by Zara Keane
She closed the door of the henhouse. Whatever had caused the crash wasn’t apparent out here. “Come on, Wiggly Poo. Let’s get back inside before we’re soaked through.”
Back in the kitchen, Naomi had started weighing and mixing the ingredients to make bath salts. “No luck?” she asked, raising an eyebrow when Sharon and Wiggly Poo returned from their outside adventure, wet and bedraggled.
“I don’t know what caused the noise. The animals all seem fine.” She leaned over her friend’s shoulder and sniffed the air. “Divine. What scent combo are you making?”
“Lemongrass and lavender. We can add a little purple food dye to give it an appealing color.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get started on the bath bombs.”
“Woof!” Wiggly Poo was on the alert, racing to the window and jumping up to press his paws against the glass. “Woof!”
“What’s up with him?” Naomi asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Sharon’s shoulders slumped. “Feck. I hope it’s not Da. He said he wouldn’t be home until late tonight.”
The labradoodle was growling now, the menacing sound mitigated by his cute and fluffy appearance.
Naomi’s dark eyes widened. “Do you think there’s a pervert out there? I told you I thought someone was watching us when we were unloading the car.”
“A wanker? He’d need to be seriously desperate to venture out on a night like this.” Wiggly Poo was growling at the window. “Oh, for feck’s sake.” Sharon marched to the window and threw it open.
A pale face loomed before her, light blue eyes darting from side to side, panicked. “You were right, Nomes. It is a pervert.” Sharon crossed her arms over her bosom and grinned. “Hello, Garda Glenn.”
Chapter Two
BRIAN STAGGERED BACK from the window ledge. His mouth moved but his brain was having trouble connecting with his tongue. The furry mutt, acknowledging him as a nonpredator, morphed from snarling antagonism to drooling delight. Its human companion leaned out of the window, wearing a fuchsia-lipsticked grin and a very low-cut top.
He blinked and tried to focus on anything but her silky-skinned cleavage. “It’s Wiggly Poo,” he muttered, finding his voice. “I thought—”
“That he was a savage beast terrorizing Ballybeg?” A plucked eyebrow arched above Sharon’s sparkly blue eye shadow. “Thank you for your concern, Garda Glenn. It’s comforting to know Ballybeg’s police force takes its duties so seriously. I’ll be sure to tell Bridie to make a poster warning people about the rabid labradoodle who’s liable to lick them to death.”
Mortification burned a path up his cheeks. “We wondered if your dad was still involved in dog fighting.”
The thin eyebrow arched even higher. “We?”
“Evening, Ms. MacCarthy.” Seán’s voice rang across the yard. He emerged from behind the water trough and strode across the cobblestones with a swagger that Brian would love to emulate. Knowing his luck, any attempt at a swagger would result in him slipping on the slick stones and landing on his arse.
“Sergeant Mackey.” A stiffness had entered Sharon’s tone. She didn’t like Seán. Brian had gotten that vibe off her before but didn’t assume her preference for him over his partner was a compliment. More than likely, she took Seán’s position as police sergeant seriously, whereas she regarded Brian as a massive joke.
His partner stopped before the window, exuding charm and authority in equal measure. “Garda Glenn and I took a stroll and heard barking. We thought we’d come up and investigate.” He flashed an ingratiating smile, but the effect was lost on Sharon.
“No way could you have heard Wiggly Poo from the road. Besides”—she gestured toward Brian’s neck—“binoculars? Hello? You two must take me for an eejit.”
“Busted,” Seán said, nonplussed. “We came up here to check on suspicious activity. Didn’t we, Garda Glenn?”
“Like what?” Sharon’s gaze roved between them, settling on Brian’s still-burning face. “Two women hanging out on a Saturday night?”
“We thought—” Brian caught Seán’s warning glance. “Okay, I thought… you and Naomi were talking in the pub about manufacturing product.”
Her thickly lashed eyes widened, and her expression turned to granite. “And you assumed that product was drugs? Despite me not having any history of drug consumption or dealing, being a MacCarthy is sufficient to have the pair of you sniffing around the farm at night, scaring the crap out of us?”
“Hang on a sec.” He wasn’t letting her derail his investigation that easily. “You and Naomi were discussing ingredients and chemicals. The pair of you clammed up lightning fast when I approached the counter.”
She folded her arms across her chest, elevating her impressive breasts even further. “Naomi and I are entitled to have a private conversation without the local constabulary listening in, but if you’re curious to know what we’re making, you’re more than welcome to sample our wares. Go round to the back door, and I’ll let you in.” With that, she slammed the window shut.
He bounced on the balls of his feet, darting a glance at Seán. “Have I made a major cock-up?”
“Come on,” his partner said with a resigned sigh. “We’d better keep her sweet lest she file a complaint with the superintendent.”
That was the last thing Brian needed. He’d worked hard to convince the super to approve his college tuition in spite of the tight budget. Pissing the man off now would not be a smart move.
When they rounded the side of the house, light spilled out from the open back door. Sharon stood on the threshold, hands on hips, a sardonic curl to her plump lips. “Come on in, lads. Welcome to our den of iniquity.” Catching Brian’s look of surprise, she added, “Yes, I have read Gone with the Wind, Garda Glenn. I can and do read, shocking though that might be to you, especially given that I work part-time in a book shop.”
A book shop he’d accused her of vandalizing only a few months previously… Damn. He’d better pray they found something incriminating in the house to warrant tonight’s escapade.
He wiped his muddy boots on the doormat and released himself from the confines of his thick scarf. A strange smell wafted through the mudroom, teasing his nostrils. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source.
“The kitchen’s through here.” Sharon closed the back door and led them toward a smaller door. “Watch the step on your way down.”
When they entered the kitchen, the smell was overpowering. It wasn’t unpleasant. Far from it. But pungent…
Naomi Bekele was removing a baking tray from the oven, the beads in her hair jangling with her every movement. She froze when she saw them, her mien wary. If Sharon was no more than average-looking, Naomi was a stunner. Light brown skin stretched over high cheekbones, slim-but-shapely figure, and soulful brown eyes. Brian had always felt he should fancy Naomi and was more than a little irritated with himself that he didn’t. His gaze slid toward Sharon. She was keeping a tight grip on the labradoodle, which was straining to greet the new visitors.
“He’s a crotch sniffer.” The trademark cheeky grin slid back into place. “Might be more than poor Garda Glenn can take, especially when he’s about to be confronted with the shocking sight of our drug-dealing endeavors.”
Naomi’s doe eyes grew large. “Our what?”
“Brian here thinks you and I have gone into business as Ballybeg’s latest drug dealers.” She turned to Brian, catlike. “You don’t mind me calling you Brian, do you? You’ve hauled me down to the station so many times over the years that I feel we’re intimately acquainted.”
Was it his imagination, or did she place a special emphasis on the word “intimately”? The stab of lust took him unawares. He bit his tongue, remembering all too clearly the humiliation of discovering he’d been wrong to accuse her of trashing the Book Mark last year. He swept an arm toward the stacks of ingredients on the counter. “If you’re not manufacturing drugs, what’s all this paraphernalia?”
Sh
aron jerked a thumb at the baking tray. “Bath bombs. Neither an explosive nor a mind-altering substance was used in their creation.” Her lips twisted into a sly grin. “You’re more than welcome to try one out in the upstairs bath. I promise I won’t peek.”
He exhaled through his teeth, excising an erotic image of them naked in a bubble bath. “I’ll pass, thanks,” he said gloomily, seeing his longed-for promotion vanish behind a dark cloud. He’d jumped the gun. Again. Once more, it was over Sharon MacCarthy.
Seán sniffed at a bowl containing small, purple-colored rocks. “What are these crystal things?”
“Bath salts. We’re planning to sell them at the Christmas bazaar.” Sharon slid an amused look at Brian. “Unless the Ballybeg police force has a reasonable objection to our enterprise.”
“We wouldn’t dream of objecting.” Seán revealed the slow, crinkly-eyed grin that had most of the female population of Ballybeg swooning.
Sharon didn’t blink. “Are we done here? Because Naomi and I have bath bombs to bake and wine to consume.”
“Sure.” Seán straightened and turned toward the exit. “We’ll leave you ladies to it. Right, Garda Glenn?”
Brian opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a car roaring into the yard sent his instincts soaring into high alert. The car door slammed, and someone stomped into the mudroom and toward the kitchen. Beneath the generous application of blusher, Sharon’s cheeks paled.
He took a protective step nearer to her. “Who—?”
The door swung open. Colm MacCarthy stood in the frame, wafting whiskey fumes and malevolence in equal measure. His beady, bloodshot eyes took in each of the room’s occupants and come to rest on Sharon. “What the fuck are two cops doing in my house?”
“It’s grand, Da.” All good-natured humor had evaporated from her demeanor. “They thought they saw something suspicious in one of the fields and came up to see if we were okay.”
“Something suspicious? What? A stray sheep?” Colm’s dark orbs swiveled. “What have you done this time, Sharon? Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Brian didn’t like the way Colm’s gaze bore into his daughter, nor the way she flinched under her father’s harsh stare. “Nothing.” He moved between father and daughter. “She’s done absolutely nothing. Sergeant Mackey and I heard barking. We came up to check if you were up to your old tricks. Turns out the dog was Wiggly Poo.”
The canine in question growled at Colm and edged his furry arse closer to Sharon. Brian was impressed. The mutt must be smarter than he’d given him credit for.
“Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday night, Ms. MacCarthy.” His look was laden with subtext. “I’d love to take you up on your offer of some fresh eggs, though. Will you show me where they are?”
Her facial expression exuded studied indifference but she took the hint. “Sure. I’m sending a few home with Naomi too. We have far more than we can use.”
She allowed him to lead her through the mudroom and out into the yard. When they reached the henhouse, he yanked her inside. It was pitch black and stank of poultry. He groped for a light switch and struck gold on his third attempt. “Are you all right?” he asked after light flooded the small building. “I wasn’t getting a good vibe off your father.”
She focused on the dirt floor, then hit him with the dazzling high-beam effect of her direct gaze. “I’m fine. In any case, I won’t be living here much longer, so there’s no need for you to be concerned.”
“You’re leaving Ballybeg?” The notion hit him like a blow to the abdomen. Sharon MacCarthy drove him crazy, but he didn’t want her to leave. She was part and parcel of his life here.
She gave him an arch look. “Don’t get too excited. I hope to leave the farm in a few weeks, but I’ll be staying in the area for another few months. Once I get my degree, I’m out of here.”
“About the drugs, I might have—”
“Jumped to conclusions?” Sharon crossed her arms under her breasts, recalling his attention to her fabulous cleavage.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling like the proverbial village idiot. “I might have made a mistake.”
“Indeed?” She unfolded her arms, shoved a few eggs into a cardboard holder, and thrust it at him. “You wouldn’t be the first. Everyone around here assumes the worst of me. It’s one of the reasons I can’t wait to see the back of this provincial dump.”
She pivoted on her heel and marched out into the darkness.
He caught up with her by the water trough. Across the yard, Seán was loitering by the house door, waiting for him so they could go home.
“Listen, I’m sorry for disturbing you. And for jumping to conclusions. Best of luck with your bath products.”
Sharon turned to face him, and he caught a glimpse of the wry twist to her lips in the moonlight. “Good night, Garda Glenn.” She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “Watch for wild cows on your way out.”
Chapter Three
ON MONDAY MORNING, a blustery wind blew a bleary-eyed Sharon down Patrick Street. She’d used Sunday to catch up on course material from the first two weeks of the semester—weeks she’d spent clearing out the last of Ma’s stuff with zero help from her father. Her brother Ruairí had taken care of the admin in the aftermath of their mother’s death, but sorting clothes and personal effects had fallen to Sharon.
Neither of her sisters would darken the door of the farm now that Ma was gone. Frankly, she wouldn’t either if she had somewhere else to go. However, that was about to change. Once she and Naomi started selling their bath products, she’d have the money to move out of home—and away from Da.
When she reached the Book Mark’s familiar turquoise door, she fumbled for the key. Inside the shop, she stumbled to a halt and gasped.
Her boss, Bridie Byrne, leaped up from a chair, half-moon spectacles askew. “You scared the bejaysus out of me. What are you doing here this early? You’re not due to start work until nine.”
“Yeah, I know.” Sharon’s book bag slid off her shoulder, forcing her to make a grab for it before it hit the floor. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here already.”
“Obviously.” Bridie was regaining her composure. “Now that we’re both here, let’s have a cuppa and a catch-up. I barely get a chance to talk to you these days. You’re always rushing off to the library.”
“I’m late starting my final year at uni. I need to get my arse in gear and hit the books.”
“Laudable,” Bridie said, “but we can still have that chat. Coffee?”
“Yeah. An espresso would be great.”
The older woman filled the kettle with water for her tea and switched on the coffee machine. The latter was a relatively new addition to the Book Mark Café, and a welcome one as far as Sharon was concerned. “I could kiss your niece every time I see that machine. The memory of that instant crap you used to serve still gives me the shudders.”
“You, Fiona, and half of Ballybeg have made that perfectly clear, missy,” Bridie said dryly. “As for me, I’m sticking with my tea.”
Within a few minutes, the hot beverages were prepared. Sharon scooted into a seat at one of the six tables in the bookshop’s little café. Bridie lowered her bulk into the chair opposite. She’d recently tinged her iron-grey hair with a purple rinse. Bridie alternated between purple, peach, and pink, adjusting her bright lipstick to suit her current hair color. She didn’t give a damn what people thought of her, and anyone who objected got an earful. Sharon totally wanted to be Bridie when she grew up.
“How’s life treating you, Miss Sharon? You’ve been positively quiet lately. Punctual, even. I’m starting to fear for your mental health.”
She let out a bark of laughter. “After all the lectures you’ve given me about embarrassing the customers and coming to work late, you’re complaining because I’ve cleaned up my act?”
Bridie took a sip of her tea and contemplated her employee over the rim of the porcelain cup. “Not complaining. Merely observing. Se
riously, Sharon. I know the past few months have been hard for you, and you know I’m not the touchy-feely type. But if you ever need to get something off your chest, I’m here for you.”
A lump formed in her throat, painful and resistant. “Thanks, but you know me. I’m a survivor.”
“I do know you. I see a forty-years-older version of you every time I look in the mirror. That’s why I’m concerned.”
Sharon toyed with the handle of her espresso cup. Bridie had been great after Ma died. Never asked the usual concern-tinged questions or spouted pat condolences. She’d just given Sharon a reassuring pat on the back and plenty of work to keep her occupied while she muddled through the grief at her own pace.
She released her espresso cup and shifted back in her chair. “I miss Ma but I’m relieved her suffering is over.”
“Cancer is an awful disease.”
Sharon nodded and took a shuddery breath. “I promised her I’d finish my degree and that’s going to be my focus over the next few months. I’ll never be as smart as our Ruairí, but I’ve brains enough to do well in my exams if I knuckle down and study.”
“Does this newfound motivation have something to do with you coming into the shop so early?”
Sharon shrugged. “It’s quiet here. Peaceful. There’s no Da. No pesky siblings. No farm work that I might as well do, seeing as I’m sitting on my arse doing nothing, to paraphrase my father.”
Bridie grimaced. “Colm always had a way with words. So you’ve been using the Book Mark to study?”
“Yeah. I know I should have asked your permission first, but—”
The older woman held up a hand. “It’s fine. Provided the shop and café are fit to receive customers when we open, I have no problem with you coming in before your shift.”
