‘What the hell are you doing here?’ She was clutching the canister of Mace now, getting ready to spray it into his face, while also hanging on to Battle’s collar. (The man wasn’t to know that Battle was the world’s most placid dog and would undoubtedly lick him all over given half the chance.)
‘This is a weird coincidence,’ he said as he looked at her in surprise. ‘I wasn’t expecting to bump into you again.’
‘You weren’t?’ She wasn’t prepared to admit to a coincidence. No matter how astonished he appeared to be.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘If I’d realised you and Mr Caruso were … are …’ He looked enquiringly at her, but she said nothing. ‘If I’d realised you knew each other,’ he continued, ‘I’d have talked to you in Union Square. I’d just been to his office when I … bumped into you.’
‘How do I know that you didn’t already know?’ She winced as she spoke, realising that she was garbling her words.
‘Um … I guess you’ll have to trust me on that,’ he said.
She hesitated. This man had chased after a thief and recovered her bag. Surely that made him trustworthy? Though perhaps it had all been a set-up, designed to catch her off guard now. Battle gave a gentle, welcoming woof and she glared at him, wishing that he could at least try to sound menacing.
‘It’s very late to be calling to people’s homes,’ she said.
‘I realise that.’ His tone was apologetic. ‘I arrived earlier but there was nobody in. So I decided to wait.’
How long had he been sitting outside in the Escalade? Perhaps one of the neighbours had already phoned the police. She felt herself relax a little.
‘You mentioned Ellen Connolly,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to talk about her?’
‘May I come in?’
‘No!’ She almost closed the door on him, but Battle was in the way.
‘Hey, sorry,’ he said. ‘I realise you might not want a complete stranger in your home. Here’s my card.’
He reached into the pocket of his jacket. Abbey was on high alert, hoping that the gun laws in the state prevented random Irishmen from picking up pistols at the local gun store, on the off chance that they were murdering maniacs. He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.
Celtic Legal, she read. Legal and Investigative Services. Ryan Gilligan, Investigator & Legal Adviser.
She glanced up from the card. An investigator? Like a PI? Surely not. For a brief moment she wondered if one of her friends was playing an elaborate joke on her. Although what kind of joke would involve sending a softly spoken Irish PI – albeit a very attractive one – to the house was beyond her.
She looked at the card again. Celtic Legal was based in Ireland. Why had he come from Ireland to talk about Ellen? Ellen wasn’t in Ireland. She’d never even been to Ireland. Abbey was a hundred per cent certain of that.
‘I’m working on behalf of Ellen Connolly’s family,’ he added. ‘Can we talk?’
Ellen’s family? Abbey looked at him in confusion. Ellen had no family. No other family. She would have known. She took a deep breath.
‘We can’t talk here,’ she said. ‘There’s a bar near the ferry landing. About a five-minute drive. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Do you want a lift …’ He stopped, then grinned. Quite suddenly he wasn’t Hollywood-star-being-an-Irish-PI at all. He looked friendly and approachable. ‘Sorry, I should get the terminology right. Can I give you a ride? We don’t say that in Ireland,’ he added. ‘It has a completely different connotation.’
She almost said yes, because his sudden charm was disarming. But Abbey Andersen hadn’t lived for twenty-eight years without being aware of her personal safety. So she told him firmly that she’d follow him.
As soon as the tail lights of the Escalade had disappeared from view, Abbey shut a disappointed Battle in the kitchen, returned to the garage and got on the bike again. By the time she arrived at the bar, the Escalade was already parked neatly in one of the spaces and Ryan Gilligan was standing at the entrance to the old wooden building, which was built over the pier.
‘This the place you meant?’ he asked.
She nodded and preceded him up the steps. She pushed open the door and went inside.
Abbey rarely visited Sausalito’s bars, but sometimes she and Pete would come here. Both of them liked being able to see the water and the lights of the city across the bay.
‘What can I get you?’ asked Ryan as they sat in a booth near a window.
‘Water,’ she replied. ‘Sparkling.’
He returned from the bar with a bottle of water for her and an alcohol-free beer for himself.
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ he said as he placed the water in front of her.
‘How could I refuse?’ she asked. ‘You were my knight in shining armour earlier.’
He chuckled. ‘Lucky break for me, otherwise I got the impression you were going to set that dog on me.’
‘Not this time.’
‘Sometimes you’ve got to ride your luck,’ he said.
‘You couldn’t have planned it better.’
He heard the note of scepticism in her voice.
‘A total fluke, I promise you,’ he said. ‘If you want to ring any of the numbers on my card to verify that I am who I say I am, please do. Although,’ he added, ‘it’s the middle of the night back home, so that’s not exactly helpful. Sorry.’
‘I’m sure any number I ring will simply confirm anything you tell me,’ she said.
‘You’re a suspicious girl, aren’t you?’
‘I’m careful.’
‘And I’m a genuine person,’ he assured her.
She wanted to believe him. But she’d believed Cobey, hadn’t she? And look where that had left her. Nevertheless, this man was different. There wasn’t any reason to distrust him. Besides, she needed to know where Ellen came into all this.
‘So … what’s the thing with Ellen Connolly?’ she asked.
‘Straight down to business,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Ellen’s father is trying to trace her,’ said Ryan Gilligan.
Abbey stared wordlessly at him.
‘He hired my firm to do the search.’
‘Who are you really?’ Abbey drank some water directly from the bottle. ‘Why are you saying such a thing?’
‘Because it’s true,’ said Ryan.
‘Ellen’s father is dead,’ said Abbey firmly. ‘Both her parents are dead. I know because I was there when they died. You’ve got the wrong person.’
‘Her adoptive parents may have passed away,’ Ryan said. ‘But I’m working for her biological father.’
The bottle fell from Abbey’s grasp on to the wooden floor beneath. A pool of water spread across the boards. The bartender hurried across with a cloth and began to mop it up.
‘Are you OK? Can I get you another one?’ asked Ryan.
‘No. Yes. I …’ Abbey was looking at him with total disbelief in her eyes as she tried to process what he’d just said. But she was finding it very difficult.
Ryan went to the bar and returned with another bottle of water and a glass with a measure of spirits.
‘Whiskey,’ he said. ‘You might like it. For the shock. Because clearly I’ve given you a shock. I’m sorry about that.’
Abbey picked up the glass and took a generous sip.
Ryan Gilligan watched her, a concerned expression on his face, but she swallowed the whiskey without spluttering and then took another mouthful.
‘I only drink hard liquor when I’ve found out something that’s knocked me sideways,’ she said as she put the glass on the table again.
‘I’m sorry to have knocked you sideways,’ said Ryan.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t be all that surprised,’ Abbey said. ‘Ellen has a habit of doing that to me.’
‘How well do you know her?’ Ryan asked. ‘Can you introduce us?’
‘I know her very well,’ said Abbey. She took a deep bre
ath, then released it slowly. ‘Ellen Connolly is my mother.’
This time it was Ryan Gilligan who looked shocked.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘Ellen Connolly? Abbey Andersen? I didn’t think …’
‘Andersen was my father’s name,’ said Abbey. ‘Mom didn’t change hers after she married.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘If I’d known …’
‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up.’ Abbey could feel the whiskey taking effect, mellowing her so that she wasn’t as completely stunned as she’d been earlier. ‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘I’m cool.’
‘I’m not sure that you are.’
He called the bartender and ordered another whiskey for her.
‘You definitely want that?’ called Chet, the owner, who was behind the bar.
‘Today I do, Chet, yes,’ said Abbey.
‘As long as you know what you’re doin’,’ Chet said.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing at all,’ murmured Abbey as Ryan put the drink in front of her. ‘I don’t know what any of this is about.’
‘Mind if I ask you something?’ asked Ryan.
‘What?’
His expression was slightly uncomfortable. ‘D’you have any ID? Anything to prove you’re Ellen Connolly’s daughter? Because as far as I know, you’re Abbey Andersen and I found you in the house of Pete Caruso, which doesn’t make much of a connection, does it?’
‘I trusted you with that pathetic piece of cardboard you call a business card,’ said Abbey. ‘The very least you can do is trust me to be who I say I am.’
He smiled. ‘Fair enough.’
‘But …’ She fumbled in her purse and took out her driver’s licence. ‘This is me. Obviously it doesn’t prove I’m Ellen’s daughter, but if you’re a PI, you have to know that she has a daughter.’
‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t,’ admitted Ryan. ‘Just as I didn’t know she was married.’ He frowned. ‘I should’ve been able to find a record of that, but I’ve been struggling to find any information on her at all.’
‘Mom and Dad got married in Latin America. Maybe you were looking in the wrong place.’
‘Maybe.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘It’s a pity I didn’t know about it when you handed me your card. I’m sure it would have set a bell ringing in my head.’
‘If you’d said anything in Union Square, I would’ve been equally freaked out,’ said Abbey.
‘I suppose you would,’ he conceded. ‘So … well, I thought that perhaps Ellen might have married and had a family. I said this to her father. I have to be honest and say that his main concern was with finding his daughter, but I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know about you too.’
‘You think?’
‘Of course. Now that I have actually tracked down one of his relatives, can I meet your mother?’
Abbey was stuck for words. The bottom line was that she had no idea if she wanted him to meet Ellen or not. Or whether her mother would even agree to such a meeting anyway. Besides, if anyone was going to talk to Ellen about this astonishing news, it was going to be Abbey herself. And even she didn’t know when that would be. Because this was something that would have to be done face to face. And it was nearly a year since she’d spoken face to face with Ellen.
Her mother had never said anything about being adopted. So would this be as big a shock to her as it was to Abbey? Or had she found out? And if so, thought Abbey, had it influenced the choices she’d made after Gramps and Gramma died? But if she’d known, or had found out, why hadn’t she said anything?
Ryan Gilligan was still looking at her, waiting for an answer to his question. Somewhat belatedly, Abbey shook her head and told him that no, he couldn’t meet Ellen, who wasn’t in San Francisco.
Disappointment etched itself on Ryan’s face. ‘Where is she?’
‘You’re the investigator.’ Abbey took another sip of the whiskey.
‘Clearly not as good an investigator as I thought.’ Ryan looked rueful. ‘Though tracking missing persons isn’t usually my thing.’
The whiskey was warming Abbey, relaxing her more. She watched him as he mentally processed the information she’d given him.
‘Can we get her back here?’ he asked. ‘It’s important I speak to her soon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because my client is an old man and he wants to meet her before he dies.’
‘What if she doesn’t want to meet him?’
‘I’m sure that when I explain the circumstances to her she’ll agree.’
‘You can explain it all to me. I’ll tell her.’
‘In a heartbeat I would.’ The warmth in Ryan’s eyes matched the tone of his voice. ‘But my client hired me to find Ellen Connolly and ask her to come to Ireland to see him. I’m certain he’ll be eager to know about you too, Abbey, but it’s her I need to speak with.’
‘What about my mother’s mother? Doesn’t she want to meet her too?’
‘At the moment, all I can tell you is that Ellen’s birth mother died shortly after she was born. If I can talk to Ellen and get her to travel—’
‘I’m sorry, but that’s not possible,’ Abbey told him.
‘Of course it is,’ Ryan told her. ‘Her father is prepared to pay for her to come to him if money’s the issue.’
‘It’s not money.’
‘Then what?’
‘This has been a huge shock to me. I’m sure it’ll be an equal shock to my mother. However, she really isn’t in a position to come to Ireland, and I don’t think that she’d even want to.’
‘I don’t think it’s up to you to make that decision for her.’ Ryan’s voice, though pleasant, was determined.
Abbey hesitated. In the years since her grandparents’ deaths, she’d guarded Ellen’s privacy fiercely. Being honest with herself, it was as much for her own sake as her mother’s. People could be judgemental, and she wasn’t prepared to have troublesome discussions about the kind of life Ellen had elected to live.
‘She’s not immediately contactable,’ Abbey said finally.
‘How soon would you be able to get in touch?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘But this is very important. She’d want you to make every effort to let her know.’
‘You don’t know what my mother would or wouldn’t want,’ said Abbey.
Ryan looked suddenly contrite. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. The thing is, my client might not have a lot of time left.’
‘Ellen’s father is dying?’ Abbey was shocked.
‘He’s not on his deathbed,’ Ryan assured her. ‘But he’s elderly and he’s had a few health scares, and he feels that time is running out to make amends.’
‘Amends?’ asked Abbey. ‘For what?’
‘For not being there.’
‘He’s looking for her because he wants to hear her say that she’s all right with being adopted? That she forgives him?’ Abbey shrugged. ‘I know already that she’ll forgive him, if that’s what he needs.’
‘You do?’
‘I know my mom.’
‘I still need to talk to her,’ said Ryan. ‘My assignment is to find Ellen, not her daughter. Although,’ he added, ‘I’m very glad to have met you.’
Abbey gave him a brief smile.
‘Seriously,’ said Ryan. ‘I like you, Abbey. I do. Is there some reason you’re keeping your mother’s whereabouts a secret?’
‘No, but …’ She frowned. ‘Look, all I want to say right now is that Mom can’t travel to Ireland. It’s simply not possible. Perhaps I can arrange for you to meet with her, although it could take a few weeks. But she won’t travel. That’s that.’
Ryan looked at her thoughtfully.
‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to my client. Tell him what you’ve told me. See what he wants to do and get back to you. OK?’
‘Good idea,’ said Abbey. Her fingers tightened around the glass in front of her and she waited a moment before she
asked the question. ‘What’s he like?’
‘My client? Like I said, an elderly man. A widower. He’s in his eighties.’
‘And he’s my grandfather.’ Abbey spoke out loud even though she hadn’t meant to.
‘I truly am sorry about how I broke that to you,’ said Ryan. ‘I should’ve thought a bit more.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Abbey. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She exhaled slowly. ‘I can’t help thinking … I’m not who I thought I was. Gramma and Gramps weren’t really my grandparents. At least …’
‘I should’ve handled this differently.’ Ryan looked at her with concern. ‘Maybe when you get this sort of information you need to have a counsellor or someone standing by.’
‘I don’t need a counsellor.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘But I do need to absorb everything you’ve told me.’
‘Perhaps I’ve been watching too much Jerry Springer, telling you the way I did.’ Ryan looked shamefaced. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset,’ Abbey assured him. ‘Just shocked.’
‘What do you know about your mother’s early life?’ asked Ryan. ‘It’s OK to tell me that, isn’t it?’
Abbey ran her finger around the rim of her glass. Her vision was slightly fuzzy now and she wished she hadn’t downed the first whiskey so quickly.
‘My grandparents came to America from Ireland in the nineteen fifties, when my mom was a baby,’ she told him. ‘They lived in Boston, where Mom trained to be a nurse. When she qualified, she moved away. Eventually she ended up in California, where she met my dad. They got married and worked together in Latin America, but he was killed before I was born.’
‘Killed? How awful. What happened?’ Ryan’s voice was full of sympathy.
‘It was a car accident in terrible weather. The jeep he was driving went off the road. He died instantly.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ryan.
Abbey smiled faintly. ‘As it was before my time it doesn’t much matter to me, except that – well, he was my father and I never got to know him. And it was obviously a tough time for my mom. Anyway, after that she decided to take a job in a small clinic in Venezuela. We were there for a year before she moved again, and after that she changed jobs every few months, quite often to somewhere in a different country. The medical organisation she worked for had clinics across Latin America so it was easy to move around. Eventually, though, we went back to Venezuela and stayed there till I was twelve and she decided that I needed to get more of an American education.’
Things We Never Say Page 10
