by Eliza Watson
Own apartment. Very subtle. I gave her a warning look, but her curious, and seemingly innocent, gaze was focused on poor Declan.
He brushed off her meddling comment with a charming smile. “Ah, haven’t quite decided yet.”
“Caity was so lucky to get a small studio. The perfect size for living alone.”
Mortified, I opened my mouth to respond, but Rachel spoke up.
“How did we go from discussing the event to apartment rentals?” She peered over at me. “An event like that would cost a ton when you don’t even have furniture. You’d be lucky to break even, let alone make a profit. You have a full-time job now. And I just handed those meetings off to you.”
“That’s all I’m working on besides an executive glamping trip.” And a European incentive I wouldn’t mention. She’d freak out that I wasn’t qualified to plan it. Like I was freaking out.
Rachel’s nose scrunched. “Glamping trip?”
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
“What does Matthew McHugh think about you working from England after just starting?”
I shrugged. “You planned Flanagan’s meetings from four thousand miles away. It doesn’t matter where I’m at.”
“You haven’t told him you’re here, have you? What if he asks you to come into the office Monday? You going to hop a plane back to Dublin?”
“The office is near the airport.”
Rachel rolled her eyes.
“I’m going to tell him.”
She’d really freak if she knew about my challenge obtaining Irish citizenship.
“I can’t leave George while he’s in the hospital, and we don’t know if he’s going to make it. I’m the reason we’re here. We’re his only family besides his aunt Emily, who’s in the Canary Islands and hasn’t even checked up on him, and Sadie and Seamus, who won’t leave Ireland to visit.” I’d wait until morning to fill them in on nasty Cousin Enid. “George connected with us because of me.” My voice trembled. My bottom lip quivered.
Rachel’s gaze softened. “That doesn’t make you responsible for saving his home.”
“Who else is going to help him?”
Mom placed a hand gently on my arm. “It’s so sweet you want to help him, dear, but that would be an awfully big endeavor in such a short period of time. We’ll make sure George finds a nice home. No furnishings will certainly make moving much easier.” She stifled a yawn. “This discussion can wait until morning when we aren’t all so tired. I need a shower and a soft bed.”
Rachel and I were just smoothing things over after I went for the Flanagan’s position without her blessing. I needed to tread lightly. Seeing George in the hospital tomorrow better get her on board. With or without her help, I was planning the event.
I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. My gaze darted over to the mouse’s brown head peeking out from under the door behind Rachel and Mom. I gasped in surprise.
Having seen it too, Declan said, “How about I be showing ya to your rooms?” He lifted the suitcases, heading toward the stairs before Rachel or Mom could ask about my reaction.
“Sounds like a great idea,” Mom said.
We’d left the bedroom doors open to warm up the rooms. From the pink walls and frilly bedding and pillows, I assumed Rachel’s room had been George’s mom’s. I showed Mom to ours, no longer wanting to be my sister’s roomie and spend a sleepless night arguing with her.
Mom eyed the silver pail in the corner without commenting, then peered over at the bed. “Such a lovely frame.”
The blue quilt was turned down on the four-poster bed, and blue folded bath towels lay on the end. Luckily, each room had its own bath. Flames jumped around in the fireplace. Thank you, Declan.
She swept a hand over the back of the rocking chair. Was she envisioning her mother rocking George to sleep like I had?
“You’ve always taken care of the family,” I said. “And Rachel has always looked out for me. I’ve only had myself to watch out for, and I haven’t done the best job at it. I want to be the one to take care of the family for once.”
Mom gave me a sympathetic smile. “You’ve done that by finding George.”
I helped Mom hoist her suitcase up on a worn cream upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.
“And now he needs us.”
“I understand, dear. And we’ll be here to support and take care of him. But you have enough to worry about with your new job and move to Ireland. Don’t overwhelm yourself.”
It irked me that she still worried about my ability to take care of myself, let alone others.
She slipped her red velour robe from her suitcase. Its purple zipper was the third replacement zipper, and a pink patch covered a hole on one elbow. I’d offered to buy her a new robe for Christmas two years in a row, but she was attached to the garment she’d probably worn home from the hospital after I was born. Too bad I hadn’t brought my white plush robe from La Haute Bohème, a hotel in Prague. Yet it would have taken up my entire brown carry-on bag. I’d already only packed enough clothes for two days, having planned on leaving tomorrow.
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” she said. “Okay?”
While I was growing up, Mom would always say, “We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” hoping by the next day I’d forget about whatever it was she hadn’t wanted to discuss. I never did.
Mac hopped up on the bed and rolled around.
“Ah, sorry, no room for bed hogs. You’ll be sleeping with Daddy tonight.”
Daddy? I slid Mom a sideways glance to catch her reaction, but her back was to me.
“I’m not sure if it’s a good time to mention this.” She turned toward me, distressed lines creasing her forehead. “But Andrew called for you right before I left.”
A sick feeling tossed my stomach. But nothing compared to the sheer panic that used to press so hard against my chest I feared my lungs would collapse. Certain situations, smells, or the mere mention of his name no longer triggered such a volatile reaction. However, his demeaning comments still occasionally made me doubt myself.
“What did he want?” I asked cautiously.
“For you to call him. That’s all he’d say. He wants to discuss something with you.”
That I was part of his twelve-step program and he finally realized he was a narcissistic, controlling ass? Yeah, right. So why had he called? Was he going to once again demand I give him my painting, which he claimed was his? I had no desire to call him back, but if I didn’t, would he start stalking me again? Yet he might start stalking me again if I did!
“Declan seems like a great catch. Quite handsome, and that accent…”
“Yeah, so don’t scare him away. No more drilling him about his living situation.” Yet I was kind of wondering about it myself seeing as it didn’t sound like Declan had started apartment hunting.
“What? I merely asked his plans because he’d sold his house. I know you wouldn’t jump into living together before you really get to know him.”
I did a mental eye roll, taking my green Coffey Dublin T-shirt and plaid leggings over by the fire to change. “I’m tired. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
Two could play at that.
Chapter Ten
My eyes shot open. I squinted back the sun shining through the windows. Mom used to wake me up for school by throwing up the shades and pulling off my blankets. I wasn’t a morning person, unlike Rachel who’d be dressed and studying at the kitchen table when I dragged my butt down for a bowl of cereal. But it wasn’t the sun that had woken me. It was shouting from the salon downstairs.
It was 8:00 a.m. Who had the energy to fight at this early hour? I’d barely slept, thanks to Mom’s restless legs syndrome. It was like she was racing through Walmart, snatching up deals on Black Friday. And Bernice and Gracie’s ancestor James McKinney had run through my mind. What was I missing that I couldn’t locate his or his siblings birth records in Scotland? Maybe I should have let Mac sleep with us. He was a total bed hog, and I might
have ended up sleeping better on the cold wooden floor.
Omigod. Mac hadn’t caught the mouse again, had he? And that was Rachel hollering downstairs?
I hopped out of bed and raced stocking-footed across the room in my jammies, wrapped in my long red coat and blue mohair scarf. The fire had gone out during the night, and it had seemed easier, and safer, to throw on more clothes than to blindly build my first fire in the dark. I flew into the hallway and peered over the railing at Cousin Enid dressed in green riding attire, shaking a fist at Mom, who was threatening to blast her with furniture spray. I’d rather the mouse had returned than that wretched woman. Thomas was grasping the handles of his hedge clippers. Rachel, about the same height as our short uncle, tightened the sash on George’s navy velour robe. Declan and Mac had just returned from a walk. Mac ran over and growled at Enid.
I ran down the stairs.
Mom’s gaze darted to me. “She said she’s George’s cousin, so I figured it was okay to let her in.”
“And I’m not leaving until you tell me what you’ve done with all the bloody paintings and furnishings,” Enid roared. “You had no right to sell—”
“George had to pay for new plumbing, insurance, roof repairs…” Thomas sliced his hedge clippers in frustration, and Enid snapped her head back.
I needed to check the silver bucket in the bedroom to make sure it hadn’t rained last night and the ceiling hadn’t leaked.
“It takes money to keep this place running, and you and your cousin Walter never offered to help.”
“How dare George sell our family’s heritage without even consulting me. That Victorian settee was my grandmother’s.” She gestured to an empty corner by the fireplace. “It was supposed to be mine.” Enid sucked in a shaky breath. Her body trembled with anger.
She was seriously upset about the chair. I couldn’t believe the nasty woman had a sentimental bone in her body.
“It was his to sell,” Thomas said. “Now go. I’m done listening to your nonsense.”
“I have more right to be here than any of you.”
Mom squared her shoulders. “I have more right than you, being George’s sister.”
Enid gasped in shock. “Sister?” Her gaze narrowed. “George doesn’t have a sister.”
Mom had only been here twelve hours, and she’d managed to disclose our identity and George’s unfurnished home to Enid. I’d planned to fill Mom and Rachel in on everything this morning but hadn’t expected Enid to barge in at the crack of dawn!
“Yes, he does,” Mom said.
“What proof do you have?” Enid asked.
What proof did we have? George’s birth certificate had likely been altered to note his parents as Henry Wood and Isabella Daly, or he’d have discovered his adoption. However, his baptismal record probably noted Grandma and Michael Daly as his real parents. Just what I needed. One more historical document to not be able to find.
“DNA,” I blurted out. “We can do an ancestry DNA test to prove they’re related.” As if I was going to swab George’s cheek or obtain his spit while he was lying in the hospital.
Enid gave her eyes an exaggerated roll. “You could rig a test. How precisely do you claim to be related?” Her thin lips curled into a devious smile. “Isabella had an affair, did she? So George isn’t biologically a Daly and involved in yet another scandal?”
I slapped a hand on my hip rather than across the bitch’s face like I wanted to. “Oh no, believe me, he’s a Daly.”
But what if the DNA test proved George wasn’t a Coffey? That he wasn’t related to us? Nigel’s mom had discovered she wasn’t a hundred percent English but was also French and German, thanks to a DNA test. Nigel had only pursued his ancestry research because of his mom’s test results, and that was why I’d discovered the convict ancestor. I believed George’s claim that he was Grandma’s son. Why would he have lied? Yet what if his mother had lied? DNA tests now made me nervous.
Enid let out a sadistic laugh that sent a chill racing through me. “We’ll see about that. Doesn’t matter. The place will soon be sold, and I’ll receive a nice finder’s fee. I’ll also have free legal services so I can sue George for my share of the family’s fortune.”
I gave Thomas a worried look, which he returned. If she sued, George would have to file bankruptcy or flee England. We might both be forced to leave our ancestors’ homeland!
Rachel glared at Enid. “Maybe we should do a true-crime murder-mystery dinner rather than one solving the art theft.”
Did this mean Rachel was on board or bluffing because Enid had ticked her off?
Panic filled Enid’s gray eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re holding a fundraiser to help George save the estate,” Rachel said. “Guests have the opportunity to solve the theft.”
“I should think not,” Enid spat.
Declan quirked a curious brow. “Guilty, are ya?”
“Of course not. But we won’t have you embarrassing the entire family by bringing up a crime that never would have happened if George’s family had taken appropriate measures to prevent it. George will be disgraced if everyone learns he allowed the estate to go to ruins.” Her self-confidence wavered as she apparently realized she’d also be disgraced. “It’ll be over my dead body that event happens.”
“Whatever it takes.” Rachel got in Enid’s face, forcing her to step back, momentarily throwing her off her game.
“You’ll be sorry.” Nose in the air, Enid spun around and huffed out, her bootheels clomping against the wood floor.
Mom lowered the can of furniture polish, and Thomas relaxed his grip on the hedge clippers.
I filled Mom and Rachel in on Enid’s plans for turning the estate into law offices and Diana having run off with a partner.
“Maybe instead of a mystery dinner, it could be afternoon tea,” Rachel said. “That’d be more cost effective. And if it’s tea, we wouldn’t have to rent tables and chairs. We could use the old couch in the library, bring the settee down from my room… Perhaps it’s the one Enid’s looking for.”
“Wouldn’t that get her goat.” Mom shook a fist toward the door.
“I have two couches and some chairs we could use,” Thomas said.
“We could make finger sandwiches ourselves,” I said. “We wouldn’t need to hire a caterer to prepare a hot meal.”
Rachel smiled. “Exactly. Cost savings.”
Mom sniffed the air. “I should have the place cleaned and the musty smell gone in two weeks.”
“We’ll be explaining that all the original paintings are in storage, not wanting another to get nicked,” Declan said. “So George won’t be embarrassed a’ tall. The reproductions will be hanging on the wall.”
“We’ll find furniture and antiques at charity shops,” Thomas said. “Only need enough to fill the salon and library.”
“I’ll start making a list of appetizers.” Mom tapped a finger against her lips. “I can make those little wieners in a barbecue sauce.”
Rachel and I exchanged worried glances as Mom rattled off our traditional Christmas Eve party food list. Not appropriate food for a proper English tea, but she needed to contribute. However, she’d likely change her mind about the party wienies once she saw the behemoth of a stove. She was the queen of crockpot recipes.
“And Fanny Bing, who fancies George, is a great baker,” Declan said.
I nodded. “I know where we can get an eclectic array of teapots and dishes for a steal.”
“The art supplies I ordered online will be here tomorrow. I can see what Lancaster has so I can get started today.”
A look of determination filled Rachel’s eyes. “I have ten days off. I’ll take a few more. I’m not losing my vacation time again this year. We need to advertise ASAP. Create a website so people can book tickets. We won’t have to buy food until we know the precise number attending, two days prior. We need to start spreading the word.”
Cousin Enid might be a slag, but she was a mot
ivating slag!
* * *
Not wanting to take a chance on Mac misbehaving at the hospital, Declan took him when he left to buy art supplies. Neither of the nurses from the previous day was at the reception desk.
A middle-aged woman in a teal-colored uniform glanced up at us. “What is your relationship to the patient?”
“I’m his sister.” Mom’s eyes watered. “He’s my brother, and I might not…” She choked back a sob. “…get to say hello before I have to say good-bye.” A tear trailed down her cheek.
Rachel slipped an arm around Mom’s shoulder, and the nurse gave her a tissue and a sympathetic smile. She advised us there was no change in George’s condition. The meds were still knocking him out, and the fluid remained on his lungs. Mom blew her nose and wiped away her tears. Rachel escorted her down the hall toward George’s room, while I hung back and warned the nurse about a crazy woman named Enid who might stop by and shouldn’t be allowed to visit George.
She would upset him even if he had been in a coma.
I joined Rachel and Mom outside George’s room, where Mom was taking deep, calming breaths, shaking it off. She nodded, and we stepped inside to loud snoring and beeping monitors. George looked even paler, still breathing through an oxygen mask, an IV in his arm. Mom grasped the bed rail, steadying herself.
“He has Grandma’s chin,” I said. “Her heart-shaped face.”
Mom nodded, smiling.
“I told him that when we met in Prague.”
She placed a hand on my arm. “I’m glad you mentioned that to him.”
I set Fanny’s basket of scones on the nightstand. Mom slipped a framed picture of her parents, sisters, and her from her purse and put it next to Fanny’s tulips. She then removed a tarnished silver brooch with emerald-colored stones that Grandma had worn when she married Michael Daly. Mom had worn it for her wedding, unaware of her mother’s first marriage at the time. Mom massaged a thumb over the heirloom as if trying to buff it.
“You should have this,” she told George, placing it on the blanket next to his hand. “Our mother wore it on her wedding day.” She sucked in a shaky breath, then eased it out. “I can’t believe my mother kept him a secret when we could have gotten to know each other years ago. She should have at least left a note in her will if she didn’t want anyone to know while she was alive.”