Irish Secrets

by Paula Martin

  "Aye, it seems Conor is his brother-in-law." He took another slurp of his drink. "Do you suppose Liz realises he's married with six kids?"

  Chapter 10

  Kara stared at him. "Are you sure?"

  "Paddy mentioned his sister and her six kids the last time I talked with him, and tonight he referred to Conor as his brother-in-law. Draw your own conclusions."

  "Oh, no," she breathed. The memory of the day she found out about Mark Rankin's wife returned in sharp focus. She looked helplessly at Ryan. "I'll have to tell Liz, won't I?"

  "On second thoughts, perhaps not, because the evidence is circumstantial. Paddy may have half a dozen brothers-in-law, for all we know."

  "That's true. Maybe I need to think of a subtle way of suggesting she checks out whether he is what he says he is."

  Ryan nodded. "He's a builder, you said?"

  "Yes, I think Liz recommended him to Guy when he was looking for someone to renovate the cottage." She looked across at the man standing at the bar counter. "And my guess is he has a pretty successful business."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "His suit looks expensive, and I'm sure that's an Armani shirt. Perhaps he's had some lucrative contracts for hotel renovations."

  "I'm impressed by your deductions."

  "One of my friends is an expert in fabrics and fibres, and she taught me a lot."

  "Does that mean you know how much I paid for my jeans?"

  "I'd have to examine them under a microscope."

  He laughed and squeezed her hand. "Not while I'm wearing them, I hope, but I'll save you the trouble. Eighty Euros from Arnott's in Dublin."

  "Do you often go to Dublin?"

  "Not so much as I used to."

  "My aunt and I flew into Dublin just before Christmas. We only had a day there, but took a quick trip around the city on one of the tourist buses. I loved all the elegant squares with the Georgian houses."

  "I'd like to take you there sometime, and show you some of my favourite places. The Casino at Merino, for example."

  "Casino?"

  Ryan chuckled. "Not the kind with roulette and blackjack. In this case, casino means a small casa or house, and it's a beautiful Neo-Classical house, much bigger inside than you expect from its exterior. And of course there's Glasnevin cemetery, where many of our Irish patriots and writers are buried. Oh, and I think you'd like The Little Museum of Dublin on Stephen's Green, too."

  "That all sounds awesome, but—"

  "But what?"

  Kara hesitated. With Ryan's arm around her and his warm hand resting over hers on his thigh, she was reluctant to disrupt what had so far been a fun evening, but there was something she needed to know. She turned so that her eyes met his. "I'm a little confused right now. When we were at Lough Derg the other week, you said this was the wrong time for you. What did you mean?"

  Ryan's gaze rested on her as he stroked the back of her hand. "Whatever I meant doesn't matter because I've changed my mind. Wrong time, right time, who knows? The important thing is that I like you, and I think you like me."

  Her wildly racing heart was enough evidence that 'like' was a complete understatement. "Yes, I do, and I liked the way you called me my girl earlier."

  "Is that what you want? To be my girl?"

  She smiled. "I guess I do."

  "In that case, let's dance again, so I can hold you, and maybe even risk another kiss."

  Holding her hand, he led her to the dance floor. The musicians started to play Whiskey in the Jar, and he did several quick Irish dance steps.

  Kara's eyes lit up. "You didn't tell me you could do Irish dancing."

  "Learnt it at school. Your turn, now."

  After a glance around, she dropped her hands to her sides, straightened her shoulders, and did some of the steps she remembered. Her soft-soled sandals had less effect than Ryan's leather soles on the wooden floor, and she grinned at him. "I haven't done that for years."

  "You could have fooled me. You're a natural."

  He pulled her to him with one arm around her waist, and clapped his other hand against hers in time to the beat while they sang the words of the chorus along with everyone else in the bar.

  Another fast song followed, and Kara laughed as they joined in a hand- and knee-clapping routine with some of the other dancers. The next tune, one she didn't know, was slower, and when Ryan put his arms around her, she leant against him, thrilling to the feel of his firm body and the warmth of his cheek against her temple, and listening as he sang the words softly in Irish.

  At the end, she looked up at him. "What were you singing?"

  "My Lovely Rose of Clare." He kissed her cheek. "And I'm not translating the words for you. You'll have to look them up."

  "Another song about dying or getting drunk?"

  "No deaths, no drunks, not even any fighting. Just a sweet song about falling in love."

  The gentle smile in his eyes brought goose bumps to Kara's skin. She wasn't sure what to say, and instead reached up to give his mouth a brief kiss. In response, he held her tightly against him, while his tongue caressed her lips like a warm feather, sending arrows of desire shooting along her veins. He'd all but admitted he was falling in love with her, and the fluttering in her stomach told her everything she needed to know about her own feelings.

  For the remaining songs, they swayed together with his arms around her lower back and her hands linked at the back of his neck. Shivers of excitement, like small electric shocks, fluttered through her whenever he dropped small kisses near her ear. The world receded until nothing existed but him and all the delicious sensations shimmering through her body.

  "That's all for tonight, folks," called the accordionist after the group had played Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go?

  Reluctantly, Kara broke away and glanced at her watch. "Gosh, it's eleven o'clock."

  "Is that a problem for you?"

  "No, not at all, but I can't believe how time has flown this evening."

  "Will I call for our taxi now?"

  She sighed. "I guess so. I have a busy few days ahead, so I mustn't be too late."

  They only had to wait about five minutes until the taxi arrived, and they chatted to Ben, Ryan's colleague, on the short trip to Mist Na Mara.

  "Will I wait for you here, Ryan?" Ben asked as he pulled up outside the house.

  Ryan shook his head. "No need. I'll walk back."

  "Okay, see you tomorrow."

  "You're walking back to Clifden?" Kara said as Ben drove off.

  "Aye, after driving around from eight until six today, I need some fresh air."

  "Would you like to come in for coffee or something first?"

  He grinned. "I must admit I'm very tempted by the 'or something' offer, but no, you have to work tomorrow, and so have I."

  He bent forward to kiss her, a kiss that deepened until her head began to swim and her knees threatened to give way. His left arm held her tightly against him while his right hand bunched up her hair as he gripped the back of her head. Helplessly, she parted her lips, and his tongue slid between them, sensuously playing with hers. Arousal pooled in her lower stomach, flooding her with warmth, and she pressed her body against his. The hard bulge in his jeans caused a white-hot flame of longing to shoot through her.

  Breathless when he eventually released her, she gazed up at him. There was enough light from the two wall lamps on either side of the front door for her to see the hooded desire in his eyes.

  He drew in a ragged breath. "I'd better go."

  She nodded although she wished he wasn't leaving. "When will I see you again?"

  "Definitely Friday next week, if you still want a lift to Galway to meet Sister Gabriel, but I'll call you once I know my shifts."

  "Okay."

  After he'd given her another gentle kiss, Kara watched him as he set off across the forecourt and down the sloping driveway toward the gate. Only when he disappeared around the bend in the drive did she hug herself and smile as she gazed up at the s
tar-studded night sky. Tonight had been a good night.

  * * * * *

  Ryan hummed the song as he strode down the drive, and the words flitted through his head.

  You are the sunshine of my life,

  So beautiful and fair,

  And I will always love you,

  My lovely rose of Clare.

  Maybe it was too soon to be thinking of love, but the more he saw of Kara, the more attracted he was to her. Easy to talk to, fun to be with, and the most genuine and uncomplicated woman he had ever met, despite her bad experience with the New York cop. Whether she'd ever find anything more about her mother's family was debatable, but he was happy to help her with the search. She probably knew the odds were stacked against her without him repeating what Declan had told him, that less than one percent of Irish adopted babies ever managed to trace their birth mothers, or vice versa.

  Meantime, he had other things to think about, and he glanced around as he approached the visitors' car park near the gate. Down here, away from the house, everything was dark and silent. He pulled his pen flashlight from the inside pocket of his jacket, and flicked the beam around the shrubbery that shielded the old cottage. Wincing when the gravel crunched beneath his feet as he crossed the car park, he reached the bushes and pushed his way through a narrow gap between two tall shrubs.

  Rough grass surrounded back of the cottage, and he let the beam of his flashlight travel along its one-storey length. Built of uneven grey stones in the traditional style, its pitched roof had probably been thatched in the past, but was now slated, and the small window was boarded up.

  Hoping there might be some gap in the boards to allow him to see inside, he moved closer and flicked his light up and down, but without any success. The boards were modern, with not even a knothole to give him any view into the interior.

  A flash of car headlights rooted him to the spot. The car went up the driveway to the house, two doors slammed, and a couple of voices carried in the still night air. Only after several minutes of silence did he let himself relax and breathe normally again when the car's occupants had obviously entered the house. He negotiated his way around to the front of the cottage. His flashlight showed an off-centre wooden door, with three more boarded windows, two to the right of the door, one to the left, but again, no gaps.

  He was about to return to the car park, when his flashlight caught something white in the grass at the end of the cottage. Shining the light downwards, he bent and picked up a smartphone. His heart rate quickened. Now things were getting interesting. The phone could either provide a lead to someone involved in the racket, or could confirm his suspicions about the cottage being used to store the stolen goods.

  He flicked the light around in case there was anything else in the grass and, when he spotted tyre tracks, he gave a satisfied nod. This must be where the van had come the day it disappeared.

  How it got here was less certain, and his mind weighed up the alternatives. In the dark, he could flounder around for hours, searching for more tracks. The obvious solution was to come here in daylight, but then he risked being seen. Unless he suggested a walk with Kara from Mist Na Mara across the fields to the shore.

  As soon as his mind framed the idea, he tried to justify it. Enya's instructions had been to find out what he could about the builder and about Mist Na Mara. He was being paid well to do this job, and he needed to investigate how the van reached the cottage. Alone, he might attract attention to himself, whereas being with Kara would divert any suspicions. They'd simply be a couple taking an evening stroll, and he'd enjoy that, even without any ulterior motive. It would be good to wander down to the bay with her, hand-in-hand, stopping every so often to kiss, and watching the sunset with their arms around each other…

  By the time he arrived in Clifden, he'd convinced himself he could merge both Kara and his job without feeling guilty. Especially if the weather improved next week, which the forecasters were promising.

  Meantime, he had a couple more ideas to follow up.

  * * * * * *

  On Monday morning, he removed the taxi sign from the top of his car, and drove out toward Mist Na Mara at seven-thirty, on what promised to be a beautiful day. The clear blue sky was a welcome change after the low cloud, squally rain, and cold wind of the previous week.

  Hopefully the better weather was a good omen after the frustrating few days he'd spent calling every builder or construction engineer on the list Declan had provided for him. Pretending to be searching for an old school friend called Conor—Sorry, can't remember his surname but I know he went into the building trade somewhere in Connemara—he'd drawn a blank. The only Conor working with any builder in a fifteen mile radius of Clifden was a seventeen-year-old apprentice. Which meant the Conor he needed was based further afield, or wasn't a builder, or – he allowed himself a grim chuckle – wasn't using his real name.

  Plan A had failed, but hopefully Plan B would yield some result. If he could find a place to hide in the shrubbery, he might be able to snap some photos of the van or even Conor himself outside the cottage. Not that this would give him enough evidence to move in for the kill, but at least it would be a start, especially now Enya had confirmed that the phone he found outside the cottage had been reported as stolen by a man who'd visited Clifden a couple of weeks earlier.

  He parked on the grass verge of the main road about a hundred yards from the junction, and strode down the narrower lane to the open gateway of Mist Na Mara. There were over a dozen vehicles in the visitors' car park near the gate, presumably belonging to the residents attending the arts weekend Kara had mentioned.

  After a quick check to ascertain no one was approaching the car park from the house, he slid through the gap in the shrubbery he'd used the previous week.

  His eyes widened at the sight of the scaffolding that had been erected around the cottage. Obviously the restoration work was about to start and, judging by the poor state of the roof, it would take some time. The big question was whether the stolen goods would be stored inside while the repairs were carried out.

  He surveyed the area, searching for a hiding place. A few yards to the left of the end wall of the cottage, the remains of an old dry stone wall, about three feet high in places where it hadn't collapsed, would shield him from view, but wouldn't give him the opportunity to take any photos. Behind it, however, were more shrubs. He stepped over a crumbling section of the wall and pushed his way between the bushes.

  Eventually he found a spot behind a couple of shrubs, and crouched down, with one knee resting on the damp soil to steady himself. From this vantage point, he could see through the branches and leaves to the area at the front of the cottage where he'd noticed the tyre tracks. The ground there was now far more churned up than he'd seen it the previous week, presumably from the truck that must have delivered the scaffolding.

  He checked his watch. Seven-fifty-five a.m. Paddy's name was on the list for the run to Roscommon today so, assuming he was being dropped off at the taxi office at eight as usual, the white van should arrive here in about fifteen minutes.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and tried a few shots through different gaps in the leaves, moving one small branch sideways to give him a better view.

  He settled to wait, and wished he'd brought something to kneel on when the damp seeped through the thick fabric of his jeans. Who would have guessed that being a cop was a sure way to develop rheumatism?

  Exactly fifteen minutes later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine approaching. Easing himself up from his low crouch to a position where he could see through the bushes to the front of the cottage, he waited and listened. The vehicle approached and passed him, travelling down the lane behind him which he couldn't see because of the thick shrubs. It seemed to be heading for Leary's farm instead of turning into the grounds of Mist Na Mara.

  Then the sound became louder again, and a couple of minutes later, the white van appeared at the front of the cottage. Okay, so that meant ther
e must be some access from the farm.

  He took a quick photo, and ducked down when the engine was switched off and both doors opened.

  "Start unloading the stuff," a man's voice said. "And for Jaysus' sake, don't drop any of the boxes, Tommy."

  He ventured a peek through the branches and recognised Conor, who was surveying the roof, now wearing denim dungarees instead of his expensive suit. A younger man, no more than about seventeen or eighteen, opened the back doors of the van and started to lift cardboard boxes out.

  As he took several photos, it occurred to him that this was a futile exercise. There was nothing incriminating about a builder and his mate unloading building supplies outside a cottage that was clearly in need of repair.

  When Conor and the youth went inside, he eased upright, ready to make a quick dash from his hiding place back to the car park. He froze when another figure appeared from the direction of the farm. The man, with longish sandy hair flopping on his forehead, stopped near the van and looked across at the bushes.

  Ryan didn't even dare to breathe. Had he been spotted?

  He let out his breath when the man turned to look in the opposite direction, and then lifted a box from the back of the van.

  "You forgot this one," he called as he headed for the cottage door, carrying the box.

  Ryan managed to get a photo of the man's profile as he reached the door, but knew it was too hasty a shot to be of any real use.