Dad didn't want to come. In fact, he was so absorbed in his notes I'm not sure he registered where we were going. I made Jay unpack his anorak, and I put my own on, too, in case it rained. It was well past the equinox, so the sun hadn't set and wouldn't for a couple of hours. We strolled along side by side.
Jay said, "Wanna fight?"
I stopped and blinked at him. His whiskey-brown eyes met mine. Something had happened all right. My anger no longer burned with a pure and gemlike flame. "No. Not now. Maybe not at all, Jay, but we do have a problem, and we're going to have to talk about it."
He was wearing his impassive face. "Wonderful what good sex can do."
I drew a breath. "No, my friend. Do not delude yourself. The sex was fine, but the problem exists."
He frowned and started to say something, then shrugged and walked on. "So tell me about the folks at Stonehall Enterprises."
I filled him in, starting with my discovery of the body, and I gave him a sketch of the dinner party, too.
"Kennedy sounds like a clown."
I considered. "Only in the sense that he's funny. He's a shrewd observer. He probably used Maeve Butler's invitation as an opportunity to meet with the Stonehall people when they were off- guard. I think his experience with this kind of crime is limited."
Jay snorted.
"What?"
"I don't know anybody with experience of the setup you described. It's one of a kind."
I had meant that I thought Sgt. Kennedy's experience of the executive-level milieu was limited. Jay was patronizing me. I felt a flare of anger and bit it back. We walked on in silence.
"So Kennedy was scoping out the victim's business associates. That means the chief inspector, what's his name—"
"Mahon."
"Whatever Mahon may have told the dead man's sister, he isn't sure Wheeler was scragged by one of the kids."
"Or Sergeant Kennedy isn't sure."
"You think he's running his own investigation?"
"I think he knows the area, and the boys involved in the game, better than Mahon does."
"You may be right."
"I am. Occasionally."
"What do you mean—" We had come to the fork in the road. Jay broke off and stared down at Stanyon Hall. "Where are we, the Magic Kingdom Annex?"
"Stanyon does have a Disneyesque air. Wait till you see the wood carvings inside, and the stained glass in the library."
He shook his head. "It reminds me of Beverly Hills."
"Oh, come on, Jay."
"It's fake, right?"
"True."
"It's pretentious, right?"
"I catch your drift."
"Fun," he said. "But not as much fun as the Arab guy who had all those nude statues around his LA estate painted in realistic colors."
I said austerely, "Alex and Barbara are restoring Stanyon as an investment. Alex, at least, regards it with a certain ironic detachment." I told him about the company logo picked out in stained glass.
"Jesus." He shook his head, but he was smiling.
We slipped through the huge oak door as a group of women were leaving. The data processors, obviously. They nodded and said good evening. One of the women whipped out a cigarette before she stepped off the verandah and lit it with a flourish. I grinned at her, and she grinned back. She was old enough to be Slade Wheeler's mother.
I gave Jay a moment to admire the towering staircase then I led him to the salon.
Our entrance created a stir. There were six people in the room—the Steins, Liam, Mike, Tracy, and Kayla Wheeler. Kayla sat by herself next to the open window. The rest clustered around the drinks trolley.
Kayla stared and went back to her brooding cigarette, but the others broke off their conversation. Barbara took a step toward us. She looked startled rather than pleased.
I said, "My husband flew over to babysit, so I thought I'd better bring him to meet you."
Barbara's eyes widened, and she extended her hand. "I'm Barbara Stein."
"Jay Dodge. Interesting house." He shook hands.
Alex came forward. "It's pretty horrible, really. The loo in the cloakroom backed up this morning, and our builder's disappeared. I'm Alex. Welcome to Ireland. Do you want wine or something stronger?"
"I thought this was beer country," Jay said amiably, shaking Alex's hand.
"Guinness?"
"Might as well try it."
"Lark?"
"A glass of red wine," I murmured.
I let the Steins introduce Jay to the other Stonehouse people. With a grimace, Barbara led him over to Kayla. He shook hands with Wheeler's sister and murmured condolences. Kayla leaned forward in her chair, wobbling a little. Though I didn't hear what she said, I could see her eyes gleaming all the way across the room. Barbara drifted back. She looked at me, and I shrugged. It was clear that Kayla was taken with Jay.
That is not uncommon. He is no more than ordinarily good- looking, he was wearing a mungy Shoalwater College sweatshirt over jeans, and, at forty-four, he was the oldest person in the room, but Jay has never lacked charm. Apparently he turned it on for Kayla.
I asked Tracy how her disk was coming along, and she described a programming glitch in gloomy detail. In fact, the general atmosphere was glum. Mike and Barbara were arguing about something without heat, while Alex and Liam worried aloud about the cost of a new electronic scanner. Jay rejoined the group after a decent interval, leaving Kayla to her chilly perch by the open window. She lit a Players and watched his buns through the smoke.
"How do you like the Guinness?" Alex moved aside to make room for my husband in the cluster by the trolley.
"Heavy but tasty." Jay slid into a discussion of Irish vs. American beer with a smooth comment on microbreweries. He was drinking his stout slowly, but he tends to do that.
Kayla stubbed out her cigarette, rose, and wobbled across the room. "Night everbuddy."
No one reminded her that she had not yet eaten dinner. Polite murmurs from the group. She brushed Jay as she wobbled past and he put out a hand to steady her.
"Night, big boy."
"Ms. Wheeler."
She made it to the door, clung to the frame a moment, then lurched through.
Alex watched her progress with anxious eyes. "Why doesn't she go back to London?"
Tracy's lip curled. "Free gin?"
We picked up the frayed threads of our conversations and sipped at our drinks. I checked my watch but it wasn't yet seven. I'd told Dad we'd have dinner at eight, so there was lots of time.
Tracy wound down her technical complaints and set her empty wine glass on the trolley. "Well, I'm off, folks. Heavy date with my landlord."
Mike hooted. "That old fraud?"
Tracy grinned. "He may be old, and he may be a fraud, but he takes me to dinner at Grayble's at thirty punts a whack. And he dances like Fred Astaire."
"Sure, he's Fred Astaire's illegitimate brother," Liam murmured.
General laughter. Jay and I smiled, though I missed the full flavor of the joke. Tracy left. She was scarcely out the door when Maeve, looking cross, appeared with Sgt. Kennedy en train. Kennedy wore tweeds again and a dark bruise showed on his left cheekbone. He was at his blandest, and he was holding something in his left hand.
I introduced Jay to Maeve first. Irritation vanished. Her eyes gleamed. She shook hands and said something graceful, then slipped past us to the bar where Barbara was already pouring her a glass of wine.
The two men shook hands warily, and Kennedy held out a dust-jacketed book. "I've brought the latest edition, Mr. Dodge. Hot off the plane from London. Will you sign it for me? Sure, my copy of the original is all dog-eared and covered with tea stains."
Jay blushed.
As I watched him take Kennedy's pen and sign the book, I must admit I was amused and surprised. Clearly the Gardai had a direct line to Passport Control, if they knew Jay had come.
It was possible that Kennedy did own a copy of the first British edition of Jay's book. The pr
evious year, Jay had published a slim textbook on modern techniques of gathering and safeguarding evidence in criminal cases. It was published simultaneously in the U.S. and Britain in slightly different versions.
The text must have fulfilled a real need. It went through two printings in six weeks. Of course, the initial run was small. Jay had seen an updated version to the printer in September. Not a best- seller, exactly, but a winner with police departments and training programs.
In my opinion the book was successful because of Jay's style, which is terse and clear without over-simplifying what is becoming a highly technical subject. Nevertheless, he doesn't think of Modern Evidence Procedures, a.k.a. Evidence, as a real book, like our friend Tom Lindquist's novels or my mother's collections of poetry. It embarrasses him when anyone treats him like an Author.
I thought he ought to get over that. I also wondered what Kennedy was after. I distrusted his innocent country boy air.
I watched Jay hand the book back and cap the pen, and decided I ought to come to the rescue. "What happened to your face, sergeant? That's a nasty contusion."
Kennedy heaved a sigh. "Wasn't it just Aidan Flynn defending the family honor when we brought Gracie home for a wee chat with her da?"
Jay looked from Kennedy to me and back.
"Good heavens," I said, "how did you subdue him? With a choke hold?" I'll admit that was malicious.
"Sure, we're not so quick with our hands as the boys in the States. The missus laid him out with a frying pan." Sgt. Kennedy stuffed Jay's book into the patch pocket of his tweed jacket. He smiled at Jay and at Alex Stein who came up with a glass of stout. "Ah, that's the ticket. Thank you, lad."
Alex said, "We owe you a dinner, Joe."
Kennedy touched his cheek bone. "It may be Gracie owes me a dinner, or at least a beefsteak." The bruise was not quite a black eye.
Everyone laughed and the tension eased. At least my tension eased. The others may not have felt any. Jay's ears were no longer scarlet.
Maeve took the book from Kennedy and showed it to Liam and Mike. The sergeant seemed to be in an expansive mood. He evaded Barbara's questions about the investigation with aplomb and gave Jay and me a reassuring account of what I could expect at the inquest.
"...and the coroner won't keep you on the stand very long, Mrs. Dodge," he concluded. "Ten minutes at most. How's the old gentleman?"
"My father? He's well. We left him working on his Quaker research."
"Sure, you're a literary family."
"Scribble, scribble, scribble," I said cheerfully. "I barely write invoices myself."
Kennedy laughed and drew Jay aside.
Barbara said, "Your mother's Mary Wandworth Dailey, isn't she?"
I sighed. "Yes, and she's fussing over Dad like a broody hen. She bullied Jay into flying over." That was probably not the whole truth, but it would do for public consumption.
"I was thinking of giving a dinner for her when she comes."
"I'm sure she'd like that, Barbara, but don't go to a great deal of trouble."
"It's no trouble," Barbara said slowly. "The thing is, I wouldn't want her to feel used. The Irish like poets, you know, and her reputation here is substantial. I need to mend a few social fences. We've been too busy gearing up to return the hospitality we received when we first came."
And a poet might help counter the association of Stanyon with wargames. She didn't say that, but we both understood the context.
Why not? At least Barbara's chef wouldn't feed Ma rubber chicken. "Do remember Dad's condition and spare him a formal banquet."
She smiled. "I can guarantee that. I'll keep it small." The smile faded and a puzzled frown creased her forehead. "I thought your husband was a policeman."
"He used to be. These days he runs a police training program at Shoalwater College."
"Ah, I see. Another academic."
I said, "Jay is well-read and a pretty good seat-of-the-pants scholar, but I think he'd balk at being labeled academic." That was also true. Strange, but true.
Maeve had joined us, leaving Mike and Liam to thumb through Jay's book. I couldn't imagine why they wanted to.
Maeve had caught my mother's name. "Would your mother be interested in meeting with women poets who live in the Wicklow area, do you think?"
I suppressed a twinge of annoyance. When I was younger I resented my mother's mild fame. "If you have a pen, I'll give you her phone number. I think she knows Eilis Lachlan." Lachlan was an outstanding academic poet. "Call Ma and distract her from worrying about my father. It would be a favor."
Maeve fumbled in her handbag and came up with a slim gold pen and a rather grubby notebook the size of my palm.
I scribbled the number. "It's unlisted—ex-directory, that is."
"I won't give it out. Thanks, Lark." She took the notebook back with an air of reverence and gave me a ravishing smile. "How fortunate your husband was able to come. I'm not clear about the American academic calendar, though I know you finish well before we do."
"That's true." I remembered she was an archaeologist and wondered if she lectured at Trinity or the National University. Perhaps she just worked for the OPW. I wondered if she was into dolmens. I wondered if she knew about the incised stone I had found in the woods.
"Does he have a long Easter holiday, or is the term over already?" Maeve persisted.
Jay said, "It is in full swing. I'm a truant." He looked ruffled, as if Kennedy had said something to trouble him. Kennedy regarded me blandly, the blue, blue eyes wide and innocent.
I saw no reason to condone Jay's truancy. "Who's covering for you?"
"The adjuncts and Cason in sociology."
Professor Cason had not been enthusiastic about training police officers when Jay set up the program, but the two men got along well enough. "I'll bet he likes that."
"Probably not," Jay said curtly. "But he owes me."
The impracticality of Jay leaving his students in mid-quarter had been bothering me. Why had he done anything so headlong and unnecessary?
I didn't intend to conduct our quarrel in public, but I couldn't resist asking, "What about the report writing class?" The report writing class was the grand finale for degree students. They had to pass it or they didn't graduate. Fortunately there were only eight or ten of them.
By this time the rest of the group was listening, though I couldn't see why. The subject couldn't have been interesting to outsiders.
Jay sighed. "I brought the laptop, Lark. It has a modem. They can submit their assignments via e-mail." He glanced around. "And if I'm going to set that up, we'd better go back to the cottage." He swallowed the last of his Guinness and set the empty schooner beside Tracy's wine glass.
He had said the magic word, however. The idea of conducting a college class by e-mail was meat and drink to the Stonehall crew. They began asking Jay excited and extremely shrewd questions.
At first he responded with terse impatience, but their interest was genuine. What was more, they had useful suggestions. Barbara got out a pad of yellow legal paper and jotted down a crucial Internet address. Mike Novak flipped Evidence open to the table of contents and began analyzing the ease with which it could be transformed into an interactive disk. I thought of my spaghetti sauce.
Sgt. Kennedy caught my eye. "They're moon-mad, lass."
I looked at my ruffled husband, caught in a whirlpool of techie enthusiasm, and raised my wine glass. "I'll drink to that."
Maeve laughed and clinked her glass on mine.
Chapter 7
I'm a rake and a rambling boy.
There's many a city I did enjoy...
American song
"Why do I feel older than Methuselah's granddaddy?"
I glanced over at Jay's damp, unrevealing profile. "I thought the Stonehall crew had fine ideas."
"Yes, and it's a good thing Barbara wrote them down. Otherwise I'd forget them."
"Is your short-term memory going?"
"My teeth will be next."
>
Laughter seemed indicated. I laughed.
The mist thickened.
"Where are we?"
"Just follow the road."
"Geez, Wilma, how long before we get to Bedrock Cottage?"
"I thought it was a silly name, too, but I suppose it was inevitable."
"Stonehall. Bedrock."
"You got it." I wiped mist from my face with a tissue. It wasn't raining. The overcast was just very, very low.
"How about a run?"
"Not tonight." I probably needed a run, but I didn't trust the surface of the road, and I didn't want to sweat all over my pullover, either. "What did Joe Kennedy tell you?"
"Eh?"
"Cut it out. After he got your autograph, he took you aside and spoke to you at some length. There's nothing wrong with my short-term memory."
"I'm not chummy enough with the sergeant yet to call him Joey."
"Are you jealous?"
"Hell, Lark, he's your age, and he looks like a Marine Corps recruiting ad. Of course I'm jealous. Also curious. You didn't phone me. Is it possible you were distracted?"
"It's possible I'm going to swat you upside the head if you blather on like that. I didn't call you because I was embarrassed to tell you I'd found another corpse." That was partly true.
"It is getting to be a habit."
"See? I knew you'd say something snide." I thought of Slade Wheeler's eerily peaceful body and shivered.
"Was it bad?" Jay didn't sound sarcastic.
I stopped and blinked at him through the mist. He was frowning at me, eyes dark and intent, as if I were a difficult puzzle he had to solve.
"It was strange," I said. "Very strange. This is a strange place." I thought of telling him about my incised stone and the watcher in the woods, but the whole experience was so odd I hesitated to expose myself to further satire.
"It's a foreign place, sure enough." Jay walked on and the moment passed.
I caught up with him in a few steps. "Now, about Sergeant Kennedy—"
"Lover Boy was very respectful of his seniors."
"I don't know why you're on this age kick, but it's boring. You're a mere six years older than I am."
"They were the wrong six years."
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