by Diane Kelly
She raised her purple shirt to reveal a silver loop curling out of her navel. She eased it out and held it out to me. After a little finagling, I managed to get the silly thing into my belly button. I looked again in the mirror. “Really? You think?”
“I think.” Tammy dropped into one of the chairs. “Now show me some of the moves you came up with.”
I did some quick stretching exercises, cued up Donna Summers’ I Feel Love on my phone, and, after making Tammy promise not to laugh at me, launched into my moves.
Tammy’s face morphed from amusement to surprise to shock as she watched me go through the gyrations. When I finished, she gave a whistle. “I always knew you could dance, Erin. I just never knew you were a skanky whore.”
I cringed. “Neither did I.”
“That was nothing short of orgasmic. Every man in the audience will have a hard-on by the time you’re done.”
“I’m not sure whether to thank you or cry.”
Tammy leaned forward, swinging her short legs. “Is that song the one you’ve picked for the contest?”
I shrugged. “It’s the best I’ve come up with so far. Got any suggestions? Anything sexier?”
She chewed on her thumbnail as she pondered my question. “Well, there’s always 2 Live Crew’s We Want Some Pus-’”
I stopped her with a hand. “That’s not sexy. That’s filthy.”
“True. It does cross the line. What about My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas?”
“The lyrics would be appropriate. Disgusting, but appropriate. But I’m not sure my moves would work well with hip-hop.”
I stepped back over to my phone and cued up Erotic City by Prince. “What about this?” I extended my arms above my head, stuck out my chest, and undulated.
Tammy cocked her head. “Now I’m getting a hard on.”
We laughed together. Tammy was silly, sure, but she provided my life with some much-needed comic relief.
Tammy’s focus shifted from me to the closed blinds behind my back, her face scrunching in puzzlement. “What the hell is that?”
I turned to see a shadow behind the closed blinds, the bright sun forming a dark silhouette of a tiny man in a top hat.
My stalker had returned.
I froze in place and gasped. “It’s him!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHOWSTOPPER
“Him him?” Tammy asked. “As in your stalker?”
I nodded.
Tammy’s mouth formed a silent, “Oh, shit!”
I stood up straight and put my hands on my hips. “I can’t take this anymore. I have to confront him.”
Nope, that itty bitty bastard wasn’t getting away this time. He’d be sorry he ever messed with Erin Flaherty. Still, I couldn’t run outside in this getup.
I kicked off the stilettos and dashed to the storeroom. Over my hot pants and white tee I pulled on the track pants and jacket I’d been wearing earlier. I slid into my sneakers. Tammy grabbed the shotgun from under the countertop, while I grabbed a spray can of leather polish, holding it in two quivering hands.
Tammy cocked the gun like a miniature female assassin. “Let’s do it.”
We stepped to the front door. On a whispered count of three, I threw the door open. “Kee-yah!” Learned that before the karate studio next door moved out.
Ooomph! The little green man was on his little green ass on the sidewalk, knocked flat by the door.
“Jakers!” hollered the dwarf, pushing himself up on his elbows. His green eyes glared at me from under his top hat. “Give a man some feckin’ warning, would ye?”
The little freak not only looked like a Leprechaun, he had an Irish accent to boot.
“Who the hell are you?” I screamed at the dwarf as I blasted him in the face with the polishing spray. “Why are you stalking me?”
The man covered his face and shrieked. “It burns! It burns!”
A jingling sound came from our left. It sounded like dog tags. I turned to see a rush of red fur hurling itself at my stalker. “Blarney?”
Blarney pounced on the little man, growling and nipping. Where had Blarney come from? He was supposed to be with Brendan.
I looked in the direction from which Blarney had come. Brendan, too, was running toward us, his pickup parked sideways across two spaces, one tire up on the curb as if he’d parked in a hurry.
Eyes red and watering, the man writhed under the dog. After a few seconds, he somehow managed to squirm out from under Blarney. He leapt to his feet and took off running down the sidewalk. Blarney launched himself after the man, grabbing the back of his green pants in his teeth. The fabric gave way. Rrrrip. Before we knew what was happening, Blarney had a mouth full of green fabric and the man was half a block away, shamrock-print boxers showing through the hole in the seat of his pants.
Brendan was a blur as he raced past us. His legs were nearly twice as long as the dwarf’s and he caught up to my stalker in no time, tackling the man on the sidewalk. The two rolled into the street, wrestling. Blarney ran in circles around them, nipping and yapping, until Brendan got the little man pinned under him. Part of me thought Brendan was brave and heroic for chasing down my crazed stalker. Another part of me thought he looked like an oversized bully picking on a kindergartner. Still, used only as much force as needed to keep the man from running away again.
The dwarf wriggled under Brendan, trying to break free. He finally realized the futility of his actions and grew still, glaring up into Brendan’s face. “Why don’t ye pick on someone your own size?”
“Why don’t you stop spying on women?” Brendan shot back.
Tammy and I stepped over, our weapons at the ready. I ordered Blarney to sit and took a closer look at the man. He looked to be in his thirties. He had roundish, bearded cheeks, bright red hair, and ears that were slightly pointed, making him look a bit elfish. He wasn’t unattractive, though. Unusual, but not unattractive. In fact, he looked a bit like a miniature Russell Crowe.
Brendan looked up at me. “I saw him walking up the sidewalk a few blocks away, headed toward your shop. Figured he had to be the guy, so I turned around and followed him. Didn’t expect to see you back here.”
Uh-oh.
“I forgot my purse,” Tammy said, thinking quick, thank goodness. “We had to come back to get it.”
I gave her a discreet look that said Thanks!, then turned angry eyes on the little green man. “Who are you?” I demanded.
“Yeah,” Tammy said. “And how did you escape from the Keebler cookie factory?”
The little man looked up at Tammy with eyes bloodshot from the caustic spray I’d blasted him with. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. What’s next? ‘Are you after me Lucky Charms?’”
Next to me, Tammy chuckled. “You know, for a psycho, he’s kind of cute.”
“Tammy!”
“I’m going to let you up,” Brendan told the man. “But any funny business and Tammy’s going to fill you full of holes. Got that?”
Tammy narrowed her eyes, put the gun to her chin, and aimed it at the dwarf. She threw out her hip and struck a sexy pose. “Yeah. Got that, punk?”
The little man gave Tammy a smile now. “I’m confused. Are you going for Dirty Harry or Charlie’s Angels?”
She squinted harder. “Take your pick.”
He quirked a red brow. “Charlie’s Angels it is.”
Brendan stood and, when the man got to his feet, Brendan grabbed him by the arm and hustled him into my shop. Tammy and I followed them inside, Blarney trotting along behind us, quiet now that he realized the humans had the situation under control and no longer needed his services.
Brendan shoved the guy into a chair and held out a hand to Tammy. “Let me have the gun. If someone’s going to have to shoot this twerp, I’d rather it be me. A jury is less likely to convict a priest.”
The little man snorted. “Not these days,” he snapped.
He had a point, but we ignored him anyway. Tammy handed Brendan the gun and he t
rained it on my stalker.
“Grab a roll of strapping tape,” Brendan told me, gesturing with the gun toward the stockroom where I kept my supplies. “Bind his wrists together.”
I hustled into the storeroom and grabbed a roll of heavy-duty brown tape from my workbench. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped it to the floor. Tammy helped me back to my stool, then picked up the tape, stepped behind the chair, and bound the man’s wrists tightly together with the tape, wrapping it around at least ten times to make sure the tape would hold, using her teeth to tear off the end. “That ought to hold him.”
The man glanced back at Tammy, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Kinky.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Too late.” He shot her a wink.
Tammy emitted a flirtatious giggle and I fought to keep from strangling her.
Blarney settled on his fleece bed in the corner, resting his head on his paws but watching warily in case things changed, ready to defend me once again if necessary.
Brendan poked the man’s knee with the end of the gun. “Spill your guts, mate. Who are you and why have you been terrorizing Erin?”
The gnome rolled his eyes. “Name’s Seamus Madigan. But you can hardly call what I was doing terrorizing. It was more like . . . reconnaissance.”
“Whatever!” I cried, desperate to find out what was going on. “Why have you been following me?”
“Your father asked me to come see you,” Seamus said matter-of-factly.
“My father?” My brain tried in vain to wrap itself around the idea my father could know this odd person. “How do you know my father?”
“We worked together in Cork City.”
“You worked at Beamish and Crawford?” My dad had worked for years supervising the bottling line at the brewery before he and my mother had moved our family to America.
Seamus shook his head. “No. We made shoes together. Repaired ‘em, too. Just like you do here.”
I shook my head. “My father never made shoes.”
“Sure he did. Right up ‘til the day he died, two weeks ago. In fact, he passed at work, keeled over with his hammer in his hand. A massive heart attack, the doctor said. Clogged arteries. Guess it was to be expected. Your father always did love his corned beef.”
Tammy, Brendan, and I exchanged glances. Was this guy sodded? Or did he simply have me confused with someone else?
I eyed him warily. “Who, exactly, do you think I am?”
“You’re Erin Flaherty.”
He got my name right. But perhaps he had me confused with another Erin Flaherty. “My father’s alive. He lives here in Fort Worth. And he’s never made shoes.” There was an earnestness in my voice, a tone of desperation, almost as if, on some subconscious level, I was trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince the dwarf.
“Don’t know what that fellow be tellin’ ye. But he ain’t your father. Not in the biological sense, anyway.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A SHORT FAERIE AND HIS TALL TALE
I felt as if I’d been hit in the head with a cobbler’s hammer. No. No way. What this little man was saying couldn’t be true. No way on God’s green earth! Cormac Flaherty was my Da, my father, not only in name but in fact. Surely.
But if he were not, it would explain a lot of things. Why I didn’t look like either of my parents or my siblings, why I was the only one in the family with flaming red hair, why I was the only one who stood under five feet tall. It was then I realized that, on some subconscious level, I’d harbored doubts about my heritage.
“You’re a faerie, Erin,” Seamus said. “And so am I.”
Relief surged through me. Fairies? This guy was crazy, certifiably nuts.
“A fairy,” I said. “Right. I’m a regular old Tinkerbell, wings and all.”
There was no doubt in my mind now that nothing the guy said had merit. And no doubt, either, that Cormac Flaherty was my father.
Tammy eyed Seamus and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a fairy? Great. I finally meet a cute guy my size and he’s gay.”
The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not that kind of faerie. I love the ladies. Especially short ones like you. “
Tammy laughed. Was she actually flirting with this guy? Looked like he wasn’t the only one who was nuts. “If you’re not gay,” she asked, looking him up and down, “then what type of fairy are you?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Green hat? Green knickers? Buckle shoes? From Ireland?” When Tammy didn’t respond, he said, “I’m a Leprechaun, of course. So is Erin.”
Brendan, Tammy, and I exchanged glances again, this time ones of sympathy. This man was nothing more than a mental case. Poor little guy and his wee deranged brain.
I stepped in front of him and looked into his eyes like the cop had done to me earlier in the week. “Are you on something? Some type of drug?”
“No.”
“Then, should you be?” I asked. “Did you forget to take your meds?”
“No!”
Brendan chimed in now. “Is there someone we can call? Maybe a family member or a friend?”
“You don’t need to call anyone.” Seamus exhaled sharply, exasperated. “Look. I’m not sodded, and I’m not daft, and I’m not feckin’ looney. I’m here because your father asked me to bring you something, Erin.”
I looked to Brendan, unsure how to respond. He’d been trained to deal with depression, dementia, and other mental health issues, and he handled psych cases in his counseling sessions. He’d know what to do. He nodded, indicating I should play along. Mental health could be a fragile thing and I didn’t want to set the little man off.
I turned back to my stalker. “You said you brought me something from my father, right? Where is it?”
“In my pants.”
Brendan was on Seamus in an instant, twisting the little man’s collar in his fist and lifting him out of the seat. Whoa. So much for not setting the guy off.
“No,” Seamus wheezed out. “I’m not talking about me pecker. It’s a coin. In me front pocket.”
Brendan loosened his grip and Seamus fell back into the chair.
Tammy walked over. “I’ll do the honors.”
The “Leprechaun” leered up at her with a lecherous grin. “Don’t mind if ye do, pretty lass.”
Tammy reached into his front pocket and felt around.
Hands secured behind his back, Seamus squirmed and squealed. “Stop! You’re tickling me bollocks.”
Tammy retracted her closed hand and held it out to me. I stuck out my palm and she dropped something cold and hard and tiny into it.
I looked down. In my palm was a small, shiny coin. Gold. I flipped it over with my index finger. Both sides were imprinted with a four-leaf clover. Exactly like the coins in my birthday collection, the ones my father had left each year on my pillow as a special, secret surprise.
My stomach clenched again and I could hardly speak. “Where did you get that?”
“I already told ye. From your father. It’s part of your stash. Handed down from parents to children in accordance with the official faerie code.”
“What is it?” Tammy asked, looking down at the coin.
“Gold,” said Seamus. “Leprechaun gold.” Seamus looked at me. “Your father left you a whole pot of the stuff, Erin, but I couldn’t very well fit it all in me knickers. I’ve hidden it in a safe place for you.”
I shook my head as if to clear it. Coincidence. That’s all this was. A startling, unexpected coincidence. Somehow this little man had gotten his hands on the same type of coin my father had given me each year on my birthday. Probably there were coins like this all over Ireland. Sure. That had to be it. I bet the souvenir shops were full of them. What better gift to bring home to your child after a visit to the Emerald Isle than a piece of “Leprechaun gold?” Brendan would know.
I passed the coin to Brendan. “Do you recognize it? Is it a token of some sort? An Irish souvenir?” My birthday coins were the o
nly secret I’d ever kept from Brendan. Well, other than being in love with him, of course. It was silly, really, but the coins were the one thing I had that made me feel special, a secret between me and my parents, and I had been reluctant to break that magical spell.
Brendan looked closely at the coin, even held it up to the light. He shrugged. “No. Never seen one of these before.” Brendan passed the coin back to me and knelt down in front of Seamus so they could speak eye to eye. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying Erin’s father was a Leprechaun, and you’ve come to bring her a pot of gold?”
“It’s her rightful inheritance. He wanted her to have it.” Seamus looked up at me. “He felt bad about not being a part of your life. But he thought it was for the best.” Seamus cocked his head and his top hat slipped down over his eyes. He reached up a hand to straighten his hat.
Wait a minute. Weren’t his wrists wrapped with tape? I ran around to the back of the chair. The tape was gone. I looked on the floor underneath the chair. The tape wasn’t there either. I looked up at Tammy and Brendan. “The tape’s gone.”
The three of us exchanged incredulous looks.
Seamus gave us all a mischievous grin and raised his palms. “Told you I was a faerie.”
I had no idea what to think at that point. What he was saying almost seemed plausible, but no, no way could it be true. He’d probably tucked the tape up his sleeve. And the fact that he’d shown up with a coin just like the ones my father had given me on my birthdays was pure happenstance, a fluke. The little man’s story was just that. A story. Nothing more than made up fiction. A fairy tale. And not even a very good one at that.
“You said Erin is a Leprechaun, too,” Tammy said to Seamus. “But I didn’t think there were any female Leprechauns. In all of the pictures and folklore I’ve ever seen or heard Leprechauns are always little red-haired men with a cobbler’s hammer in their hand.”
And then it hit me. I, too, was a cobbler of sorts. Though I didn’t make shoes myself, I repaired them, had an uncanny knack for it, in fact. When Mr. Smith had trained me all those years ago, he’d been surprised by how quickly I’d caught on, what a good job I did.