Irish Aisle are Smiling

by Laura Durham

  "Should we get something for Leatrice?" I asked.

  Richard shuddered. "The last thing we need is Leatrice running around in a 'Kiss Me I'm Irish' apron or a shamrock hat."

  "If you want something more subtle, we can show you where we got Merry's sweater," Mack said. "The Aran Sweater Market is just ahead."

  "I'd rather her be dressed like an Irish fisherman than a leprechaun," Richard said.

  We passed a woman in a short black skirt dancing to festive Irish music from a boom box, her feet flying while the rest of her stayed perfectly straight. I turned to watch her as we passed and nearly walked into a tall black streetlamp in the middle of the street.

  Reese caught me by the elbow and steered me around it with one hand. "Eyes on the road, babe."

  Before I could thank him, I was almost knocked off my feet. It took me a moment to realize it was Kate who'd run smack into me. She held me by both arms, and I felt glad I'd finished my ice cream since the dish lay on the ground.

  "Thank goodness," she said as she gasped for breath.

  Fern was right behind her, his hands on his knees as he sucked in air. "We ran . . . all the way . . . from the hotel."

  "What on earth is wrong with you two?" Richard asked, putting a palm to his heart. "You almost scared me to death." His eyes lingered on Fern. "Do I dare ask what you're wearing?"

  Fern perked up as his eyes dropped to his saffron-yellow kilt with green shamrocks down one side and hunter-green blazer atop it. "An Irish Saffron kilt."

  "I thought kilts were green plaid," Reese said to me.

  "A common misconception," Fern said between breaths. "This type of kilt was first worn by the Irish military, and it's the most popular kilt design in Ireland now." He touched a hand to the shamrocks along the front pleat and winked at us. "I had it custom made to my measurements. I'm a perfect size eight, by the way."

  Kate stamped one high-heeled boot on the gray paving stones. "Fern! Focus!" Her eyes scanned all of us. "Where's the Louis Vuitton bag?"

  "The fake one," Fern added.

  "We just handed it over to the guards," Reese said in the cop voice he used to get people to talk. "Do you want to explain what's going on?"

  Kate sagged against me. "Good. At least they can't get it."

  "Who can't get it?" I asked, looking over Kate's shoulder to see if someone was chasing her. I saw nothing but fellow shoppers and tourists meandering down the street.

  "The other Americans," she said. "The old ladies."

  "What about them?" Richard asked. "Don't you think you two are being a bit hysterical?"

  Kate swung her head around to him. "People in gas houses shouldn't throw stones."

  "Do you mean glass houses?" Richard asked with a tortured sigh.

  She gave her head a quick shake. "Who builds glass houses?"

  I waved Richard off before he could argue with her. Kate's ability to mangle phrases was legendary, and I suspected she now did it just to get under his skin.

  "You were saying something about the American women on the genealogy tour?" Reese said, trying to steer the conversation back to the subject at hand.

  Fern nodded. "They just showed up at the hotel."

  My stomach tightened. "Our hotel? The Shelbourne?"

  "We just watched them all check in," Kate said, her face grim.

  Chapter 30

  "I can't believe it," Richard said, sinking further down against the dark wood paneling. "We're fugitives from our own hotel."

  I looked over my shoulder, even though we'd closed the door to the pub's snug after we'd all piled into the small, private room at the front of Kehoe's. Shifting on the short leather stool and readjusting my legs under the battered wooden table, I was glad we'd ducked down a side street and into the traditional Irish pub before anyone else went into full panic mode. We'd been even luckier that the pub's snug, the small room right off the front door that had once been used by women and clergy and anyone not wanting to be spotted drinking, had been available.

  "We're hardly fugitives," I said, dropping my voice and smiling up at the ruddy-cheeked bartender who'd entered the room and began doling out pints of Guinness, shots of whiskey, and glasses of water. It was a bit early for me to have a pint, but after the recent revelation, I wasn't going to stand in the way of anyone who might need something to calm their nerves. At least it was technically afternoon. Only a few minutes after, but after nonetheless.

  The pub wasn't busy yet, but there were a few patrons talking at the long wooden bar right outside the snug, and I could hear the muffled sounds of a singer crooning “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” on the sidewalk. Like most pubs I'd been in so far, the air in Kehoe's held the lingering scent of the dark beer it served. Even though I wasn't a big beer drinker, the smell was oddly comforting.

  Reese waited until the door was closed again and he'd taken a sip of his Guinness before turning to Fern and Kate. "Let's take it again from the beginning."

  Fern swirled the contents of his rocks glass of Jameson's and nodded. "Kate and I were coming downstairs to head out for a little shopping."

  "And grab some lunch," Kate added, leaning back against the wall and crossing her legs, exposing bare skin between where her boots left off and her pink minidress began.

  "Speaking of food," Mack said, craning his neck around the room. "You don't suppose this place serves any, do you?"

  "You just had ice cream," Richard said.

  Buster readjusted himself on the long brown leather bench that abutted the wall and ran down the length of the snug. "That was a late breakfast."

  I took a sip of water and focused on Fern "So, as you were saying, you'd just come downstairs."

  "We were walking through the lobby where you check-in," he said, tossing back his drink and replacing the empty glass on the table. "That's when we saw her."

  "Her who?" Richard asked.

  "Myrna," Kate said, taking a drink of her Guinness and dabbing at the foam left on her upper lip.

  "She's the tour group leader," I reminded my boyfriend since he hadn't had direct dealings with any of the ladies.

  "Anyone else?" Richard asked. "Maybe the entire group isn't with her."

  "Oh, they're all here," Kate said. "I snuck into the front foyer and saw a few of them in the lounge right off the entrance. Plus, their bus was outside unloading bags."

  "Just you?" Reese asked.

  Fern pulled his flask out of the pocket of his green jacket and waved a hand at his mustard-yellow kilt and knee-high socks with matching yellow tassels. "I can't exactly blend in this, detective."

  I scanned our group: two burly bald men in head-to-toe black leather, a blonde in a Lily Pulitzer mini-dress, and a man in a yellow kilt with a man bun. Even the most hardened city dweller would do a double-take.

  "I'm glad you're aware of that," Richard said. "How did you get out of the hotel unseen? I doubt there was a fife-and-drum convention you could pretend to be a part of."

  "A back exit," Kate said, giving me a knowing look. "Every hotel has a back entrance or loading dock."

  One advantage to being an event planner was that you got used to navigating the back-of-house in any hotel. Kate was right. There was always an employee entrance or loading dock where trucks made deliveries.

  "So you're sure they didn't see you?" Reese asked.

  "Pretty sure," Kate said, "but they must know we're here. Why else would they show up the day after we do? And right after we discover that we've taken one of their bags?"

  "It might be because of the genealogy concierge," Richard said.

  Every head swiveled toward him.

  "The what?" Buster asked.

  Richard sighed. "Does no one else read guidebooks? The Shelbourne Hotel is known for having a dedicated concierge who assists tourists in finding their Irish roots. It only makes sense that a tour focused on genealogy would be interested in that. Plus, we already know the old ladies are well-heeled, so I doubt the expense would bother them."

 
Now that he mentioned it, I recalled reading something on the hotel's website about the genealogy concierge, but I'd been mush more focused on the size of the event space.

  Fern poured a healthy amount of amber liquid from his flask into his emptied glass. "So you're saying it could be a complete coincidence that they're here?"

  Richard shrugged. "What are the chances they would be able to show up and get that many rooms at the last minute?"

  "So what do we do?" I asked, more to Reese than to anyone else. "If the thief and murderer thinks we have the bag and knows we're in the hotel, we're all in danger."

  "Then we make sure they know we don't have the bag," Richard said.

  "What if they don't believe us?" Kate said, her voice quivering. "Criminals aren't the most trusting types. If they were desperate enough to kill one person and attack another, don't you think they'd make sure we weren't bluffing?"

  Fern choked on his drink. "You mean they'd still come after us even though we don't have the bag or artifacts?"

  I looked to Reese to argue, but his brow was furrowed.

  "As much as I hate to admit it, Kate makes some good points," he said. "We aren't dealing with a rational person. They probably know they'd never turn in a bag filled with valuables, so they'd doubt that anyone else would either. Dishonest people are the least trusting because they expect the world to think and behave as badly as they do."

  "That's discouraging," Mack said.

  Reese shrugged. "I'm afraid I have a cynical world view after years of dealing with criminals."

  "So we need to sneak out of the hotel, rebook earlier flights, and never return to Ireland," Richard said, pulling out his phone. "I'll see what flights are available this afternoon."

  "That doesn't mean they can't track us down," I said. "If those items were worth killing over, they very well might be worth a trip to DC."

  Fern gave a small squeak and put his hands to his cheeks. "Do you think we'll need to change our names and get cosmetic surgery?"

  "Let's not jump to conclusions," Reese said. "We still don't know for sure that one of the ladies is behind the stolen antiquities or the attacks."

  I rapped my fingers on the wooden table. "You're right. We need to figure out who's behind all this."

  Kate nodded. "I won't sleep soundly until we know for sure who could be coming for us."

  Buster folded his arms across his chest. "So we draw out the killer."

  "We've done that before," Mack said.

  Reese held up his hands. "Wait a second. That's not what I meant at all." His eyes slid to me. "Is this how you all end up in so many crazy situations?"

  "It's not crazy," I said. "Can you tell me you're one hundred percent certain the thief and killer won't come after us?"

  He hesitated.

  "See?" I said. "We're in danger until we know who's behind everything, and I didn't get the idea the Gardaí were going to put much muscle behind this."

  "The question is, how will we draw out the thief?" Kate asked. "We don't have the artifacts anymore."

  "But they don't know that," Richard said.

  Fern bounced up and down in his seat. "That's right. They can't even tell the difference between a real and fake Louis. And we still have the real one."

  "No." Reese shook his head firmly. "I do not like where this is going."

  I leaned forward. "We spread the word that we're meeting the police to hand over the bag tonight in the hotel."

  "Then we lay a trap when the killer shows up before the police," Kate said.

  "Set a trap?" Reese spluttered. "You want to encourage a killer to come after you?"

  "That's where you come in." I squeezed his arm. "You'll be somewhere nearby in case things go south."

  "Things have already gone south," he muttered.

  "It's perfect." I leaned into him. "None of the women know what you look like, so they'll have no clue you're with us."

  Fern gave him a slow wink. "You're one of us now, sweetie."

  Reese drained half of his Guinness.

  "I'm with the detective. This is begging for trouble." Richard held a finger over his phone. "I say we book the new tickets and change our identities. I hear Mexico is a nice place to lay low."

  Fern nibbled the edge of his thumbnail. "I'd guess I could get used to going by my drag name, Tequila Sunrise."

  "Come on," Kate said. "Don't you want to see Colleen's killer caught?"

  Reese sighed. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

  “Not if we’re still in danger,” I said. “I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for a sinister old lady for the rest of my life.”

  Richard shuddered. “That’s a terrifying thought considering we already have a crazy old lady back home.”

  Reese clunked his pint glass back on the table. "Then if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right so no one is at risk." He put his forearms against the table and bent forward. "Here's the plan."

  Fern looked around the table before leaning in. "An official plan by a real cop. This is so exciting."

  Richard arched an eyebrow at me. "I think we may have broken your boyfriend, darling."

  Chapter 31

  "Are we sure the man who came up with this plan is really Mike Reese?" Kate asked as we sat in the upstairs library bar at The Shelbourne Hotel. "Is it possible he's been taken by aliens and his body replaced?"

  "I'm as surprised as you are," I told her as I readjusted the Louis Vuitton duffel bag by my feet.

  We'd selected the 1824 Bar as our fake meeting spot with the Gardaí because it wasn't a working bar and it had easy access to stairs as well as the nearby terrace where Reese and Richard were positioned out of sight. Fern was on the staircase landing above us and Buster and Mack were outside the hotel. From the intimate, wood-paneled room, Kate and I had a view of the entrance of the hotel as well as the main staircase.

  "I guess we're rubbing off on him," Kate said, swiveling around on the bar stool so she faced the door.

  "Wearing him down is more like it," I said. Reese had made me promise that once we'd found out who was behind the smuggling and attacks, we'd take the last two days of the trip to do nothing but sleep late and explore Dublin. "I think he knows that I won't be happy until the case is solved."

  "All I have to say is don't let go of him, Annabelle. You've found a guy who thinks your obsessive problem-solving is endearing and doesn't mind that you can't cook. There may not be another one like him in the entire DC metropolitan area."

  "Thanks, I think." I grinned in spite of her double-edged compliment. I knew she was right. Reese was the perfect guy for me, and if I was being completely immodest, I thought I was pretty good for him too. Even though we had only been living together for a few months, it felt odd to think back to what life had been like before he was an everyday part of my life.

  "I know we want to get more destination weddings," Kate said, "but I'm ready to get back home. Traveling is exhausting even without being accused of murder."

  "I hear you. The idea of planning destination weddings is better than the reality."

  "No kidding." Kate spun to face me. "They never show jet-lagged people or damaged luggage in photo spreads for weddings overseas."

  I watched a few people walk up from the entrance foyer, but I didn't recognize them. I knew we were still about ten minutes early for our supposed meeting, but I expected the real smuggler to show her face before the Gardaí arrived. I tapped my foot on the maroon carpeting.

  "When you and Reese get married, do you want it to be in DC or someplace exotic?" Kate asked.

  I nearly slipped off my stool and instinctively glanced around, afraid that my boyfriend had somehow heard her from the terrace. "Who says we're getting married?"

  She angled her head at me. "You've been dating for a while, you've been living together for a few months, you're clearly crazy for each other. Why wouldn't you get married?"

  An excellent question, I thought. Why wouldn't we? And why
did the thought of me being the one to walk down the aisle seem to fluster me so badly? Was I so used to being on the other side of things that I couldn't imagine being the girl in the white dress?

  "Don't tell me planning weddings has ruined them for you," Kate said, eyeing me. "Just because our brides are crazy, doesn't mean you'll lose your sanity when it's your turn."

  That was a scary thought. It had never occurred to me I could become a bridezilla. "It's not that."

  "Are you a wedding planner who doesn't believe in marriage?" Kate lowered her voice. "That would be so weird."

  "You're telling me you still believe in the fairytale after all the craziness we've seen?"

  Kate nodded, her blond hair bouncing. "Absolutely. I plan to get married."

  "You do?" I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice.

  "I want someone sexy, smart, and rich." She counted off three fingers. "It may take three different husbands to get all that, but I'm willing to go the extra mile."

  I laughed. "If business is slow, I guess we can always fall back on planning your weddings."

  "You know me." She gave me an arch smile. "Always willing to take one for the team."

  I glanced up at the next staircase landing where we'd stationed Fern. He'd declined to take off his kilt, saying it helped him blend in, despite the fact that he was the only person in the hotel--Irish or not--wearing a mustard-yellow kilt. At least it made him easier to spot. He gave me a thumbs-up.

  Fern had been in charge of getting the word out to the American ladies about our find and our meeting, his ability to disseminate gossip far and wide finally coming in handy. He'd spotted them having tea in The Lord Mayor's Lounge earlier and promptly joined them. After regaling them with his story of the artifacts and our upcoming meeting to turn them over to the authorities, he'd left them with mouths hanging open.

  I turned to the walls of dark-wood shelving and the bottles of champagne tucked in each one. I could go for a drink right about now, I thought.

  "You've got to be kidding me," Kate said, causing me to pull my attention from the shelving behind the bar and follow her line of sight.