7 Sweets, Begorra

by Connie Shelton

  “Did he say a name?”

  “Prob’ly. I don’t remember. Can I just get some sleep?”

  “No. Not until we finish. Tell me about renting the fishing boat.”

  “Quint sends me and Trucker into that little office place of theirs and we’re supposed to say that the two of us want to go fishing. I’m so beat after the plane flight that I don’t know if I even said it right. But there’s this boat captain—wearing some stupid-shit hat—and he says he can take us out right away. You know, the kind of guy you can just smell desperation on him.”

  Sam remembered that Bridget had said her uncle’s charter business had been slow.

  Beau gave Greenlee a steady stare.

  “So anyways, Quint’s waiting outside and when we all go to get in the boat he comes up like he don’t know us and asks this captain can he go along. He flashes some cash and it’s a done deal. He didn’t like it that the guy wanted to give his name to the secretary, or whoever that lady was. Quint distracted him with somethin’ else.”

  “So the boat heads out with all of you onboard. How did you get the captain to go the opposite direction from where he wanted, away from the good fishing spots?”

  Hank shrugged. “Don’t know, man. Once we get outside that little marina, or whatever it’s called, Quint takes over, starts ordering the guy around. He pulls out a gun. Trucker’s all, grrr, actin’ tough, getting the guy all intimidated, buttin’ heads with the smartass crew kid. Me, I’m freaked. This wadn’t supposed to be about hurtin’ nobody. Quint just said he wanted to get to some other town where his cousin was meeting him.”

  “Who fired the gun?”

  “Trucker. Quint’s pushed the two dudes into a corner and he takes over driving. Tells Trucker to keep ’em under control. We go . . . I don’t know how far . . . maybe like a half hour or more. Quint slows the boat down a little and tells Trucker to get rid of the two guys. Just like that. Just shoot ’em.”

  “What were you doing during all this?”

  “ ’sides freakin’ out? Just watching the bags, man. Quint tells Trucker to shoot me if I let any of those bags go overboard. So I’m, like, watchin’ them like a hawk—that guy’s crazy, I’m finally figuring out.”

  Beau scribbled more notes. “You went out to sea? Along the coast?”

  “Kind of along the coast, I guess. We was pretty far out there, but we could see the land all the time.”

  “Go on.”

  “So, like after he slows the boat down and tells Trucker to get rid of the guys, he just—bam! Kills ’em. Pushes ’em both over the side. Then we get the hell out of there.”

  “Who pulled the trigger?”

  “Trucker.”

  “Then what?”

  “We get a little closer to the land, but we’re prob’ly still a few miles out. Quint’s got the gun back by now. He pulls a bunch of plastic bags out of the suitcase—leaves the cash in the big bags, puts the baggies full of diamonds into one of them zipper pouch things you can strap on—a fanny pack. He makes me and Trucker pull the thingy that inflates the lifeboat, tells us get in it, then he roars off in the bigger one, the fishing boat.”

  “Any idea what time of day that was?”

  Hank’s face twisted as he concentrated. “Not really. Late afternoon, maybe. Didn’t seem like no time at all and we was out there in the pitch dark.”

  Sam tried to imagine the feeling—alone and cold on a dark, roiling sea. Beau left the suspect with those thoughts and stepped out of the room. Back at Detective Lambert’s desk, the two men compared notes.

  “Ted Furns says that Quint was the shooter,” Lambert said.

  “Logical that both of these guys will deny it,” Beau said. “But they were all present and all part of the crime. At least that’s how it would be prosecuted in America.”

  “Yeah, here too.”

  “Did Trucker offer any information about how Quint might have gotten away?”

  “Other than agreeing with what you just told me about Greenlee’s information—that Quint took off in the trawler alone—not really. When I told him the trawler showed up here, empty, he speculated that maybe it ran out of gas and Quint abandoned it.”

  “But that doesn’t work with the evidence, since your forensics people were able to start the boat right away.”

  “Right.”

  “So, we know more than we did, but somebody’s lying.”

  Each trying to save his own skin—of course they were lying.

  Chapter 14

  Sam left the men to parse the interviews, telling Beau that she ought to check in at the bookshop at least once today. For all she knew, some elfin prankster might have painted the whole place purple or something.

  But everything seemed to be in good shape when she got there. The front window display now held a variety of cookbooks in addition to the children’s titles; two women browsing them stepped inside as Sam watched. Bridget was with an older woman, one Sam remembered from the day she learned that she’d inherited the place. Ambrose had two customers at the register, and Sam found Keeva in the back room.

  “Look at this,” the middle aged assistant exclaimed. “I’d quite forgotten we had these.” She held up two paperbacks.

  On the floor an open carton was filled to the top with new books.

  “Don’t know what I was thinkin’,” Keeva said. “There seemed no room for more stock, I suppose, so this box got pushed to the back. By the receipt, I’d say they’ve been here more than six months.”

  Six months ago these were new releases in the US, Sam realized. But what did it matter? They were popular authors and would sell now.

  “Let’s get them on display,” she said, picking up an armful and feeling a twinge of excitement.

  In the sales room they cleared an end of one of the big tables. Sam found some small easels and propped up the top-name authors’ books.

  “I’ll make another sign,” Keeva said, rushing off to get her markers and poster board.

  Sam stacked books and made sure the front covers showed well from across the room. Bridget sent her customer to the register, then she walked toward Sam.

  “Could I have a word?” she asked.

  Up close, worry was still evident on her face. Sam nodded and they walked together into the storage room.

  “It’s me dad,” Bridget said. Her fingers twisted together in a painful-looking tangle as she spoke. “The oul fella’s near frantic with worry. He’s callin’ the police every day for word on Uncle Darragh, but no one’s saying. He doesn’t eat and by the look of him I don’t think he’s sleepin’ either. Does your husband know what they’re doin’ about this?”

  Sam debated. She and Beau had not been following the local news and she had no idea how much information was being released.

  “What have you heard?” she asked.

  “Two men were in the lifeboat from the Glory Be . . . I guess the police have them now?”

  “Yes, that’s true. They are questioning the men but I don’t know . . . I haven’t heard anything that would lead to finding your uncle.”

  “But, is there any news at all?”

  Sam wasn’t about to get into the connections with the jewel heist in the States. She had no idea which bits of information Lambert was releasing and what he was keeping back, in hopes of pinning the suspects with their own admissions.

  She sent Bridget a regretful look. “I’m afraid not. I’m sure the detectives will contact your family the minute they know anything.”

  “Darragh is my dad’s twin, you know. It’s killin’ him, thinkin’ the worst.”

  Sam reached out and took Bridget’s hands, to offer comfort and to keep her from twisting her joints to shreds. “I know, hon. I’m so sorry I don’t have a better answer for him.”

  Bridget drew a ragged breath and stood straighter. Her mouth clamped tightly, then released as she exhaled. “Thanks, Sam. If you learn anything new . . .”

  “Sure.” She squeezed the young woman’s hands and
released them. “Just take care of your dad in the meantime.”

  Bridget nodded and went into the tiny bathroom in back. Sam thought over the morning’s interviews with the suspects but couldn’t honestly come up with anything that would reassure the O’Henry family.

  She busied herself rearranging the second display table while Keeva made lively looking signage to pull customers’ attention to the products they most wanted to move.

  “The place is looking quite good,” Keeva said, as they stood back and admired their handiwork awhile later.

  Even Ambrose issued a grunt that almost sounded like approval.

  “I was tellin’ my sister, yesterday, about how the shop is coming along,” Keeva said. “She said Mister O’Shaughnessy would have been proud. That’s what Anna always called him—Mister O’Shaughnessy.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he?” Sam mused, secretly happy that those who knew her uncle were approving of the changes. Well, maybe everyone but Ambrose. The jury was still out on that.

  “You should invite Anna here to see for herself,” Sam suggested.

  “I will. Can’t imagine how, but she seems busy as ever these days, even since Terry passed. You’d think she’d have all sorts of free time. I’ll put the bug in her ear to come see how fine it all is now.”

  She set another poster in place. “For now, I’m going to put the kettle on. Are you up for a cuppa, Bridget?”

  Bridget’s petite heart-shaped face brightened and she followed Keeva into the back.

  “What do you think, Ambrose?”

  Sam watched the old man’s expression soften just a touch. Somehow, some way she needed to break through that crusty exterior and get him on her side. She walked over to the counter where he sat in his usual spot at the register.

  “I think my uncle would be very proud of you for keeping his business going.” She said it quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear. “I’ll need your help, you know. I have to leave in a week and, until I can figure out a long-term solution, I really need you to keep the business afloat.”

  He gave her a direct look. “I’d never do anything to sully Terry’s memory.”

  “I know. I’m glad.” She started to reach out to pat his arm but thought better of it. Ambrose still wasn’t exactly a touchy-feely type.

  Keeva saved the moment by appearing with a tea tray holding four mugs of strong black tea, a pitcher of milk and a plate of thin wafer cookies. Ambrose took a mug, declined the cookies and went back to adding up the credit card receipts for the day.

  Sam finished her tea but found herself glancing at the time. Beau had hinted that he planned to put the romance back in their honeymoon with something special this evening, and she’d noticed him at the police station, making a couple of secretive phone calls.

  Rain pelted her as she turned the corner, driven by a fierce wind off the sea. She grappled in her pack and realized she’d left her umbrella in the room this morning. Ducking her head, she concentrated on trying not to be run down by other pedestrians. By the time she passed the docks, the storm was a full-on gale and she was soaked to the skin.

  “Ohmygosh!” she said with a huff when she got to the room. “I can’t believe how fast this storm came up.”

  “Darlin’, you should have called. I would have driven over to pick you up,” Beau said, helping her out of her jacket.

  “It wasn’t this bad when I left the shop. It’s okay. I’ll dry off.”

  But he was already in the bathroom running a tub full of steaming water and dumping the tiny bottle of bath gel into it. She peeled off her clothes and climbed in, reclining with a sigh.

  “Afraid my big plan for our romantic evening is getting messed up,” he said from the other room.

  Sam smiled anyway—it wouldn’t matter, really, what they did.

  “So, I’ve changed the location but kept the dinner plan,” he said.

  She could tell he was moving around in the room. At one point, a clatter followed by a mild curse made her smile.

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “A surprise. Just hold on—I’ll bring your robe.” He leaned around the doorjamb, the collar of her robe dangling from his fingers. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “That’s good, because I’m almost a prune.” She laughed as she stood up and reached for a towel. “Let me dry my hair and I’ll be right out.”

  Five minutes later she walked into a transformed hotel room. She just wasn’t quite sure what it had been transformed into.

  The lamp from the desk glowed softly from the floor in one corner of the room, an orange piece of fabric, which looked suspiciously like one of Beau’s shirts, draped over it. Otherwise, the room was in near darkness with the heavy curtains drawn. The bed had a woven throw tossed over the pure white duvet and a wicker basket sat in the middle of it. She caught the silly grin on his face.

  “Beau?”

  “It’s our first date all over again.” He patted the impromptu picnic blanket and she crawled onto the bed and sat cross-legged. “Except we weren’t indoors, on a bed.”

  “We watched the sunset at the edge of the Rio Grande Gorge.”

  He pointed toward the orangey glow of the lamp. “Your sunset, madam. Afraid the bed has to represent the cliffs—the weatherman didn’t cooperate on that little detail. But I think I’ve got the rest of it pretty close.”

  He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a bottle of wine and some plastic containers.

  “Beau! How did you get guacamole and tortilla chips here? And your special chile?” She peered into the containers and saw that everything was just as he’d made it for her the first time. Her eyes grew misty.

  “A little combination of sneaking some items into my luggage and convincing the hotel chef that the recipe wasn’t that hard to make.” He opened the wine and handed it to her. “No glasses—remember, I forgot them the first time—we have to drink it right from the bottle. Okay, at least the first swig. Then I’ll get you a glass.”

  “Beau, I love it. You are so . . .”

  He pulled two wine glasses from the basket and poured.

  “Samantha,” he said, raising his glass, “you are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known. You are pretty and smart and energetic and you’ve brought that energy into this perfect relationship, and you’ve made me a better man. A year ago I had no idea how good my life could be. I love you with all that I am and all that I have.”

  She blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “Beau, I— Saying ‘me too’ is way too simple, but it’s how I feel. I’ve never been happier.”

  He held her gaze as their glasses clinked and they sipped at the woodsy red wine. She exclaimed over the chile (yes, it was wonderful and the chef did it almost as well as Beau). The guacamole and corn chips were a delightful treat, and soon he pulled her back against the pillows and made jokes about how that sunset in the corner just never seemed to end.

  And although their first date didn’t end naked in bed, this one did.

  * * *

  Sam woke the next morning feeling thoroughly satisfied—until the previous day’s unanswered questions started to nag at her. She filed away all thoughts of the bookshop and of the interviews at police headquarters, snuggling instead into the perfect curve of Beau’s arms.

  Eventually, though, they both began to be restless so they showered and went downstairs for breakfast. The hotel’s buffet had closed already so they ordered from the menu and sat at a table near the front windows in the nearly empty room.

  Outside, a man in overalls swept up leaves and small branches ripped from the potted plants and hedges that fronted the property. It seemed the only evidence of the violent storm that had raged through the night. Otherwise, the deep blue sky boasted a brilliant sun which had already baked away the moisture from the sidewalks.

  Against the far wall in the restaurant a television set was on and a newscaster’s voice came through to Sam. She pointed toward the screen and Beau turned to see it.r />
  “. . . on scene now, as Search and Recovery personnel begin the arduous and dangerous job of bringing the bodies up the treacherous cliffs near Doolin.”

  Sam felt her breath catch. They’d driven right through that area.

  A second voice chimed in, apparently the reporter at the scene. “Yes, Janelle, and it will be quite some time. Police are on the scene but they are not saying whether they have any information about the deaths of the two. We’ve only been told that the victims are two males, and at this point we don’t even know their ages.”

  “Tragic, certainly, and it is perfectly understandable that families must be notified before names are released.”

  The on-scene reporter began to wind down, with promises to come back with new developments, when a familiar figure passed behind her. Detective Joe Lambert.

  “He said there were new cases coming in every day,” Sam told Beau as soon as their waiter set their plates down and moved away.

  “I wonder. I think I’ll give him a call later.”

  Neither of them said it, but both were thinking of Darragh O’Henry and Sean Bareth. They ate breakfast quietly and Sam could tell that Beau was impatient to learn what Lambert knew. When they went back to their room and Beau reached the detective’s cell phone, Beau waved Sam over to listen so he wouldn’t have to repeat all the information. It seemed that Lambert was happy to talk about it after he verified that the remains found on the rocky shore were indeed the two missing men from the Glory Be.

  “The bodies are quite battered. Not a good sight for family members to come and identify,” he said.

  Sam thought of Bridget’s father, Darragh’s twin brother, and how hard this would be for him.

  “However,” Lambert was saying, “they both have gunshot wounds and the caliber seems to match that of the casing we found. Only the coroner can say if the shots were fatal or if the men died from the elements. Either way, there will be an inquest and it’s murder charges for our two suspects. Leaving a man for dead out in the sea is as good as firing the fatal shot.”