by Laura Durham
I rolled down the car window and inhaled the scent of grass and impending rain, looking up at the gray clouds in the distance. "We'd better get to the village before the rain comes."
Richard drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Fern did know what time we were leaving for dinner, right?"
"I slipped a note under his door," Kate said, shrugging her kelly-green cashmere wrap over her shoulders.
I glanced at the lush lawn of the estate. "Let's hope he went back to his room to see it. I told you I saw him outside with the genealogy ladies, right?"
Richard snapped his head to face me. "He's taken up with another group?"
"I wouldn't say 'taken up.' It looked like he was joining them for there falconry lesson, although I didn't watch long enough to see the birds." I shot Kate a look. "Someone came in and distracted me."
She gave me an arch smile in return. "Oh, I think you were already pretty distracted talking to your honey."
I felt my face flush as I turned back around. No way was I going to tell Kate--or anyone--what had come up when I'd been on the phone with Reese. It would send everyone into a frenzy and would confuse me even more. I rubbed my clammy hands on the front of my jeans and spotted Fern rushing out of the manor, the long ends of his scarf flying behind him and giving him the look of an Irish ace pilot.
"Sorry I'm late, dolls." He was out of breath as he slid in the backseat.
We all took a moment to take in his attire--brown tweed pants that narrowed at the ankle and a matching snug fitting jacket, a hunter-green tweed vest peeking out from under the three-button jacket, and a flat topped tweed cap. He unwound his green scarf from his neck.
"What?" he touched a hand to his lapel. "I didn't have time to change after the falconry."
I knew how much effort Fern put into his outfits. "You look very . . ."
"Irish?" he asked.
"Tweedy," Richard said, pressing the gas and jolting us out of the parking space.
Fern gave Kate an appreciative look and touched the green scarf he'd given her. "At least someone else is getting into the spirit of the trip." He leaned his head between the front seats. "Unlike some people I could mention."
"I promise I'll wear my scarf the next time we go out," I said. "I was in a rush to get dressed this time, not to mention to get everyone out of my room."
He slumped back on his seat. "Did I miss a party in Annabelle's room?"
"No!" I said, more forcefully than I'd intended. "But we did see you heading out with the ladies."
"How were the falcons?" Kate asked once we were driving down the long lane leading away from the hotel.
"Magnificent," Fern said. "But my favorites were the owls. They have a snowy one that looked stunning with my coloring. I'm thinking of getting one when we get back home."
"An owl?" Richard asked as he eased the car onto the main road leading into the village of Adare. "You're thinking of getting an owl?"
Fern nodded. "You carry a dog around in your man bag. Why can't I carry an owl around on my shoulder?"
Great. Just what we needed--to be a walking menagerie.
As Richard muttered something about the difference between carrying a dog and an owl, I pointed at an oncoming car. "Don't forget we're supposed to be on the left."
He swerved the car and we all lurched to one side. "They really need to make these roads wider."
"I'm sure the country of Ireland will get right on that," Kate said.
I ignored Richard's snarky response as we entered the village proper and passed a series of thatched roof cottages--some covered in moss, some whitewashed, and others stone-fronted. A waist-high stone wall ran the length of the row of houses, and signs hung from posts in front of some indicating they were restaurants.
"Charming," Fern said. "Aside from all the tourists crowding the sidewalks and taking pictures."
I flipped open the Ireland guidebook Richard had tucked in the center console, reading as we drove. "Adare has been called the prettiest village in Ireland and has been named a Tidy Town by the government."
"Tidy Towns. Now that's a concept I can get behind." Richard nodded his head as we approached what looked like the main business district with rows of two-story buildings abutting one another.
Colorful with fat chimneys, the shops and restaurants had Irish flags and hanging baskets of flowers in front. We slowed with the traffic, and I spotted a black-and-white building ahead at the juncture where the road divided. It drew my eye with a double gabled roof, dormer windows on each side, and a red doorway.
"I wonder what that is?" I said aloud, skimming my guidebook, but finding no information.
"What is?" Richard glanced over at me and the car drifted closer to the middle.
"Left!" Kate screamed from behind us, and Richard jerked the car back in line as an oncoming car swiped his side view mirror, and it spun into the air and flew behind us.
Richard slammed on the brakes. "That's it. I'm done with driving." He jerked the car into park in the middle of the street and opened his door.
"What are you doing?" I leaned over the center console as he stepped out of the car. "Don't worry about the mirror. We got the extra insurance."
Kate looked behind us at the line of cars approaching. "I mean, I've done some bad parking in my day, but this takes the cape."
Fern cocked his head, no doubt working the mangled phrase over in his head to see if it was right.
"You mean cake," I said. "Takes the cake."
Kate shrugged. "Sure, that too."
"Richard," I called as he stood with his hand on the doorframe. "We can't stay here in the middle of the road."
Kate opened her door. "I'll find the mirror while you talk him off the ledge."
Talking Richard off the ledge had become a specialty of mine over the years, and I liked to think it honed my skills for calming down nervous brides. I watched Kate give the cars behind us an exuberant wave as she bobbed her way between them, ducking her head down to get a better view of the ground. I didn't hear any honks of complaints and chalked it up to the more polite and laid back Irish people. It probably didn't hurt that she was very blond and her skirt was very short.
"It's fine," I told Richard as I stepped out of my side of the car. "You're doing great. I'm sure this kind of thing happens all the time here."
"Found it!" Kate yelled from a few cars back as she held up the intact side view mirror.
"See?" I said. "No biggie."
Richard crossed his arms. "And what are we supposed to do with it now that it isn't attached to the car? Am I supposed to drive while holding it out the window with one hand?"
Fern joined us outside the car. "Do you think you could do that?"
Richard narrowed his eyes at him.
"Let's not worry about this now," I said as Kate jogged back to the car with the mirror in hand. "If we park the car, we can have a nice dinner somewhere and figure out our next steps."
"You're right," Fern said, twisting his neck to scan the street. "There's a pub right there that looks pinch-me cute. A couple of pints of Guinness, and we'll all feel better."
Richard straightened his shoulders. "If you think beer will improve my mood, you don't know me at all."
"Come on, Richard," I said, hearing the pleading tone in my own voice. "Get back in the car. You're the only one who can drive it."
"Not technically true," Kate said when she reached us. "I can drive stick."
Fern, Richard, and I all exchanged a glance.
Kate strode up to the driver's side, nudged Richard out of the way, and tossed the mirror in the backseat. "Hop in if you don't want to sit here all day." She plopped herself in front of the steering wheel, slammed the door shut and revved the engine.
Fern disappeared back in the car and before I could decide, and the car lurched forward, leaving Richard and me standing in the middle of the road. I watched open-mouthed as Kate careened to the end of the street, made a tight U-turn, and angled into a barely legal spa
ce.
"You are officially not allowed to read any more books about how to empower your employees." Richard scurried over to the sidewalk with me.
"It was one book," I said as we walked to the car. "But point taken."
Fern stood on the sidewalk looking up at the marine-blue pub with wide white windows and bright red signs announcing that Pat Collins Bar had fine food and drink. "This looks as good as any." He squinted his eyes at the specials written in chalk on the slate board next to the door. "I think the Irish stew would go best with my outfit, don't you?"
"Definitely," Kate said.
I hooked my arm through Richard's. "I promise you'll feel better once we eat."
He squeezed my hand. "You're probably right. The last food I had was on the plane, and you know how irritable processed food makes me."
Fern sucked in his breath as he peered into one of the pub's multipaned windows. "I don't believe it." His face broke into a grin. "The ladies from the hotel are inside. Let's go see if we can join them."
Richard groaned as Fern threw open the shiny black door. "I'm in hell."
Kate winked at us as she followed him. "At least hell serves pints."
Chapter 5
"Isn't this fun?" Fen asked as we squeezed into a long upholstered banquette that ran along the back of the pub and was fronted with low polished wood tables in an assortment of shapes and sizes.
The ladies from the genealogical tour had been more than happy to add us to their group when Fern had burst into the pub like he was one of the long-lost relatives they were searching for. I tried to smile as I wedged myself next to a gray-haired woman who wore a bright green fanny pack around her waist facing front and a beige security wallet meant to be tucked under clothing around her neck and on top of her purple blouse. Richard dragged an unused chair from another table and plopped it across from me at the small round table, giving me a self-satisfied grin. I knew he was pleased that he'd managed not to be body-to-body with people he didn't know, and I suppressed the urge to kick him under the table.
I waved at Kate and Fern at the other end of the long banquette, but both were deep in conversation with ladies from the group. The chatter from the ten or so women plus our four added to the low hum of the full pub. It wasn't loud enough to need to shout, but the between the dinner guests, the people bellied up to the bar, and the televisions playing a European football match, it was far from quiet.
Although bustling with activity, the pub felt cozy with none of the high-ceilinged grandeur of our hotel. Light came in from the large windows, but the carpet and furniture were dark blue and the heavy drapes a rich shade of crimson. The wooden bar greeted you as you entered and curved around the room with stools lined up along it and bottles arranged in rows behind the busy bartenders. The scent of beer and baking bread seemed to hang in the air and make me want to breathe in deeply.
"Fernando told us you were all from our nation's capital," the woman with the fanny pack next to me said, holding out a hand. "I'm Colleen. From Cincinnati."
It was rare I heard Fern referred to by his full name--he tired of explaining his mother's passion for ABBA when he gave it--but if anyone would insist on calling him by his proper name, I suspected it would be a group of grandmothers.
"Annabelle," I said. "From Washington. And my smug friend is Richard."
Richard extended his fingertips. "Charmed."
"And I'm Betty Belle from Amarillo, Texas." The woman on my other side had hair spun up around her head like a cotton candy halo of white and a wore a Texas flag lapel pin.
"So you're really from all over the country?" I asked as a waitress appeared and eyed our group.
The woman I recognized as Myrna suggested a round of Guinness since it was everyone's first night in Ireland, and the waitress hurried off again, no doubt glad she didn't have to take a complicated drink order.
"From sea to shining sea," Betty Belle said, winking at me. "We'd never have known each other if it weren't for Myrna. She's helped all of us track down our Irish connections."
Colleen nodded. "Of course some of us have become friends through the group and during previous trips."
Richard leaned forward. "This isn't your first time?"
"Myrna brings a group every year. Mostly new people, but some repeats." Colleen pointed to a woman halfway down the banquette with red hair that could only be produced from a bottle and a wildly colorful peasant blouse. "This is Nancy's third trip."
"She's found all her ancestors," Betty Belle said in s stage whisper. "I think she keeps coming for the beer."
"Or the bread," Colleen said, sucking in a long breath. "She wouldn't stop talking about the brown bread the entire flight over."
As if on cue, our waitress reappeared with plates stacked high with thick slices of brown bread. Myrna leaned down the table, her voice raised. "I asked for some bread to start us out."
Hands dove for the bread and the small gold-wrapped squares of butter. I even saw Fern slathering a piece despite being an off-and-on devotee of the Keto diet. When in Rome, I supposed. Or Ireland.
"Why are you four in Ireland?" Colleen asked after swallowing.
I spread butter on a small rectangle of bread, trying to keep it from crumbling in my hand. "We're here to find a wedding venue for a client."
"A wedding?" Colleen nearly dropped her knife. "You're planning a wedding in Ireland? How exciting." She leaned down the table. "Did you hear that Myrna? They're planning a wedding in Ireland."
"Are the bride and groom Irish?" Myrna asked and from her expression I knew she thought they should be.
"The bride is," I said, glancing at Richard who was dabbing his piece of bread with butter like TV painter Bob Ross painting happy trees. "I'm not sure about the groom."
"The father of the bride is a senator," Kate added.
The ladies exchanged appreciative nods and whispers, and I shot Kate a look. It wasn't a secret that we were planning the wedding, but I liked to pride Wedding Belles on discretion, so announcing our client to a table of strangers in a pub wasn't my idea of being discreet.
Richard put a hand to his mouth so he could talk behind it. "Don't worry too much, darling. It's not like people know the names of most senators. They aren't real celebrities."
I had to agree with him there. Even though we'd done several weddings for very high profile politicians, most people wouldn't know their names or be able to recognize them in the street. It was the price to pay for planning weddings in DC and not LA.
The waitress returned to our group and passed out pints of nearly black beer with thick white heads of foam as another young woman took our dinner order. I took my pint and studied it for a moment. I wasn't a huge fan of beer to begin with, although I knew that Ireland's most famous beer was technically a stout. I also knew I couldn't visit the country without drinking at least one.
Myrna stood and patted a hand to her gray hair as she lifted her pint of Guinness. "I'd like to propose a toast on the first night of our trip."
Everyone raised their pints and Myrna cleared her throat. "To new discoveries."
"To new discoveries," everyone echoed her.
"And new friends," Betty Belle added in her Texas twang, smiling at Richard and me.
Myrna gave a brief nod.
"Slainte," the plump woman next to the tour leader said loudly enough for a few other patrons to turn and raise their glasses.
I noticed Myrna give her a severe look as we all mimicked the Gaelic toast and took drinks. I sipped my Guinness slowly, wiping the foam from my lip when I put it back down. Not bad for beer, I thought. A loud cheer went up from the bar as someone on the television scored a goal of some kind.
"Who was that?" I asked Colleen, nodding to the woman who had given the toast and whose cheeks were now flushed pink.
"That's Deb from Denver. This isn't her first tour with Myrna."
Betty Belle rolled her eyes. "If you ask me, Myrna uses her like a lackey."
Colleen shifted i
n her seat. "I don't know. It seems like Deb's one of those people who likes to help."
"She's a hanger-on," Betty Belle said. "She already tracked down all her Irish connections but she still comes and runs around behind Myrna."
"I say if she wants to come on the trip again, why not?" Colleen asked, giving Betty Belle a pointed look. "It's not like you can visit Ireland too many times, right?"
Richard raised his eyebrows at me over his pint. So much for a bunch of sweet grandmas.
"Right," I agreed. "I know we're only scratching the surface while we're here. There are hundreds of castles and manor houses here. We had to narrow it down to the top ones or we'd never be able to leave."
"Where are you off to next?" Colleen asked.
I didn't need to pull out my trip itinerary to remember our stops. It had taken me weeks to research all the best options and then chart our route so it was burned in my brain. "Dromoland Castle."
"We're going there," Betty Belle said. "At least I think we are. It sounds familiar at least."
"After the Ring of Kerry," Colleen said.
I sat back to let the waitress deposit a bowl of Irish stew in front of me, and I inhaled the rich aroma. The wide mouthed bowl held big chunks of meat and a brown broth surrounding a fluffy scoop of mashed potatoes. A small plate with more brown bread was placed next to my stew.
Colleen nudged me. "I got the same thing."
I glanced down the table and saw quite a few bowls of stew. Richard had selected a thick steak on a bed of sautéed mushrooms with a metal basket of fries--or chips, as they were called--perched on his plate. As I scooped my first mouthful of stew, I saw Fern jump up and run outside. I caught Kate's eyes, but she just shrugged.
"He probably saw someone wearing an outfit he likes and wants to know where they bought it," Richard said as he cut into his steak. "Don't be surprised if he skips dinner and comes back with shopping bags."
I hadn't seen any high-end clothing boutiques on our way in, but I suspected Richard was right. Less than a minute later, Fern returned with a dazed look on his face.