Saints & Suspects

by Jordan McCollum

  “Jason’s very health conscious,” Molly backed him up.

  Ed gave an incredulous cough. “Hm.” Once again, an awkward silence settled over them. When the waitress arrived, Ed ordered a glass of Irish whiskey and a bottle of Belgian beer to go with the Canavans’ fish and chips. “And this cute hoor here,” he gestured at Zach, “will be havin’ water.”

  Zach didn’t bat an eye at the Irish insult — he’d been called worse than “suspiciously resourceful” — but the waitress aimed an appreciative smile at him, as if Ed’s phrase actually made him “cute.” He laid his hand on the table, open and waiting for Molly’s. She obliged him without looking up from her menu, letting Zach angle her fingers to show off the gaudy ring. Good thing she’d remembered.

  “We’ll have fish ’n’ chips, too. And water, like he said.”

  “Great.” The waitress collected the menus, completely business-like.

  Molly kept staring at the silverware. Zach leaned over to whisper in Molly’s ear, but kept his accent. “At least pretend you’re havin’ a good time.”

  “I am.” Molly smiled at him and almost seemed sincere.

  “Good.” He squeezed her shoulders, but Molly leaned forward, pulling out of his grasp.

  “Molly,” Grace said. “Why are you so dressed up?”

  Zach waited for her answer, racing through possible covers for her.

  “Funeral this mornin’.” Molly kept her gaze lowered and extracted her hand from his to fold them in her lap. “A patient.”

  Pretty decent cover, and now her serious mood made sense. Had she planned that? Maybe she’d just been getting into character.

  “So sorry,” Grace said.

  “He lived a good life, but we’ll miss him.”

  Zach slid an arm around her again for a comforting squeeze. Molly didn’t fully meet his eyes, then moved out of the hug. Again.

  And maybe she did still have something to tell him. He shifted to make not touching Molly seem more natural.

  “‘We have naught for death but toys,’” Ed said. What was he talking about?

  Grace silenced any further commentary with a swift elbow to her husband’s ribs. “Hope we’re not tearin’ you away from anythin’ important, Jason.”

  “Nah. I’ve been workin’ extra hours all week to make sure I’d be free.” Zach flashed Molly a smile. “I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”

  “Grand,” Molly murmured.

  Yeah, whatever was bothering her definitely wasn’t good. He almost wished he could get rid of the Canavans as fast as possible — or delay Molly’s message for him as long as he could.

  Grace quickly made it clear he wouldn’t have a choice about the day’s agenda. “Once we’ve eaten, I’ve a few places for us to visit. Remind me how many people you’re invitin’?”

  Zach and Molly were saved by the arrival of the food. If only he could get out of everything that easily. Especially whatever Molly needed to tell him.

  He had to fix this, to get back to how easy things were yesterday. For the case. What could he do?

  Molly took one last bite of the Blackstone Hotel’s appetizer platter. After the fish and chips, and then sampling the full menu of the hotel venue, she’d had all she could take — of waiting to tell Zach. Her full stomach took a little dip at the thought.

  Why did they have to continue this charade? Sure, Grace loved weddings, but couldn’t Molly Ryan just profess her love for the IRA instead of Jason Tolliver?

  The hotel event manager, Mr. Maggio, reviewed the appetizer and meal options, which included a dozen specialty foods she’d never even heard of. Zach kept shooting her silly looks, poking fun at the all-too-trendy menus.

  Mr. Maggio turned to Molly, expecting an answer. She hadn’t heard the question with Zach’s distraction.

  “Given us a lot to think about,” Zach drawled.

  “Certainly. Now for the best part.” Mr. Maggio stood and led them through the hallways. Molly followed along, still silent. Zach rotated his wrist, subtly offering her his hand.

  No. She couldn’t.

  She had to. They needed to portray the happy couple, no matter how much the truth weighed on her. She slid her fingers between his. It was . . . perfect. Exactly why it was awful.

  She had to tell Zach. And he’d ask why she hadn’t told him — and she still didn’t know the answer.

  Molly fought the feelings back into the corner of her brain. She was a professional. An officer of the law. That was the only reason this would work. She was Molly Ryan, and he was Jason Tolliver.

  Mr. Maggio paused in front of a pair of glass doors. “This is our Crystal Ballroom. We have a few other rooms to see, but this is really the premier wedding venue in the area. I’d go on —” He paused dramatically and grabbed the door handle. “ — but the space speaks for itself.”

  He threw open the doors, and Molly and Zach entered the cavernous room. Mirrored French doors adorned every luminous white wall of the room; above them, a balcony wrapped around a second level of arched French doors. An enormous red flower, its petals gilded with golden yellow, blossomed across the carpet of the entire room.

  Zach took another step forward, and Molly took the opportunity to release his hand. He gave a low whistle, slowly spinning to take in the space. “Quite a place you got here.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Tolliver. The ballroom seats three hundred forty-five. The daylight is stunning, as you can see, and at night we have beautiful city views. It’s also a historic landmark, since it’s been the place for Chicago’s elite social gatherings since 1910.”

  “What about dancin’?” Grace asked. As an afterthought, she turned to Zach and Molly. “Were you wantin’ dancin’?”

  Molly managed not to purse her lips at Grace making the decisions for them — again. Zach saved Molly from answering. “I can’t dance a lick, but I know Molly loves it.” He turned to Mr. Maggio. “Are the acoustics good enough for music?”

  “The acoustics, Mr. Tolliver, are excellent. We often have live music for weddings.”

  “Oh, do you have bands or DJs you recommend?” Grace asked.

  Mr. Maggio nodded. “A few. Looking for a particular style?”

  “We’re celebratin’ Molly’s Irish heritage,” Grace said decisively.

  “Oh?” Zach raised an eyebrow. Hadn’t she told him?

  “Her dress will have Celtic knot embroidery.”

  They’d never discussed that.

  “The colors are orange and green,” Grace pushed on, “and the flowers are goin’ to be the bells of Ireland, shamrocks and whatever orange flowers are in full bloom.”

  Zach’s eyebrow crept higher. “Orange and green. My mama ain’t gon’ be very happy.”

  Grace lifted her chin, standing up for Molly, who hadn’t said anything. “Your mam doesn’t have a say.”

  “That’s fine.” Zach raised his hands defensively. “But I’m bettin’ Mr. Maggio doesn’t have an Irish group on tap.”

  “Well, not an Irish group per se, but I’m sure —”

  Grace waved a hand. “Doesn’t have to be Irish, but they should know a few Irish standards, definitely.”

  “Like what?” Zach gave Grace an impish grin and launched into “Danny Boy” in a frighteningly accurate imitation of Daniel O’Donnell, the iconic Irish singer she and Zach always snickered about. Wayne Newton’s popularity, Garth Brooks’s personality, and Lawrence Welk–worthy pipes — but a beloved favorite of any woman of Grace’s generation.

  Sure enough, Grace’s jaw dropped and her eyes lit up.

  “Jason.” Molly made her murmur a subtle warning.

  This time he shot a smile at Molly and switched to “Molly Malone.”

  “Jason,” she said more sharply. The Canavans couldn’t suspect her surname was anything other than Ryan.

  “Sorry, Molly.”

  She fixed him with a deathly glare.

  “Oh, but your singin’s heavenly.” Grace’s hands flew to her heart. “Do you know an
y other Irish songs?”

  Zach said nothing. Molly started toward the door — until he started the next tune.

  “’Sí Moll Dubh a’ Ghleanna í.”

  The world froze, stopping Molly’s heart with it. “Moll Dubh” — “Dark Molly.” His song for her.

  “’Sí Moll Dubh an Earraigh í.”

  She’s Dark Molly of the valley, she’s Dark Molly of the spring. Molly, with her dark curls, was the subject of the song, and everyone, other than Mr. Maggio, had to know.

  She wheeled around. Zach continued with the next line. She’s Dark Molly more ruddy than the red rose.

  Zach met her eyes: that was love. Nate’s expression from last night flashed through her mind. He said he loved her, but the judgment in his face made her feel . . . subhuman. Zachary had never made her feel that way, even when he dumped her.

  And this song was how Zachary had first told her he loved her, and the way he looked at her — his song stopped.

  “Go on!” Grace prodded. “Haven’t heard that since I was a girl.”

  He held Molly’s gaze. Heat crept up her neck, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Would he sing the next lines — And if I had to choose from the young maids of the world, Dark Molly of the glen would be my fancy?

  If he did, could it mean he still —

  Zach broke their gaze and looked to the flowered carpet. Molly stumbled back a step.

  “I forget the rest of the words,” he muttered. Why couldn’t he forget all of them?

  Molly said nothing. Zach came to stand by her, and Mr. Maggio and Grace extolled his singing. “Where’d you learn that one?” Grace asked, practically fawning.

  “I taught it to him,” Molly volunteered, seizing the opportunity to make their escape. She turned to Mr. Maggio. “Thank you very much for seein’ us on short notice, but we need to be goin’.”

  “Yes, loads more to do!” Grace lugged out that blasted blue binder and flipped it open. The contents had doubled during the week. “Thank you, Mr. Maggio. We’ll be in touch.”

  Mr. Maggio led them out, but leaving the room wasn’t enough to escape the echo of Zach’s song.

  No, he was Jason now. Not Zach.

  The same chill from the night before stole across her shoulders. She had to stop. Searching for meaning in these things was setting herself up for heartbreak.

  Halfway between the Blackstone Hotel and the next stop, Grace checked behind her. Jason and Molly had fallen even farther behind. She stopped to wait. “Ed,” she whispered. “Does somethin’ seem off tonight?”

  “I’m here, doin’ this?” he grumbled.

  “Eejit. I meant Molly and Jason. Just look at them.”

  Molly focused on the ground, huddled into her coat. Jason kept perfect pace with her, but didn’t offer his hand or his arm. As Grace watched, Jason glanced at the street, then turned a concerned eye on Molly.

  “Maybe she didn’t like him showin’ off, either.”

  “Whisht.” Grace flapped one hand at him to silence his blather, but it did seem Molly veered toward melancholy after the singing.

  “‘Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart,’” Ed tried again, in low tones.

  Grace rubbed her mittens together. “If he hurts her,” she vowed, “he’s the first to go.” She raised her voice to call to them. “Hurry along — but it’s icy.” She lowered her volume to a threat. “Watch your step.”

  Molly and Zach caught up to the Canavans and stayed close while Grace shuttled them to an upscale pâtisserie. Grace’s logic behind the bakery choice was quickly obvious. One five-tiered round wedding cake in the window display featured irregular shards of white chocolate forming a turret around each tier, with the top of each layer filled with deep red raspberries, the bottom layer of the cake tied with an ornate red bow.

  The other window, however, held a five-tier square wedding cake, with each layer turned diagonal to the one below. The middle tier bore an elaborate monogram, and the exposed corners of each layer were piled with delicate, perfect shamrocks.

  Grace nodded at the clover-adorned cake. “Are they real?”

  “I wouldn’t think so, but . . . they certainly look it.”

  “We could go a bit less subtle and just use the Irish flag.”

  Molly’s pulse picked up. There it was, the opportunity she’d waited all day for: time to bring up the “republican fight.” “Better the Starry Plough,” she murmured, referencing the lesser known flag of the IRA.

  Grace cast her a sidelong smile. Molly returned it, reveling in a splash of success. If this brought her closer to the Canavans and whatever they were planning, then the night was worth it.

  Now she’d celebrate with cake. Ed opened the door for them. The rich aroma of sugar, flour and butter filled the shop. “Sorry.” Grace greeted the shopkeeper with an apology, another Irish habit Molly had recently lost. “We’re needin’ a weddin’ cake.”

  “That’s okay, we do wedding cakes.” The shop assistant closed the glass display case. “I’ll grab a sample plate.” He ducked into the back, leaving the four of them alone.

  “Did you see the shamrocks?” Molly asked Zach.

  “Prettier ’n a speckled pup. You should ask if they’re edible.”

  The assistant returned as Zach finished his sentence. “If what’s edible?”

  “The shamrocks on that cake out front.”

  “I wouldn’t, but you could. They’re sugar paste, hand painted for that realistic effect.”

  Molly craned her neck as if she could see the window. “They’re amazin’.”

  “Thanks. Just wait until you’ve tasted the cake.” He placed a platter of two dozen sample petit fours in neat rows onto the counter. “We have twelve signature combinations of cake, filling, and frosting.”

  “They’re just lovely,” Grace gushed. “But what if we can’t agree on a flavor?”

  Molly flashed a glance at Zach, and he caught her eye — and her message. ‘We’?

  “Each tier of the cake can have a different flavor. Popular choice, actually.”

  Molly swept her hand over the plate, a go-right-ahead invitation.

  “Oh!” Grace clapped, and Molly braced herself for another brilliant idea. “Can you guess what the other would choose?”

  “Ah, why don’t we —”

  “Choose for one another and see if you can pick their favorite. Let’s see how well you really know one another.”

  Was this a test of their cover? Better go along, just in case. Zach picked up the menu card. “Think it’s gon’ be hard to go wrong, Molly.” He handed her the card. If she’d hoped he’d give her some more explicit hint, she would’ve been disappointed.

  “Ready if you are.” He grinned.

  “All right, which one?” Molly flipped the menu back to him, waiting for him to indicate his choice for her.

  “No, no.” Grace held up her hands as if stopping traffic. “You must practice feedin’ one another cake. Wouldn’t want your weddin’ day to be terribly awkward.”

  “Can’t have that,” Zach murmured.

  They were supposed to be madly in love, and madly in love people would play along. They’d play their covers to the bitter end. “Grand.”

  Molly reached for the sample plate, but Grace again interrupted — and this time, there was more steel than fun in her voice. “Close your eyes, Jason — not fair if you see what she’s choosin’.”

  “Grace, we’re gettin’ ridiculous here,” Zach protested.

  Grace pinned him with a look Molly had never seen from her, one that carried an edge of a threat.

  Zach rolled his eyes, but he obeyed. Molly scanned the sample plate and settled on the “Red Velvet”: red velvet buttermilk cake and cream cheese icing with raspberry cream filling.

  Molly frowned at the sample cake cube. At that size, there was no good way to stuff it in someone’s mouth. She gingerly plucked the square from the platter and turned to Zach, still waiting.

  “Feedin’ you�
�s difficult if you don’t open your mouth.”

  Zach pursed his lips a second, but capitulated and opened his mouth.

  Now she’d have to feed him. Grand. No wonder Grace insisted they practice. The task was unwieldy.

  Especially when she was trying to forget the first time he’d sung “Moll Dubh” to her.

  Not the best thing to think of at that moment. Her heart was already beginning to pound a fast hornpipe rhythm.

  She needed to do this without emotion. No, not without emotion — with enough emotion that Grace would buy it. Molly had to be his fiancée.

  But she had to protect her heart, too.

  Then she could be Jason’s fiancée. Molly carefully grazed the sample square against his lower lip. Zach opened his mouth wider and leaned forward to take the petit four with his teeth. She pushed the cake the rest of the way into his mouth, her fingers brushing against his lips as she withdrew them.

  Zach opened his eyes and instantly met her gaze. It took everything she had not to relive their kisses.

  “Wow,” he said once he’d swallowed. “What was it?”

  “Red velvet.”

  “Shoulda guessed.” He cupped her chin is his hand. “You know me better’n I know myself.”

  Grace clapped again. “Nicely done. Aren’t you glad you’ve practiced?”

  “I am.” Molly stared at the counter. “More difficult than you’d think.”

  And more difficult than Grace could ever know.

  Grace turned on Zach. “Your go, Jason.” At least she wouldn’t be the only one tortured.

  Zach picked up a petit four before Molly could close her eyes. He held out the sample square for her, and Molly looked into his eyes.

  Had Nate ever looked at her that way?

  No, that admiration and happiness and love was fake. Part of the cover. He was Jason Tolliver. Her fiancé. But all she saw when she stared into those knowing blue eyes was Zachary Saint.

  He wasn’t supposed to be the danger, and her heart was never supposed to be in peril on this assignment. Molly couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. She instinctively licked her lips before taking a bite from the cake square — and this time, she couldn’t hold back the memory of their first kiss.