The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  Jim’s raised his brow and shrugged those magnificent shoulders. He ignored her remark, making her feel even worse. He looked back down at the file on the desk, dismissing her.

  How unprofessional could she be? Work with the man, get along with the man, she reminded herself.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take my lack of sleep out on you, and thanks for the compliment.” Her smile was genuine this time.

  Megan, she chided herself, act like a professional or Our Mighty Flynn will be more than happy to replace your worthless self. She ratcheted up her smile a few gigawatts and turned to Jim. “Have you met anyone yet? Why don’t you let me take you round and you can meet our other famous Irish writers.” Once she’d started, it wasn’t hard to be nice to Jim.

  “Sure, sounds great.”

  He turned those gorgeous blue eyes on her and the dimple crowning his smile simply did her in. She felt the bottom drop out, and there she was dangling over the precipice. Good grief! She sighed and turned her eyes straight ahead and away, and gestured for Jim to follow her.

  She would at this very moment, divorce herself from him in every way, except professionally. She had to keep focused on the job at hand and not her raging hormones that, at this particular moment, threatened to spiral out of control.

  They’d made the rounds of the office and Jim shook everyone’s hand, smiled, exchanged pleasantries with each person, and generally made himself the poster child for good office relations.

  Megan envied his outgoing attitude, his nonchalance, his ease with new people, and what she thought had replaced his over-friendliness with genuine feeling. Perhaps he wasn’t over-friendly, she thought wryly. Perhaps I’m under-friendly. Self-realization can be such a bitch.

  Years ago, Megan made the decision to ward off all but casual relationships. The decision itself had evolved because of a series of ongoing persistent problems she’d had with other girls. Being the prettiest girl in the class of an all girls’ school had set her up for many cruel jokes by her classmates. Like the time several of the girls had written a love letter presumably from a boy at the nearby boys’ school. This boy, Liam, was the one Megan had a crush on in a very big way. When the letter had come for her, Megan ran up and down the halls, waving the letter about, crowing, “He loves me.” When the time for the next dance came around, she flirted shamelessly with the boy, and clutched at his arm, pulling him toward the dance floor. The young man turned a cold face to her, shrugging her hand away. Megan brought the well-read letter out of her purse and showed it to him.

  The young man looked at the letter and laughed. “I never wrote that,” Liam said. Then he grabbed the letter and showed it to his mates. They all laughed. Stood there and laughed at her. Megan ran from the dance all the way back to her dormitory. She was mortified, humiliated, and she’d cried herself to sleep that night. After her tears were dry, she vowed to never trust anyone near her heart again.

  She’d been in college, years after the dance fiasco, before she formed any close relationships with other women. Even with men, she’d held off the big decision until Richard had come along. And that happened nearly a year before when she was twenty-seven.

  Richard was a stock broker at the huge multimillion euro Dublin firm of O’Grady, Halloran, and Penny. He was cunning, charming, and could manage to control everyone with his charismatic ways. He drove a bright red Jaguar and made sure that everyone saw him drive it. When Megan met Richard, it was comforting to be going with a man who was so self-assured. She felt that self-confidence rub off on her a little. He was someone who knew the right things to do, the right things to say, the right places to be, and he took Megan to all of them. Of course, his good looks and the fact that he had scads of money didn’t hurt. And for the first few months after meeting him, Megan felt like a princess when she was with Richard. He showered her with little gifts and flowers whenever he saw her, and she perpetually walked about with stars in her eyes and a sigh on her lips. Richard was thrilled to find out that Megan was still a virgin.

  She should have known something was off when her grandmother had scrutinized Richard so diligently, and then took her aside to warn her off him. Her granny was one perceptive woman and Megan knew she could rely on the old woman’s sixth sense. She could take it to the bank. But that time, she didn’t listen, and she lived to regret it.

  Later, she’d been mortified to find out that Richard was a little short of dog meat. Richard was romance itself, and like marshmallow cream, he was all fluff, all sweet, and when you bit down, it was nothing but a puff of air with no substance. She’d sold her most secret self for flowers and soft words.

  When she’d become suspicious of him, she’d investigated him, as though he were a story she had to write about. She discovered that he discarded women in heaps, piled up like old newspapers in a bin. He threw away more women than even she was acquainted with. It had angered her so. But more than the feeling of betrayal, she’d been angry with herself. How could she have been such a dimwit? Knowing all those other women had gotten the same treatment had made her feel a little less like a typical weeping female. Oh, jaysus how she hated those types! Those clinging, cajoling, manipulative women—

  “And right you are, lass, but you’re not like them. That I can assure you,” said a cheery, chortling voice inside her head.

  Megan whipped her head around so fast that her neck popped with a sickening crunch.

  “Ow.” She grimaced and rubbed her neck vigorously.

  Her co-workers and Jim looked at her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Megan tried to hide the flush barreling up her neck to her cheeks. It was the same voice, the one from last night, the one that had scared her half to death. That voice frightened her, but good, and that fright was like a lump gnawing away in her stomach. She looked quickly about, but nothing was amiss. No one was around except O’Flannery and some co-workers. Keyboards tapped loudly, phones rang incessantly, and people ran about doing their level best to get the early edition out on time. She turned to Jim and steeled her voice, hoping it wouldn’t shake when the words were finally forced between lips dry from shock. She had to go to the ladies’ room and splash some water on her face, get a tea, anything to stay calm and keep the voice away.

  “O’Flannery, you finish here and then the editor wants to speak to you sometime during the morning. I think you might as well get it over with. Lizzy can show you where his office is. I still need to finish a piece I’m working on.”

  “Sure, I’ll see you before lunch and we can map out some strategy. Hey, you okay?” asked Jim as he squeezed her hand.

  “Fine.” Megan turned and walked back to the ladies, dismissing Jim.

  Jim shrugged his shoulders and made his way to the other end of the floor.

  In a far corner, Seamus stood on a puff of green swirling vapor and scratched his chin. Now what is it I can do about those two? They are, the two of them, trying so hard not to like one another…but then perhaps…Seamus paced the puffy cloud. Up and back he strode with his head down. He pulled at his beard, deep in thought. He stopped suddenly and his shoulders sagged in dejection. No, no, there’s something. I must work it out.

  ****

  The ever-present cup of tea and a biscuit revived Megan, and she worked through the next hour, forgetting about the voice, almost forgetting about Jim O’Flannery, concentrating totally on her work. A chill penetrated her concentration as a shadow fell across her desk. She looked up slowly and felt dread nibbling at the edge of her thoughts before she knew why. It was Richard. He stood there with a smug look about him, leering down at her. She hadn’t seen the snake in over six months. She was sure she’d made it quite clear that she never wanted to see him again.

  “How’s my pretty girl? You aren’t miffed are you?”

  Her throat tightened and her mind blanked. Her whole body was seized by an uncontrollable anger. Megan came halfway out of her seat, her heart hammering painfully. There was a distinct possibilit
y that she would explode like a bomb.

  “Miffed? Miffed?” whispered Megan. She leaned forward on her braced arms. Richard had lost touch with reality if he thought she was just miffed. Megan sat back in her chair as far away from him as physically possible. She stared at him, willing her voice not to tremble and spoke in a deadly calm. “I am not just miffed, Richard. I was not just miffed when I found out what was going on. I was so angry that I felt like clawing your eyes out. Now, get out of my sight. I want nothing more to do with you. I thought I made that abundantly clear months ago. You’re disgusting and disreputable.” Megan pulled the syllables out slowly and over-enunciated each one. He thought he was a big shot…thought he could do anything, and hurt anyone and get away with it.

  “Meggie, Meggie, now I never said I was exclusively yours. You can’t blame a fellow for doing what he does best. Can’t I tell you how much I love you? You’re my best girl. It’s just that night—”

  Megan slapped her hands on the desk and stood so quickly that her desk chair flew back and fell over with a crash.

  “Get out of my sight, you pig. Now!” she ordered. She strained with the effort not to shout.

  “Meggie,” said Richard. He reached for her arm. “Can’t you see I’m wanting to make things right between us, that I’m willing to make things right, that I’m wishing to make things right despite your stubbornness?” He gave his little speech and a chilling hardness leeched through his voice.

  His hand latched onto Megan’s arm and pulled her toward him. Megan jerked her arm away and stepped back in an effort to avoid touching him. She trembled with rage. She glanced around the office hoping against hope that no one had noticed her outburst. She turned to Richard and stared at him without blinking.

  “Get away from my desk and away from me,” she hissed.

  “Is this man bothering you, Kennedy?” Jim righted her chair and moved to stand between Megan and Richard as though he could ward off the bad vibes the man sent out by the gigawatt.

  She closed her eyes for a second, offering up a prayer of thanks for her rescuer.

  ****

  Her face was ashen when she turned to Jim. It was crystal clear that she was afraid of this smug arrogant bastard. The man turned to Jim and simply stared with eyes colder than death.

  Jim stared back.

  “Kennedy, would you like me to ask the gentleman to leave?”

  Megan let out a king-sized breath. She turned to look at Jim gratefully.

  “No. I think the gentleman will leave under his own power.” She made sure the word gentleman had lost any of its niceties.

  “It’s not over, Meggie,” Richard spoke, but his gaze never left Jim’s.

  “Oh yes, it is, Richard. It’s been over for six months. Don’t contact me again. Because if you do, perhaps I’ll call your father and tell him you’re bothering me.”

  Richard visibly blanched before turning on his heel to leave the complex of offices. He stopped and glared at Jim for a moment more in the open doorway before he stepped through and disappeared from view.

  “Charming fellow,” Jim murmured.

  The man had said, “It’s not over, Meggie.” Richard’s comment was all too ominous. What had he been to Megan? Could you be that angry with someone and not have been a scorned lover?

  All Jim had to do was take one look at Megan’s stricken face to know that the guy had done plenty of damage. Richard was a type; the sort of man who was too slick for his own good. He had charm oozing from every pore. Jim hoped he could soothe Megan out of her hurt, maybe he could give her a hug and—

  Those thoughts came to a screeching halt. Over Megan’s shoulder he glimpsed Seamus scowling at him. This time the elf/angel stood, with hands on hips and his toe tapping, in front of a teeny, tiny gothic church. The leprechaun looked steamed, and for good measure shook his head. Jim raised his hand and with as unobtrusive a movement as possible, backhanded Seamus off his little tuft of magical grass, mimicking a fly-shooing movement. Jim turned his attention to Megan. She stared down at the top of the desk, idly picking up a file and then letting it drop. Finally, she sat and took a deep cleansing breath.

  “He’s scum,” she hissed under her breath.

  “Hey, I read you loud and clear. And don’t worry; he won’t bother you while I’m around. He’s the type that talks big around women, but is a wimp around men taller than he is, or smarter either.” Jim snapped his mouth shut, chagrined. Those were his own words that popped out of his mouth and sounded too, too, too over the top. He was not Sir Galahad, and Megan was a modern woman and would definitely not swoon and fall into his arms when he came to her rescue. That is, if she let him. A knight in shining armor, he was not. He was a man, plain and simple.

  “I hope you’re right.” Megan was too engrossed with her own thoughts to look at Jim. She watched the hallway door close behind Richard. Maybe, he’d escaped her corny meter. Hopefully, she hadn’t heard his boast after all.

  “Come on,” said Jim trying to change the subject along with Megan’s mood. “We’ll do an early lunch. I got the lowdown from your associate editor, and it’s time to travel a little.”

  “Travel?”

  “Yes, a place called Slee-go?”

  “Let me see. Oh, that’s a nice city on the coast. Sligo? Oh—it’s pronounced with a long ‘i’ as in sli-go. It boasts of being the most Irish of cities. Why are we going there?”

  “There was another murder last night.”

  “St. Joseph.”

  Jim watched Megan’s green eyes shrink to mere pin pricks. Murder was too close to home for her. She swallowed convulsively once and then turned all business. Her pretty heart shaped face turned up to him.

  “Do they think it’s the same man?”

  “Yes. The murder closely mimics the ones here in Dublin. The tourist falls where he stands, never knowing what hit him.” Jim looked at Megan’s puckered brow and wondered briefly how gutsy she was. Especially, since a mad serial killer was out there strangling any American he could find. He knew instinctively she had what it took. He felt it in his gut, that she could give as good as she got.

  “There must be a pattern. If we can decipher the pattern, we might be able to decide where he’s going next. You don’t think it’s a woman, do you?” She looked at Jim steadily.

  “No, not unless it’s a very tall woman with very strong arms,” Jim said.

  “You know the police have already got something worked up,” Megan said. “It isn’t likely that they’ll let us in on anything. No, we’re on our own to figure it all out, I’m afraid. Let’s go talk to the editor and make sure that we have an expense account for both of us. And a car. No Mercedes, mind you, but a car nonetheless. He’ll send us straightaway. It should take us about two hours, perhaps a little longer.”

  “Right, let’s go in together. That way if he gives you any grief, I can glare at him.”

  “Hardly think so, O’Flannery. He’ll scowl at you, too. Best offense is a good defense.”

  “Hey, you borrowed that from American football.”

  “Not likely, me lad. I got it from the real football or soccer, as you Yanks call it.” Her look of superiority said it all. “Don’t let Flynn think you know more than he does. Even if you do.” She gave Jim a playful jab in the arm.

  Chapter 9

  Megan dashed into her flat two hours before her usual arrival time. She came up short, a little embarrassed to find Teresa and a gentleman caller sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea.

  “Oh, sorry. I need to pack, T. Would you excuse her for a moment?” Megan asked.

  The man nodded and smiled as Teresa followed Megan into her room.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Everything.” Megan gave herself the luxury of placing her hands on her hips and taking a huge breath. Her mind was fuddled with this rapid chain of events, events that had caught her up and swept her along. She’d met the loveliest, the best looking, and the cleverest…enough! Megan shook her head,
looked up at Teresa, and completely switched mental gears.

  “There’s been another murder, but this time it’s in Sligo. The editor, ‘Our Mighty Flynn,’ is sending O’Flannery and yours truly. The Times has rented us a car and as soon as I’m packed, we’re off.”

  “You and that handsome O’Flannery stuck in a car together all the way to Sligo and then a hotel, ooh.”

  “Oh, don’t, T,” she said with a frown. “I’m off it you know. I can see he’s a handsome bloke, talented, very amiable, but really—how on earth can I get involved with him? I have to focus on my career. And,” she said, raising her brows at Teresa, “I have to finish this story.”

  “Very well, find the murderer and finish the story. But for heaven’s sake, don’t cut yourself off from life.” Teresa placed her hands on her curvaceous hips and turned her best and very genuine smile on Megan.

  Megan looked long and hard at her best and closest friend; Teresa was such a dear and good person. But her fanciful view of relationships and of eternal love was more like a movie script than real life. Teresa still thought a knight would come some day and sweep her off her feet and carry her off to some crystal palace in the sky. In the meantime, she had as much fun as possible and went out with as many different men as she wanted to. Megan heaved a deep sigh.

  “I promise I will keep my mind open, all right. Now, don’t let me forget anything. I’m positively fuddled.”

  ****

  Much to Jim’s dismay, the Times provided them with a car that felt no bigger than a skateboard. He climbed in through the left door, but the steering wheel turned out to be on the other side of the car.

  “Oh, I forgot,” he murmured, feeling just a bit disoriented.

  “Forgot what?” Megan moved behind the wheel. She turned the key and with her left hand put the car into first.

  “Left side. I may gasp and my knuckles may turn white from clutching the dashboard while I get used to riding on the wrong side of the road.”