by Zara Keane
“I’ll bet you were.” Seán met his former partner’s eye and stared him down.
The other man flinched and averted his gaze. “And now I’d like to speak to a lawyer.”
Seán stood back and regarded the three silent goons next to Frank, plus the still sobbing Phoebe. “Where was the handover to take place?”
The no-necked Tank grunted. “On the road toward Cobh. We were supposed to meet a few of Ray’s guys, and they were to take it from there.”
This revelation prompted the other goons to demand legal representation, water, and—in Tank’s case—a cigarette. Phoebe, after her initial outburst, clammed up and refused to say a word.
The superintendent came to stand by Seán’s elbow. “Damn good work, sergeant.
He nodded grimly. “Let’s get this lot to the station. I suggest we take them to Cork. There’s not enough room in Ballybeg to house this many suspects.”
Seán, Brian, and the team from Cork loaded Frank and his handcuffed cohorts into vans. As Seán was shoving him into a seat, Frank turned to him, a look of raw fear in his still-watery eyes. “Please, mate. For old time’s sake, will you put in a good word for me? Up until the business with Ray, I was a good policeman. And even after, some of the tips he gave me helped us solve cases.”
Seán stared at the man incredulously. Then, shaking his head, he slammed the door on the man and their friendship.
***
The Tuesday after the rumbled home invasion was St. Patrick’s Day, the Irish national holiday. Clio was working a double shift at MacCarthy’s pub, and her mother had elected to spend the day with Superintendent O’Riordan. Marcella, dressed as a leprechaun, had bedecked the pub with garish decorations that made her brother cringe.
Jayme, Ruairí’s heavily pregnant American wife, was sitting at the bar, nibbling on salt and vinegar crisps. She looked pale and drawn and shifted in her seat as though she couldn’t get comfortable. Even after fifteen years, Clio remembered that stage all too well.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
The woman frowned. “I’m not sure. Odd, I guess, and kind of restless. Probably the result of weeks on bed rest. Now that I’m allowed to move about, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve already sorted the nursery—several times.”
Clio laughed and pushed a pint and change across the counter to a waiting customer. “I remember that antsy feeling. When is your due date?”
“Tomorrow, but given this baby’s thwarted attempts to come way before her due date, she’s probably decided to make me wait.”
“No sign of labor?”
The other woman shook her honey-brown hair. “I’ve been getting Braxton-Hicks contractions for the past two weeks, but nothing more than that.” She winced, shifted in her seat again, then stood. “And the constant urge to pee, but I’ve had that the entire pregnancy. Can you get me another orange juice while I’m in the rest room, Clio?”
“Sure.” Clio loaded a drinks order onto a tray and eased her way through the crowd toward Olivia’s table. She and Jonas were sitting with Fiona and Gavin at a table near the entrance. Luca, their little boy, was playing in the snug area with some of the other kids. When ordering their first round of drinks, they’d pumped her for information regarding the drama at on Saturday night. Clio had answered the questions she felt wouldn’t hamper the investigation, but had left out all mention of Phoebe, Frank, and Ray Greer’s possible plan to flee Ireland.
“When does Tammy get back from Wexford?” Olivia asked, helping her to unload the tray.
“Later today.” Clio refilled the bowls of dry-roasted peanuts and crisps, then loaded the used glasses onto the now empty tray. “Her train gets into Cork at six o’clock. I’ll collect her at the end of my shift.”
“If you get a free moment, come and join us,” Fiona said, twirling a long dark curl around her finger. She was sticking to mineral water and looked a little green around the gills. Clio smiled to herself. Would there be another Ballybeg baby in a few months’ time?
“If I get a chance, I will, but we’re run off our feet today. We’ll have to do a repeat of last week’s dinner. Why don’t I cook for us at my place next Friday evening?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Fiona said. “Good for you, Liv?”
Olivia nodded. “Friday is perfect.”
When she returned to the bar, Clio noticed Jayme’s seat was still vacant. “Is Jayme still in the bathroom?” she asked Sharon.
“What?” Sharon replied distractedly, wrestling with a stubborn roll of one-euro coins. “I guess so. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
As if on instinct, Ruairí glanced over from the far end of the bar and frowned at his wife’s empty seat.
At that moment, Bridie Byrne sallied forth from the women’s toilets, a beam across her plump face. “Better get moving, Ruairí. Looks like your wife has gone into labor.”
Ruairí froze, paled, and then leaped into action. “Can you hold the fort?”
“Of course,” Clio said, laughing. “Take your wife to the hospital.”
“And don’t let her name that poor child Lucrezia,” Sharon yelled.
The next few hours passed in a blur of pints, whiskies, and packets of crisps. Shortly before five o’clock, Seán ambled into the pub. Clio’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his sexy grin.
“Hey, you,” he said. “I heard a rumor that you get off work in a few minutes. Want to go for a walk?”
She glanced at her watch. “I’d love to, but it’ll have to be a quick one. I’m due to meet Tammy at the train station.”
“Go on,” Marcella said, maneuvering her leprechaun costume behind the counter. “Finish a few minutes early. You’ve worked through your break, so you’re entitled to the time.”
“Thanks. Send me a text when the baby’s born.”
Marcella saluted her. “Will do. Enjoy the rest of your St. Patrick’s Day.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
SEÁN STARED OUT at the crashing waves, then back at the beautiful woman beside him. He should tell her the truth. He’d like to forget the whole damn sorry tale and bury it in the graveyard of bad memories, but if he didn’t say something it would be a barrier between them in the future. He couldn’t commit to a woman whose mother he secretly despised. The only way forward was to tell her what had happened.
He took her hand, relishing the feel of her warm fingers clasped in his. “If we’re going to start a relationship, a real one, there’s something I need to tell you.”
The wind whipped her strawberry-blond hair around her face. “Go on. After all I’ve told you, it can hardly be worse.”
“Maybe not worse, but different.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t like your mother.”
“You don’t say,” she replied deadpan, then laughed. “I’ve noticed, and I appreciate your willingness to be polite despite not liking her.”
“My dislike of her isn’t necessarily fair.”
“Care to elaborate?” Her face morphed from curious to horrified. “Oh my God. She didn’t come on to you, did she?”
“What? No. God, no.” Every fiber in his being revolted at the notion. “Nothing like that. It’s complicated. And as I said, not entirely rational.”
Clio laughed. “My whole life is complicated, and I’ve rarely been accused of being rational. Hit me with it.”
“Something your mother did—or rather, participated in—was the catalyst for my parents’ deaths.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “What happened?”
“She had an affair with my father. When my mother found out, she snapped and shot him and then herself.”
Clio’s eyes clouded with tears. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry, Seán.
“There’s no need for you to be sorry. It’s hardly your fault.” He touched her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. “If it hadn’t been your mother, it would have been some other woman. My parents didn’t have a happy marriage.”
The memories hit him lik
e a lash, making his eyes sting. His mother yelling and his father silent. His mother throwing objects and his father finally walking out and slamming the door.
“I say she snapped,” he said in a shaky voice, “but that’s not entirely accurate. On the night it…happened…she sent my brother and me to stay overnight with John-Joe and Nora. We were all under the assumption that my parents planned a date night. When John-Joe dropped us home in the morning, we found them dead in the kitchen.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “You poor child. I don’t know what to say. How unspeakably awful.”
“Don’t say anything at all. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before. Just say nothing, but look me in the eyes. That’s what most people can’t do in these situations. It’s why I make a point of looking people directly in the eye when I’m the bearer of bad news, not just while I’m delivering it, but afterward while they react. Too many people say all the so-called right words, but avert their eyes.
“When I left Ballybeg to live with my grandmother in Dublin, I wanted to leave the past behind me. Not seeing my aunt and uncle was one way. Not returning to Ballybeg was another. But every time I turned on the TV…”
“You saw my mother.” She closed the space between them and pressed her head against his chest. “Do you think of her when you look at me?”
“What?” He drew back in surprise, touched a finger to her chin. “No, Clio. I only see you. I can’t promise I’ll ever be able to put the negative association between your mother and my parents’ deaths fully to rest, but for your sake, I’ll try.”
“It’s okay. I don’t expect a miracle. Besides, I’d be a hypocrite if I demanded that of you. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive my mother for how she treated me when I got pregnant with Tammy. I’m moving past my resentment and trying to forge a relationship with her that’s based on the present, but it will always be there.
“Whatever the truth of your parents marriage, it sounds like they both loved you and provided you with a stable home up until that point. Remember that, and don’t let the way they died cloud your memories of your childhood.”
“That’s what I’ve tried to do all these years. The full impact didn’t hit me until I moved back to Ballybeg. Seeing people I’d known for the first ten years of my life who no longer recognized me. I wanted the anonymity of changing my name, but it was weird introducing myself to people who’d known me as a child, never letting slip who I was. The worst was seeing my uncle again. He was my father’s twin. Until he opens his mouth, he looks just like him. The one saving grace was that the house we lived in was long gone. It was knocked down to make room for the shopping center development that never happened.”
Clio stood on her tippy toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks for telling me this, Seán. I know it must have been hard for you. No wonder you looked like you’d swallowed a fish when I opened the door that first time at Clonmore House.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “Seeing the gorgeous woman I’d just had sex with standing on Helen Havelin’s doorstep came as a nasty shock. I thought it had to be some sort of cosmic joke.”
“And then to be assigned to guard my mother. What a nightmare.”
“Ah, well,” he said, ruffling her hair. “It all worked out for the best in the end.”
An alarm sounded on Clio’s phone. She broke their embrace and pulled it out of her handbag. “Time for me to head to the train station and collect Tammy.”
Still smiling she pressed a button to switch off the alarm. And then frowned. “Wait a sec. Mrs. Reilly sent me a message. I hope Tammy didn’t miss her train. What the…?”
“Is something wrong?” he asked, reading panic on her face. “Is Tammy okay?”
“Mrs. Reilly sent a text message to wish me and Tammy a Happy St. Patrick’s Day. She says they loved having Tammy to stay and hope she got home safely yesterday.” With trembling hands, she hit a button on her phone, then shook her head. “Tammy’s phone is switched off, and so is her voice mail.”
“Call Mrs. Reilly to confirm when Tammy left yesterday.”
Clio nodded and made a quick phone call to her daughter’s former foster mother, followed by a call to Emma. After she ended the calls, she began to cry. “She left Wexford yesterday on the connection she was supposed to take today. They haven’t seen or heard from her since. Tammy swore blind she was due back in Ballybeg yesterday, and Ma Reilly believed her. What if she’s gone to meet Trevor O’Leary?”
“Isn’t he still in a rehabilitation center?” Seán asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks. “I was under the impression he’d be there for a while.”
“I can make a couple of calls to check. Meanwhile, phone her friends.”
A few minutes later, they compared notes. “A colleague in Dublin confirmed that Trevor O’Leary went home ten days ago.”
“Oh, no,” Clio sobbed. “Please don’t let her have run off with him. Her friends from her school in Dublin say she hasn’t been in touch since we moved to Ballybeg.”
“Does she have any friends at Glencoe College? I know she was having issues settling in, but did she mention anyone who spent the breaks with?”
“Olivia’s brother,” she said with a gasp. “A boy called Ronan. Do you know him?”
“Better than that—I know where he lives. It’s only a few minutes from here. Let’s go and see what he has to say. If he knows nothing, I’d suggest we go to the station to see if she shows up on today’s train.”
***
Seán screeched to a halt in front of the Dunne’s ramshackle seaside cottage. He and Clio leaped out of the car and ran to the door. It was opened by a gangly teenage boy with gawky features and red hair. He’d be a handsome lad in a few years, once he’d had time to grow into himself.
The boy’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a uniformed policeman and a strange woman on his doorstep.
“Hello, Ronan,” Seán said. “Can we have a word?”
The boy blinked. “Uh, sure. Come on in.” In the kitchen, he switched the kettle on.
“No need for that, Ronan. We don’t have time. We’re here about Tammy Havelin.”
The boy looked at Clio curiously. “You’re her mother?”
Clio nodded. “Do you know where Tammy is? She was supposed to be staying with friends in Wexford and come back to Ballybeg today. It turns out she lied to them and left yesterday. Any idea where she might have gone? Someone she might have met?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Tammy didn’t mention running away to me. I know she had a bad breakup a while back, but she only mentioned that in passing.”
“This breakup…did she mention the guy’s name?”
“Terry. Or Travis. Or was that her dog’s name? I think it was something beginning with T.”
Seán’s heart leaped. “Trevor?”
“Yeah,” the boy’s face cleared. “Trevor. She said he was a bit older than her and that her mother didn’t approve of her seeing him.”
Clio let out a bitter laugh. “Try eighteen years older.”
Ronan’s big blue eyes grew even larger. “What? I had no idea. She never went into specifics. To be honest, I wasn’t all that interested in hearing about her boyfriend. She picked up on that. We tended to talk music and books.”
“Do you have any idea where Tammy might have met him, if she'd made an arrangement to see him in Ballybeg? Somewhere she was familiar with and wouldn’t be seen?”
Ronan considered for a second, then shook his head. “Not this time of year. The weather’s lousy. If we go somewhere after school, it’s to a café in town, but mostly Tammy and I hang out at the school library. I’d help you if I knew anything, honest. Truth be told, Tammy and I don’t know each other all that well. I like her, but she’s only been at Glencoe College for a few weeks.”
“Is there anyone else at school she might have confided in? One of the girls, maybe?”
“No way. On
that point, I’m certain. Tammy gravitated toward me because she had no friends, especially not amongst the girls. She was Jenny Cotter and Roisin Quirke’s latest victim. None of the other girls wanted to be seen talking to her in case Jenny and Roisin would turn on them.”
“Okay. Thanks, Ronan.” Seán stood, and Clio followed suit. “We’ll see ourselves out. If you think of anything, however small it might seem, give me a call.” Seán slid a piece of paper onto the table.
The boy examined it before putting it into his shirt pocket. “Will do, Sergeant Mackey. Good luck finding Tammy. I hope she’s okay.”
So did Seán.
“Where to next?” Clio asked when they were back in the car. “Should we try the train station? She was strung so tight he thought she might snap.
He gunned the engine and pulled back out onto the road. “We have to pass Clonmore House on our way to Cork City. Let’s have a look to see if she left some sort of clue in her bedroom. A diary, a note, something.”
“Okay.”
They were silent for the rest of the short journey back to Clonmore House. Seán keyed the security code into the gate and they drove through. Intent on reaching their destination as quickly as possible, the meandering twists and turns of the tree-lined drive failed to impress him the way they usually did.
“What the—?” Clio said from the passenger seat.
A black BMW was parked outside the house. Leaning against the side of the vehicle, sporting biker shades and leathers, stood Lar Delaney.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“TAMMY!” CLIO LEAPED out of Seán’s car at the same time her daughter clambered out of Lar’s. She threw her arms around her and hugged her tight.
“Mum,” Tammy protested, “you’re crushing my ribs.”
“I’ll crush more than your ribs by the time I’m finished with you, young lady. What were you thinking when you lied to me and the Reillys? And as for you,” she glared at Lar, who was standing nonchalantly to the side, “what the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away.”
“You did, and I obeyed.” He whipped off his shades, revealing the same deep blue eyes their daughter had inherited. “Tammy showed up on my doorstep late this morning. Said she’d spent the night in my neighbor’s shed and waited until she saw me come home.”