“I’m going to watch television. Remember last week when those people got lost in the jungle? Mayhap tonight they’ll find a way home.”
He laughed. “Don’t expect them to until the end of the series.” At her blank expression, Brendan said, “Never mind. Enjoy your TV time. See you in the morning.”
The next morning, Brendan and Prince came into the kitchen as Blossom set a platter of waffles on the table.
“You were up early, son. I found your note and saw you fishing off the point.”
“I needed some time to think. Boat’s a great place for that.” He washed his hands then brought the butter and syrup to the table.
Deirdre set a bowl of fresh strawberries and some whipped cream by his place before she sat down. “Did you finish your thinking then?”
He laughed. “Don’t suppose thinking is something I want ended.”
Her mouth looked fresh and red as one of the strawberries this morning and her skin was the color of cream. He could eat her up.
He caught himself. No, he couldn’t.
Get over it, Hunter.
“When’s your day off?” he asked her.
“I have two, remember. The first is tomorrow.”
“You willing to go to a funeral with me and then a wake?”
“You mean for the poor snitch who died? Of course I’ll go with you.” She frowned. “But a wake is before the funeral, Brendan.”
“Not this one. The funeral’s at eleven, then there’s a lunch at the bar he liked. I thought maybe you could go with me and help me find someone.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” She appeared horrified. “Not my pleasure the poor man’s dead, mind, but my pleasure to accompany you.”
Blossom shook her head. “Count me out. I don’t like funerals and I didn’t know the man. I’ll be sitting here with my feet up.”
“I didn’t expect you to come. You’ll have the whole day to yourself.” A bit of mischief tempted him. “Say, isn’t tomorrow Dave’s day off?”
His mother glared at him. “It might be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll finish getting ready for work.” She stood and left the room.
Deirdre smiled. “It’s a devil you are to tease her about the good doctor. She’s very in love with him.”
“I know and I wish they’d hurry and get married.”
Deirdre looked over her shoulder the way Blossom had fled. “I think it’ll be soon.”
Chapter Twenty Four
After Deirdre and Blossom had driven away, Jim Graham stopped by. Brendan invited him to the kitchen for coffee.
The sheriff’s deputy set the rock that had fallen with Deirdre onto the counter. He pointed at the chunk of marble. “You know what that is? A kind of special green marble found only in this place called Connemara, Ireland. Sheriff and his wife just came back from a tour over there and he recognized it. Had me take it to a marble showroom. One of those places sells fancy countertops.” He leaned forward. “You’re not going to believe what I found.”
Brendan figured he would. “Try me.”
“This color green hasn’t been available for over fifty years.” Jim leaned back, apparently proud of having delivered a coup. “How did this rock get tossed into your boat? I suspect she brought it with her from Ireland and conked herself with it to make her story look good.”
“No, she couldn’t have. Mom said she had bruises on her back in places where she couldn’t have reached. From what she’s said, I suspect it was an old family feud. The man who taunted her got the rock in Ireland. He’s back there now, so we won’t be bothered by him again.” Brendan wondered if Jim would accept that creative spin on the truth. And what would he do if Jim didn’t buy the story?
“You don’t mean there really was someone on the cliff? Don’t see how that could be.”
“She’s still not clear on that. Guess it’s the amnesia from the concussion. But she remembered the man’s name and described him to me. Then, from a friend we learned he was in Ireland and under confinement. I don’t think you have to worry about him—or her—from here on out. Mom and I’ll see she’s taken care of and doesn’t come to any harm.”
“Family feud. Don’t that beat all?” Jim stood. “I’m through with this case, then.” He set his coffee mug down. “You can handle it from here on out.”
Brendan rose also. “Jim, have you heard about a new drug source in the area?”
Jim’s surprise was evident. “You bet. I forgot you’d been out on sick leave. Started about the time you were shot. No, maybe a week or two before then. Been running us ragged. A high school kid O.D.’d last night.”
Brendan shook his head. “That’s rough.” He thought of poor Frank being murdered. “Same thing happened this week to a snitch I knew.”
“Tough to lose a source like that.”
They chatted a few more minutes, and then Jim clapped his hat on his head.
“Stay in touch.”
Brendan figured even a guy like Frank Porter deserved a funeral. He called the morgue to arrange for Frank’s body to be released to the funeral home. Then he arranged for a funeral and hired pallbearers, wondering if Mick would attend. How would he attract Mick? Only way he knew was to advertise and serve food.
He’d finished arrangements when the phone rang.
Dave said, “Heard from my friend. The stuff you gave me is gypsum dust.”
“That’s what I figured. Thanks, Dave.”
He hung up and called George. “Sample’s gypsum, the reverse of the newspaper clippings.”
“Just like you figured.”
“Right. Now, what do I do with the knowledge? How soon should I tell Owen?”
“You’d better hold off a day or two. Unless things smoothed over since I was in the office yesterday, Owen’s been on a tear and in no mood to hear one of his officers is dirty. Especially not from someone who’s not supposed to be working on this case or any other.”
Hackles rose on Brendan’s neck. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him this touchy since his marriage broke up. One thing I’m certain of, though. My phone at the office is tapped. Keep that in mind if you call me or anyone else there.”
“Whoa, you think it’s just you or everyone?” Brendan hoped he hadn’t called George to the murderer’s attention.
“Don’t know, but I heard clicks on my line yesterday. Click comes right after I answer.”
“Damn. Take care, will you?”
“You bet. I have no desire to make my wife a widow.”
***
Deirdre smoothed her hand along the skirt of her new black dress. Good thing she’d bought it, for now she needed it for a funeral. Solemn though the occasion, Deirdre’s excitement mounted. Brendan had invited her along to help him. Sure and didn’t that mean he was coming to value her?
Suddenly, her mouth dropped in surprise. “That’s the church?” Deirdre looked at him. “St. Brigid’s Catholic Church.”
He nodded and pulled into a parking slot. “The same.”
She crossed herself. “Just like in my prayers. Since you’re named Brendan, I wondered why there was no Brigid.”
“Been here over seventy-five years.” He went around and opened her door.
She couldn’t move, only stared at the church. “You should have told me?”
“Just did.” He leaned in. “Coming?”
She jumped and he bumped his head on the car’s doorframe.
She climbed out and smoothed a hand on his head. “You’ve mussed your hair.” From her purse she pulled her new black lace scarf and slid it over her head. “Too bad you can’t wear one of these. I bought it yesterday.”
“Very nice.” He guided her into the church. “We may be the only ones here.”
A priest met them at the door. “Good to see you, Brendan. It’s been too long.”
“Deirdre Dougherty, Father Michael. Deirdre’s staying with Mom.”
“Good to meet you, Deirdre. Hope I’ll see you ag
ain.”
She looked at Brendan and then back at the priest. “Now that I know you’re here, you’ll see me regular.” Imagine, a fine cathedral nearby and her not knowing. She’d give Brendan a fair piece of her mind for not telling her.
“Lovely accent. Good to hear an Irish voice. Are you here on a visit?”
She looked at Brendan again before she answered honestly. “I hope I’m here to stay, Father, but you never know what life has in store.”
They went inside the church. Only a pitiful handful of mourners gathered, a woman and four men looking lost in the huge sanctuary. The woman sniffed into a tissue.
Deirdre wondered if anyone had attended her memorial mass back in Ballymish? Tears sprang to her eyes for the way she’d been treated her first twenty-five years. Crossing herself again, she prayed the rest of her days would be better. Hadn’t this life already improved since she’d arrived?
During the mass, four more mourners straggled in. Six well-dressed men appeared from somewhere and acted as pallbearers. The eleven mourners formed a rag tag procession behind the casket to the cemetery behind the church. The graveside service was soon over.
At a nod from Brendan, a man announced, “There’ll be a fine free lunch set out at Dew Drop In. All are invited.”
On the way to the bar, Brendan filled Deirdre in. “I need your help. Someone named Mick was a friend of Frank’s. I need to learn who Mick is and talk to him. But I don’t want anyone else to know about it.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you for trusting me to help. I’ll do my best.” She prayed he’d soon trust her in all things.
When they arrived, she wrinkled her nose at the bar’s appearance. “Not a place I’d choose to eat, but I’ll do all I can to help you find this Mick.”
Brendan came around to help her from the car. “Don’t worry. The food is catered and none of it prepared here.”
“You planned this?”
He put a finger to her lips. “It’s a secret.”
She nodded. “Right. Wouldn’t do to have others know you’ve a soft heart, would it?”
“You’re talking about another guy, not me. This is all in aid of an investigation.”
“Of course.” She smiled up at him. What a lovely man to take pity on the poor snitch who died. From the looks of the mass, not many others cared a whit. At least, that’s what she thought until they went inside. “The place is jammed.”
Brendan nodded. “Free food. Always brings a crowd.” He scanned the room as if searching for someone.
She asked, “Do you see anyone who might be a Mick?”
He shrugged. “How would I know?”
“It’s a name people call those from Ireland. Does anyone here look Irish?”
He held her against him as they squeezed through the crowd. “Only you. See anyone who looks like a fellow countryman?”
She wrinkled her nose as they wriggled past a particularly fragrant man. He smelled of urine and weeks of unwashed sweat. Holding her breath until they were by him, she exhaled once they’d passed. “I should hope not. The village folk were no prizes, but they occasionally washed their bodies.”
“Won’t catch on with some of these patrons.” He pushed up to the bar.
The bartender handed him a bottle of beer. “Why don’t you give the toast? You knew old Oily.”
“I wonder if anyone knew him. But here goes.” Brendan pulled himself up until he kneeled on a barstool so everyone could see him.
The bartender rang a bell. “Listen up.”
Most in the room turned to stare.
Brendan raised his bottle. In a commanding voice, he called, “Let us toast the life and the afterlife of Frank Porter. May he rest in peace.”
The waitress sobbed and rushed to the ladies room. Brendan raised his eyebrow at Deirdre, which she took to mean she should follow. She hurried after the poor woman who’d been the one weeping at the funeral.
She pushed open the bathroom door. Not as bad as she feared from the vile smell in the little hallway. The young woman leaned over the washbasin and sobbed so hard her tears blended with the water she splashed on her face. Shorter than Deirdre, her springy blonde hair bounced as she sobbed. Her green blouse dipped low in front and back with tight, fitted sleeves. A short black skirt barely covered essentials.
“Here, now.” Deirdre put her arms around the woman. They were about the same age, but Deirdre thought that’s where the similarity ended. This woman looked as if the problems of the world weighed her down.
She rested her head against Deirdre’s shoulder and wept. Deirdre patted her back and crooned soothing phrases to her as if she were the mother and the girl were a babe. Eventually, her crying subsided and she pulled away.
She sniffed. “You were at the funeral with the policeman, weren’t you?”
“That I was. And you were there also. It was good to have someone weeping for the poor man who died. It sends his soul to peace, it does.” She looked at the nametag on the young woman’s blouse. “Michelle is your name.” The vision hit her suddenly. “Some call you Mick.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she looked around. “Only Frank.” She looked about to break out in tears again.
Deirdre patted her shoulder. “Aye, because he was your father and it was his special name for you.”
She lowered her voice. “H-how’d you know he was my dad? No one here knows.” She straightened. “Don’t think I’m ashamed of him, but he wanted it that way.”
“And you’re frightened that the men who killed him will come for you? Is that it?”
Michelle nodded. “I couldn’t discover their names, but they must have found out Frank and I asked questions.”
“But didn’t your father know who paid him to lure Brendan—he’s the policeman—here?”
“Two men, but we don’t know who they work for. And I saw them come in the bar just now.” She looked toward the door. “I’m so scared, and I don’t know what to do. I know they’ll kill me too, just like they did Frank.”
“Your father didn’t do drugs, did he?”
She shook her head. “Just alcohol, that was bad enough. He would never have used cocaine.”
Deirdre thought about the floor plan. The kitchen must be behind the bar and to the right of the rest room. “Is there a back door here?”
“Yes, but they’d see me before I could get there.”
“Maybe I can distract them. Then you dart into the kitchen and out the back. Describe them.”
Michelle looked hopeful. “There’re two of them, both big stocky guys. Like weight lifters.”
“I don’t follow you. Weight lifter?”
Michelle made a fist and crooked her arm to make a muscle. “Strong men.” When Deirdre nodded, she continued, “One has blonde hair cut short and he’s dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. The other one is dressed all in black with long black hair tied in back. He’s scary looking and has a scar on his cheek. And he wears gold jewelry.”
Deirdre hoped she sounded sure of herself. “All right. Here’s our plan. You give me one minute to distract them, then slip into the kitchen. Go outside and wait for Brendan to drive by. He’ll stop and you hustle into his car before anyone sees you. Can you do that?”
Michelle nodded. “I’ll try, but I’m really scared.”
“Me, too.” She smiled. “Doesn’t it sharpen the senses, though?”
Michelle grabbed her wrist. “You’re my only hope. If I get away, I’m never coming back here. I wouldn’t have come today but I heard about the funeral and wake for Fr-, for my father.”
“You’re wearing a watch. Look at it and give me one minute. Then hurry for I’ll not be able to keep their mind from you for long.”
Deirdre slipped out of the ladies room, hoping the wet spot on her shoulder from Michelle’s tears didn’t draw attention. Brendan waited at the end of the little hallway. Behind him lurked the two men Michelle described.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled at Brendan. “I tho
ught I’d never get my turn in there.” Under her breath, she said, “We have to make a run for it in a few seconds. Please play along.”
He nodded. “Glad you finally came out of there.”
She tugged his hand. When she was even with the scary man, she said as clearly as she knew how, “Hurry, I want to catch Michelle before we leave.”
Scary guy did an about face and fell in behind them. Deirdre pretended to wave at someone in the back of the room. “There she is.” She called, “Oh, Michelle, over here.” She kept tugging Brendan. The two men followed them.
Scary guy pushed into them. “Where is she?”
Apparently catching on, Brendan peered around. “At the back. There, near the booth Frank always used.”
The two men shoved past him and strong-armed their way through the crowd.
Deirdre whirled. She whispered to Brendan. “We have to get out of here. Now. Mick’s waiting for us.”
With him to elbow the crowd aside, they soon reached the door. She broke into a run and he jogged beside her. “Get your car going fast. Drive around back.”
They climbed in the car and Brendan started the engine. The two scary guys came to the door. Deirdre wiggled her fingers in a wave. They sent her a glare and went back inside.
“Pull around back. Please hurry.”
Brendan did. Michelle was waiting. She clutched her purse and peered around, a terrified look on her face.
“The waitress?” Brendan asked.
“Yes. She’s Mick.”
As soon as the car slowed, Michelle opened the car’s back door and crawled in. Brendan accelerated. Deirdre looked behind them, but no one followed.
Deirdre gestured to the back seat. “May I introduce Michelle? Or Mick, as her father Frank called her.”
“Father? Son of a gun.” Brendan looked in the rear view mirror. “Glad to formally meet you, Michelle. I had no idea you and Frank were related.”
“No one did. He wanted it that way. H-He liked you. You were the only one who called him by his name instead of that horrid nickname. Oily. Ugh.” She shuddered.
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