Irish Secrets

by Paula Martin

  "Yes, and I can hardly believe I've found you. It still seems unreal."

  Jon stood up. "Let's take some photos to make it more real."

  He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket, and Ryan disengaged his arm from around Kara. "Let me take one of the three of you."

  In the end, more than a dozen photos were taken, on both Jon's phone and Ryan's, and even Peter Rabbit was brought down from his shelf and appeared in several of them.

  After only a few hours, Kara had taken this wonderful, warm Irish couple to her heart, and hugged them both when she and Ryan left shortly after six o'clock.

  "You must come again soon," Margaret said. "I can't wait to tell Pat and Sue about you, and they'll want to meet you, and all your cousins will, too."

  "I'll keep in touch," Kara promised. "And I'll call my mom, and let you know what she says."

  * * * * *

  That evening, Ryan took her to the Nag's Head, the pub where Margaret and Jon had met again. It was a traditional Victorian pub on the edge of the Temple Bar district, with dark wooden panelling, stained glass windows, and a long marble-topped bar counter. They found seats at one of the small round tables, and after they'd enjoyed Beef and Guinness stew, Kara tried her mother's number for the fifth time. Her previous attempts had gone to voicemail, but no way could she leave a message about something so important.

  This time she tensed when her mother answered, "Kara, it's lovely to hear from you."

  "Have you been busy? I've called a few times."

  "We're holding a flower festival at church this weekend, and I helped to serve the soup and sandwich lunches. I only arrived home about ten minutes ago, because I had to stop off at the mall to collect the new camera your dad ordered. You've remembered we're starting our Alaskan cruise on Monday, haven't you? Matthew had forgotten, but he's working long hours at the sports centre and…"

  Kara listened to the update on family news for several minutes and made suitable comments, before her mother eventually said, "You've called me a few times? Is something wrong?"

  "No, no, not at all. In fact, the opposite. I'm in Dublin at the moment, because I finally managed to trace your birth mother, and—"

  "Kara, you know I'm not interested in that woman."

  "Mom, listen for a minute, will you? I met her and her husband today, and they are the most loving and warm couple that—"

  "Didn't you hear me? I said I'm not interested. If that's all you have to tell me, you should have saved your money with this call. I don't want to know anything about her."

  "But, Mom—"

  The phone clicked, and Kara stared at Ryan as her heart sank to the floor. "She wouldn't listen. How on earth am I going to tell Margaret and Jon their daughter won't even listen to me?"

  Chapter 21

  Kara made a conscious effort to put the problem of her mother to the back of her mind during the rest of the weekend. It was easier, and infinitely more pleasurable, to concentrate on this special time with Ryan. After their meal at the Nag's Head, he took her to a smaller pub near Merrion Square, well away from what he called the touristy, over-priced, and over-crowded Temple Bar area. They enjoyed their drinks while listening to a trio of musicians before returning to the hotel for another night of love-making that was both fun and blissfully satisfying.

  Sunday proved to be too beautiful a day to spend indoors, and they abandoned their original plan to see the ancient Book of Kells in Trinity College Library. Instead, Ryan drove north out of the city to Howth, where they strolled hand-in-hand past the harbour and up the path to the cliff tops.

  Kara caught her breath when they rounded the headland to be met by a panoramic view of the wide expanse of Dublin Bay, with the hazy outline of the Wicklow Mountains in the far distance.

  "This is stunning," she breathed.

  Ryan slipped his arm around her as he pointed out several islands, and other landmarks, and then turned to kiss her.

  "Tá grá agam duit," he whispered.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Literally, I have love for you."

  She smiled. "I have love for you, too. Tá grá – Say it again."

  They both laughed as she tried to get the pronunciation right, and he lifted her off her feet to hug her tightly before putting her down again.

  She rested her head against his shoulder, and sighed. "This weekend has been wonderful. I almost wish we didn't have to go back to Clifden."

  When they were on the motorway heading west later in the day, her thoughts returned to Margaret and Jon.

  "I wonder if they've told the rest of their family yet?"

  Ryan smiled. "I'm sure they were on the phone to them as soon as we left."

  "And probably got a better response than I did from my mom."

  He glanced around at her and rested his hand on her knee. "Have you been worrying about that?"

  "Not worrying, more wondering what I can do."

  "What about your dad?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "If you called him, surely he would listen? And he may be able to persuade your mom."

  Kara nodded. "Good idea. I'll call him tomorrow at his office." She grimaced. "No, I can't, not for a couple of weeks, anyway. They leave on a cruise tomorrow."

  "At least that gives you a breathing space."

  "I guess so. Margaret and Jon are so looking forward to meeting her, and I hate the thought of telling them there doesn't appear to be much chance of that."

  "So, for the moment, don't tell them what she said yesterday. Say she's away on holiday and you'll talk to her when she gets home again."

  "I'll do that, and thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For suggesting things I hadn't thought of."

  He grinned. "All part of the service, ma'am."

  If he hadn't been driving, she would have kissed him. She loved him for his upbeat attitude and support, even though, deep inside, she couldn't envision anything ever persuading her mother to meet with her birth parents. But she had to try everything she possibly could, for the sake of her new-found grandparents.

  * * * * *

  "Typical!" Ryan muttered when his car wouldn't start on Friday morning.

  After the best weekend ever, this week was fast turning into the worst. Paddy Walsh didn't turn up for the second Monday running to take his box to Roscommon; he'd been to the cottage three times after midnight and found nothing; and Enya was becoming impatient.

  Even more frustrating, he hadn't seen Kara either. They'd talked on the phone, of course, but he was on the late shift every evening, while she'd been working every day.

  Except today, and they'd arranged to meet for lunch, but now he had to get his car fixed.

  He jabbed the numbers on his phone for the car mechanic he'd used before, and suppressed a groan when the man said he couldn't come out to him before noon or one o'clock.

  His next call was to Kara. "Sorry, can't do lunch." He explained the reason, and went on, "Assuming the car is fixed, I'll be working tonight and tomorrow evening. When will you be free?"

  "Not until Sunday, after about noon."

  "In that case, come hell or high water, or freakin' stupid cars that won't start, I promise I'll see you on Sunday. We'll go for lunch somewhere."

  "Okay, I'll look forward to that – and good luck with your car."

  By Friday evening, his car had been fitted with a new battery and alternator, but it was after two in the morning by the time he finished his last fare of the night. Too late to go out to the cottage on another fool's errand. He'd try again tomorrow or Sunday, to see if anything had been left for Conor or Paddy to collect.

  He called Kara the following evening and raised his eyebrows when it diverted to the answer service.

  "Hi," he said, "Just calling to check you're still free for lunch tomorrow. Call me back any time. I'll be working until about two o'clock."

  He was on his way back from Moyard shortly after eleven when his phone rang, and he pressed the button o
n his steering column.

  "Sorry, I only found your message a minute ago," Kara said over his car speakers. "It was so noisy earlier in the lounge, I didn't hear my phone, and then we had a spooky incident."

  "Spooky? What do you mean?"

  "About ten-thirty, Liz and I realised we hadn't hung the new gauze drapes in the Victorian bedroom, and we're doing our actress and artist scene there tomorrow morning, so we decided we ought to put the new ones up. Liz was on the stepladder hanging one of the drapes in the bay window when she said there was someone with a flashlight in the cottage."

  Ryan's muscles tensed as he wondered what was coming next. "Why would someone be there so late?" he asked, as casually as he could.

  "That's what we said, so we told Guy, and he went to investigate. He came back saying there was no sign of anyone at the cottage. The door was secure, and all the new windows Conor has put in were intact. We've spent the last ten minutes inventing different theories, ranging from reflections of car lights on the main road, to the ghosts of past residents returning to their refurbished home."

  Ryan chuckled. "I don't think ghosts carry flashlights, but it does sound rather strange."

  "Guy's going to ask Mr. and Mrs. Leary tomorrow if they saw or heard anything. Of course, there's probably a simple explanation, like someone coming up from the beach and taking a short-cut past the cottage and through our car park to the road."

  He was about to say they would have to push through bushes to reach the Mist Na Mara car park, but stopped himself. That information belonged to the other part of his life. "Rather late to be at the beach, unless—"

  Kara laughed. "Perhaps they were drunk, or they were brushing gritty sand from unmentionable places."

  "At least we had a comfortable bed last weekend." Even as he said it, his gut tightened at the memory of her naked body lying next to his. "And I wish we were in that bed right now, darlin'."

  "I'd love that, too."

  The softness in her voice threatened to destroy all his concentration on the dark road, and he took a deep breath. "Meantime, I'll be driving around for another two or three hours, but are you still free for lunch tomorrow?"

  "Yes, once we've done our presentation in the morning, I'm finished for the day."

  "Is twelve-thirty okay for you?"

  "Perfect. I'll be ready, and—" She paused for a second before going on, "Tá grá agam duit. Have I pronounced it correctly?"

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel as an involuntary but uncomfortable thought jumped into his mind. Would she still love him when she discovered he'd lied to her? Not in the same way as that married NYPD cop had lied, but lying was still lying.

  "Ryan?"

  Her anxious voice brought him back to the present, and his chest tightened. "Sorry, I was concentrating on a sharp corner. And yes, you pronounced it perfectly, darlin'." He swallowed hard. "Whatever happens, remember that I love you, too."

  "Whatever happens? What's going to happen?"

  "Ach, a figure of speech. Forget it. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Even before he ended the call, he knew it would be long after two o'clock before he got to bed. All his instincts flagged up a red alert when Kara told him about the light in the cottage. Was this someone unloading stolen goods, ready for Paddy Walsh to collect on Sunday night or Monday morning?

  He finished his shift a few minutes before two, and headed out to Mist Na Mara. By this time he assumed it was unlikely that anyone would be looking out of the upper floor windows to check for lights in the cottage. Kara hadn't said anything about them calling out the cops, but if it happened again, they probably would. Either that, or Guy Sinclair would come to investigate, so he needed to go carefully.

  He parked his car a couple of hundred yards from the top of the lane, and forced himself to walk and not jog past Mist Na Mara. At least there was no moon tonight, otherwise he would be visible to any insomniac who happened to glance through the windows. Only one light showed dimly though curtains in a room at the back. Maybe the parents of the new baby were giving her a night feed.

  He let out a breath of relief after he passed the wide gateway without any more lights going on at the house, and risked turning on his flashlight for a couple of seconds to locate the stone he'd placed at the base of the wall earlier in the week to indicate the best spot to climb over into the shrubbery on the other side.

  The small branch which cracked under his foot sounded like a pistol shot in the still night air, and he froze, waiting for any dogs at the farm to start barking.

  Nothing.

  He crept along the cottage wall, retrieved the skeleton key from his pocket, and opened the door. Now the boarded windows had been replaced by glass, at least it wasn't as pitch black as on his previous visits. An initial survey, with his flashlight on low power, showed a wooden partition had been erected to the left of the door, to create a smaller room. The main room had been cleared of cardboard boxes, and there was only a large metal toolbox near the stone fireplace, and a couple of unopened cement bags propped up against the wall.

  Through the doorway in the partition, several stacks of boxes were visible. Adrenaline surged through him when he realised they were plain, unlike the boxes of roofing materials which bore manufacturers' names and trademarks.

  He heaved the top box down and opened the lid, only to find it crammed with three-core electrical cable. Turning to the next box, he stopped, frowned, and looked again at the first one. Would a box of cable weigh as much as that?

  With his heart thumping, he crouched down, tossed out a dozen or more coils of cable, and let out a triumphant hiss of "Yessss!" when he glimpsed the silver cover of a laptop. Sliding his hand down the side of the box, he counted four more.

  Thirty minutes later, after repacking and restacking all the boxes, he allowed himself a broad grin. Twenty laptops, two dozen tablet computers, about forty cameras ranging from cheap to top of the range, and over sixty smartphones, all hidden under electric cable or conduit. Obviously, this was more than the loot from the Waterside heist, and had presumably been amassed over several days, if not weeks, of thefts from cars, or from the back pockets of tourists in shops or off-guard drinkers in pubs and clubs. This haul was all electronic, so maybe the jewellery allegedly stolen from Waterside was now in the hands of pawnbrokers or less reputable auction houses, either here or abroad.

  He blew out his breath as he made a final check that he'd left everything as he found it, and let himself out of the cottage. Only when he was back in his car, and yawning as he returned to Clifden, did he realise he hadn't taken any photos. For a few moments, he contemplated turning back, but groaned at the prospect of opening all the boxes again. Besides, the Chief would accept his word about what he'd discovered.

  * * * * *

  He called Enya next morning to update her, and ended with the conclusion he'd come to before he eventually fell asleep the night before. "It's likely that at least one of the boxes will be collected this evening, or early Monday morning, ready to be taken to Roscommon. If we play our cards right, we can catch Conor McBride or Paddy Walsh red-handed when one of them picks up the stuff."

  "I agree," she said. "Leave it with me, Ryan. I'll contact the District Super at Clifden Garda Station, and we'll decide on the best strategy. I'll call you later."

  She hadn't called by the time he set off to Mist Na Mara, and he hoped the call wouldn’t come while he was having lunch with Kara.

  After picking up her up at twelve-thirty, he drove to the picturesque village of Roundstone, to a pub whose terrace overlooked the small fishing harbour and, in the distance, a stunning view of the peaks and humps of the Twelve Bens.

  The events of the previous night seemed to have diverted her mind, at least temporarily, away from Margaret and Jon, and she told him again about the lights in the cottage, and how Guy was going to instruct Conor to fit security lighting and an alarm system.

  He kept his responses non-committal, and changed the subject as soon as
he could. "How did your play go this morning?"

  "It was good. We've had a super group this weekend, they've been fun. Two of them, a husband and wife, even performed some hilarious sketches last night." She pulled out her phone and swiped the screen. "This is them doing We're a Couple of Swells. They dressed up like Judy Garland and Fred Astaire, and they were fantastic." She showed him half a dozen photos, and scrolled past a few more. "And here they are, doing—"

  "Hold on." He put his hand on her arm. "Go back a few pictures."

  "Why? Which one do you want to see?"

  She scrolled more slowly. There were several group photos, and a couple of close-ups, one of Guy and Jenna, and another of Jenna with Charley.

  His eyes riveted on the earrings Jenna Sinclair wore. Heart-shaped drop earrings, which looked like diamond and ruby. A hollow sensation hit his stomach. He couldn't swear to it without double-checking, but they were remarkably similar to the photos he'd seen of Caitlin Connolly's jewellery. Did that mean Guy Sinclair was somehow involved in this racket?

  "I thought one of the photos was of you," he said. "Sorry, I was mistaken."

  She grinned. "I didn't take any selfies."

  He forced himself to act naturally, despite the way his mind reeled. "Give me your phone, and I'll take one of you."