Irish Aisle are Smiling

by Laura Durham

  Richard staggered back a few steps. "This trip is cursed."

  "It's not cursed," I said, motioning for him to be quiet as some of the ladies began glancing our way. "We've had a few hiccups is all."

  "Hiccups?" Richard's voice became shrill. "A hiccup is losing your luggage, not finding bodies every time you turn around and having drivers struck down by mysterious illnesses."

  A lady in a pink "Fur Grandma" sweatshirt gaped at Richard as he began fanning himself with both hands and walking in a circle muttering to himself.

  "It hasn't been every time we turn around," I said. "To be fair, we've only found one dead body so far."

  Kate nodded. "Which is under par for us if you think about it."

  "That's right," Mack said. "The second lady was only knocked unconscious."

  “And if the driver is hung over, that isn’t exactly a mysterious illness,” Kate said.

  "Are you people insane?" Richard stopped and stared at us, then waved a hand at the nearby women. "Those old ladies are dropping like flies, and we've spent half our trip being interrogated by the local police."

  I smiled at the ladies who were now clutching each other with wide eyes. "He didn't mean that. It's been a long few days, and he's away from his dog."

  The lady in the "Fur Grandma" sweatshirt nodded, but the rest did not look comforted by my explanation.

  "What's going on?" Fern asked, joining us as he dabbed his eyes.

  "We're down a driver," Kate told him.

  "And up a nervous breakdown," I muttered.

  Fern's eyes lit up. "Does that mean we need to share a bus with the ladies again?"

  "No," Richard said a little too loudly. "We're going in entirely different directions. We have to be at Ballyfin Demesne by this afternoon come hell or high water."

  Fern glanced up as a raindrop hit him on the forehead. "Well, I think you may have to go with high water because the skies look like they're about to open up."

  I followed his gaze to the dark cloud that had moved in above us. "So what do we do? Call for a back-up driver?"

  Kate waved a hand at the white van. "We have the vehicle. We just need someone to drive it."

  "Don't even think about it," I said.

  Kate backed away. "Calm down. I wasn't suggesting me, but there must be someone else in our group who can drive a stick shift."

  "I can," Buster leaned his head out from the open door of the van. "All our floral delivery vans are manual transmission."

  I hesitated. "Are you sure we can just drive off without the driver?"

  "What's our alternative?" Kate asked. "Wait until the driver recovers and miss our appointment at the next venue?" She dropped her voice. "Go off to Cork with the old ladies and hunt down our ancestors?"

  "When you put it like that," I said.

  Richard grabbed his wheeled suitcase and began pulling it toward the back of the van where the milk-truck doors stood open. "Frankly, I'd rather take my chances with Buster's driving than have to listen to Fern and those ladies sing show tunes again." He heaved his suitcase into the van. "Come to think of it, I'd take my chances with Kate's driving over that."

  "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you," Fern said as he picked up his Louis Vuitton duffel and headed up the stairs into the van, looking over his shoulder and sighing. "I guess the newlyweds are sleeping in. Too bad we can't say goodbye to them."

  Richard adjusted his leather man bag across his shoulder and walked up the stairs behind Fern, pulling out his guidebook. "I should discuss the most scenic route with Buster before he just drives off willy-nilly."

  "Just what Buster always wanted," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "Richard as a backseat driver."

  Mack helped with the rest of the bags, slamming the back doors shut. "That's everything."

  I followed Kate up the stairs and took the black leather seat next to Richard in the front. Buster sat in the driver's seat, his bulk overflowing the chair and one thick arm resting out the open window. Richard was holding out his guidebook and showing him a map, but Buster seemed to be doing a good job of ignoring him.

  "Here goes nothing," he said, starting the van.

  Fern waved wildly even though the windows were tinted, and I saw several of the sweatshirt clad ladies wave as we drove away. Fat raindrops splatted on the windshield as Buster switched gears and the van lurched forward. He located the windshield wipers as we accelerated down the long drive and the rain pelted the windows. I looked back at the silhouette of Dromoland Castle through the gray mist.

  Was someone running after us? I shook my head and the figure seemed to disappear in the rain. Even though I didn't believe our trip was cursed, I felt glad to be putting the castle in the rearview mirror in more ways than one.

  Chapter 25

  "It's official," Kate said as she clopped down the steps of the van in her heels. "I'm castled out."

  I already stood outside the vehicle looking up at the stone edifice of Ballyfin Demesne, a lavish Regency mansion fronted by pale gray columns and tall windows. "Then you're in luck. This isn't a castle."

  Kate shielded her eyes from the sun peeking through the clouds. "It may not have turrets, but it took us ten minutes to drive through the grounds and past the lake. This is no normal historical house."

  I'd give her that. Compared to the Federal-style homes we were used to in Washington, DC, this estate was massive with an arched columned portico to one side and stone sphinxes flanking the entrance. I inhaled the scent of freshly mowed grass, no surprise since the estate was surrounded by acres of lush green. Luckily, we seemed to have escaped the rain that had followed us for most of the drive, and the skies about Ballyfin were blue and dotted with only a few diaphanous clouds.

  "It's the most notable example of nineteenth-century neoclassical architecture in Ireland," Richard said, reading from his guidebook as he disembarked. "The glass conservatory was added later and can be accessed through a concealed door in a bookcase in the library."

  "How delightful," Fern said from behind him. "There were no hidden doors at the last two castles."

  On our way to the luxury mansion, we'd stopped at Lisheen Castle and Castle Durrow, both only short detours off our route. One had been a traditional castle with weathered stone and multiple turrets, while the other had been more of a country house hotel with extensive formal gardens. I'd taken lots of pictures at both venues, although my gut told me they weren't what our bride was looking for.

  "Castle Durrow didn't look as much like a castle as Lisheen," Kate said. "No turrets or tower, although the gardens were spectacular."

  "Agreed," Mack said, lumbering out of the van and stretching his beefy arms overhead. "A ceremony in the gardens at Castle Durrow would be gorgeous."

  "Prettier than Dromoland?" I asked.

  "Fewer dead bodies than at Dromoland," Richard muttered, closing his guide and slipping it into his black crossbody bag.

  "We shouldn't let the murder--and attempted murder--affect our opinion of the venues," I said. "We need to give Halsey our unbiased thoughts on which venue would be best for her wedding. Not which ones had a lower body count."

  "Even without the body, I think I like this better," Kate said, eyeing the portico with the neoclassical pediment above soaring columns. "It's a bit flashier."

  "I don't care what it looks like at this point," Buster said, coming down the stairs and massaging his hands. "After driving through the rain on the left side of the world's tiniest roads, all I want to do is check in and collapse."

  I patted him on the back. "You did an amazing job."

  "What about me?" Richard asked. "I navigated."

  I wasn't sure if screeching directions from behind the driver was considered navigating, but I patted his arm as well. "You were both brilliant."

  A pair of young men in tan vests with turquoise ties emerged from the house.

  "We're checking in," Richard said, then glanced back at me. "I'll go get our keys."

  I picked up my tote bag
as the bellmen began unloading our suitcases from the back of the van. I didn't see bell carts since there were two sets of stone steps leading to the entrance, so I suspected the men would be carrying our bags in by hand. I dug in my bag for some Euros since they'd need to be tipped well for their effort.

  Kate walked apart from us and took a few photos on her phone. "These are for Instagram. I've been posting from every venue."

  I felt like smacking myself in the head. Between sending information to Halsey and dealing with the murder investigation, I'd completely forgotten about social media. Not that I minded forgetting. I felt the same way about hashtags that Richard felt about vegan bacon--I could go a lifetime without seeing them again.

  "Thanks for remembering," I said. "I haven't been in a very Instagram frame of mind lately."

  Kate cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are you ever?"

  Fair point. I just didn't feel like everything that happened in life needed to be posted. Luckily, Kate was younger than me and had no problem taking up my social media slack.

  She held her phone up high and started talking into it, clearly taking a selfie video. "Hey, it's your girl Kate and I'm at Ballyfin Demesne in Ireland." She pivoted to get me in the shot. "Say hi, Annabelle."

  I waved awkwardly at the phone. "Hey, everyone."

  Kate clicked off the video and tapped the screen a few times. "There, we posted a story."

  Richard poked his body half out of the high wooden doors and waved us in. "I've got our keys."

  I glanced around and realized Kate and I were the only ones left standing outside. I hurried inside, my eyes adjusting as I stepped into a pretty entry hall with a marble checkerboard and mosaic-patterned floor and a massive set of antlers mounted to one side. The walls were a muted shade of pumpkin and broken up by square black granite columns that were set flat against the walls. Through a door to the right was a lovely parlor decorated with a green velvet settee and a fringed ottoman in front of an ornate white mantle.

  Buster lay sprawled across the settee and Mack sat across from him in an ivory wingback chair. Both men seemed to dwarf the furniture.

  "Ready to go to your room?" I asked.

  "Once my legs work normally again," Buster said, not opening his eyes. "I feel like I rode the brakes for the past three hours."

  Fern stood at a wooden desk with his Louis Vuitton duffel on one of the upholstered chairs. "I must say, this is quite charming."

  I glanced at Fern's bag and then at the identical duffel bag the bell man was walking inside. "Do you have two Louis Vuitton bags or am I starting to see things?"

  Fern's head snapped up. "Another Louis?"

  Kate lifted the second bag as it was set down in the entryway. "Looks like it. This isn't yours? Or Richard's?"

  Richard squinted at the bag and made a face. "It's not mine. You know I don't believe in knockoff bags."

  "This is a knockoff?" Kate lifted the dark brown bag with interlocked "Ls" and "Vs" covering the exterior.

  Fern waved us into the parlor, and Kate walked the duffel bag in and set it on top of the desk. Richard and I followed.

  Fern examined the bag for a moment. "Richard's right. This is no Louis."

  "It's a Louie," Richard said. "With an 'ie' instead of a 'uis.'"

  Fern swatted at him. "You're so bad." His face became serious again. "All joking aside, you can tell it's a fake because the design doesn't mirror itself at the edges."

  I squinted at the fleur-de-lis he pointed at. "You mean because it's cut off at the other end of the bag?"

  "Exactly," Fern said, touching the zipper. "And the hardware is too bright a gold. Real Louis Vuitton bags have brass hardware that oxidizes over time."

  I studied the shiny gold zipper and then looked at the duller zipper on Fern's duffel bag. "Okay, so this bag isn't yours and it isn't real. That doesn't tell us who's it is and why we have it with us."

  Kate slapped a hand to her mouth. "It must be one of the ladies' from the genealogy tour. We were loading up at the same time they were this morning. We left so quickly, we must have grabbed an extra Louis."

  "I think that's my fault," Mack said, standing and joining us. "I saw it near our pile and tossed it in the back because I thought it was Fern's."

  Fern's eyes grew wide. "I hope it isn't someone's essentials."

  "We should probably try to contact them," I said. "Where were they headed again? Cork?"

  Fern nodded. "I don't know the name of their hotel though."

  "It can't be hard to track down a bus full of American ladies in cat sweatshirts," Richard said. "I'd hope there aren't multiples."

  "You want to call every hotel in Cork?" I asked, hearing the weariness in my voice.

  "We don't even know for sure whose bag this is," Kate said. "You were buddy-buddy with them. Do you remember which lady had a Louis bag?"

  Fern crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't help them unpack, sweetie."

  "Well, it wasn't Betty Belle," I said, remembering the luggage that had been in her room when we'd snuck in.

  "That's right." Kate snapped her fingers. "She had one of those Vera Bradley bags."

  "Look who has the eagle eyes," Fern looked from me to Kate. "I don't know why you're asking me if you remember so well."

  Richard narrowed his eyes at me, and I knew he remembered how we both remembered Betty Belle's luggage so clearly. "This is absurd." He grabbed the fake bag. "All we have to do is open it."

  I thought about protesting, and then realized I wasn't one to talk. Richard unzipped the bag and we all looked inside.

  "That's odd," Fern said, pulling out a rolled up tea towel.

  "It is odd," Richard said. "I thought you bought up all the tea towels in the country."

  Fern gave him an arch look as a tarnished metal circle with a pin across it fell out of the tea towel and onto the desk.

  "It looks like your brooch pin," I said, picking up the bronze piece. "But a lot older."

  Richard reached in and took out another tea towel. This time an ornate bronze bell rolled out, and Kate caught it before it hit the floor.

  "I haven't seen one of these in the gift shops." Fern touched the metal chain that wound around the bell. "I would've gotten one."

  I felt a knot form in my stomach as I remembered seeing it inside Colleen’s bag when we’d opened it in her room. "I don't think these are things you can buy in a gift shop."

  Richard's face looked pale as he met my eyes. "Annabelle is right. These look like artifacts."

  "Why would one of the old ladies have a bag filled with Irish artifacts?" Fern asked, pulling more rolled up tea towels and displaying more tarnished and ancient-looking items.

  "Because she stole them," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.

  Fern pressed a hand to his throat. "Do you think that's why Colleen was murdered and Nancy attacked?"

  "It must be," Kate said. "Maybe they both figured out what was going on."

  "What is going on?" Fern asked, his face horror-stricken. "You don't think those ladies are running a smuggling ring, do you? They all look so sweet."

  "Grandmas in cheesy sweatshirts?" Buster adjusted his goggles from where he sat on the settee. "It would be the perfect cover."

  "Have we been driving all over the country with a bag filled with stolen goods?" Richard asked, his voice rising. "Are we now aiding and abetting a criminal conspiracy?" He swung his head to Fern. "I told you those old ladies were trouble, but did anyone listen to me?"

  Fern shook his head vigorously, and his low ponytail swung from side to side. "Maybe there's one bad apple, but the whole group? I can't believe it."

  "Fern could be right," Mack said. "It would make sense that it's one person trying to keep her illegal actions hidden. That would explain Colleen and Nancy as well. Maybe they were going to blow the whistle."

  "You all can't admit a bunch of sweet old ladies could be part of a criminal ring," Richard said, his breathing rapid. "And now we're part of it." He clutched the
edge of the table. "We're international smugglers."

  I shushed him, looking behind me to make sure the bellmen hadn't heard his mini meltdown. "We are not international smugglers. We took the bag by accident."

  "We've already been under suspicion for murder," Richard said. "You really think the Gardaí will believe we weren't in cahoots with the other Americans? Thanks to Fern, we were practically bunking with them."

  Fern gave him a cutting look. "Well, excuse me for trying to be friendly. I still don't believe all the women were in on it. Some of those dears couldn't keep a secret like that to save their life." He shook his head. "They were quite the gossips.

  Bold words considering most of the juiciest gossip in DC got its start right in Fern's Georgetown salon.

  "Either way," I said, staring down at the table filled with artifacts, "we don't know who the mastermind is unless we can figure out whose bag this is."

  "Before she figures out we have it and comes after us," Kate said.

  Fern gave a small squeak.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Which is a distinct possibility because you told them exactly where we were going, didn't you?"

  He looked at the bag and the artifacts then back at me before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a heap, Mack catching him before he hit the carpet.

  "I'll take that as a yes," I said.

  Richard eyed the limp Fern. "Some people are so dramatic."

  Chapter 26

  "So let me get this straight," Reese said, not even attempting to hide the disbelief dripping from his voice. "You accidentally took someone else's fancy bag and it ended up being filled with what you think are stolen artifacts?"

  "They key word in all this is 'accidentally,'" I said, holding the phone to my ear as I stood in the glass conservatory attached to the side of the house.

  I'd wandered away from the parlor to talk to Reese and my wanderings had led me to the house's massive library and through the secret door behind a bookshelf. The glass conservatory looked like a giant birdcage, with a spectacular view of the grounds. I quickly assessed that it would be perfect for a small ceremony or bridesmaids' luncheon.