by Zara Keane
Colm’s only response was to slam the door in Seán’s face.
He whistled to himself as he walked back to his car. That had gone well. Not. Judging by the elder MacCarthy’s body language, he knew far more than he was saying, and it definitely involved Colm Junior’s dodgy dealings. Dared he hope he’d get the Travellers case wrapped up after all?
His phone beeped with an incoming text message. When he glanced at the display, he noticed there were two messages. He checked the latest one first.
Don’t forget my birthday dinner next Sunday. Even if you did cause my fool of a husband to be up in court again, you’re still family. Aunt Nora xxx P.S.: Can you bring a bottle of something? Money’s scarce, seeing as Helen Havelin refused to pay your uncle the full price for his performance. She was always a tightwad.
His reluctance to dine chez John-Joe and Nora was slightly mitigated by his amusement at Helen’s horrified expression when John-Joe had bodysurfed over her guests.
He clicked on the second message. It had been sent from an unknown number.
I hear you want a word with me about a mutual acquaintance. Might have better luck questioning some of your old colleagues. Ever find it strange that you got shunted off to Cork, yet certain members of your old unit got promoted? L.D.
An icy chill froze Seán in place. What the hell? And yet the sneaking suspicion that his former boss’s promotion hadn’t been on merit alone had nagged him for over a year. He’d had the misfortune to tangle with the odious Detective Inspector Connolly last summer during the Gant murder investigation. The entire time Seán had worked for him in the organized crime unit, Connolly had been angling for a transfer to murder. Within six months of the debacle at the Clondalkin warehouse, Connolly’s wish had been granted.
But how much weight could he lend the word of Lar Delaney? The man was all smoke and mirrors, mystery and deflection. Seán had never been sure just how much power the guy wielded in the Dublin underworld. On the surface, he was an odd-job man—someone known to associate with less-than-salubrious characters, but not a person against whom any serious allegations had been levied.
Delaney’s only conviction to date was a juvenile sentence for armed robbery during which a security guard was killed. After his release from prison, he’d vanished for a few years. Rumor had it that he’d gone to work as a hit man for his uncle in Boston. Whether or not that rumor was accurate was anyone’s guess. After fifteen years on the force, little would surprise Seán, but he was prepared to keep an open mind.
In the meantime, he’d better call the local vet and get his new protégé checked out.
Chapter Thirty-One
CLIO PULLED INTO the car park of Glencoe College. She wanted to scream. She wanted to put her head on the steering wheel and sob. But she had no time for hysterics. In five minutes’ time, she was due in the school hall with a hundred other parents, and she’d be expected to play the part of the responsible mother attending her daughter’s parent-teacher meeting.
The week since the robbery had been hell. By the time Helen left for Dublin on Monday morning, they weren’t on speaking terms. Honestly, Clio couldn’t blame her mother for being pissed, but she hadn’t felt able to confide in her about the Ray Greer mess. That didn’t justify taking the cash, regardless of how quickly she’d replaced it, but Helen was quick to paint the situation black and white when there was an entire spectrum of colors between.
After years of estrangement, it was disconcerting to suddenly see her mother every weekend. Clio couldn’t force an intimacy that wasn’t there any more than she could bring herself to forget the aftermath of the last time she’d confided in Helen. What sort of parent threw their pregnant seventeen-year-old out of the house, leaving her with no home, no money, and no school certificate? Little wonder she’d hit rock bottom. Clio might not win a Mother of the Year award, but she was a damn sight more maternal than her own mother had been.
After checking her reflection in the rearview mirror—wan with shadows smudged beneath her eyes—Clio grabbed her handbag from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car.
Inside the main school building, she received a nametag and list of teachers and table numbers to visit at the reception table. Clutching the list, she entered the main hall. It was abuzz with chatter. Designer-clad parents hobnobbed with one another, wafting expensive scent and hauteur in equal measure. Some ignored her when she walked by. Others stared at her nametag and eyed her nondesigner clothing with disapproval.
A lady with a sleek bob blocked her path. “Hello, Mrs. Havelin.”
“Ms.,” said Clio, suddenly self-conscious. Surely she couldn’t be the only single parent present.
“I’m Eileen Quirke.” The woman’s sneer set her teeth on edge. Did she think Clio couldn’t read the nametag attached to her enormous bosom? “My daughter, Roisin, is in Tammy’s class. She says she’s a bit rowdy.”
Of all the adjectives that could be used to describe Tammy, “rowdy” was not among them.
Eileen’s plastered-on smile looked as synthetic as her cloying perfume smelled. Clio opened her mouth to deliver a cutting set-down, but before she could formulate the first word, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to the side.
It was Olivia, impeccably dressed as always and wearing a determined expression on her face. “Sorry, Eileen,” she said, sounding not the least contrite, “I need to talk to Clio.”
Eileen pursed her artificially plump lips. “I should have known you two would be friends.”
“Like attracts like. Speaking of which, I see your good pal, Marjorie Jobson, is flirting with your husband again. You might want to intervene.” Olivia nodded in the direction of a short man of fiftyish whose florid face was practically stuck into a blond woman’s cleavage.
Eileen’s bee-stung lips parted in horror. An angry flush stained her cheeks. Without uttering another word, she sallied forth to fight for her man.
Clio allowed herself to be dragged out of range.
“My brother told me that Roisin and her venomous pal, Jenny, are harassing your daughter,” Olivia offered by way of explanation. “In comparison to her mother, Roisin’s bitch-level ranking is merely a five. I didn’t think you needed to deal with Eileen.”
“I was about to give her a blistering response.”
Olivia’s smile was knowing. “That’s why I intervened. Eileen Quirke is on the school board. She’s not a person it’s wise to antagonize.”
Olivia grabbed two glasses of wine from a side table and handed one to Clio.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass. “You didn’t heed your own advice.”
Olivia grinned over the rim of her glass. “I have enough ammunition against Eileen to ward off several attacks.”
“What brings you to the Glencoe College parent-teacher evening? I thought you said your stepson was in primary school.”
“My younger brothers are pupils here. Our parents aren’t the most reliable, so tonight’s event fell to me. My youngest brother, Ronan, is in Tammy’s year.”
“She’s mentioned the name. They had lunch together, I think.”
Olivia’s grin widened. “I believe he’s rather fond of Tammy. She could do a lot worse.”
“Of that, I am quite certain,” Clio said dryly, recalling Trevor O’Leary’s smug smirk.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” Olivia said. “We still haven’t set a date for dinner.”
“I’m sorry about that. My work schedule keeps changing. Ruairí’s wife isn’t well, and he keeps needing to go home at short notice.”
“No worries. I’d heard Jayme was having a difficult pregnancy. Why don’t we do something spontaneously? Text me when you’re free. If I can swing it, we can meet up.”
“Sounds like a plan. It’s Tammy’s birthday this weekend, but I should have time for a coffee next week.” Clio glanced at the list in her hand and groaned aloud. “I’d better start working my way through Tammy’s teachers. I’ll get the worst over first. Where’s her
math teacher?”
***
On the afternoon of Tammy’s birthday, the smell of burning alerted Clio that all was not well in the kitchen.
Helen’s hair hung limp around her ears. She was red-faced and clasping a spatula tightly in one hand. “I don’t understand. The cookery book made it sound so simple. What did I do wrong?”
Clio inspected the batter. Stray specks of eggshell warred with an unidentifiable glutinous lump for Clio’s attention.
Helen sobbed. “I wanted Tammy’s cake to be perfect. It’s the first birthday I’ve spent with her in years.”
Actually, it was the first birthday she’d ever spent with Tammy. Clio bit her tongue to stem the acid retort, aware she’d been on tenuous ground with Helen since the night of the robbery. “Don’t sweat. Let’s see if any of this is salvageable.” She took the bowl from her mother and made a show of examining its contents. This was one batter that should never make it to the oven. “Okay. I’ll check what we have in the fridge. I’m sure we can whip up an alternative.”
“What about the beef bourguignon?” Helen’s voice rose to a helium squeak. “Is it supposed to have that funny smell?”
Clio pulled the lid off the large pot on the stove and recoiled. “What in the bejaysus did you put in it?”
Helen blinked. “I can’t remember. There were so many ingredients lying about on the counter. I got a bit panicked.”
She replaced the lid and turned to her mother. “When was the last time you cooked a meal from scratch?”
Her mother considered the question, then shook her head. “I can’t remember. It must have been after your father left. He’d always taken care of the cooking. Thank goodness I married Larry and his cook.”
“You make it sound like a polygamous relationship,” Clio said, laughing.
“Oh, you know what I mean.” Helen slumped onto a kitchen chair and uncorked a wine bottle. “I did everything that damn recipe book said. Even idiots can cook. How can I not figure out how to follow a recipe correctly? I wanted to make Tammy’s birthday dinner perfect.”
As if on cue, her granddaughter slouched into the kitchen, even moodier than usual. “What’s that awful smell?”
“Tammy,” Clio said in a warning tone.
The girl leaned over to sniff at the pot. “Oh my God. I am so not eating that mess. It smells gross.”
“Tammy, that’s enough.” Clio handed her daughter a knife and a chopping board. “Help me chop vegetables, would you?”
“If it’s the only way I’ll get something edible, I don’t suppose I have much choice.”
“Your grandmother worked hard to create this…um…meal. Show some appreciation.”
“Appreciation for what? The worst birthday dinner ever?”
Helen was looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Her hair had slipped free of its ponytail, and was curling wildly around her ears. She sloshed more wine into her glass. “If you have a problem with my cooking, Tamara, you try to produce a five-course meal.”
Tammy, giving the prospect serious consideration, glanced at the new watch Clio had given her for her birthday. “It’s too late now. It’s already after five o’clock. If I start now, we’ll be eating at midnight.”
“We don’t need a fancy meal.” Clio tossed burnt green beans from a frying pan into the rubbish bin. She examined the remaining options in the fridge and the larder. It appeared Helen had used almost every item they’d had in stock to whip up the meal of the decade. Clio grabbed a package of dried spaghetti and put water on to boil. “We have eggs, cream, and bacon. I can make us spaghetti carbonara and garlic bread. How does that sound? We’re low on vegetables, but I think we’ll survive an evening without our greens.”
“And I don’t need a cake,” Tammy said. “Emma sent some marshmallows in my birthday package. They’re up in my room. Why don’t I fetch the box, and we can use them to make Mum’s killer hot chocolate?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Clio exchanged a significant glance with her daughter and lowered her voice. “Thanks for being a good sport about this, pet.”
A small smile played on Tammy’s lips. “No worries. It’s kind of fun to watch Gran try to cook.”
“I heard that!” Helen said, hands on hips. “Cheeky madam.”
Tammy laughed and left to fetch the marshmallows.
Watching Clio chuck the disgusting remains of the beef dish into the bin, Helen began to sob. “I’m sorry. I wanted this evening to be perfect.”
Clio glanced up at her mother. Helen was taking the birthday celebrations way more seriously than she’d anticipated. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mother. I’m truly sorry about taking that cash.”
Helen’s smile was wobbly. To Clio’s astonishment, her mother stepped forward and treated her to a stiff hug. “Don’t worry about it. You did it because you were desperate, and you replaced it soon after. For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry Trevor O’Leary got beaten up, even if that’s not what you intended to happen.”
Clio’s responding smile was equally wobbly. Her mother getting visibly emotional? A rarity, indeed.
“I want us to talk like normal mother, daughter, and granddaughter. I want us to get along,” Helen said. “Tonight’s dinner was supposed to be the first step.”
“Define normal. I don’t think there’s a truly normal family out there.”
“You know what I mean.” Her mother shook her head, sending stray strands of hair flying. “I never should have listened to Larry when you got pregnant. I should have been more supportive. He said I’d ruin my career if I let you stay. I regretted my decision soon after you left, but by then it was too late.”
Clio’s stomach clenched. Yes, her mother should have been more supportive, but then Clio had tried to be supportive of Tammy last year and look at the mess she’d caused. Perfect parenting didn’t exist. Or if it did, Clio certainly couldn’t claim to have mastered it. “If I’ve realized anything in the weeks since I moved in with you,” she said softly, “it’s that we’re going to have to let the past go. Whatever relationship we establish has to be based on the here and now with an eye to the future. And I’m sorry for bringing the Ray Greer mess to your doorstep.”
Helen tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You were trying to protect your daughter. You did what I should have done for you—stood up for your child. I can appreciate that, even if your methods were…interesting.”
Clio let out a laugh. “‘Interesting’ is one way of putting it. And I’m grateful to you for giving Tammy and me a home, especially at short notice.”
Her mother patted her on the back. “I’m glad you’re here, no matter the circumstances.”
Tammy returned to the kitchen, bright pink marshmallows in tow. “More hugging? For a family that doesn’t go in for displays of physical affection, we’re going all out today.”
“Come here.” Clio dragged her daughter into a group hug.
“Next year, I’ll hire caterers. I promise,” Helen said between sobs. “I don’t think I’ll ever learn to cook something edible.”
“When you’re done crushing my ribs,” Tammy said in a sardonic tone, “we have a visitor. Did you two not hear the doorbell?”
Clio looked over her daughter’s shoulder to see Seán leaning in the doorframe.
He nodded to her and gave the crinkly-eyed smile that indicated everything between them would be okay.
She exhaled sharply and went to him. “Seán.”
“Clio.” His voice deepened a notch when he said her name, making her heart leap. “Hope you don’t mind me interrupting. I know you’re busy cooking for Tammy’s birthday.”
She winked at him. “Actually, my mother cooked.”
“Tried to cook,” Helen corrected with a sigh. “Cliona and Tammy are coming to my rescue. It seems I’ll have to scratch cooking off my list of potential talents.”
“I have a gift for Tammy,” Seán murmured in a low voice into Clio’s ear. “I need to run it
by you first though.”
“What is it?” she whispered, inhaling his scent greedily.
“A stray puppy.”
Taking her hand, he led her out into the hallway, where he’d deposited a small basket. Inside was the ugliest dog Clio had ever seen.
“Oh my gosh. Poor little guy is so thin.”
“Believe it or not, he’s in better shape than he was on Monday, but he’ll need feeding up.”
Helen and Tammy appeared in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the hall.
The girl gasped. “Is that a puppy?”
Seán met Clio’s eye. Clio looked at her mother.
A wry smile twisted Helen’s lips. She nodded. “As long as I don’t have to walk him, it’s fine by me.”
Tammy kneeled by the basket in raptures. She picked up the little dog and stroked him tenderly. “He’s adorable. Thank you so much, Sergeant.”
“I have his papers here.” He handed an envelope to Clio. “I took him to Dr. Mulligan, the Ballybeg vet. She gave him the first set of shots. The details are in the envelope.”
“Thank you, Seán. That was really thoughtful of you.”
“Would you like to stay for food, Sergeant Mackey?” Tammy asked, still cradling the puppy. “We were about to make Mum’s super hot chocolate.”
“I’d love to but I’m still on duty. I have to get back to the station in a sec.”
“Maybe another time,” Clio said, giving him a significant look.
A small smile teased the corners of his mouth. “I’ll take you up on that offer. For now, I’d better get going. Bye, ladies. Enjoy your birthday, Tammy.”
After Seán left, they returned to the kitchen with the puppy. Helen eyed her daughter curiously. “Sergeant Mackey seems very fond of you.”
Clio felt her cheeks grow warm. “He’s a good man.”
“The pair of you are unbelievable,” Tammy said with a grin. “Mum and her sergeant and Gran and her superintendent.”
It was Helen’s turn to blush. “How ever did you discover that? I thought we were being discreet.”
