
The husband nodded. “That we have, love, that we have.”
The woman took my hand. “Maggie O’Sullivan. This is my husband, Niall.”
I shook hands with Maggie’s husband and was surprised yet again when I discovered his grip rivaled my own. I could only hope that, when I became an octogenarian myself, I had half the strength this elderly gentleman possessed. Niall politely shook my hand and nodded his head.
“I have read all your books, young man,” Maggie continued, “and can say I have enjoyed them all.”
“As have I,” Mr. O’Sullivan added, with a sly smile.
“You have?” I repeated, certain these two couldn’t possibly know what type of books I write, very steamy romances.
Correctly guessing what I was thinking, Mr. O’Sullivan nodded. “Oh, yes, dear boy. Your books always … and pardon me for using an automotive analogy, get my Maggie’s engine running. Let’s just say that I benefit greatly.”
Holy crap on a cracker. Was Niall insinuating what I think he was insinuating? I f
elt my face flame up and I knew, without a doubt, my skin was as red as a lobster. It was definitely time to change the subject.
“So, Mr. O’Sullivan, Jillian tells me you and your wife are from Ireland. What part, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all,” Maggie said, as she smiled warmly at me. “We’ve traveled extensively throughout our fair country, but we decided to settle in Lifford, County Donegal.”
“I’m not familiar with Lifford,” I admitted. “Or County Donegal, for that matter. Is that south Ireland, or is it in the north?”
“North,” Niall answered.
“Lifford is a small village,” Maggie wistfully began, “located fifteen miles from Letterkenny. Our population has never grown larger than two thousand individuals, and that suited us just fine.”
“No one locked their doors,” Niall recalled.
“There was no crime,” Maggie added.
“Townsfolk helped each other,” Niall continued. “If there was a job to be done, then there would always be plenty of hands to see it through.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I sighed.
“It’s not like here,” Maggie said, but then blushed. “I’m sorry. No offense was intended.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. O’Sullivan,” Jillian assured the friendly senior. “None was taken.”
Niall clasped my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “You’ve been to our fair country?”
“County Cork,” I confirmed. “And Dublin. To be honest, I liked Cork much better.”
“Dublin has become too industrious,” Maggie informed me. “I think you’d enjoy a visit to Lifford. There’s much to see.”
“I’m putting it on my To Do list,” I assured them. “When did you move to Pomme Valley?”
Niall looked at Maggie and gave her a tender smile. “Must be going on fifteen years now.”
“Almost twenty,” Maggie confirmed. “And, there was a time when the crime rate of this city rivaled that of Lifford.”
Case of the Shady Shamrock Page 4
