‘Proper order,’ Gerry stated. ‘I’m a keen gardener. If we were to move into the area I’d be very happy to help out anyway I could.’
Garda Hegarty obviously approved of this. ‘I’m also pleased to let you know that the crime rate in the village is practically non-existent. I don’t tolerate any hooligans.’
‘Zero-tolerance?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes. All the way,’ he replied.
Tom and Gerry then listened patiently for ten minutes as he gave them a lecture on the fine art of policing in a small village. Realising that this was Garda Hegarty’s favourite subject and they could still be there listening in ten hours, Tom realised he would have to move things along quickly.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so Garda Hegarty, but you’re very well liked in this area. We’ve spent most of the day here and your name has come up loads of times.’
Gerry looked a little scared. He’d never have the guts to come out with stuff like Tom did.
‘Nothing bad I hope?’ Garda Hegarty said with a self-deprecating laugh. He knew he was a well-respected member of the community and had no worries that anyone would say anything bad about him.
‘To the contrary. All good I can assure you. We’ve been told what a Romeo you were in your younger days.’
The guard laughed at this. He was a good-looking man and he knew it. He’d had his fair share of offers from women over the years. He knew that women loved a man in uniform.
‘We also heard a sad story earlier about a young girl who used to live here years ago. Kitty Dunne I think her name was,’ Tom said, lowering his tone conspiratorially. The smile instantly wiped off Garda Hegarty’s face when he heard this name mentioned.
‘Who on earth was talking about Kitty to you two?’ Garda Hegarty asked incredulously.
‘A couple of people actually. We were interested in buying No.3, but have been told that Kitty and her brother won’t sell. In the course of talking to various people about the house we heard the tragic story of her getting pregnant and being disowned by her family.’ Tom watched Robert Hegarty’s face carefully to gauge a reaction. He was obviously annoyed by the story. Tom decided to stay quiet and let him be the first to talk. It took a few minutes, then he finally spoke.
‘Well, that was a sad time for all the Dunnes. But it’s all in the past now. Nothing for you two to worry about,’ he said finally.
‘Oh we’re not worried. We were just intrigued, Garda Hegarty. It seems to be the mystery of the century. Remember Dallas – Who shot JR? Well Ballymichael should have t-shirts printed with “Who knocked up Kitty?”’ Tom said, deliberately goading the guard. Partly because he thought it might evoke a response and partly to annoy him.
Gerry giggled at this, despite being slightly shocked at Tom’s disrespect. He knew he was trying to get the guard rattled.
‘I think you’ll find, Mr Whelan, that most people in Ballymichael wouldn’t care for your tone. Kitty was well liked in this area,’ he replied sharply.
‘Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect, honestly. I just meant it seemed to be a big mystery as to who was the father. Or maybe there’s no mystery to you,’ Tom continued unabashed.
A flush appeared on the guard’s cheek. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘You used to go out with the girl, didn’t you? Come on, man to man; let me in on a secret. Did you get down and dirty with her? Are you the father?’ Tom goaded.
‘How dare you,’ Robert Hegarty roared. ‘Kitty Dunne was a lovely girl and didn’t get “down and dirty” with anyone. Of course I’m not the father. I never even slept with Kitty.’
‘I apologise, Garda Hegarty. I didn’t mean to offend. We’ve obviously hit a raw nerve. We’ll be on our way,’ Tom apologised quickly. He knew he had pushed it as far as was wise!
Gerry and Tom hastily walked out of the station and jumped in their car, both giggling like kids as they took off.
‘I thought he was going to bloody hit you, Tom! Did you see that vein bulging in his neck?’ Gerry said excitedly.
‘Pompous old twit. At least we know that Catherine had good taste, dumping that idiot! Come on; let’s call into The Village Inn for a quick drink. I need one!’ Tom said.
They sat down in a booth this time because they wanted to dissect the information they had gathered so far.
‘Do you think he was telling the truth, Tom?’ Gerry asked.
‘I don’t know, Gerry. If you really pushed me, I’d say he was telling the truth. But then again he could be deserving of an Oscar. What about you, what’s your gut instinct?’
‘Well, like you, I think he appeared to be telling the truth. But I was looking at his face, to be honest with you, to see if I could see any similarities between him and Grace. I couldn’t. They are like night and day,’ Gerry said.
‘That’s true, but I suppose it doesn’t really mean anything, she might just have got Catherine’s looks rather than his. I wonder if we could get our hands on his medical records. Find out what blood type he is. That could eliminate him or point the finger to him very quickly,’ Tom stated.
‘If he’s given blood before, he’ll be on a register,’ Gerry said helpfully. ‘I’ll check it out on Monday.’ Gerry often did some of the Internet investigative work for Tom if he needed some done while at home. He was good at it and had managed to establish some strong contacts. They finished their bottles of beer and then jumped up.
‘One more call, we’ll see if Fr. O’Hara can shed any light on all of this and then we’ll go back to the hotel. I’m knackered, pet,’ Tom declared.
They walked to the parochial house attached to the church and knocked on the door. Tom had told Gerry that they were going to go for the honest approach on this one. ‘If we ask him not to contact Catherine, he’ll have to agree. Don’t they have some kind of Hippocratic oath or something?’
‘I think that’s only in the confessional, Tom. But by the sounds of it Catherine hasn’t really kept in touch with anyone in Ballymichael. We should be safe enough,’ Gerry replied.
They knocked on the door and a middle-aged woman wearing an apron opened it. She was obviously in the middle of baking. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked kindly.
‘Yes please. We’re here to see Fr O’Hara,’ Tom replied.
‘Can I say who’s calling?’ she asked.
‘Yes you can.’ He gave their names in return.
She brought them into a small room, which obviously acted as a meet-and-greet point for the parishioners. There were leaflets on the table on unwanted pregnancy, alcoholism, drug abuse, marital problems, Trocaire, as well as a bundle of parish newsletters. After a couple of minutes or so, Fr O’Hara walked into the room. He was about sixty or so at a guess. Distinguished looking, with a thatch of silver grey hair. He smiled at the boys as he joined them.
‘So sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen. How can I be of service?’ he asked smiling at them.
‘No problem at all, Father. Thank you for seeing us at such short notice. First of all I’d like to ask you for your discretion on the matter we are about to talk to you about. We’d appreciate it if you could agree to keep our conversation between ourselves,’ Tom asked. Fr. O’Hara nodded his agreement. He’d probably been asked to keep secrets in the past before. God knows what stories he’d been told in the confessional. He may even have heard Catherine’s confession all those years ago and know who the father was.
‘I believe you knew a lady called Kitty Dunne? She used to do flowers for the church here,’ Tom said.
Fr O’Hara looked a bit startled for a moment. ‘Kitty Dunne. There’s a name I haven’t heard for a long time. Yes she helped out in the church on occasion. Why do you ask?’
‘We’re involved in an investigation on behalf of her daughter, Grace. To be honest Fr O’Hara we are trying to discover who Grace’s biological father is,’ Tom answered truthfully.
Tom let the priest take in this information.
‘I’m not sure I ca
n help you there, Mr Whelan. Kitty was a lovely young lady and was such a help with the flowers. But I’m afraid I wasn’t a confidante of hers,’ he said gravely.
‘I was led to believe that you were a family friend to the Dunnes?’ Tom further probed.
‘I like to think I’m a friend to all my parishioners. But yes, I was close to the Dunnes. I tried to offer some comfort to them when Kitty left. They were devastated.’
‘Kitty was thrown out as opposed to leaving though?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes, that’s right. Her father did ask her to leave. He was a good Catholic man and the thought that his daughter had sinned grieved him,’ the priest replied seriously.
‘Pretty harsh I would say. Disowning your only daughter, in particular one who was in obvious distress? Hardly the works of a good Christian?’ Gerry interjected. He couldn’t help himself; it annoyed him when people did downright evil things in the name of God.
‘Yes. I can see where you are coming from Mr. O’Leary. But you have to remember this was over thirty years ago. Times were different then,’ Fr O’Hara answered mildly.
‘Do you think Garda Hegarty could be the father?’ Tom continued.
‘Oh my. What a question. I couldn’t say for definite, but they had stopped seeing each other years before Kitty fell pregnant. For what it’s worth I’m not sure you’ll ever know who the father is. Kitty swore she’d never tell anyone. My guess is that it was one of the guests at the hotel she worked at. Maybe a married man and she didn’t really know him. Maybe she doesn’t know who it is herself,’ Fr O’Hara said, shaking his head sadly.
This wasn’t what Tom wanted to hear. He had contemplated this scenario himself and knew it was a possibility. But he still had a gut instinct that the answer to Grace’s paternity lay in this village.
Fr O’Hara then continued. ‘When did the poor soul die?’
‘I’m sorry. Who are you talking about?’ Tom replied.
‘Kitty. I’m assuming she’s dead. That’s why your client Grace is looking for her father.’
‘Oh Lord. Sorry Father, I should have explained. No, Kitty is alive and well living in Meath. She has her own business there. Grace and her mother have recently met, but I’m afraid Kitty won’t divulge who the father is.’
‘Is that so? I would have thought she’d tell her daughter the truth?’ Fr O’Hara said thoughtfully.
‘Yes I know. Grace was very disappointed. She really wanted to know about her background, but Kitty, or Catherine as we know her, refused to say. Or at least said she couldn’t say,’ Tom continued.
Fr O’Hara raised a questioning eyebrow at this.
‘She said she didn’t know who the father was,’ Tom said in answer.
‘There you go. That confirms my earlier suspicion that it was a one-night stand. May God forgive her,’ Fr. O’Hara replied, his voice raising.
Tom threw his eyes up to heaven – sanctimonious old git, he thought – then blessed himself in his mind for cursing a priest. His grandmother would turn in her grave. ‘Well thank you Father for your time. We’ll leave you in peace now. Just one last thing before we go. Do you know of any Michaels that Kitty would have known around the time of her pregnancy?’
Was it Tom’s imagination or did Fr O’Hara go slightly pale at the mention of Michael?
‘No I’m sorry, Mr. Whelan. I’m afraid I don’t know any Michaels that Kitty may have known. Why do you ask?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about, Fr O’Hara. We’ll be off for now. Please keep this conversation between ourselves,’ Tom said.
‘Oh you can be assured of my discretion. God bless you.’
Chapter Twenty Three
It was August 15th and Grace had been banished from her home. She had completed her last course of chemotherapy and in the main was feeling good. Last week she had been told her cancer was in remission and Liam had decided they needed a party. It was also Grace’s birthday in a couple of days, so it was a joint celebration. He was at their apartment with Jack finalising everything and she was with Tara and Sean.
‘You look good, Grace,’ Tara said to her friend. ‘Better than I’ve seen you in months.’
‘Thanks pet. I feel great too. It’s such a relief to finally have finished the chemotherapy. What do you think of my new wig? Catherine bought it for my birthday.’
Before Tara had a chance to respond, Sean walked in the door whistling at Grace as he did.
‘Looking foxy Grace!’
Laughing, Grace turned to Tara and said, ‘How do you put up with all his cheesy lines?'
‘I don’t know; they’re getting worse the older he gets!’ Tara replied with a laugh.
‘Speaking of Catherine, any further word from her on your father?’ Sean asked.
‘No, it’s a no-go area for us. I’ve realised that if I want to keep seeing Catherine I need to avoid that subject. As soon as I mention it, she gets up and leaves, then goes to ground for a couple of weeks.’
‘That’s terrible. How do you feel about that?’ Tara asked with concern.
‘Well to be honest, I can live with the fact that I’ll probably never know who my father was. And I don’t really need to know either. It would be nice to get some history I suppose, but no one could ever replace Daddy for me.’
Grace smiled at her two friends. She meant what she had said. Finding out who her father was didn’t seem to matter anymore. She felt blessed that Catherine had come into her life, and at a time when she really needed the support. She was in remission now and felt great, so a bone marrow transplant wasn’t on top of her list, like it had been a few short months ago. Her doctors still felt it was the best long-term option for her, but unless a suitable match came along, she couldn’t do anything about that. One thing this cancer had taught her was that she couldn’t control everything that happened in her life. Sometimes you had to just roll with the punches.
‘Has Tom come up with anything further?’ Tara asked.
‘No. He reckons that unless Catherine spills, its one secret that will never be unveiled,’ Grace answered.
Tom and Gerry had further questioned Mr Murtagh in Rose Tree Manor about Catherine while she worked there. According to him there was never even the hint of scandal that she had may have had any kind of relationship with one of the guests. Apparently it was a sackable offence back then and one that Catherine – or Kitty – as he called her, respected totally. No matter who Tom talked to, he got the same response: Kitty was a lovely woman, who didn’t drink and didn’t have any romances, except a brief one with Garda Hegarty, she worked six days a week at the hotel then spent one day at home with her parents, even finding the time to do the flowers in the local church.
Grace had gone over and over all of things the guys had told her. She had loads of theories about why Catherine was keeping quiet. The two that Tom thought were most likely were Catherine had got drunk, as she had alleged, and didn’t know whom the father was. Because it was so out of character for her, she was too embarrassed about it to discuss. Or the second possibility was that Catherine had to keep the father’s identity secret. Maybe he was married. Maybe it was Robert Hegarty and because he had later married her cousin Mary, she couldn’t reveal it was him. So in the end, Grace had decided to let it drop. It was using up much needed energy.
‘How’s love’s young dream?’ Sean asked with a smile.
‘Very happy, I can report, thank you very much,’ Grace answered with an even bigger grin. ‘I know it’s corny, but I seem to be falling more in love with Liam every day. He’s just been amazing with me while I’ve been ill. He spends all his time making sure Jack and I are both secure and happy.’
‘He’s very good with Jack,’ Tara concurred. In fact she really couldn’t fault Liam at all over the last few months. He had been there for Grace every step of the way and never once fell out of line.
‘I think that’s the first positive thing you’ve said about Liam since we got back together!’ Grace said in amazement. ‘Don’t te
ll me you actually approve?’
‘Don’t look so surprised, Grace Devlin,’ Tara said indignantly. ‘You know I only want what’s best for you and Jack. And I can see that’s Liam. As it happens, I actually like him. I always did, it was just his drinking that did my head in.’
‘Thanks Tara, I really needed to hear that,’ Grace said with a smile. ‘It’s important to me that you two get on.’
‘Just don’t tell Liam what I’ve said,’ Tara said with a wink. ‘I like keeping him on his toes!’
‘Right you guys, time to go, Liam was adamant that we shouldn’t be late!’ Sean said to the girls, shooing them out the door to his car.
****
Arriving at the apartment Grace wondered what was in store for her. Just as she walked up the steps to her front door, Jack opened it, shouting, ‘Happy Birthday Mommy!’ Grace started to laugh as she took in her son’s appearance. He was dressed as Robin Hood and looked just adorable.
‘How do I look, Mommy?’ he asked earnestly.
‘You look so handsome, sweetie-pie,’ Grace replied adoringly, planting a big kiss on his head.
‘It’s a fancy dress party, Mommy! Daddy says go upstairs straightaway. Put your costume on!’
Grace couldn’t believe it. Turning around to face Tara and Sean, she started to laugh. Sean held up a bag. ‘And these are our costumes. We couldn’t put them on, as it would have given the game away. Can we use your room, Jack?’
The three of them went upstairs led by Jack in front.
‘Don’t come out until I tell you Mommy, okay?’ Jack ordered.
Agreeing, Grace walked into her bedroom and let out a squeal of delight. Lying on the bed was a Marilyn Monroe costume, consisting of a blonde wig and the white halter-neck dress made famous by the iconic shot in The Seven Year Itch. She loved it. Liam knew that she had always admired Marilyn Monroe and he couldn’t have picked a better costume for her. She got changed quickly, taking her own wig off and swapping it for the platinum blonde one. She ran to the bathroom mirror to check out her appearance and was delighted to see that she looked okay. She needed to change her make-up though. She put bright red scarlet lipstick on and pencilled in a beauty spot over her lips. Then the obligatory lashings of black mascara and eyeliner were applied to complete the makeover. She looked great! After a few minutes, Jack came in and announced, ‘You look beautiful Mommy. I love your lellow hair!’ He had never been able to pronounce his Ys and they always came out as Ls. It was so cute.
Beyond Grace's Rainbow: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Page 15
