I looked down at the front of my outfit. “I’ve heard that place is nice, but I’m not really all that presentable anymore. Would you mind if we just grabbed food here?”
“I don’t mind at all, although I think ye’d be the loveliest woman in the room anywhere we went.”
I felt my face flush. I wanted to reach out and kiss him hello. It hadn’t exactly been the greeting I’d imagined but there would be time for that.
Minutes later, Cullen had arranged dinner in a cozy quiet little booth away from the party. I gave him a sidelong glance.
“You bring many ladies here?”
“I do not,” he answered, straight faced. “This was your idea.”
“Fair enough,” I said with a grin, although I planned to grill him more later.
He ordered us supper while I disappeared to the little lassie’s room. When I came out, there was already a bottle of red wine waiting. He poured me a glass and I took a seat on the bench opposite him, slipping my shoes off and getting cozy against the wall.
Ye haven’t mentioned Gigi once.”
“I miss her,” I said. My eyes teared up.
“Bollix. I’m right scarlett. I shouldn’t be after askin’.”
I laughed, tears spilling onto my cheeks. “It’s all right. It’s cathartic to talk about that kind of stuff. I just can’t do it without crying yet.”
“Well, whenever ye’re game. ‘Til then, lets’ talk about somethin’ else. You mentioned doin’ research while ye’re here.”
“Yes! Actually, I stopped and checked out part of the archaeology branch on the way to meet you. I have to go back. It’s a huge place. Anyway, I’m looking for a man who used to work for the National Museum of Ireland. I’m sure he’s passed, but I’m hoping to track down his family to find out about a gem that he passed onto my family.”
“What’s his name? Maybe I can help. My grandda—”
Before Cullen could finish his sentence, someone approached our table with several food platters and a second bottle of wine.
“Hope ye’re thirsty!” A smile curved Cullen’s lips.
Aroma from the food wafted in the air, making my stomach grind.
Cullen unrolled his silverware when his jacket began to buzz.
“Sorry about that,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and reading the screen. “It’s Ma and she says hello.
“Oh nice. Tell her I said hello back.”
“I will.” He smiled. “She also says I’m a terribly rude host, for not inviting ye to stay at my house. So, what do you say?”
“To what?”
“To coming to stay at my house tomorrow? Ye won’t have me disappointing my parents, will ye?”
***
Surrounded by hedges and covered in moss, Cullen’s home looked like a whimsical, Tudor-style cottage with façades of dark timbers and limestone and a massive chimney that thrust skyward. The roof was asymmetrical and steeply pitched with gable ends poking this way and that. The whole place reminded me of Snow White’s cottage—unique, charming, clean and comfortable.
I looked around to see where Cullen had disappeared to. At any other time, I would have enjoyed taking in the details, but this time I was more interested in the owner than the well-appointed house. I wandered down the hall and into the living room, where Cullen had hung some family photos and artwork. He had sunk into the sofa with a pint in hand.
“Who is this?” I asked. “Is this your ancestor, or do you enjoy hanging large portraits of men on your walls?”
Cullen laughed. “Well, I do enjoy a good manly portrait from time to time, but that would be my great-great-great-grandfather, Tandy O’Kelley.”
“I see the resemblance. What is that?” I asked, pointing at the man in the photo’s side.
“His dagger. Grand, isn’t it? When I was a lad, my Da made one out of cardboard for me and I pretended it was his.”
“And I take it that lovely woman is your great-great-great-grandmother.”
“Ye’d be right, all right.”
“What is that?” I said, suddenly standing straighter.
“Her frock?”
“No. That!” I said, sharply, pointing to the huge blue sapphire she was holding.
“Ah. Good eye. Tandy was a curator at the National Gallery of Ireland.”
I cut him off. “He was the curator?”
“What’s the matter, Sophia?”
“Are you teasing me?”
“No, why?”
“That’s the reason I’m here.”
“I thought I was the reason ye’re here.”
I looked up sheepishly. “You are, but remember the gem I mentioned? I think that’s it. I was coming here to search for information on it. My Gigi’s father got it from a man who worked as a curator at the National Gallery of Ireland—possibly your ancestor.”
Cullen took a huge gulp of his beer. “Jaysus. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Not too much. Just that it was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. I wish I could remember the name of it. Delhi something.”
“The Delhi Sapphire.”
“Aye, that’s it. It came with a note that said it was cursed or so I’m told. When he showed it to his wife, my great-great-grandmother, she begged him to let her hold it for the portrait. She fell and broke her leg that same day. He was a very superstitious man so, after that, he sealed it with protective charms and got rid of it.”
I looked back at the portrait of his ancestors.
“Sophia. What are you thinking about?”
“Sorry,” I said, turning away from the painting.
His hand slid to my neck, and he gently cupped the side of my face with his other hand.
“I overheard you say that you dreamed of me?”
He gave an involuntary shudder. “I did,” he replied, gently running his thumb over my skin.
“What was the dream about?”
“I’m... after forgettin’ the details now.” His face reddened.
“Come on,” I encouraged him.
He looked down at the floor. “I’ve actually had a couple of different dreams. There’s one in a castle, and another in the sea.” He lifted a hand to the back of his head and ran his hands through his hair.
“It’s not a sign of weakness to dream about people,” I said gently.
He snorted. “Ah, well, it’s just Arthur Guinness talking,” he said, taking a swig of beer to hide his embarrassment.
I disagreed but decided to let him keep his sense of normalcy for the moment.
Glancing down at the table I noticed a cute gold tin with a blue lid. Sweet Kilarney. “Are these candies?” I asked, picking it up. I could go for something sweet right about now.
“Candies… no. Well, maybe candy for men. That’s pipe tobacco.”
“You smoke a pipe?”
“I’ve had a puff here and there but, no, not really.”
My attention was attracted by a play of light coming in through the half-opened window. I got the feeling that someone was out there. The draperies, gently buffeted by the breeze, took on a life of their own.
“I can’t stand smoke. It always reminds me of this nightmare I had as a kid.” I set the tin back down and wandered over to the window. There was no one there, just sectioned off gardens with alder trees, bells of Ireland, forget-me-nots, wisteria, and lavender.
His phone beeped at his side, and he pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it.
“Bollix. I have to go into the office for an hour. Will ye be all right here, or I could drop ye at Ma’s? She wants to take ye shopping.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m tired.”
“The guest room is upstairs, second door on the left. Here, I can show you.”
“No, go ahead. I’m going to get water first. I’ll see you after.”
He walked away but then turned back, “I was thinkin’ we’d head down to one of the local haunts when I get back for some dri
nks and dinner. Would ye be into that?”
“Sounds great.”
“Make yourself at home.”
I watched Cullen get in his Land Rover, and then I walked up the stairs with my glass of water. The painting was still haunting me. This was all too strange to be true.
It couldn’t be real.
But it was real. Wasn’t it?
I picked up the phone and dialed Leslie. She would have to believe me now. My call went straight to voicemail. Damn it! Maybe I’ll send her a quick text. As I was typing my phone rang. Wow. That was fast.
Silence. I almost hung up. Then I heard breathing.
“Did you think you could get away?”
The voice was muffled like the phone was covered with something.
“Nick?”
“I know where you are.”
“Nick? Is this you, you son of a bitch?”
“You know what I want.”
Maybe it wasn’t Nick. “I think you have the wrong number.”
“Sophia.” The voice was raspy, gravelly, a growl. Disguised.
A prankster? Can’t be—he said my name.
A whisper now, barely understandable. “I can see you. Give it up.”
“Who is this? What are you talking about?”
“I won’t stop until I have it.”
“Have what?”
“I’ll be watching.”
The phone went dead.
“Damn you,” I screamed to the empty house.
I walked to the window to see if Cullen’s vehicle was still there. No. I frowned suddenly, feeling a cold tension seize me. Why? Something… a sound.
Yes. I thought I’d heard a sound downstairs.
“Cu—”
I opened my mouth to call out and then closed it quickly. Some sixth sense warned me that it couldn’t be Cullen; the Land Rover was gone.
I remained dead still, listening. Not a sound.
I waited. Looking down, my fingers were curled hard over the windowsill. I made a point of relaxing them.
Still nothing. I had imagined it.
Then I heard something again. At least I thought I did. A sound, coming, fading, gone. What had it been? A creaking?
And then I realized…
Someone was coming up the stairs.
I started to rush into the hall. If a burglar was in the house, I would run right into him. I stood frozen. No, I couldn’t go running into the hall.
He was coming closer. Coming straight for the guest bedroom. I spun around and tried to silently open the closet door. It creaked loudly.
I could feel his footsteps through the floor. I felt around in the closet. I needed a weapon. I couldn’t think.
My fingers grasped something long and cold with a thick end. A golf club. There was a whole set of them. I pulled one out.
The closet would be an obvious place to look for me. I ran to the bed. Too low to fit under. The footsteps were almost upon me. I jumped behind the curtain, gripping the club tightly in both hands, holding it upright against my body.
I waited, barely breathing. I heard nothing. Nothing at all. He must have gone.
Then suddenly, just when I was relaxing my stance, breathing deeply, easily, the curtain was pulled back.
THIRTY-SIX
I swore in panic and swung the club with all my might, bringing the club up and down in a chopping motion as I attempted to catapult myself past him.
The intruder brought his arms up to protect his face, spewing a string of Gaelic as he caught me.
Shrieking, I ran, but fingers wound around my arm. I tried to strike out again, but he had the club by the end. I struggled to keep it and free myself, and tripped. The club was wrenched from my hands as I hit the floor.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What are ye doing?”
I looked up, stunned to immobility.
“Liam!” I said, incredulously. I recognized the scar on the side of his face.
Cullen’s brother.
I’d seen him briefly in profile the day I’d been eavesdropping. I’d also seen pictures, but I’d never formally met him.
“Sophia. It’s you. I thought I heard someone shout from up here. Ye surprised the bejeesus out of me.” He leaned a hand down to help me up.
“H-how do you know me?”
“The island, Lass. Ye fell, and Cullen and I rescued ye. Jaysus, I helped pull ye from the water. Ye really don’t remember me?”
“Sorry.”
“I sat in the hospital with Cullen all bloody night.”
“Right. I’m really sorry. I don’t recall any of that, but I do appreciate it. I wasn’t expecting… that is… Cullen never said you were coming over.”
“No, I guess he wouldn’t have. I just popped by. I didn’t know he had company. Last I’d heard ye’d gone back home after France.”
“I did. I came here to do some research, and Cullen invited me for dinner.”
“None of my business. Well, I’m sorry if I gave ye a start. Ye’ve got quite the swing on ye.”
I laughed. “Yes, I was terrified.”
“Like I said, I apologize. I didn’t know ye were here, else I would have knocked or at the very least called out.”
“No, it’s all right. I overreacted. Did you want to stick around and chat? My heart is pounding still. I’d rather not be alone.”
“To be sure, lass. Ye like sweets?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I’ve a peace offering for ye, then. How about we leg it downstairs. I’ll make ye a nice cup of tea and we can devour fresh cream treats.”
The day had turned out to be a social one. Liam left almost an hour after his heart-stopping arrival—just before Cullen returned from work. While I waited for Cullen to get back. I decided to clean out my purse and came across Gigi’s bible. I must have accidentally stuck it in there while packing. With a smile on my face, I flipped the book open to her favorite passage in Ecclesiastes. A loose, fragile-looking paper fell out. Scribbly writing twisted across the top of the page: This stone is trebly accursed and stained with the blood and dishonor of everyone who has ever used it.
***
Two hours after that, I found myself sitting at the bar with Cullen and his friends—pub regulars from the looks of them. They were an entertaining bunch, full of stories and funny phrases.
My cell phone rang, and I recognized Leslie’s number. “Back in a minute.” I walked outside. “Les, you got my text?”
“Sure did. It was a little jumbled. I think it autocorrected; either that or you were in a hurry. Who did you find?”
“The curator.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Not quite.”
“You’re killing me with all the suspense.”
“Then listen. Before I got the chance to go to the museum, Cullen showed me a family portrait of his great-great-great-grandfather, who just happened to be a curator at the museum in the twenties. And guess what was in the portrait? The Delhi Sapphire. He told me his grandfather found it but gave it away because it was cursed. I’m wondering if this curse is the key to everything. Maybe we need to do a little more research?”
“And by we… you mean me?”
“Just get a head start. I’ll be home soon.”
I hung up and headed back inside the bar. Cullen winked at me as he passed. He had a phone to his ear now too.
“Where do you think you’re going, handsome?”
“Be right back.”
“Don’t worry, luv. You’ll be safe enough with us,” Big Pete Murphy said, patting the seat next to him. Pete was a tiny man, so it was one of those ironic names.
“He’s right. We’re harmless, or at least I am,” Bert replied. He was a large, dark-haired man with a bushy moustache.
“Cullen says ye’re headed home tomorrow. Did ye enjoy our fair city?”
“I didn’t see too much of it. I mostly spent time with Cullen and his family.”
“Awe, so ye met the O’Kelley’s?”
“Yes. They’re lovely people. I went to dinner with his parents, and his brother surprised me today at the house. I almost took his head off with a golf club.”
“Did ye now? I like ye more already. Did ye hear that, Bert? Sophia tried to beat the yoke.”
“I felt terrible. I wasn’t expecting anyone. “
“Ahh, no matter, hardly the first time for that feen.”
“Do priests get beat up a lot in Ireland?”
“Bert’s kiddin’ with ye,” Pete said, shaking his head. “But he wasn’t always such a pious man.”
“We like him anyway, though,” Bert added. “Decent fella now to have a few pints with.” They both laughed.
“He’s turned over a new leaf,” Pete said casually. “Amazing, considering his crazy mam and all.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering what Lucille had to do with anything.
“Well, ye could hear me story if there was a pint of Guinness in me hand.” Pete frowned at the empty glass on the table. “Sure, a man can’t talk if his whistle’s dried up.”
The bartender took the hint and set a pint in front of him. Pete took a swallow and smacked his lips.
“My mother used to help out with the local riff raff. She dealt with Liam more than a few times when he was a young buck.”
“Ah, Jaysus, Pete,” Bert chimed in. “You're goin' around like a constipated greyhound. Shut your bleedin' cakehole.”
Pete leaned forward onto the table and looked around as the others stretched in. “I will in me arse. Anyhow, it’s true. I heard he was questioned over that missing girl,” he said, as he paused for another swallow.
“Ye’re tellin’ me, ye can remember somethin’ from twenty years ago but ye can’t remember the quid I loaned ye last week? If bullshit was music, ye'd be a brass bleedin' band.”
“And if brains were dynamite, you wouldn't have enough to blow yer nose.” Both men emptied their glasses, which were replaced like magic by the bartender, just as Cullen returned. How in the heck did anyone drink a pint of Guinness that fast?
“Well, boys, time for us to head on. This is no place for a lady.”
“Aw, come on now, it hasn’t stopped Bert.” Pete laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 23