They finished their meal and Jim asked the waitress directions to the constabulary, the police station. He paid the bill along with a generous tip. They braved the cold outside and huddled under umbrellas. The few passersby they asked along the way helped finding the address the waitress had given them.
They climbed into the little car and before they could buckle up, Megan looked over her shoulder with a sharp intake of breath.
“What is it, Kennedy?”
“I can feel it. Feel someone watching me.”
Jim looked through the windshield sheeting rain and saw no one. Jim patted her hand doing his best not to sound like a dweeb. “You’re likely spooked because of these murders. Don’t you think? Don’t worry; I’ve got your back.”
“Oh really, O’Flannery, you are full of yourself, aren’t you? You patronizing so and so.”
“Sorry, I sounded a bit pompous, huh?” Jim laughed aloud and Megan joined in. The ominous feeling of doom dissipated and floated away.
****
He leaned slightly toward the right and watched the car putter down the street. So she was sharing a room with the bloke. But she couldn’t be. It had taken him too long to get into her bed. She couldn’t be in love with that Yank. No, she still loved him. Yes, he knew she did.
He’d show her in every way he could how much he loved her. He’d be famous and then she wouldn’t be able to help herself, she’d be so much in love. Richard’s rushing thoughts slowed to a crawl.
First, he’d take care of that Yank. He’d have to be careful, though. If he was caught too soon, then Da would be very upset. Very upset. His father would hit and yell and snarl. The things he said, the demeaning slurs, hurt more than the beatings.
And then the expectation of horror, the angst, more horrible than the horror itself, would overwhelm him.
He wiped his face covered with nervous sweat despite the frigid, rainy night. The thought of his old man, just the thought of him, made him shiver.
He turned toward the hotel. He still had his room. He’d keep a watch. Maybe he could get to the bloke later tonight, and then Meggie would be his forever. Yes, they would be together forever.
****
“And I’ll give you the statement again, miss, ‘We have no statement.’ ” The gnarled-up old man leaned forward over the desk, using his body and the finger of his right hand for emphasis.
“But, Sergeant, surely you can give us at least the location of the murder and the names of a few witnesses?” Megan persisted. The tiny police station was a long, narrow room, with benches on each side. Above the benches, bulletin boards crowded with memos, pictures, and handwritten ads of all types hung from the walls. One door behind the sergeant’s chest-high counter led to a hallway. Several doors, offices Jim supposed, fed off the hallway. The jail itself was a separate building accessed by a covered walkway from the station. He and Megan would no doubt be kept from that area.
The officer’s three gold chevrons vibrated just a little with his level of annoyance and the handlebar mustache he sported was so dotty and old fashioned, that watching it took the sting out of the glare he gave Megan. “Sergeant, Mr. O’Flannery has come all the way from Boston, in America, to do a story on this killer. There must be something you can share with us that won’t compromise your investigation.”
“Aye, there is,” the sergeant said with a scowl. He stood and extended his already extended arm and pointed at the door. “But I’m not giving it to you. Goodnight.”
“Come on, Kennedy, we Americans have our ways. They call it American ingenuity.” Jim smiled at the sergeant and pulled Megan from the room. He glanced around when they reached the outer lobby. He saw a boy of about sixteen lounging near the washroom and nonchalantly moved up to the boy.
“Hey, kid,” he said quietly, looking away from the boy. The boy tensed. Jim knew he was listening. “Ya wanna make twenty American dollars?”
“Jay-sus, too right, mate.”
“Take us to where the murder was committed last night and give any information you know.”
“Is it all then? Foller me.” The boy latched onto Jim’s top secret mode of behavior, and practically slithered out the door ahead of them.
“O’Flannery, I don’t think—”
“Never mind, Kennedy. This is how an investigative reporter works.”
Jim and the boy moved quickly down the rain-slicked sidewalk, and Megan scrambled to catch up.
The teenager led them two blocks in the rain that had by now turned into a wringing mist. They turned down an alleyway next to a noisy bar.
The upper end of the alley, deserted and silent, was cordoned off, but no policemen were standing guard. The area was dank and gloomy, and even the leaves, sodden with rain, made no sound.
Jim took a small digital camera out of his pocket and took a few shots from different angles. He concentrated on his picture-taking, successfully blocking everything else out.
Megan looked about anxiously, sure that the police would come any minute and throw the two of them in jail for obstructing an investigation.
She rocked from one foot to the other as she wiped away the drizzle dripping into her eyes and nervously muttered to herself. What exactly was she doing here?
The silence began to press in on her, so Megan turned her attention to the boy. She’d have to get to work. Maybe talking to the teenager would help get her mind off her nerves. “Can you tell us who the murdered man was?”
“Ah, no. He was a big chap and talked funny like one of those, er—” The boy ducked his head in thought for a moment. “Oh yeah, one of them American southerners.”
Jim looked up and grinned at the boy. The boy’s thick accent kept Jim wondering what exactly he had said.
“Lots of actors and musicians around, huh?” Jim asked between shots.
“Cor, yeah. This time o’ the year ya can hardly take a piss without it being on an arteest,” the boy said, tilting his head up dramatically. The kid looked at Megan and then shrugged his shoulders, obviously not caring if he offended by his language or not.
Jim laughed to himself and shook his head while he finished shooting the pictures. He came back to Megan and their “informant.” “Come on, we’ll walk you back to the station.”
“What are you doing out, anyway?” Megan asked, knowing it was none of her business.
“Me da’s a policeman, and I just brung him his supper.”
“Isn’t your mother expecting you?”
“Oh, aye, I suspect I’d best get on home. I thank you for the quid. Easiest money I ever earned.”
“Hey, kid, what’s your name? In case we have to get in touch.”
“Freddy, Freddy Nolan,” he said and then sprinted away in the dark.
“Two hours in town and I already have a paid informant. Sometimes I astound even myself,” said Jim, rocking back on his heels and looking decidedly pleased.
“Well, if your head’s not too big to fit inside the car, shall we go back to the hotel?”
“Right.”
****
They made their way back toward the strand in the car. The tires slushed against the sopping wet pavement in the heavy mist. Within minutes, the light drizzle that had been with them for the afternoon turned into a deluge. Megan slowed the car to a crawl until finally they reached the hotel.
They sat watching the rain sheet the windshield after the sound of the engine died into nothingness. The sound drummed on the top of the car so loudly they didn’t even try to make conversation. Megan looked straight ahead; what she was thinking, Jim couldn’t even begin to guess. He put his arm around her and drew her closer. She fit nicely in the crook of his arm. His thoughts raged as violently as the rain hitting the car, and his body reacted to her nearness.
Jim lightly cupped her chin in his fingers and turned her head. He gazed at her, trying to read her expression.
The rain poured down as Jim’s mouth slowly descended on Megan’s. Her lips were warm and soft and the chaste kiss sent a thrill thr
ough him like he had never known. His arms pulled her closer and his lips moved with increasing pressure. He could feel her resistance, and then slowly, her compliance. His hand moved to tangle in her hair. He drew his fingers through the softness of it. Then his hand moved down her arm and onto her thigh, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her zap him like an electrical charge. He—
“There’ll be no patty fingers, if you please. We’ll wait at least for the Banns to be read. No patty fingers.”
Chapter 11
Jim’s eyes shot open and his mouth froze in mid-smooch. He pulled his head back from Megan’s and slowly withdrew his hand. She sat with her head poised to one side and her eyes closed. She opened them slowly, looking dazed, and then almost immediately, she sat up, straightened her clothes, and patted her hair into place.
“Wha—what happened?”
Jim cleared his throat and looked out of the corner of his eye for Seamus. The very sneaky little angel had chosen to be conspicuously invisible.
“Umm, well, I didn’t want to get too carried away with us being forced to share a room and everything.”
Megan looked properly embarrassed and hurriedly turned away to look out the window.
I thought you wanted to restore my faith by making me fall in love, Seamus. His mind reverberated with the thought. Well, I think it’s about time you high-tailed it back from whence you came. I am not going to fall for this woman and earn you your wings. You’ll just have to find another way. Go find some other poor stooge to pick on. I refuse to get involved with a woman who lives an ocean apart from me. I refuse to get involved with a woman. Period. I must have taken leave of my senses, so blast off, ol’ buddy.
Jim pulled his arms down by his sides and sat for a moment, feeling the palpable tension inside the car.
What could he say to her? What should he say to her? He’d acted on impulse. This over-powering impulse was just the sort of thing that always got him, and every other man on the planet, into trouble. But this was different. There was something so electrifying about being near her. She was more than a little desirable, much more. He had to say something, anything, or she’d think he had no control over keeping his hands to himself.
“Megan, I’m sorry.” He looked down at his hands and then tried to look anywhere but in those lovely green eyes. “I seemed to have gotten carried away with the moment.” He sounded lame; he was lame, and he was acting like a complete dweeb. It would be comforting and convenient to blame it all on Seamus. But he just couldn’t. He was responsible for his actions, plain and simple.
****
Megan turned and peeked over at him, but just for a fleeting second. She was the one who’d gotten carried away. She’d been carried away by a knight on a white charger right to the hilltop. He’d laid her down in a field of wild flowers and then—and then—he’d thrown a bucket of cold water on her. Megan expelled an exasperated breath and leaned her head against the seat back. She’d obviously taken leave of her senses. What was she doing being overwhelmed by this man’s phenomenal kisses? She wouldn’t have it. She was much too levelheaded for all of this nonsense. Megan released another pent-up breath. No use letting him in on her frustration.
“Well.” Jim straightened in the seat. “I think the rain’s slowing down. Shall we?”
“All right.”
They both dashed from the car and raced into the lobby.
“Why don’t you go on ahead and get ready for be—um, and use that little bath near the stair. I’ll be up soon. There are a few things I want to e-mail to Boston.” Jim looked at her, but he could feel the tell-tale signs of blood rushing to his face, so he ducked his head as he backed away, waved quickly, turned, and headed into the bar.
Megan watched him retreat into the pub. He was such a beautiful man; she could sit and look at him all the day. Good grief, ah bollocks! Had she quite taken leave of what senses she still possessed? His kisses had the power to drive her to absolute distraction. She shook her head to clear the thoughts from her mind and trudged up to the attic, hoping to find a bath near the stairs.
Perhaps the bath had a cold shower she could use.
****
“Iggy, I’m worred out. These stupid children have no notion of love and commitment to God and Church. Ah, no, they don’t. It’s grand to act out the marriage with no priest. I tell ya it makes me blood run cold, it does,” said Seamus, watching the two “children” from his vantage point on a cloud. He shook his head and felt like the entire world weighed down on his shoulders. Had he failed? Had he been too flippant, too arrogant in his posing as a leprechaun to keep what mattered—what was most important—in the foreground? He slumped down into the cloud, bits of the swirling mist settling about his face, hiding it, he hoped, from Iggy. Too ashamed he was to admit defeat.
“But Seamus lad, it’s the modern times, it is, and things like those aren’t thought of as rebellious as they once were. And yes, I’ve read your thoughts; you have been arrogant to think that all you had to do was snap your fingers and Jim would fall in line. Human beings are a complicated lot. You’ve been in Heaven so long you’ve quite forgot.”
“But I think all of this patty fingers business will cloud the boy’s judgment.”
“Nay, nay. It is a dance that is as old as time itself. Really Seamus, you must let nature and the affairs of the heart take their own course. You needn’t orchestrate everything.
“Now, my next idea for you is to show them a movie of the future. Show them each what an idyllic life it could be—trusting their hearts to one another.” The little angel held his hands over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes in fake rapture while Seamus stood in a fuddle. He tapped his toe and sent bits of cloud floating off into the great chasm at the silly Ignatius. “Now, here is the projector, and the boys in the ad department have made a beautiful little movie to show them. Wait till they’re asleep and then have at it, so to speak. Well, Seamus, good luck to ya.”
Ignatius hopped a quickly moving cloud and waved. Seamus waved back and then turned to gaze at the boxy-looking contraption. The sign on the end glowed. “Touch me,” it said. Seamus did.
“You may start the film at any time,” said a mechanical voice creaking from inside the contraption.
“St. Colum! What will they think of next?”
****
Jim sat in the enclosed phone booth fingering his long distance calling card. If his grandma had managed to get in touch with her deacon, maybe she had some news. He quickly calculated that Grandma was in the middle of watching her evening quiz show, and hoped she wouldn’t mind the interruption.
“Hi, Grandma, are you watching Jeopardy? I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Oh, Jimmy. So grand to hear your voice. Never mind about the silly show. It comes on again at ten thirty just before the news so I can catch up then.”
“Good. Have you spoken to Deacon O’Boyle? I could use some help in this angel business.”
“I did speak to him the very next day after you called. I tried to explain to him all that was going on and what the little leprechaun said about helping you out of your malaise and that he was there to save you. I hope I got that right?”
“As far as I can figure, he has come because: a. helping me will help him earn his wings; b. he thinks I’m going to go to Hell if I don’t straighten up and regain my faith by falling in love; and c. he’s decided that Megan Kennedy is the one that I should get hooked up with. That getting married is supposed to save me. Kind of black and white, don’t you think? Human beings are a little deeper than that. Me falling in love and getting married to some Irish journalist is going to save me from Hell? Now, how could such a generalized and generic statement actually have originated ‘in the great beyond’?”
“I think that’s the crux of what I told him, the deacon, that is. He said he’s never heard of such a thing before but that it could theoretically happen. Now, what book he gets all those notions from, I’m sure I don’t know. ‘There are greater things i
n Heaven than can be dreamt of in your philosophy,’ or some such thing. At any rate, he said he’s going to contact a friend in the Bishop’s office that is supposed to be well read on personages from Heaven. But as I said, during our last call; leprechauns are spirits of earth and angels are spirits of Heaven. How the two could be one and the same, I’m hard pressed to figure out.”
“Oh brother!”
“Aye, so here’s the plan. Deacon O’Boyle will be contacting his friend, but in the meantime, he says I must say a novena for the safety of your soul. But I think I shall be adding some prayers about you and this nice young woman. Now wouldn’t it be grand to have a Kennedy in the family?”
“Grandma, please don’t get ahead of yourself. We like each other, sure, we respect each other professionally, but I don’t know if it’s going to go past that. She is very pretty, that’s certain. But I don’t want to set myself up for another fall. I just got out of the world’s worst relationship with Angela. I’ve been asked by my editor to write these articles with Megan, and I can’t let anything get in the way of my concentrating on that. Angels and love and all that is grand, but I sure can’t eat it or pay my rent with it.”
“It’s true, Jimmy, that it is. But the matters of the soul and heart are a part of you as well. You are made up of three parts, intellectual, spiritual, and physical. If you ignore one, then the others parts suffer. All three must be in balance to keep you happy.”
“Okay, Grandma. Please let me know what you find out. I’ll call you in a few days. Give Mom a big kiss for me and tell her I’ll bring her something nice from Ireland.”
“Grand, grand.”
“But, Grandma, besides Deacon O’Boyle, I think maybe we ought to keep all this leprechaun business to ourselves. We don’t want anyone to think the O’Flannery’s are any crazier than usual.”
“Right you are, Jimmy,” his grandmother said with a laugh. “I’ll talk to you in a few days. I love you, sleep well.”
“Night, Grandma, love you too.”
Jim hung up the phone and rested his forehead against the receiver. Maybe he’d make a trip to a church here in town himself. Couldn’t hurt to flex those spiritual muscles every once in a while. But now, sleep.
The Wild Mountain Thyme Page 9
