An Irish Christmas Blessing

by Roxanne Rustand

  Eve glanced up at the female officer, who was glaring at her. "I need to put you on speaker phone. There's a bit of trouble here at the bookshop."

  "Trouble?"

  Eve switched the phone to speaker. "I've got two police—uh, Gardai—here who assume I broke in. I can't find any keys for the hallway doors. Can't find your list of instructions. These officers say the shop belongs to someone named Niamh, not you. There's also a crazy guy in one of the back rooms and someone upstairs has been screaming. Oh—and I hear a dog barking up there, too. But all the doors along the hallway are locked.” Eve took a deep breath. "Did you leave a TV on? I really hope so, because otherwise the person who screamed must be injured—but I can't get through any of the doors to find the stairs and check on her."

  "Can the Gardai hear me? Make sure they can." Shauna cleared her throat. "The shop is still technically owned by my gran—Niamh O'Conner—but I run it now and I'm in the process of buying it from her. I'd put her on the phone but they've given her a sedative and she probably won't make sense. The Gardai can ask anyone in the village about me."

  Eve glanced toward the back hallway, where Brosnan was industriously jiggling doorknobs to no avail. "And about the commotion upstairs? We really need to get up there, but your doors are massive and the locks—I've never seen anything like them."

  "The keys are hanging on a hook in the closet next to the bathroom, underneath my Burberry winter coat. You won't be able to open the doors any other way. The building goes back to the mid 1700's, or so my gran says. The doors are massive oak with iron hinges, and when you get them open you'll see just how thick the stone walls are."

  Brosnan glanced toward the front of the shop, nodded at her, and found the keys in the closet. Fumbling through the ring, he unlocked the door nearest the back entrance and stepped inside to search.

  "What about the screaming?"

  "That's just Maybelline, possibly the most obnoxious parrot on earth. We tried moving him to Gran's senior housing flat in Cork, but the stupid bird started ripping out his feathers and would not shut up. Scared anyone there who wasn't deaf, so he had to come back to the store. Gran loves the American crime shows, and that bird has watched way too much TV."

  "Maybelline is a guy?"

  "He belonged to a friend of Gran's, who passed away. Apparently Minnie thought he was a she."

  So Maybelline would be the "creature" Colleen had mentioned. "And the barking dog?"

  "Either Maybelline imitating Walter, or Walter himself—and by now that dog must really, really need to go outside. The garden is fenced so you can just let him out the back door."

  Brosnan reappeared in the hall. "Storeroom. All clear."

  He opened another door, and stumbled backward when a mass of white fur and long ears flopping like bird's wings thundered down the stairs and barreled past his legs to launch itself at the back door.

  McElligott snorted, clearly not amused. "Let the poor thing outside, Brosnan," she snapped. "Before there's a mess to be cleaning."

  Eve leaned closer to the phone and lowered her voice. "I suppose there's a good explanation for the man, then? Crotchety. Tall. Wearing what might be one of your Miss Piggy sweatshirts and nothing else. He seems a bit...tipsy. Mentioned drugs. Apparently he's camping out in a locked room on the main floor."

  Shauna burst out laughing. "Devlin is still there? He swore he was going to hit the road ASAP."

  "You know him, then?" Eve had a sudden vision of the man remaining a resident for the full two months of her stay. It wasn't a pretty thought. "Colleen mentioned him but seemed to think he was a stranger. I'm hoping the Gardai take him away."

  "He's my brother, but she wouldn't know him. We grew up in Cork, and since I took over Gran's shop he hasn't come to visit. Until last night, anyway."

  Had he been incarcerated somewhere? Eve considered more tactful words. "So...he works out of the country?"

  "He's a photographer. Travels the world over."

  Eve tried to imagine that and couldn't quite make the leap. "Really."

  "He broke his right ankle last night, taking photographs out on the cliffs, so I had to drive out there to pick him up. We were both up 'til the wee hours this morning waiting around at the E.R. Our gran couldn't handle the stairs the last few years she was at the shop. So Devlin is actually in her old bedroom on the main floor."

  "Still, you...um...may want to talk to him. He sounded high to me."

  "He doesn't handle pain meds very well. He ends up either skipping the meds and bearing the pain, or he takes a half-dose and then he's loopy for days. A full dose usually puts him to sleep. Sounds like he opted for loopy."

  Eve's heart sank. "So he won't be going anywhere for a while?"

  "He told me he was going to leave first thing this morning, but obviously he didn't realize just how hard that would be." She chuckled. "I do wish I could've seen him in my sweatshirt—I could have teased him for years about Miss Piggy. He once mentioned that he sleeps in the buff, so he must've pulled it on when he heard something going on in the store."

  "That's more info than I really needed," Eve retorted dryly.

  "Don't worry about having him around for a while. He's a very independent guy. A loner, actually. I've got food in the upstairs kitchen and the main floor break room that both of you can have. But there's also a little pub two doors down with good bar food, and he'll probably just hobble down there for meals. You'll barely know he's around."

  "Really." Even in a floppy pink sweatshirt, he'd still had the sort of presence, height and handsome, chiseled face that would make him stand out in any crowd. Not that she was interested by any means. "He appears to be a man who'll be hard to ignore."

  "Not if he takes his pain medication as prescribed." Shauna laughed. "He'll be out like a light. He needs to go back for outpatient surgery on Friday, by the way. If you could help him get there, you could just close the shop while you're gone."

  "You don't need to open that last door, Brosnan," McElligott called out. "There's a man resting in there. Don't disturb him."

  She turned back to Eve with a thin smile. "While you two were talking, I texted the station and had the clerk do some checking. Your own 999 call was indeed received, just so you know, but the dispatcher saw we were already coming to this address and assumed it was a repeat call by the same person. He's new, and the sergeant will be discussing the incident with him today. And—" she tipped her head toward the cell phone in Eve's hand "—your friend's explanation of the shop's ownership and your presence here both check out. I apologize for our misunderstanding, Ma'am."

  "Thanks. I do understand that things here looked a bit sketchy."

  The woman offered her hand and a firm handshake. "We'll be off, then. Let us know if you need any assistance in the future."

  Once the Gardai were gone, Eve locked the door behind them and began peppering Shauna with questions. "About all those instructions you left for me...where are they?"

  "On the coffee table upstairs—I think. I was in such a rush to leave for Cork that I may have left them somewhere else. There should be four typed pages, stapled. I really am sorry about everything you've gone through. Two relatives at two hospitals in less than twenty-four hours has made me crazy."

  "The instructions will explain how to run the register, right? About the heating system? When the trash is picked up? Where to go for groceries and such?"

  "Uh...no." Shauna rattled off a lengthy list of additional instructions covering the dog, parrot and the bookshop. "My gran is waking up from her nap so I'd better go. Just call me anytime, okay? Or text. Thanks ever so much for taking on the store. Have fun in Ireland!"`

  The dog started barking at the back door to be let back in.

  From upstairs came the sound of the parrot screaming...followed by a string of colorful curses, and a perfect imitation of a phone ringing.

  Fun?

  These two months in Ireland had been a chance to return the huge favor Shauna had done for her while t
hey were in graduate school together. It had also sounded like a great adventure. A trip of a lifetime that she'd never forget.

  She laughed at her own naïveté as she went to let Walter back inside.

  Between grumpy Devlin, a mouthy parrot and the dog, it could prove unforgettable, all right. She glanced at a calendar on the wall behind the front counter, flipped the pages, grabbed a marker and circled her last day—January 28th—in bold red, then turned to survey the charming shop.

  It was warm and cozy, with the wonderful scent of books that had always made her feel a quiet sense of peace. But beyond that, the charming wreaths and electric candles in the front windows and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree in the corner were poignant reminders of just how much she'd wanted to escape her family during this holiday season.

  The joy, the festivities. The worried glances in her direction and the overly solicitous attention of relatives thinking they could help her forget what she never, ever could. Not in a hundred lifetimes.

  Coming here had been the perfect excuse to get away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EVE BROUGHT HER SUITCASE and carry-on luggage in from the rental car, hauled it all up to the second floor, and surveyed her home for the next two months.

  Charming didn't even begin to describe the pretty lace curtains, the colorful Oriental rugs, woodburning fireplace, and the hardwood floors of the small living area. To the left, a short hallway led to the bathroom with a clawfoot tub and ladder-like heated towel racks on the wall. Beyond, the single bedroom held Victorian furnishings, another beautiful rug, lace curtains and wallpaper covered with tiny violets.

  At the other end of the apartment she found an eat-in kitchen with a small fridge, a strange-looking oven and stove, and French doors leading out to a small deck over the back yard—er, garden.

  The parrot in a large domed cage in a corner of the living room cocked its head and watched her move through the apartment with beady black eyes. "Here, kittykittykittykitty," he crooned. "Git yer hands up, pardner! Get 'em up!"

  "So apparently you don't possess functional language skills," Eve retorted. "But that's all right—just skip the screaming."

  The bird shuddered, fluffing up its feathers, and lifted its wings. Then it screamed bloody murder with such volume that Eve's ears hurt.

  "Yep. That's what you can skip." She sighed, glancing around the room for a stapled set of instructions that were supposed to be on the coffee table in front of the sofa. A quick check throughout each room yielded nothing...until she found a dog bed placed on the far side of the bed, in a corner.

  The fluffy white bits on the dog bed looked like...snow.

  Until Eve drew closer.

  Her heart sinking, she bent down and ruffled through the shredded paper, then stood up and let a handful drift back down. "Great."

  Toenails clicked on the hardwood floor, then padded across the Oriental rug. A wet nose shoved at her wrist. "Arrrrwowowow."

  "So the bird talks, and you yodel—when you're not destroying things?" Just looking at Walter's sorrowful eyes made her smile despite her frustration. "What in the world are you? You look like the love-child of a West Highland Terrier and a Basset...or maybe a cuddly pillow for a girl's room."

  "Ahrrrowow," he responded solemnly.

  He had the nearly floor-length floppy ears, sad eyes and long, stocky body of a basset, but he was completely carpeted in thick, fluffy white fur. "And I'll bet you get away with everything, by playing your overwhelming-cuteness card. But not with me."

  He bared his teeth in a goofy doggy smile and looked up at her with total admiration.

  "Then again, maybe you will. Are you hungry? Dog food?"

  He seemed to understand dog food perfectly well, for he wheeled around and led her straight to his empty dog food and water dishes in the kitchen, then pawed at a door which—no surprise—turned out to be a pantry closet with a big bag of dog kibble on the floor.

  Eve guessed at the amount to feed him, filled the water dish, and sat down to send Shauna a text. Dog ate your homework. Have no instructions now. Please advise.

  A few seconds later, her phone chimed and a response appeared.

  LOL. Luckily it's all on my laptop. Will e-mail the file to you right now via attachment. Modem username is IrishBooksygal32, password is sunnyskies$#. Wireless printer is on shelf behind the cash register. Is Devlin all right?

  Oops. Devlin. Eve hadn't given him another thought. At least not in the last ten minutes. She tapped out a reply. He seemed kinda testy and you'd said he was really independent so I've left him alone. I'll go knock on his door and see if he needs anything.

  A chime, then, Thanks! TTYL!

  Eve lugged her carry-on bag into the bedroom and retrieved her laptop, logged onto the Internet and found Shauna's email, then sent the file to the printer downstairs.

  Walter was close at her heels when she descended the stairs, and bolted for the back door, his tail beating like a metronome on speed. "Again?"

  He warbled back at her, nose pressed to the door, so she let him out and went to knock lightly on Devlin's door.

  No answer.

  She cleared her throat and knocked louder. "Um...sorry to bother you, but your sister wants to know if you're all right. Do you need anything?"

  "I'm...fine."

  The deep baritone voice came from right behind her, so close she felt the warmth of his breath. She jumped back in surprise and found him wavering on crutches, his face a peculiar shade of gray in sharp contrast to his black hair.

  This time, to her disappointment, he was in navy ankle length bathrobe cinched at the waist. The last time she'd seen him he'd been standing in the shadows of the hallway and she hadn't seen his left leg clearly, but now she could. It was encased in some sort of removable splint. "You didn't have crutches last time."

  "Yeah, but I was very well-medicated. If you...could step aside...I need to lie down," he added. "Now."

  He needed to lie down before he fell down. That was clear enough. She quickly opened the door, felt for the light switch on the inside wall, and stepped aside. "Do you need help? Can I...um...take your arm, or something?"

  "No."

  He moved forward awkwardly, his left foot not touching the floor, and maneuvered sideways next to the four-poster bed until he could sit on the edge. But when he made a motion to pivot into bed his color turned even more ashen and he winced.

  Eve hurried to his side. "Tell me what I can do to help. Can I lift your bad leg?"

  She bent as if to do so, but he abruptly lifted a hand to warn her away. "No. Don't touch—anything. Just leave me be."

  She took a step back to reassure him of non-interference, but stayed to watch him laboriously ease back into bed with minute motions. "If you start to fall, I'll try to catch you."

  "I don't even want to imagine that."

  "You don't think I could?"

  "Then there'd be two injured people here." He flipped the quilt and sheet over himself and wearily leaned against the stack of pillows propped against the headboard.

  "Are you hungry?"

  "No."

  She glanced at the empty glass on the bedside table next to a prescription bottle. "I'll bring you some water."

  "No thanks." A corner of his mouth lifted briefly. "Actually, that would be good."

  When she returned with a full glass she set it on the table within his reach, then pulled up a chair. "Your sister is worried about you."

  He shrugged. "No reason."

  Such a tough guy. She could see the fine, tight lines of tension at the corners of his eyes, the muscle twitching at his jaw line. "She says you're having surgery the day after tomorrow. Why didn't they do it right away?"

  Again, that obligatory faint shrug, the masculine brush-off of anything implying weakness. She'd seen it often enough in her dad and her late fiancé.

  "Well, I just wanted you to know that Shauna asked me to drive you there, so you don't need to worry about that."

&n
bsp; She eyed him closely, then leaned back in her chair. "Are you even taking your pain meds, now?"

  He didn't answer.

  "You must have had a doozy of a fracture to warrant surgery. And if so, you must be in terrible pain right now." She waited for an answer, then continued. "So what broke, and how long will you be laid up?"

  He slanted a glance at her, then closed his eyes. "Ye could have been a reporter. Don't ye ever give up?"

  "I now have a rude parrot and a yodeling dog for company upstairs. They're more talkative than you are." She folded her arms across her chest. "Actually, I think I might bring the parrot down here. You and he are equally sociable, so you should get along just fine."

  Devlin choked back what sounded like a laugh, then winced. "Not on your life. I've heard about that blasted bird. And none of it was good."

  "You've never seen him? How often do you visit your poor grandma, anyway?"

  "Obviously not enough. Gran got him two years ago—right after I came here for a visit. When I visited her in Cork he'd already been sent back here. He was too unpleasant for the delicate sensibilities at the old folks home."

  "So I heard." The man was actually talking to her, and she felt a flicker of victory. "So what happened to your leg?"

  "Isn't it your bedtime or something?" He lifted a wrist to glance at what looked like it might be a Rolex—though from the bedraggled looks of him it was probably a knock-off. "It's ten o'clock."

  "Nope. Must be jet lag or something. I haven't slept in twenty-four hours and I still feel like I could go dancing."

  He glowered at her. "Tell me that tomorrow, when it really hits."

  "Shauna tells me that you're a photographer and that you travel constantly."

  He groaned. "Look, if you don't mind..."

  "Sorry. I'll go." She hesitated in the doorway and looked back. "You obviously won't be trotting down the snowy streets in search of breakfast tomorrow. I'm not sure what Shauna has in the cupboards, but I'll bring you something. Okay? Around eight?"

  He waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever."