by Mary Carter
“Listen,” he said. “If this property is a crime scene, it may change things.”
“What things?”
“What if Ronan raffled off the property to cover up a murder?” Joe said.
“You’re accusing Ronan of murder now?” Carlene said. “What kind of miserable old man are you?”
“I—I—”
“Whoever it is down there, she’s been dead a long time, Joe. Way before Ronan’s time. Maybe it was you. Where were you about a hundred years ago, Joe?”
“Look at you. Getting a bit cheeky, aren’t ye?” Joe said. He was right. She even felt a bit cheeky. It felt great. Maybe facing your fears and getting the shit scared out of you was good for your soul. Joe seemed less impressed with her spiritual development.
“You should sell this place before it becomes a circus,” he said.
“It already is. And you know what? I like the circus. The circus is exciting.” Carlene moved away from Joe and stood as close to the guards as she could. Finally, Katie arrived with Siobhan, Clare, Liz, and Mary McBride. Just when Carlene was debating whether or not to ask for Ronan, she saw him, pushing through the crowd, coming toward her. Carlene didn’t know what came over her, but she ran to him. She knew very well he could push her away, reject her, and yet she kept running. He stood still, but when she threw herself into his arms, he didn’t push her away. Instead, he hugged her, rubbed her hair.
“Shh,” he said.
“I wanted to tell you about it,” she said. “I was going to the other night—”
“It’s okay—”
“About what you said—”
“We’ve both made mistakes, let’s just focus on this for now, all right?” Ronan said. Carlene nodded, even though she wanted to grill him. What mistakes had he made? Was he talking about her, calling her a mistake? Or did they involve Sally? Had he gone back to her? They didn’t have time to talk any further; the first guard was dropping down into the hole, trying to drag a stretcher with him. Carlene wanted to say that the skeleton probably didn’t need a stretcher, but what did she know?
While everyone stood and watched, Father Duggan gave a short prayer. Declan arrived and said he’d put on cheese toasties in case any of the crowd wanted to come in for a wee drink afterward. She was comforted with pats on the hand and several murmuring, “ ’Tis awful, now tell us again what it looked like?” It seemed like forever before Mike Murphy poked his head back up and the crowd backed away, waiting for the stretcher with the skeleton to come back up. Instead, he came up, quickly followed by the other, no stretcher to be seen.
“She won’t fit, will she?” someone asked.
“Is she a large skeleton?”
“Did someone say it ’twas a giant?” The guard ignored them; instead, he walked right up to Carlene and pointed his finger at her.
“Did ye know it was against the law around here to lie to the guards?”
“What?” she said.
“There’s no skeleton,” the other yelled. “The tomb is empty.” The crowd tittered.
“Are you sure?” Ronan asked.
“She’s empty,” Murphy confirmed. “No sign of nothing.” He held up Carlene’s flashlight. “Except this,” he said.
“That’s mine,” Carlene said. “I dropped it when I saw the skeleton.”
“The skeleton that doesn’t exist,” the second guard said. He turned to the priest. “Father, if you’re going to say a prayer for anyone, it should be this American girl who thinks it’s funny to be wasting our time with tall tales.”
“She has to be down there,” Carlene said. “I just saw her.”
“How about we all go inside for a wee drink,” Declan said.
“I’m telling you, less than an hour ago there was a skeleton in there. If it’s gone, then somebody took her.”
“And who do ye think would be doing this?” the guard asked.
“Somebody’s been doing a lot of things around here,” Carlene said. “Stealing the Guinness kegs, putting up plywood walls, and crashing trees through the front door of the pub, stealing cheese.” She shot Joe an accusatory glance.
“I was sittin’ in me shop all mornin’,” Joe said. “You saw me.” Joe looked at Ronan. “You’re the one who wants this pub back,” he said. “You’re the one who was foolheaded enough to lose it in the first place.”
Mary McBride stepped forward.
“Joesph Paul McBride,” she said. “I will not have you talking to my son that way.”
“Listen up,” the guard said. “Show’s over.”
“Come on in and have a wee drink,” Declan said.
“There’s only two possible answers here,” the guard said. “One, the skeleton felt better and walked out on its own accord; or two, someone is playing a prank.”
“Or she’s lying,” Joe said.
“That would be three,” Murphy said.
“My phone was dead,” Carlene said. “I think the lines were cut.”
“That sounds serious to me,” Ronan said.
“All right.” The guard sighed. “We’ll check it out.”
The phone in the pub was working again. Carlene was furious. Who was doing this to her, and why? After answering all the questions she could to the guards, she went up and showered while Declan minded the bar. Everyone either thinks I’m crazy, or a liar, or both, she thought as she watched the dirty water swirl down the drain. But she knew the truth. There was a skeleton, her phones were dead. Someone was trying to set her up, drive her out. The excitement of the souterrain itself got lost in all the talk of the missing skeleton. What was she going to do? She’d have to write down a list of suspects. And she knew, no matter how much she wanted to exclude him, Ronan would be on that list.
When she came back down, showered and dressed, she was surprised to see a full bar, including all of her regulars. She was so happy to see Riley on his stool, she almost hugged him. Even Ciaran was sitting at the bar with Jane. Everyone was talking about the skeleton and the souterrain. Apparently, everyone knew about the underground space, especially the children of Ballybeog, who invented numerous games around it. But until today, nothing mysterious had ever turned up in it.
Katie patted the bar stool next to her, and Carlene happily joined them in a drink. If there was ever a time for a stiff one, this was it. Carlene was pleasantly tipsy when Mike Murphy burst in the front door holding the skeleton.
“Is this the skeleton you saw?” he said.
“That’s her,” Carlene said. Lucky for the dress, or Carlene wouldn’t have been sure.
“I found her in the bushes,” Murphy said.
“Are you sure you didn’t find her in the closet?” Laughter ripped through the bar.
“Who do ye think killed her?” Declan said.
“She’s not a murder victim,” Mike Murphy said. “She’s from Gerald O’Sullivan’s fifth class.”
“How do you know?” Carlene asked. Murphy turned the skeleton around. On the back of the skull, in thick black marker, someone had written: Gerald O’Sullivan, Fifth class.
“Someone’s playing a prank on you, chicken,” Declan said.
“What’s the difference between a chicken and its egg?” Riley said. Nobody asked, “What?” “The chicken is involved, but the egg is committed,” Riley said.
A few of the men in the pub had instruments with them, and soon they were playing, and people were singing at the top of her lungs. As Carlene sat back and listened to the music, the laughter, and the craic, as people came up and touched her on the shoulder as they winked and assured her she wasn’t in any real danger, that they would all look out for her, Carlene hoped that whoever was doing this to her was there to see what an utter failure their latest shenanigans had been. Still, the next time might not turn out to be a party. Carlene was going to have to find out who was out to get her, and she was going to have to do it soon.
CHAPTER 40
Everything’s Better with a Tan
Ellen, the depressed, carb-depr
ived, farmer’s daughter / stalker, was Carlene’s top suspect. She decided to spend her mornings investigating and her evenings working. The morning of her first investigation, she started out at Nancy’s. It would be torture to do a stakeout on a empty stomach.
“How ya,” Nancy called when Carlene walked in. The place was bustling. Nancy’s younger brother and mother were working behind the counter—the mother was cooking, the brother handling the cash register, and Nancy was waiting on the tables. Carlene ordered a cappuccino and an Irish breakfast, and, in a secretive voice that most would associate with a drug deal in an alley, asked if Nancy would leave out the black and white pudding. Nancy’s laughter rang through the little café.
“No bother a’t’all,” she said. When Carlene was stuffed and heavily caffeinated, she asked Nancy if she knew Ellen, who sometimes worked at the Ballybeog Musuem. “The museum?” Nancy said. “Why it’s been closed for ages, lad,” she said. So Declan had been right about that. Carlene must have wandered in on a day where the door had been left unlocked, and Ellen had followed her in and stood in the corner. Creepy, and sad, Carlene thought. Although she was starting to see how all this rain could turn a person a little creepy and sad.
After the big feed, Carlene thanked Nancy, tipped generously even though you weren’t supposed to tip in Ireland, and wandered down the street to the museum. On the way, she waved at folks as she passed, but this time not all of them waved back. Carlene was totally dejected—they all waved BS, Before Sally. It didn’t take long to reach the museum. The morning’s light mist had turned into a downpour. Carlene had to pee. She pulled her hood up over her head and stared at the little house / museum. All the blinds were drawn. For the heck of it she crossed over and tried the door.
It was locked. She had no tricks up her sleeve, no slick moves with credit cards or bobby pins. Carlene’s first stakeout was a bust, called on account of rain and a full bladder.
Carlene’s boxercising class had gained notoriety, and soon she had twelve women all dying to hit something. The punching bag was by far the group’s favorite. She wondered if some of them imagined their husbands sitting at the bar without them as they pummeled away at it. Gossip spread about Carlene’s brief marriage to a semiprofessional Irish boxer from the North. It soon became apparent that in addition to hitting something, the women wanted details of Carlene’s secret shame. To think, all the years she’d suffered over Brendan Hayes, and now he was paying off. She dropped hints about their relationship, leaving crumbs of promises that if they kept coming to class, those who hadn’t heard it already would eventually get the whole story.
Carlene led the ladies through a particularly rough workout, twice their pace, with additional squats, kicks, and plenty of punches. By the end, she was the only one still jumping and kicking. The rest of the women were laid out across the bar, fanning themselves. Before they could start up their usual luncheon, however, Carlene shooed them all out. She had to shower and shave and dress to kill. She had a date.
They lay on their backs in the little cave, as Carlene was now calling the souterrain. Carlene studied the stone ceiling, illuminated by the lantern Ronan had brought down (along with two pints of Guinness) and wondered how many other people had looked up at it in their lifetimes.
“When do you think this was built?” Carlene asked. “And why?”
“During the famine is my guess,” Ronan said. “To preserve or maybe even hide food.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Yep.”
“Not much of a hiding place if everyone knows about it.” Ronan rolled over, put his hand on her waist, and rotated her so they were face-to-face. Carlene loved being this close to him, underground.
“Who are you trying to hide from?” he whispered.
“Myself.”
“If that were possible I would have ditched meself a long time ago.”
“Touché.” Ronan suddenly smiled.
“What?”
“I’m just glad there wasn’t a real dead body down here. It might detract from what I’m about to do.” His eyes traveled over her body.
“Drink a Guinness?” Carlene guessed.
“Among other things.” His hand circled her neck, his lips crushed down on hers, and this time his kiss was different. It wasn’t an impetuous thank-you-for-picking-a-winning-horse like their first kiss at the Galway Races, or shy, slow, and guarded like the kiss they shared when he tried to tear down the plywood wall, or jealous like at Finnegan’s where she confronted him about his engagement, or comforting like the kiss on the cliffs when she was confessing what happened with her mother. This kiss was purposeful, and strong. This kiss was a statement.
This was the kiss of a man who was no longer holding back. If she was willing, he was going to take her, right there, in the little cave of the soutterrain. So she let go. She let go of her fear of small spaces, she let go of guilt, and she let go of propriety. She was going to enjoy each and every second of this, their first time, even if it was their last. She wanted to touch, she wanted to taste, she wanted to make up for a lifetime of blue rubber gloves. Ronan pulled back to take off his sweater. He lifted her and placed it underneath her.
“Does that help at all?”
“It feels like I’m lying on a cloud.”
“Liar.”
Carlene smiled and traced the outline of Ronan’s lips with her finger. Then she kissed the scar above his eyebrow. Finally, she smiled at him, a smile that told him exactly how much she wanted him, right here, right now, and this time, he wasn’t going to run away. “Liars should be taught a lesson.”
Ronan planted soft kisses all over her face, then he pressed his body against hers. She loved the strength of him, the smell of him, the intoxicating sounds coming out of him. His moans made her feel desired, and they hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet. She was one to talk, shamelessly rubbing against him with soft little moans of her own. They probably didn’t need the glowing lantern he’d brought down, splashing their dirty shadows against the wall; his grin alone would have lit up the darkness. His eyes seemed to feast on her whenever he looked at her, she couldn’t wait until they took her in ungloved and unclothed. He touched her nose with the tip of his index finger.
“Are ye saying you want me to teach you that lesson, Ms. America?” Carlene slowly slid her hand down his chest and over his stomach, stopping only when she reached the bulge in his jeans. Ronan buried his face in her hair and groaned.
“Fair play,” he whispered, and his hands came down softly on her breasts, cupping them as his thumbs skillfully circled her nipples. Carlene arched into his touch.
“Oh God,” she said. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Ronan shook his head and grinned. “I’m doing all the work, and he’s getting all the credit?”
Carlene laughed, and Ronan laughed, and then he shut her up with another kiss, and soon his hands started roaming. She cleared her mind of everything but the sensations spiraling through her body, until even the cold, hard ground fell away.
It seemed he was going to take his time, his hands were going to touch every inch of her, slowly, then he was going to retrace the spots he touched with his tongue, and it was driving her to the brink of madness. She loved the feel of his rough hands, his smooth tongue, even his stubble grazing against her exposed skin. He really and truly wanted to completely unravel her. This was what he’d wanted to do to her from the moment she’d looked up and caught him staring at her in the fountain. And now, it was finally happening. The whole place could cave in on them when they were done for all she cared, as long as she got to have all of him first. She wanted him so much that when his hand finally dropped to the zipper on her jeans, and his fingers slid first lightly over, then into her panties, she was so turned on she was starting to think by the end of this there might be a real dead body lying in this little cave after all.
If you only watched their shadows on the wall, you would have eventually seen dark shapes coming together, blending
into one, stretching and retracting, faster and faster, the shadows climbing higher and higher, then peaking and dropping, then shifting so that the smaller shadow was now on top, then starting all over again, stretching and retracting, and retracing, and splashing, and climbing, writing we were here with the outlines of their bodies, pulsing across the damp stonewall like a lifeline.
CHAPTER 41
Sunny Days
At the following week’s boxing class, Carlene was so engrossed in the routine that she didn’t see the man staring in the window. Mrs. Mahoney, who was standing closest to the window, constantly checking her reflection, noticed him first. Carlene was contemplating buying window shades so Mrs. Mahoney would stop staring at herself. She yelled at her to concentrate. Mrs. Mahoney said she couldn’t help it; she was delighted with her weight loss since starting the class, not a whole stone lost yet, but certainly a pebble. The second Mrs. Mahoney spotted the Peeping Tom, she alerted the rest of the ladies with a scream that emanated from the depths of her bowels. Carlene hoped she would remember to tell her to save that kind of screams for her kicks.
“Jesus,” Mrs. Mahoney said. Additional screams echoed through the room. The man’s face disappeared from the window. Carlene ran for the front door, quickly followed by the entire class. Even though they could only see the back of him, it was easy to recognize Joe McBride, hightailing it back to his shop. The women, who seemed too tired when Carlene asked them to speed shadow-box in between sets, suddenly surged forward after Joe. Maybe she should add “chasing perverts” to the routine. He didn’t stand a chance of reaching the safety of his front door. Sensing he might be crushed underneath a dozen sweating women, he halted, frozen in space.
“Ye wee pervert!” one woman yelled.
“I’m thrilled to bits,” the woman closest to Carlene leaned over and whispered. “I’ve never been noticed by perverts before.”
“I wasn’t looking at yous like that,” Joe said, sounding genuinely horrified. “I was waitin’ until you were done jumping about the place so I could tell you ladies, who are looking trim and slim by the way, all right, I was jest bidin’ me time to tell ye all about the benefits you may wish to reap from a gorgeous, golden tan.” He thrust up a flier that showed a picture of a very tan, bikini-clad model.
