Laced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  One man had made a career out of crashing parties in New York City, had even written a book about it. But he hadn’t been a jewel thief.

  Keith picked up the phone and called the Suffern post office. The postmaster, who identified himself as George Hiller, told him that the P.O. box in question had been rented out December 23rd.

  “December twenty-third?” Keith repeated, remembering that the gala at the Bridges Hotel had been right before Christmas.

  “Yes.”

  “A credit card obtained fraudulently by a couple of jewel thieves was sent to that P.O. box in March,” Keith told Hiller.

  “Not surprising,” Hiller responded.

  “No, unfortunately it’s not.” Keith paused. “You haven’t heard about any jewel thefts up your way, have you?”

  “Jewel thefts? No, nothing I can think of offhand, except maybe—”

  “Except what?” Keith asked.

  “Some jewelry shoplifted from a store near here at Christmas time. But a lot of shoplifting occurs over the holidays.”

  “I’d like to hear about it anyway,” Keith said matter-of-factly.

  “Okay,” Hiller said. “I’m just thinking back…. This box was rented on the twenty-third of December…. Wait a minute. The theft happened on that very day! We had a little Christmas party here at the post office after work. Then I drove over to the Nanuet mall to do Christmas shopping. My wife buys most of our gifts, or I should say all, except for what I buy her, and I always wait until the last minute. Every year I say I’m going to change, but I never do. Anyway, among other things I wanted to see if I could find a nice pair of earrings for her at Bam’s, a big department store at the mall. When I got there, the place was a madhouse with people like me running around. And some of the salesclerks at the jewelry counter were upset. Everyone was buzzing about a couple who had sauntered out of the store with an expensive necklace. The security guard almost caught them, but they got away.”

  “Stores lose a lot of revenue around the holidays from shoplifting,” Keith said. “They do the best they can to discourage it, but it’s going to happen.”

  “I know, but this necklace was worth ten thousand dollars.”

  Ten thousand dollars sounded too minor league for people like the Does, Keith thought. But the theft had occurred on the very day they rented a P.O. box in a town nearby. “You say the store is called Bam’s?” he asked.

  “Yes, Bam’s. December twenty-third. Definitely.” Hiller chuckled. “When I got home with the packages, my wife was relaxing by the fire, sipping eggnog and watching television. I was wet and cold, and started complaining about the long lines at the stores. She teased me and asked what the big rush was, that I had another entire shopping day before Christmas.”

  “That’s when I get my shopping done,” Keith joked. “Listen, thanks so much.” A few minutes later he had Denny Corra, the head of security at Bam’s, on the line.

  “A middle-aged couple stole the necklace,” Corra informed him. “I’ll be happy to get out the security tapes. There was nothing special about them. The saleswoman who showed them the necklace was very upset and said she’d understand if the store wanted to fire her. But management insisted she stay. She’s good at what she does. That day she’d been working twelve hours and was caught off guard.”

  “When is she working again?” Keith asked. “I’d like to speak to her.”

  “Let me check. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  Keith hung up and sat at his desk, deep in thought. Could the Does have bothered with such a small job? When the phone on his desk rang a few minutes later, he quickly grabbed it.

  “She’s working from four until ten tonight,” Corra reported. “You can talk to her in my office and go over the tapes. I know she’d love to help in any way she can. Nothing would thrill her more than if those two were locked up.”

  And nothing would thrill us more, Keith thought, than if those two were caught and turned out to be Jane and John Doe.

  26

  Regan and Jack returned to their rental car on the street outside Gerard’s office.

  “I love you, Jack,” Regan said.

  Jack smiled. As he was starting the car, he leaned over for a kiss from his bride. “Are you telling me that at this particular moment because—”

  “You know exactly why I’m telling you right now. My mother always told me to find someone with a good disposition who will let things roll off his back.”

  Jack’s eyes twinkled. “Regan, don’t you think it occurred to me that Gerard might have mentioned our plans to visit Ireland on the air? He’s a radio show host with a lot of time to fill every night.”

  “You thought he might have talked about us on the air?” Regan asked incredulously. “I wish you’d said something.”

  “Why? You didn’t.” Jack pulled out of their parking space, chuckling, obviously very pleased with himself.

  Regan felt a moment of delirious happiness. She remembered what she had told Kit not long after meeting Jack: “He gets me, Kit.”

  It was what they both had been looking for—that indefinable bond between two people that had nothing to do with shared interests, compatability ratings, and goals for retirement. Regan smiled to herself. She could just imagine bringing home the very wrong guy to Nora and Luke, someone who had no outwardly redeeming values, and telling them, “But he gets me.”

  “Jack, can you imagine what Jane and John Doe would think if they found out we were tracking them down based on a decal from a road race?” Regan asked.

  “Let’s hope exercise proves to be their undoing.”

  One of Gerard’s coworkers had given them general directions to Westweg, the town where Brad and Linda Thompson had recently purchased a home. “It’s a little village,” he’d said. “You’d best stop in town and ask for specific directions. It gets very tricky down there. Some of the houses and cottages can be impossible to find if you don’t know the area.”

  “Sounds like a place they’d want to live,” Jack had commented.

  After an hour of driving on endless scenic country roads and passing far more cows than people, they found themselves on the tiny main street of Westweg.

  “Slow down!” Regan cautioned. “We almost missed the whole town.”

  Jack pulled over and turned off the ignition. It was completely quiet, except for the sound of a slight breeze blowing through the trees. Not a soul was in sight. “Okay,” Jack said, looking around. “We have our choice of the pub, the chemist, the butcher, or the general store.”

  “The store has two tables by the window. Maybe we can get a cup of tea and a bit of gossip.”

  “Let’s hope we’ll find someone who likes to share information as much as Gerard,” Jack said as he got out of the car.

  Inside the small store, all the shelves were crammed with food and supplies. It seemed to have all the basics for survival, but if you wanted eighteen cereals to choose from, a trip to Galway would be in order.

  A sturdy, round-faced woman with wavy auburn hair, pulled back in a ponytail that was losing its grip, greeted them warmly. She was wearing an apron over a fisherman’s sweater and jeans. “May I help you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “My husband and I were in the back unpacking boxes.”

  “We were wondering if we could get a cup of tea,” Regan inquired.

  “Of course. Have a seat. Anything to eat? A sandwich perhaps?”

  Regan and Jack looked at each other. They were both hungry and wouldn’t have dinner for several more hours. Jack nodded.

  “Sure.”

  “Ham and cheese on homemade bread?”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Regan said.

  Jack and Regan sat at one of the tables. In no time the fortyish woman was hurrying from the back of the store, carrying sandwiches and a pot of tea. “You’re passing through here, are you?” she asked, plunking the plates down on the small table.

  “We’re actually looking to speak to a couple of people w
ho live in town,” Jack answered in a neutral tone.

  “And who would that be?”

  “Brad and Linda Thompson.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes,” the woman said.

  “Do you know them?” Regan asked.

  The woman took the question as an invitation to join them. She slumped into a chair at the next table which was just a few feet away. “I’ll sit and talk to you for a minute. I’m tired of unpacking boxes. My name is Breda.”

  Regan and Jack introduced themselves. “So you know the Thompsons?” Regan asked again.

  “Well, I can’t say I exactly know them. I know them, but I don’t know them.” Breda laughed. “That’s the way it is with a lot of people around here. At first they seem really friendly, but the heart of the matter is, they keep their distance.” She nodded knowingly. “My husband tells me I talk too much and ask too many questions.” She paused. “Why do you want to speak to the Thompsons?”

  “We want to find out if they remember anything about a couple they might have encountered in a road race last November,” Jack told her, omitting the fact that the Thompsons were people they wanted to check out. “You see, we are staying at Hennessy Castle and…” He explained about the jewel thieves and the stolen tablecloth and that they had reason to believe Jane and John Doe had run in the Fun Run in Galway.

  Breda’s mouth dropped. “I heard on the radio about the thieves who were out to get you, but I didn’t know they might have been in the Fun Run last November! Let me get myself a cup of tea.” She got up and hurried to the back.

  “Perfect,” Regan said to Jack. Jack winked at her as she bit into her sandwich. It was delicious.

  “Here I come,” Breda bellowed a moment later. She appeared again, plopping back down in her chair. “So you think these thieves might be staying in Ireland?”

  “We don’t know,” Jack answered honestly. “But they were certainly at Hennessy Castle, and they have to go somewhere when they’re not working.”

  “And Brad and Linda ran in the Fun Run?”

  “We think so.” Jack asked casually, “What can you tell us about Brad and Linda?”

  Breda’s eyes glittered with excitement as she pursed her lips. “They’re Americans.”

  So far, so good, Regan thought.

  “They’re new around here. I haven’t seen them much. They don’t live here all the time.”

  Description still fits, Regan mused.

  “What do they do?” Jack asked.

  “I couldn’t tell you. They’re middle-aged; maybe they’re retired. They’ve been in the store a handful of times and said something about buying their house as an investment. They’re always pleasant but don’t volunteer much. I’ve never seen them at church or at anything in town here. Not that there’s much to do.”

  “You don’t have a phone number for them, do you?” Jack asked.

  “No.”

  Regan was dying to ask Breda what the Thompsons looked like, but it would sound too suspicious. “We have the Thompsons’ address,” Regan said, “but we didn’t want to just show up and ring their bell.”

  “I understand,” Breda said. “People buy houses around here because they want their privacy. Some people come here to write or paint in peace. Others are looking for the answer to the question, ‘What’s it all about, Alfie?’ and think they’ll find it in the middle of a bog. I don’t know. But the Thompsons seem like decent people who would want to help you catch a couple of criminals. You say they’re jewel thieves, right? Let me tell you something, Linda Thompson has deadly jewelry! You don’t see many people wearing the baubles she does to come in and buy a bag of feed. I’m sure Linda Thompson would be happy to answer your questions.” Breda jumped up. “Let’s see if they’re home. I’ll drive you down there right now. We received some wonderful jam in today’s delivery that the Thompsons specifically told me they liked. It’ll be a friendly gesture to drop off a jar, say hello, and introduce you.”

  “You’ve been to their house before?” Regan asked.

  “Not inside, but I know where everyone in these parts lives. I drove by the Thompsons’ cottage after they moved in.”

  “What about the store?” Regan asked, looking around.

  “Does it look busy to you? I think my husband can handle it by himself until I get back.” She took off her apron and yelled, “Sam! I’ll be back in a while!”

  “Okay” came the response.

  “Let’s go,” Breda commanded, grabbing her car keys from a hook by the door.

  They were actually the keys to her little pickup truck.

  Regan sat in the middle between Jack and Breda, who apparently thought she was driving an ambulance. They barreled down the tiny main street of Westweg.

  “I love to be out in the wide-open spaces,” Breda said with exuberance. “I live in the country, but I’m cooped up in that store for hours on end. It’s not bad but…” She pressed her foot on the accelerator and zoomed around a slow-moving truck that was weighted down with piles of sod.

  Regan felt her life passing before her eyes. We should have offered to follow her, she thought.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Have you lived here long?”

  “I lived in the next village growing up. I met Sam when we were both twenty. We’re married twenty-five years. Two kids. Whoops!” She turned the truck quickly onto a road full of potholes. “Sorry. I’m on auto-pilot, thinking I was on my way home. I’d better slow down with all these bumps.”

  There is a God, Regan thought.

  After ten more minutes of bumping along, they made a turn and drove through a set of gates toward a cottage in the distance where a man and a woman were outside gardening. “They’re here!” Breda exulted as she started honking the horn and waving. “I wonder why they haven’t been in the store!”

  This isn’t how I imagined we’d approach people who might be Jane and John Doe, Regan thought, her heart beating fast. She could tell that Jack was also a little tense. They had programmed a main number of the garda into Jack’s cell phone and promised to contact the officials if they had anything to report about the Does or if they needed help.

  The Thompsons glanced over at the oncoming truck and started to get up from the ground as Breda pulled closer and closer. But when the smiling couple straightened up to their full size, Regan’s heightened emotions fell flat.

  The woman was head and shoulders taller than the man.

  Clearly they were not Jane and John Doe.

  Jack turned to look at Regan. She could tell he was disappointed. “Come on,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s see what they have to tell us about the Fun Run.”

  27

  Dr. Sharkey fixed up Margaret Raftery with a temporary cap nearly identical to Bobby’s. “We’re lucky your whole tooth didn’t break off,” he told her. “It’s going to take a few more visits before we get you in order.”

  Margaret was floating in the chair, the nitrous oxide mask covering her nose. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll kill two birds with one stone and go to the gym when I come back to Galway.”

  “Isn’t Rory wonderful?” Dr. Sharkey asked.

  “So he is,” Margaret said. “I love him. I just love him. He thinks I’m a wonderful painter.”

  “You paint?”

  “Indeed. And I drew the decal for the Fun Run.”

  “My mother and I were in the Fun Run!”

  “Bully for you.”

  Sharkey laughed. “That decal was perfect for the race. It captured the spirit of the day. A fun decal for the Fun Run.”

  “Right. A fun decal for the Fun Run.” Margaret started laughing. She hadn’t felt this carefree for a long time. She’d completely forgotten that losing her tooth might be a sign of her impending death.

  “Who are your friends?” Dr. Sharkey asked, pointing to the receptionist’s area.

  “They’re staying at Hennessy Castle where I work. They ran in the Fun Run, too.”

  “They did? I must tell Mother. N
ow take a look, Margaret.” He held up the mirror.

  Margaret smiled. The ensuing horror she felt penetrated the nitrous oxide haze. “It looks as though it needs a good cleaning, it does..”

  “It’s a temporary cap,” Dr. Sharkey assured her. “The permanent one will be beautiful. Now let me turn on the oxygen and bring you back down to earth.”

  “With that tooth you’ll have to bring me up from hell.”

  “Breathe in the oxygen,” Sharkey said calmly.

  “I’ll get oxygen outside,” Margaret said, pulling off the mask. “I live in the country where there’s nothing but fresh air.” She swung her legs around and stood. “I don’t feel as good as I did five minutes ago.”

  “You should sit down—”

  “No.”

  “Then go home and get some rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  Margaret nodded and went out to the waiting room where Brian and Sheila had been sitting in glum silence. “Time to go home,” she announced, her face grim with determination. “I want to go straight home this very minute, and I don’t want to hear another word about your aunt Eileen. My tooth is throbbing and my head hurts.”

  Brian and Sheila knew better than to argue. Their art collecting was done for the day.

  And they both felt as if they were done for life.

  28

  Brad and Linda Thompson were also newlyweds and also from New York City, and both had just turned fifty. They had married six months ago, a second marriage for both. Their cottage in Ireland was a vacation retreat where they planned to spend every August. They would rent the cottage in June and July and then visit whenever possible during the rest of the year.

  They seem to have a great life, Regan thought as she, Jack, and Breda sat down with the Thompsons in their cheerfully decorated living room. Framed wedding photos filled the shelf above the fireplace. They were an attractive couple. Brad had two grown children from his previous marriage who, judging from the pictures, seemed to approve of their father’s new mate.