“Darling, how are you?”
“Since I talked to you last, the press has gotten wind of the note left for Jack Reilly, and it’s all over the news. I’m sure he didn’t want it announced to the world that these thieves are playing hide and seek with him on his honeymoon.”
“I’m afraid I have more bad news.”
“What?”
“Your housekeeper, Margaret, is going bonkers.”
Neil wanted to put his head on his desk. “I know that. You know I know that. But she’s a good housekeeper. Why do you want to discuss it now?”
“She just appeared at the door and asked if I would mind handing over the painting she gave us last year. She was mumbling something about May Reilly and bad luck. She said the design of the lace in the painting is the same as the lace on May’s stolen tablecloth. I hadn’t noticed, quite frankly. Margaret said she had to get the painting back because it would bring us bad luck.”
“Seems as though it already has. What did you do?”
“I gave her the painting, of course. She was acting positively nutty. She said she was going to collect all her paintings.” Felicity paused. “What else was I supposed to do? I hope you don’t mind.”
“Believe me, I don’t. Did she tie the painting to her bike?” Neil asked wearily. “She insists on bicycling in the rain when she has that old rattletrap her husband drove parked behind her cottage. I’ll admit it’s not the greatest, but—”
“Actually, she didn’t have her bike. I ran to the front window and watched her leave. She walked down the street to where her old car was parked, got in the back, and the car drove off.”
“She has a chauffeur now?” Neil asked distractedly.
“It was the oddest thing.”
“You didn’t see who was driving?”
“No. I wish I had. I’m dying to know who it was.”
Neil sighed. “I gave her the day off to go home and calm down. Now she’s being driven around to collect her art. Ah, well, if that’s what she needs to feel better.”
Martin, Neil’s assistant, burst into the office. “Good news, Mr. Buckley!” he blurted.
“Just a moment, love,” Neil said to his wife. “They’re getting a stove for us today?” he asked Martin hopefully.
“No. But the representative of an American businessman, one of those high rollers, just rang us up. His boss read about the auction of the Claddagh rings in Galway this Friday and wants to be there. He is flying over with an entourage. They’d like to book eight of our superior rooms for five nights starting tomorrow.”
“Did you tell them we have no stove?”
“Yes, and he doesn’t care. The best hotels in Galway are already booked, and this fella wants to play golf around here with his pals.”
Relief flooded Neil’s body. “I hope you told him yes.”
A flash of nervousness crossed Martin’s face. “I told him I had to check on availability. Didn’t want him to think it was so easy to get all those rooms at Hennessy Castle on a moment’s notice—stove or no stove.”
“Of course,” Neil said, feeling slightly irritated. “Where is he from?”
“Phoenix. He’s Irish American—Dermot Finnegan—and his rep said he’s very generous to Irish charities. But he also warned me that Mr. Finnegan is very demanding and expects first-rate service.”
“If Mr. Finnegan doesn’t care that we don’t have a working stove, how demanding can he be?” Neil asked rhetorically. “Book the reservation.”
“The rep does want us to guarantee that Mr. Finnegan will be served a hot breakfast in bed every morning. He requires scrambled eggs, bubbly hot oatmeal, freshly baked brown bread—”
“For God’s sake, Martin, get out there and book the reservation before they change their minds!” Neil growled, his face turning red. “I’ll get him his oatmeal if I have to set up a campfire out back and carry the tray on my hands and knees to his room!”
“Yes, sir,” Martin replied, escaping as quickly as possible.
Neil was breathing hard. “Anything else, dear?” he managed to sputter into the phone.
“Darling, take a deep breath.”
“What does it sound like I’m doing?” Neil asked impatiently. “I’m taking so many deep breaths, I might keel over.”
“Don’t keel over. Things are looking up. Forget I ever mentioned the silly painting.”
“I will,” Neil said. “Believe me, I will. As long as Margaret Raftery gets herself back to work tomorrow, be it by bike, chauffeur, or on foot, I don’t care how crazy or superstitious she acts on her time off.”
He wouldn’t always feel that way.
19
“One down,” Margaret said when she got in the backseat and shut the door. She placed the framed painting on the seat next to her.
“Perfect!” Brian said as he pulled away. “I told you it would be easy. May Reilly is going to be so happy. Who was that anyway?”
“My boss’s wife!”
“Your what?” Brian asked, turning around and nearly losing control of the rusty old rattletrap of a car.
“My boss’s wife. What’s wrong with that?”
“Your boss from Hennessy Castle?” Brian’s voice squeaked.
“Yes. I gave them this painting for Christmas.”
Sheila looked out the window. She was biting her nail down to the quick.
“Did she ask you many questions about why you wanted the painting back?”
“Not too many. I feel a wee bit insulted she didn’t put up more of a fuss about giving it back. I gave it to her with this lovely frame that I specially picked out. It was on sale.”
“You didn’t say anything about us, did you?
“No. Why would I? You told me not to.”
“That’s right. Now, is there anyone else who works at Hennessy Castle on the list? Because if there is, I’d like to know.”
Margaret shook her head. “I just gave one painting to the boss. Figure I’d butter him up. The rest of us just have a little Christmas grab bag at the employee party. We buy cheap little presents for it. Next year I should put in a coupon for one of your mugs.”
“Our mugs are high quality,” Sheila hissed.
“Whatever,” Margaret said, trying to get comfortable in the old car. The backseat was crooked, and a draft was coming through a hole at her feet. “I wanted to go to the Buckleys’ house first because I knew Mr. Buckley wouldn’t be home yet. I don’t need to run into him on my time off. Don’t you want to even look at the painting? This one’s a beauty if I do say so myself.”
Sheila turned around and admired the painting of an old farmhouse with a lace wreath on the door. “It’s gorgeous.” She turned back to face front.
“I can’t wait to examine the painting,” Brian said, dripping with sincerity. “But right now it’s important I keep my eyes on the road. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure what we can do with these paintings that would somehow honor May Reilly.”
“I need a cup of tea,” Margaret announced.
“Now?” Brian asked.
“Now. We’ve been in the car forty-five minutes, and I’m down a quart.” She chuckled. “That’s what my mother used to say when she didn’t have a cup of tea at her side.”
They were near Galway.
“We’ll stop and get you tea,” Brian promised. “But first, are you sure that there’s no one else living down this way who has one of your paintings?”
Margaret frowned. “I don’t know people in these parts.” She then snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute! I almost forgot. I gave one to the owner of the gym who judged the contest.”
“What contest?”
“The decal contest for the road race you two ran in. Remember when I saw the decal on your dresser, and I told you I designed it? That’s what got us started with this mess.”
“You gave him one of your paintings?” Brian asked in disbelief.
“Yes. He said he really liked it.”
“Where is his
gym?”
“Somewhere around Galway. I think it’s called Get in Shape.”
Sheila pulled out the cell phone, called information, and wrote down the address. “Should we call first?”
“No,” Brian said. “Absolutely not.”
“This is going to be strange,” Margaret said. “I’ve never been inside a gym in my life.”
“Think of May Reilly,” Brian urged. “Now what’s the address?”
“Wait a minute,” Sheila said. “What if this guy has the painting hanging in his house? He probably doesn’t have it at the gym.”
“He told me he has it hanging proudly in his office,” Margaret said. “He noticed the use of lace in my work—not like you two.”
They drove to the Get in Shape gym and were about to pull into the parking lot when Brian spotted Regan and Jack Reilly coming out the door. “Good God,” he muttered as he stepped on the gas.
Judging by the look on Sheila’s face, she had seen them, too. Luckily, Margaret hadn’t.
“What’s the matter?” Margaret sputtered. “That was the place we were looking for.”
“We didn’t get you your tea yet.”
“I want to get this over with—”
“I insist you have your tea first,” Brian said. “I absolutely insist.”
They found a little deli. Brian ran in and came out with teas for all three of them.
“It’s pretty good for city tea,” Margaret allowed as she downed the large container in two gulps. “Let’s go. If we don’t get the painting now, I’m afraid I’ll lose the wee bit of nerve I have. Setting foot in a gym for the first time at my age has got to be bad luck.”
Brian briefly considered suggesting they not bother with the painting at the gym. It might be too risky. What if the Reillys come back? And if he and Sheila ended up with every painting on the list, they’d have one to spare. But then he realized he wouldn’t be able to explain this change of plan to Margaret. In her world, everything was about bad luck or curses.
They drove back to the gym and dropped Margaret off at the entrance to the parking lot. “We’ll wait for you down the block by the deli,” Brian told her.
“Why can’t you just wait for me out front?”
Brian’s eyes welled up with tears. “I told you—you remind me of my aunt Eileen. The time I’m sacrificing helping you…well, I’m offering it up for her soul. Aunt Eileen believed in doing good and not looking for the glory. Whenever she donated money, she did it anonymously. She’d be so proud of me…. If anyone finds out what I’m doing, then I might not help her get out of purgatory. I think she’s already made it to heaven, but just in case…”
“I understand,” Margaret said solemnly. “Have you heard a ringing in your ears?”
“What?” Brian asked, perplexed.
“A ringing in your ears means a friend in purgatory is asking for your prayers. I would think you would know that!” She pushed open the stubborn back door. “I’ll meet you down the block in a few minutes.”
After Margaret got out of the car, Sheila stared at Brian. “As Sister Leo used to tell us, God is going to punish you.”
“All I know is that if we don’t deliver those paintings, we’ll definitely be punished by Dermot Finnegan. And that, my dear Sheila, would be hell on earth.”
They drove down the block and waited.
20
Jack couldn’t believe how much he instantly liked Gerard Reilly. For some reason, after the phone call early this morning, he was sure that spending time with Gerard would be well spent but leaning more toward family obligation than pleasure. But the moment Gerard came out of his office to greet the newlyweds, his charismatic air and big commanding presence made Jack feel a camaraderie he shared with many of his law enforcement colleagues back home.
Dressed in a blue jacket and open-collared shirt, Gerard had a casual yet professional appearance. He was a broad, good-looking man in his early fifties, with salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and black-framed glasses. “Regan,” he said, enveloping her in a hug. “How’s my little cousin keepin’ herself?”
Regan smiled broadly and kissed him on the cheek. “Your little cousin is now a happily married woman.”
Gerard extended his hand. “Jack, it’s good to finally meet you. Come into my office. I’m so sorry we couldn’t make it to the wedding. My wife’s niece was getting married the very same day, you know, and we’d already committed ourselves. It was grand, but we would have loved to be at yours.”
“We realized it would have been tough for you to fly over for just a weekend anyway,” Regan assured him. “But we wanted you to know you were invited.”
“Ah, Regan,” Gerard said, “we’d have been there in a heartbeat if not for the other nuptials. Believe me. I might not have seen you many times over the years, but I remember when you were born. I remember when your parents brought you over when you were a little girl, and I remember when you came to visit with that lovely friend of yours…. What was her name?”
“Kit.”
“That’s it, Kit.”
“You were here with Kit?” Jack’s voice was surprised. “What kind of trouble did you get into then?”
“No trouble, Jack,” Regan said quickly, making a face at him. “That’s when Kit and I first met. We were juniors in college, spending a semester in England. We visited Ireland for a long weekend and took a train here from Dublin. We stayed a night at Gerard’s house.”
“I have pictures to prove it,” Gerard volunteered. “I’ll show you tonight. They were so sweet, Jack. Regan was very interested in the Reilly family history. She had long hair then.”
“Jack doesn’t need to see those pictures,” Regan said with a laugh.
“You were a cute little lass. Now, sit, sit, sit,” Gerard said, gesturing to a couch in his office.
The room had a large window overlooking the busy street below. Framed photos of Gerard’s family were resting on a shelf behind his desk. He had two sons, both in Dublin—one at university and the other working at a computer software firm. Various awards were hung on the wall heralding Gerard’s career as a radio show host.
“We have an empty nest,” Gerard told them with a touch of regret. “It’s very strange. Louise and I didn’t know what to do with ourselves when Timmy went off to Trinity. He’ll be back for the summer, which makes us happy. We miss having people around the dinner table. These days we often just go out. That’s why Louise is so pleased to cook for you tonight.”
“We’re looking forward to it,” Jack said. “And we hate to bother you when you’re at work—”
“You’re not bothering me at all. Not a whit. It’s lovely to have you here. I’m so sorry that you have those two thieves making trouble for you.”
Regan looked puzzled. “How did you know?” When she had called Gerard and asked if they could stop by the radio station, she hadn’t said anything about the reason they were already in Galway. And when they had spoken earlier this morning, Regan and Jack were still unaware that the tablecloth had been stolen or that Jane and John Doe were involved.
“Didn’t you know?” Gerard asked. “Word’s gotten out that the thieves of the tablecloth left you their calling card.”
“Great,” Jack said. “I just don’t understand how they could have known I was going to be here. We talked to the bellman at the hotel who brought the couple to their room.” He told Gerard about Jane and John Doe’s history, the decal, and how he and Regan had visited the Get in Shape gym and secured the list of names of people from the Galway race whom Rory did not know personally.
“That Rory has been after me to join the gym.”
“He told us,” Regan said.
“I suppose I should. But Louise and I often go for walks on the prom.”
“The prom?” Regan asked.
“You should check it out. It’s a lovely promenade overlooking Galway Bay, just west of here in Salthill. More than a mile-long, it’s a wonderful spot for a stroll or a run. There are lo
ts of restaurants and bars where you can stop for a gargle. A lot of people exercise every day on the prom.”
“We think Jane and John Doe are athletic. Maybe we should stake it out,” Jack said half-jokingly.
“I’d be happy to help you in any way I can,” Gerard volunteered. “If you like, you can be guests on my show later tonight, and we’ll talk about the case. We’ll put out an appeal for people to be on the lookout for the two scoundrels. Jack and Regan, you’re experienced investigators. Tell my listeners what they can do to help, and I’m sure they will. People in Ireland are known for their exchange of information, shall we say.”
“What do you think, Jack?” Regan asked. “Ireland’s version of America’s Most Wanted”?
Jack smiled. “The Does might have left the country by now, but it can’t hurt, I suppose. The problem is that we don’t have much of a physical description to go on.”
“No stone unturned,” Regan said. “I think we should try. Gerard, did you know that the stolen tablecloth was made by a woman named May Reilly two hundred years ago? And she reputedly haunts Hennessy Castle?”
“I did, Regan,” Gerard answered. “I’ve been up to Hennessy Castle for several functions over the years. The tablecloth was exquisite, let me tell you. I did a little digging to see if May Reilly is one of our relations, but, alas, she isn’t. The people at the castle say she does make her presence known there from time to time. Who knows? Whether you believe in ghosts or not, we all like a good ghost story, don’t we?”
“I can tell you that one of the Hennessy Castle housekeepers definitely believes in ghosts. She was the one who discovered that the tablecloth was gone, and she was very upset. The hotel manager had to send her home, she was so distraught. She was sure that May Reilly would be furious and come back to haunt the castle with a vengeance.”
Gerard nodded. “We have a lot of lovely myths and legends in Irish lore and quite a few superstitions. Regan, our great-grandmother would never thread a needle on Sunday because she believed it was bad luck. Can you imagine?”
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