Bel, Book, and Scandal

by Maggie McConnon

  “To a commune?” I asked.

  “It was hardly a commune by that point,” she said. “More like a summer camp for the lost.”

  She wasn’t the only one to characterize it like that. “And how did you hear about it?” I asked.

  “I got off the train in Wooded Lake and went into town. That’s where I met Tweed,” she said.

  “Your ex-husband.”

  “Sort of,” she said. “That wasn’t really legal. That was more of a Love Canyon ceremony. Archie wasn’t one for legalities.” She smiled. “He’s a nice guy. Tweed.”

  “He really is,” I said, thinking that the minute I got my answers from her I needed to see him. To apologize for not being honest, for dragging him into this mess. He had lied, too, but would understand that what we did we did to protect each other, and Amy, from the truth and what would happen if it got out.

  “And what about Archie?” I asked.

  “Ah, a lech, for sure,” she said. “He never laid a hand on me. Tweed saw to that.”

  “So why did you leave him? Tweed?” I asked.

  “We were kids. I was broken. It never would have lasted.” She looked down. “And there was the next guy,” she said, looking up, her mouth caught between a smile and a grimace at the memory.

  “Dave Southerland?”

  “Like I said, a rebound guy.”

  “He’s pretty pissed off.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t a great wife to him, either.” Her shoulders slumped, sadness coming out of her every pore. “I wasn’t a good friend to you, Bel. I kept secrets the whole time we were friends. I kissed Kevin that night and I still don’t know why.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty shitty,” I said.

  “And there was what I did to Dan Malloy. My relationship with him…”

  “The coach?” I asked, aghast. “Relationship?”

  “How do you think I got the money to leave?” she asked. “I went to him and asked him to get me out of town.” She laid it out for me. “He gave me five hundred dollars and a train ticket. That was enough to start over.”

  “But why would he do that? Why would he help a teenager leave town? Why didn’t he tell the police?”

  “He probably did.” She paused. “Think about it. Think about what you know now.” She looked at me and it was all there. She didn’t go any further about her “relationship” with Malloy but it was clear that something had happened. I didn’t want to know what. I had heard enough already.

  It all made a strange, perfect sense. That was just the sort of thing that Mary Ann’s father would have kept a secret so that his precious daughter remained blameless. And Malloy wouldn’t have raised it again for fear of being caught. It was a cover up inside of a ball of lies that seemingly had no end.

  “Was it, Bel?” Amy asked after a good five minutes of silence.

  I looked over at her.

  “Ruined?” she asked.

  “Pretty much,” I said.

  “So why did you come back?” she asked.

  “Because there was nowhere else to go,” I said. “There was nowhere else to hide from this.”

  On our way home, Amy, Kevin, and I having gone in different directions, something we had done a long time ago, I had one thought.

  We were too young to feel this old.

  CHAPTER Fifty-two

  So many secrets.

  Secrets in my family.

  Now secrets in our town.

  Amy carried the most secrets, keeping them close.

  I finally asked Amy where we went from here, but she didn’t answer because she didn’t know. Only time would tell if we could be friends again or even if we wanted to.

  When I got home, drained from our meeting, I e-mailed Dan Malloy and said that I was sorry, but we had double-booked the date of his daughter’s Sweet Sixteen and that he’d have to find another place. He never responded. To think that he had helped her escape and whatever else he had done, had been dumb enough to believe whatever story she had told him, was more than I could bear. I didn’t want to see him or his happy family. This was the Landing, though; it wasn’t big and there weren’t a lot of us. I was sure to see him again and I was still figuring what I would say to him to “encourage” him to retire, despite that event being a decade or more off for him. Blackmail really wasn’t my thing but neither was guys in their twenties having relationships with teens so when all was said and done, I sent another email a few weeks later that contained one line:

  I know everything.

  Duffy Dreyer, the reporter who had tried to unearth new evidence about Amy’s disappearance and was unsuccessful in doing so, e-mailed me no fewer than eight times, but I wasn’t talking. I instructed my family to keep her out if she came to the Manor. If she found me somewhere else, I would remain silent. I had done what she couldn’t do and I didn’t need to talk to her about it.

  I hadn’t spoken to Tweed Blazer since all had been revealed but knew that there would come a time when I would want to, would want to thank him for protecting her and keeping her safe. To maybe get back her dolphin charm. Eventually, days passed and everything started to return to normal, whatever that meant in the land of Shamrock Manor. I don’t think Mom was ever going to get over her girl crush on the woman she thought Mary Ann had been. And as we celebrated New Year’s dinner in the residence, all of us around the big hatch-cover table that Dad had built many years ago to accommodate his growing brood, the mood was less than joyous, even with the happy sounds of my nieces and nephews running around the place.

  There was a knock at the door and two of my brothers jumped up, Cargan and Derry both racing to let in whatever visitor was outside. I peeked around the corner from the kitchen, where I had stood over the stove trying desperately to fashion a gravy that just wasn’t coming together, my culinary skills also in a depression, it seemed. My brothers looked surprised to find both Brendan and Kevin standing there, the former holding a huge spray of flowers, the latter a giant bottle of bourbon.

  By the looks of things, Derry had invited Brendan and Cargan had invited Kevin; to what end I had no idea. I wiped my hands on my apron and went into the hallway.

  “Is this the ghosts of Christmases past, compliments of my ex-boyfriends?” I asked. “If my old fiancé walks in, I’m leaving.”

  Brendan thrust the flowers at me. “You’ve been through a lot. I just want you to know that I’ve been thinking of you.”

  I had been distant from him since that night of Amy and Mary Ann’s confrontation. I was holding back and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe the thought that he, too, had been there that night, a memory I had long repressed, had sullied the idea of him for me.

  Kevin handed me the bourbon. “My family’s not really talking to me right now. They’re ‘embarrassed,’” he said, air quoting the words and sounding like a teenager who’d been grounded.

  I don’t know if “embarrassed” really summed up how his family felt, but I let the word hang. The revelation about Mary Ann had probably ruined their Christmas and maybe more to come. I took in Kevin’s disheveled appearance, his slack jaw, and realized that he had partaken of some other kind of alcoholic beverage—or six—before arriving and I looked at Brendan. “Please tell me he didn’t drive.”

  “Found him wandering toward the Manor and picked him up,” Brendan said.

  Derry patted Kevin on the back. “Come on, friend. Let’s get you some coffee.”

  I didn’t want to disabuse Derry of the notion that coffee would help sober up a drunk person, but if it got Kevin out the room and away from the rest of my family’s prying eyes so be it. Let them have coffee. I put Brendan’s flowers on the counter, grabbed my sweater, and took him by the hand. “Let’s go outside.” I heard Mom call out a halfhearted, “But we’re eating soon!” as the door slammed behind me, Brendan and I going to the patio behind the Manor and taking a seat on the cold, stone steps that faced the barren Foster’s Landing River.

  He was visibly upset. “I haven’t heard one single, soli
tary word from you since…”

  “Since Amy came back?” I said. “You’re right. I am still processing everything that happened. I kind of needed to be alone with that.” Why did I do this? Why did I push him away with regularity? Was it because I had been so wounded by Kevin, by my ex-fiancé, Ben? Sitting here at the back of the Manor, the sun already set, the air frigid, I wondered what it was that made me sabotage this relationship at every turn. Would I continue to do that?

  “You are?” he said. “Well, so am I.” He shook his head. “You are one selfish person, Belfast McGrath.”

  “I’m not selfish, Brendan, but I am self-preserving.”

  “Whatever that means.” He turned and put his big hands on both sides of my face. “Don’t let yourself harden to this. To me.”

  He was right. I had hardened and I wasn’t sure why. Amy was wrong about me; I wasn’t as soft as she thought. “I don’t know if you have time to wait for me to thaw out. To soften up.”

  He dropped his hands. “I just have to know if you love me. Like I love you.”

  CHAPTER Fifty-three

  Before I knew it, it was spring and then the month of May, which started a busy time at Shamrock Manor. And the end of the month arrived at top speed. I opened the local paper and scanned it for the latest news. The front page held a story about a beloved coach and teacher, one Dan Malloy, who had put in his papers and was retiring at the end of the month, a move to North Carolina in his future. He was “changing careers,” and heading South to start a new life. You can run, Dan, I thought, but you’ll never hide.

  Erin Crawford and Fez—surname unknown—got a beautiful day for their wedding and everyone was at the battle stations, awaiting their arrival. May was in the kitchen putting the final touches on the cheese tray and the boys were on the stage, tuning their instruments, looking as happy as they could given their “creative differences.”

  The Crawford/Bergerons, one of the happiest blended families I had ever seen, arrived at four o’clock sharp. On second thought, they were the happiest family I had ever seen, mother and stepmother, father and stepfather, all happily talking to one another and their guests, Bobby Crawford finally looking relaxed and content, the wedding of his daughter now a done deal, no turning back. Over the last several months, Alison and I had become true friends and I had even met her in the city a few times for drinks and dinner, though never at The Monkey’s Paw. That part of my life was over and I was embracing my new one with gusto. It seemed that having a friend made all the difference and with the reappearance of Amy, whose adult self was still unknown to me, maybe someday I would have two.

  As for my love life, I had softened. And he had waited.

  Alison knocked at the kitchen door before entering. “I don’t want to interrupt, but I did want to say hi,” she said, not entering the kitchen, which was its usual wedding-day beehive of activity.

  “You can come in,” I said, “but be careful not to get too close to anything. You look like a babe, Alison!” And she did, clad in a champagne-colored raw-silk pantsuit, her hair straightened and a blush-colored wrap around her shoulders.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You’d be shocked to learn, I’m sure, that most mother-of-the-bride dresses made me look like Bea Arthur. Big gals shouldn’t wear sequins. Or a gown. So, I got special dispensation from the bride to wear a pantsuit.”

  “So glad you did,” I said. “I would give you a hug but…” I waved my hand around the kitchen, food and all things that could stain her outfit everywhere around us. “Well, food.”

  “Gotcha,” she said. “Will you come out and join us for a glass of wine at some point?” She grimaced a little. “I still feel kind of weird that you’re cooking in here and we’ll be out there partying. We’re friends now and it just doesn’t seem right.”

  “There’s no place I’d rather be,” I said. “But I will come out when things wind down.”

  Alison turned and started for the foyer but poked her head in one more time. “You’ve got a visitor,” she said, smiling.

  I wiped my hands on a dish towel and smoothed down my apron. Life had changed a lot in the last several months and for the better and I had found a way to let myself soften. To love. I walked toward the foyer, but the visitor, as Alison had called him, was already on the way in, his hard shoes in his hand, ready for a spin on the dance floor, his favorite place to be.

  I looked at Brendan and my heart felt a little fuller, fully thawed. “Hi there, handsome.”

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks titles by Maggie McConnon

  Wedding Bel Blues

  Bel of the Brawl

  Bel, Book and Scandal

  Titles by Maggie Barbieri

  Murder 101

  Extracurricular Activities

  Quick Study

  Final Exam

  Third Degree

  Physical Education

  Extra Credit

  Once upon a Lie

  Praise for Maggie McConnon’s Bel McGrath mystery series

  BEL OF THE BRAWL

  “Don’t wait until St. Patrick’s Day to read this delicious mystery!”

  —Nancy Martin

  “Top Chef meets Sherlock Holmes to cook up a delightful menu of mystery, humor, and romance … Maggie McConnon knows the secret of concocting the perfect soufflé of fun. Bon Appetit!”

  —Evelyn David, author of Mind Over Murder

  WEDDING BEL BLUES

  “A hilarious entry into a new series starring protagonist Belfast McGrath … This mystery is fun, light-hearted, and definitely surprising, making it a great summer read.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

  “Dorothy Cannell readers will savor this tasty starter to a culinary series.”

  —Library Journal

  “McConnon has a surefire winner in Bel: a saucy, funny, flawed protagonist that readers are guaranteed to fall in love with.”

  —Susan McBride, USA Today bestselling author of Say Yes to the Death

  “McConnon creates fetching characters drawn with warm humor and an authentic Irish voice. Bel McGrath will leave you smiling.”

  —Nancy Martin, New York Times bestselling author of the Blackbird Sisters mysteries

  “McConnon blends humor and intrigue like no other.”

  —Laura Bradford, author of A Churn for the Worse

  “Spirited, fun, and as Irish as a shamrock, Wedding Bel Blues sparkles. A rollicking read.”

  —Carolyn Hart, New York Times bestselling author of the Death on Demand mysteries and the Bailey Ruth Ghost mysteries

  “With dark family secrets, old flames, mysterious strangers and the odd dead body or two, McConnon has delivered a perfect blend of villainy and intrigue with laugh-out-loud witty one-liners and lashings of Irish bonhomie. A jolly good summer read.”

  —Hannah Dennison

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MAGGIE MCCONNON grew up in New York immersed in Irish culture and tradition. A former Irish stepdancer, she was surrounded by a family of Irish musicians who still play at family gatherings. She credits her Irish grandparents with providing the stories of their homeland and their extended families as the basis for the stories she tells in her Belfast McGrath novels. Maggie McConnon is a pseudonym for Maggie Barbieri, who is the author of eleven other mystery and suspense novels including the Murder 101 series and Once Upon a Lie, Lies That Bind, and Lie in Plain Sight. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter
Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Also by Maggie McConnon

  Praise for Maggie McConnon’s Bel McGrath mystery series

  About the Author

  Copyright