“I hear we have you to thank for that,” Niall added, as he gave me an unreadable look.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the four of us as I stared at the old man glaring back at me. After a few moments, his face split into a grin and he began to laugh.
“Hoo boy, he was right! Did you see the look on poor Zachary’s face, love? I thought he was going to faint dead away!”
Unsure how I should respond, I suddenly heard a second person laughing. And a third. Then, a familiar person appeared, holding a plate of food. He grinned at me and held up his phone, suggesting he had recorded the encounter.
“Vance, I should have known you had a hand in that,” I grumbled, only I couldn’t manage to hide the grin on my face. I looked at my new Irish friends and inclined my head in Vance’s direction. “Don’t believe a word he says.”
Niall blinked with confusion. “Indeed? He said you are the most intelligent person he has ever known since he became a closet romance reader.”
I noted, with incredible delight, the smirk had disappeared from Vance’s face and, instead, had been replaced with a look of abject horror.
“I said no such thing!” my detective friend insisted.
It was my turn to hold up my phone.
“You heard it right, ladies and gents! Pomme Valley’s own Detective Vance Samuelson is an ardent admirer of romance novels and has read every one I have ever published!”
“Am not! Did not!”
Jillian burst out laughing, which had both O’Sullivans also giggling. Vance glowered at me and, I could tell, came thiiiiiiis close to giving me the one-fingered salute. Since I had my phone out, and was recording him, he just shook his head, knocked fists with me when no one was looking, and moved off.
A lively Irish tune began. To my ear, it sounded like a recorder, or perhaps a whistle. I couldn’t tell if it was being piped in through Jillian’s overhead speakers, or if the musician was there on site. After a few moments, the whistle was accompanied by a fiddle. Then, some type of drum began beating.
Curious how the dogs would react to the music, I glanced down. If anything, both dogs appeared to be calm and relaxed. They settled to the floor on either side of my chair once more and, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Sherlock was moments away from falling asleep.
I think both of them would have taken a nap, right there in the store, only due to their popularity, they had a steady stream of admirers and visitors. People kept coming up to me and asking permission to meet them. Both corgis looked up at their line of admirers, and then turned to look at me, as if to say thanks. As one, they both rolled over.
“Dogs,” I muttered.
The crowd loved it.
I watched the two Bradigan sisters walk by. They smiled and waved enthusiastically at me. One of them, Saoirse, I believe, held up a plate of food, to which I could see included an inordinate amount of the nasty colcannon she had made. Never in my life have I been so grateful to see two people pass me by and not stop. There was no way I could stomach another mouthful of that particular recipe.
That’s when I noticed the dogs. Both Sherlock and Watson had perked up when the two elderly sisters appeared, and watched them like hawks. Did they think they were going to spill their food? Or offer them some type of morsel?
“Put that thought out of your little puppy brains,” I told the corgis. “You’re not eating anything in here, is that understood?”
Sherlock silently regarded me for a few moments before he returned his attention to the passing people. I swear that dog’s expression said, we’ll see about that. For the next half an hour, we entertained a steady stream of visitors, from people we knew, like Captain Nelson of the police department, and Spencer Woodson, from Toy Closet, to complete unknowns, like the young family who had just arrived. The mother and father looked young, in their twenties, and had four kids, ranging in age from a toddler just learning to walk to a wide-eyed eight-year-old girl. The parents looked tired, but happy. They saw the dogs and immediately pointed them out to their kids. The three older children shied away, much to their parents’ chagrin, but it was the toddler who surprised them all. The young girl blinked her eyes at Sherlock a few times before taking several staggering steps in his direction.
Sherlock yipped once and immediately dropped into a playful crouch.
I watched the mother battle her indecision about coming to her baby’s aid, but the father held her back and, together, they watched what their youngest child was about to do. Nearing Sherlock’s still form, the toddler tripped over her own feet and fell forward. Before either parent could react, the baby ended up sprawled over Sherlock’s head and neck. The tri-colored corgi, much to my amazement, remained mired in place as he patiently waited for the baby to regain her balance. However, the toddler must have decided reclining on the nice, furry pillow was better than trying to walk, because she slid into a sitting position.
Sherlock’s head and neck were still wrapped in a death-grip by the toddler.
“Omigod, Shae,” the father exclaimed, as he finally decided to rush forward, but due to the amount of fur visible in the toddler’s clenched fists, the parent hesitated in pulling his daughter away.
“What’s the matter?” the mother asked.
“She’s got ahold of the fur in both hands. I don’t know how we’re gonna get her to let go.”
Both parents looked up at me with apologetic looks on their faces.
“We are so sorry,” the father began. “If I was your dog, I probably would have freaked out long ago.”
“Sherlock knows she’s young,” I explained. “Hmm. I have an idea how to make her let go, without hurting her or Sherlock.”
“How?” the mother inquired.
I pointed at the plate of food the oldest daughter was holding.
“Is that pumpkin pie?” I asked.
The parents and the girl holding the plate looked down at the pie. After a few moments, when nothing was said, the mother nudged her daughter.
“Abby? Is it pumpkin pie?”
Abby shook her head. “It tastes like it, and smells like it, but … it’s not pie.”
The mother took Abby’s spoon and tried a tiny piece.
“Mousse. It’s pumpkin mousse.”
“That’ll do,” I decided. “Take a little of the mousse and smear some of it on your baby’s cheek.”
The father looked at me as though I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I winked at him and then pointed at Watson, who turned to look at me at the same time. Comprehending what I wanted to do, the father nodded. He carefully took the plastic utensil from his wife and scooped a tiny bit off the plate. Turning to me, he grinned, and then squatted next to his youngest child. He dabbed a little of the mousse on his baby’s cheek and took a few steps back.
I looked down at my female corgi and cleared my throat. “Watson? Would you do the honors?”
Leaning forward, I touched the child’s cheek. Watson was on her feet in a flash. A split second later, Watson was using her soft tongue to extract every last bit of pumpkin from the child’s face. Understandably, this got young Shae’s attention.
The two chubby fists released Sherlock’s fur. For the record, Sherlock remained unconcerned the entire time. In fact, even after his fur had been released, he remained motionless, next to my recliner, as if youngsters pulling his fur were a daily occurrence.
“I’m really sorry ’bout that,” the young father began, as he held his baby girl in his arms. “Although, your dog doesn’t seem to be bothered.”
“You guys are fine. No harm done.” After the family had wandered away, I gave the corgis a solid scratch behind each ear. “Good job, you two.”
Sherlock and Watson perked up. I ruffled their fur and was about to settle back in my recliner when I noticed neither of the dogs were paying attention to me. They were now watching the Bradigan sisters, who had just wandered by again. Based on their empty plates, I could only assume they were on the hunt for more dishes to
try. After they passed out of sight, both corgis settled down. Weird. For whatever reason, I decided to take a few pictures.
Our next visitor was Jillian, who handed me a bottle of Coke Zero without breaking stride. She blew me a kiss and disappeared into the milling throngs of people. I looked at my bottle of soda and grinned. Now, where had she been hiding this?
Man alive, I love that woman.
Vance, Tori, and their two girls appeared. Victoria and Tiffany went straight for the dogs while Vance and Tori took the seats next to mine. Tori leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly.
“Oh, this feels nice. You have the right idea, Zack. I’ve been on my feet all day, and let’s just say they aren’t happy.”
“Mr. Anderson?” I heard one of Vance’s daughters say. “What are your dogs doing?”
Intrigued, I leaned forward to see for myself. Sherlock and Watson were on their feet, but both had eyes for Tori, as though she was holding a big, juicy steak. Before you start complaining, or taking my name in vain, let me clarify: I have never fed my dogs steak before. Maybe a steak-flavored treat every so often, but never the real thing. In this case, based on the way my dogs were staring at Vance’s wife, you’d think she had a juicy T-bone stuffed inside her purse.
“What’s with them?” Vance wanted to know.
I looked over at Tori, who had her eyes closed. I nudged Vance and hooked a thumb at Tori. My detective friend looked over at his wife and, moments later, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Tor? Are you okay?”
Tori’s eyes opened. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
In response, Vance pointed at the two dogs.
“It looks like they think you’re packing raw hamburger in your purse.”
Confused, Tori held up her small, black wristlet. She dangled it in front of the corgis, swung it to the left, and then the right. The dogs, however, ignored it and were still staring straight at her. Tori looked at Vance and shrugged.
“I have no idea. I didn’t spill anything on me, did I?”
“Not that I can see,” Vance said, shaking his head.
“Yet, you’ve got something they’re interested in,” I murmured. I caught sight of Tori’s necklace and my eyebrows lifted. No. There’s no way. “Tori? Could I get you to do me a huge favor?”
Tori nodded. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
“Your necklace. Where’d you get it?”
Tori looked down at the small, crystal cross she was wearing and gave it a wistful smile. “Do you like it? It’s Waterford. Vance bought it for me last year.”
“Waterford,” I repeated. “As in, Waterford crystal, from Ireland?”
“That’s a big ten-four,” Vance confirmed. “Darn thing was expensive. You’ll never guess how much it … but that doesn’t matter, does it? The point is, I know you love everything from Ireland, and since that was Irish, it was a no-brainer, you know?”
Tori shook her head and fired off an unreadable look at her husband. Thankfully, when she looked back at me, she was smiling.
“Would you like to see it?”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised. “I think that is what the dogs are staring at.”
Tori reached behind her neck and unfastened the pendant.
“My Waterford? Why?”
Tori handed the cross to Vance, who then handed it to me. I would also like to point out that the dogs tracked the pendant as it moved from chair to chair. Passing their leashes to Vance, I stood up, gave the signal for the dogs to remain there, and slowly walked around the chairs. Sure enough, the dogs watched my progression every step of the way.
“Why would they be interested in Waterford crystal?” Tori wanted to know, as she refastened the pendant around her neck.
“Because, it’s Irish,” I explained, as I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. I really don’t know why I was treating the arrival of the silver chest as a case, but the dogs certainly were, so why not? “At least, that’s my running theory.”
“The easiest way to test that would be to find something else that came from Ireland,” Vance decided. He then turned to point at the rows of tables back by Jillian’s front counter. “There’s Irish food over there. Already had some shepherd’s pie, which was fantastic, by the way. What about that?”
Tori was nodding. “It wasn’t made in Ireland, was it?”
Vance gave his wife a sheepish smile. “Good point.”
Remembering that Jillian was wearing a thick, green Aran sweater I had bought her from an actual Irish website, I pulled out my phone.
SOMETHING STRANGE GOING ON WITH DOGS. COULD YOU COME HERE? RUNNING EXPERIMENT.
Less than thirty seconds later, Jillian was at my side. The dogs were now watching Jillian, but I didn’t know if that was because they knew her better than anyone else, save myself. Well, that was easy enough to figure out.
“Zachary? Is everything all right?”
I pointed at Sherlock and Watson. “For some reason, I think they’re fixating on things from Ireland. A few moments ago, they were staring at Tori. Before that, they kept watching those two sisters and the O’Sullivans.”
Jillian looked down at her sweater. “Oh, because I’m wearing this, you wanted to see if they’d react. Well, they are watching me now. Well, Watson is. Sherlock is still looking at Tori.”
Vance leaned forward, interested. He held up his glass. “I have an idea. Tori? Could you get me another soda?”
Tori looked at Vance and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s funny. Your legs don’t look broken, so you can … oh, I get it. You want to know if I walk away, would Sherlock still watch me, or would he switch to Jillian, since she’d then be closest?”
Vance nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
Nodding, Tori stood, and started to walk away.
“Ahem.”
Tori spun on her heel and stared at her husband. Vance waggled the glass and offered her a goofy smile. Shaking her head, Tori snatched the glass from his outstretched hand and headed to the beverage section. Then, we all turned to see who the dogs were looking at, and that was Jillian.
“Okay, you’ve proven your point,” Vance said. He looked up at Jillian and gave her a helpless look. “I’m just not sure what that tells us.”
Tori returned a few minutes later and handed her husband his drink. “Well? Did Sherlock watch me or were they looking at Jillian?”
“They were watching Jillian,” I confirmed.
Right then, the O’Sullivans wandered by again, and based on the course they were taking, were intent on refilling their drinks. As Maggie looked over at me and smiled, a thought occurred. I held up a hand, and once I was certain she was looking, beckoned her over.
“Maggie? Could I show you something? I’d like to get your take on something.”
Mrs. O’Sullivan nodded. Niall appeared by his wife’s side and smiled at the group at our table. Realizing no one else was offering, I sprang from my seat and held my chair out to Maggie, who smiled graciously. Jillian then did the same for Niall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tori thump Vance in the gut, and then saw my detective friend shrug helplessly.
“What would you like to show me, dear?” Maggie asked.
I pulled up the picture of the Celtic shamrock on the silver box, which I had taken on my cell and slid it across the table to her.
“Have you ever seen one of these before?”
“Of course, dear. It’s a shamrock.”
I heard a snicker from Vance and then watched Tori give him a second thump in the gut.
“And the style?” I prompted. “See how it appears to be a Celtic design? Like it’s based on a Celtic knot?”
Maggie nodded. “What of it, dear?”
“Have you ever seen this symbol before?”
Much to my surprise, and that of everyone at the table, Maggie nodded. “I have, yes, but not for many years.”
“Do you know where you saw it?” Jilli
an asked, as she leaned forward in her chair.
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “Oh, I must be mistaken. It can’t be the one I’m currently thinking about.”
“Your first instinct is usually right,” I urged. “If you think you’ve seen it before, then that means you probably have. Think, Mrs. O’Sullivan. Where would you have seen this symbol?”
Curious, Niall turned to his wife and placed a wrinkled hand over hers on the tabletop.
“This would have been many years ago,” Maggie sighed. “It was in a newspaper, I believe. Yes, there was some type of article in the paper. It made Daddy so angry. That’s why I remember it, I suppose.”
“Her father was a very quiet and timid man,” Niall explained, after Maggie had fallen silent. “To find something that could irritate him to that extent, well, at the time, it was unheard of.”
“Did you see the article?” Vance asked, addressing Mr. O’Sullivan.
Maggie slid the phone to her right, so Niall could see the photograph for himself. The sleek, sophisticated, state-of-the-art communications device looked incredibly out of place in Niall’s arthritic hands, but that didn’t stop him from clumsily poking at the display a few times. The friendly fellow peered at the image for a few moments before shaking his head.
“It is not familiar, I’m afraid. But, I can tell you this symbol is Irish by design.”
“Because of the Celtic knot woven around the inside of the shamrock?” Jillian asked.
“Kinda figured that,” Vance murmured.
For the third time that night, Tori thumped him in the gut.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Vance groaned.
“Then zip it,” Tori whispered.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be quiet!”
Maggie shared a conspiratorial look with Tori before reaching for the phone once more. “Isn’t there technology nowadays that could see inside this chest for you?”
Vance snapped his fingers. “And we have a winner! Nice one, ma’am! Zack? We should get that chest of yours x-rayed.”
I nodded glumly. “Already did, pal. I drove out to the airport in Medford, and had them send it through their scanner.”
Case of the Shady Shamrock Page 5
