Laced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  ALSO BY CAROL HIGGINS CLARK

  Hitched

  Burned

  Popped

  Jinxed

  Fleeced

  Twanged

  Iced

  Snagged

  Decked

  Santa Cruise

  (with Mary Higgins Clark)

  The Christmas Thief

  (with Mary Higgins Clark)

  He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

  (with Mary Higgins Clark)

  Deck the Halls

  (with Mary Higgins Clark)

  SCRIBNER

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by Carol Higgins Clark

  All rights reserved,

  including the right to reproduce

  this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department,

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  SCRIBNER and design are trademarks of Macmillan Library Reference USA, Inc., used under license by Simon & Schuster, the publisher of this work.

  ISBN: 1-4165-3974-3

  Acknowledgments

  Shamrocks to my editor, Roz Lippel, for all her hard work, advice, encouragement, and friendship. As always, her guidance has been wonderful.

  And special thanks to everyone else who saw Regan and Jack Reilly off on their honeymoon to Ireland!

  Associate Director of Copyediting Gypsy da Silva, copyeditor Rose Ann Ferrick, and proofreader Barbara Raynor.

  Art Director John Fulbrook III, photographer Debra Lill, and photographer Glenn Jussen.

  Scribner Publishing Associate, Kara Watson.

  My publicist, Lisl Cade.

  My agent, Esther Newberg.

  My mother, Mary Higgins Clark, my stepfather, John Conheeney, my aunt, Irene Clark, my family and friends.

  It’s been grand!

  In memory of my grandfather,

  Luke J. Higgins,

  who immigrated to New York from Ireland as a young man,

  And my maternal great-grandparents,

  Thomas Durkin and Bridget Kennedy Durkin,

  who came to New York a generation earlier,

  And for all my cousins who live in the Emerald Isle…

  With love.

  Monday, April 11th

  1

  In a remote village in the west of Ireland, a light mist rose from the lake behind Hennessy Castle. The afternoon was becoming increasingly gray and brooding as clouds gathered and the skies turned threatening. Inside the castle the fireplaces were lit, providing a cheery warmth for the guests who were already anticipating a wonderful evening meal in the elegant eighteenth-century dining room.

  The massive front doors of the castle opened slowly, and newlyweds Regan and Jack Reilly stepped out onto the driveway in their jogging clothes. They’d arrived on an overnight flight from New York, slept for several hours, and decided a quick jog might help alleviate the inevitable jet lag.

  Jack looked at his thirty-one-year-old bride, touched her hair, and smiled. “We’re in our native land, Mrs. Reilly. Our Irish roots lie before us.”

  Anyone who saw the handsome couple wouldn’t have questioned those roots. Jack was six foot two, with sandy hair, hazel eyes, a firm jaw, and a winning smile. Regan had blue eyes, fair skin, and dark hair—she was one of the black Irish.

  “Well, it certainly is green around here,” Regan observed as she glanced around at the lush gardens, wooded trails, and rolling lawn. “Everything is so still and quiet.”

  “After last week, still and quiet sounds good to me,” Jack said. “Let’s go.”

  Together they broke into a jog and crossed a pedestrian bridge that traversed a stream in front of the castle. They turned left and headed down an isolated country road that the concierge told them led right into the village. The only sound was their sneakers hitting the pavement. At a curve in the road they passed an old stone church that looked deserted.

  Regan pointed toward the steepled building. “I’d love to take a look in there tomorrow.”

  Jack nodded. “We will.” He glanced up at the sky. “I think that rain is coming in faster than we expected. This jog is going to be quick.”

  But when the road ended at the tiny village, a graveyard with darkened gravestones proved irresistible to Regan. A set of stone steps to their left led up to a courtyard where a broken stone wall surrounded the cemetery. “Jack, let’s take a quick look.”

  “The funeral director’s daughter,” Jack said affectionately. “You never met a graveyard you didn’t like.”

  Regan smiled. “Those tombstones must be centuries old.”

  They hurried up the steps, turned right, and stopped in their tracks. The first tombstone they spotted said REILLY.

  “This is a good omen,” Jack muttered.

  Regan leaned forward. “May Reilly. Born in 1760 and died in 1822. There don’t seem to be any other Reillys here with her.”

  “Just as long as there aren’t any named Regan or Jack.”

  Regan was deep in thought. “You know that joke my father always tells? The one about how an Irishman proposes?”

  “You want to be buried with my mother?”

  “That’s the one. It looks like poor May didn’t have anyone, not even a mother-in-law.”

  “Some people would consider that a good thing.” Jack grabbed Regan’s hand as large drops of rain started to come down. “Tomorrow we’ll spend as much time as you want here figuring out what went wrong in these people’s lives. Come on.”

  Regan smiled. “I can’t help it. I’m an investigator.”

  “So am I.”

  They didn’t encounter a single soul as they ran through the tiny village, which consisted of a pharmacy, two pubs, a souvenir shop, and a butcher. They wound around and jogged back to the castle where they showered and changed.

  At 7:30 they went down to dinner and were seated at a table by a large window overlooking the garden. The rain had stopped, and the night was peaceful. Their waiter greeted them warmly.

  “Welcome to Hennessy Castle. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves so far.”

  “We certainly are,” Regan answered. “But we stopped by the graveyard in town, and the first tombstone we saw had our name on it.”

  “Reilly?”

  “Yes.”

  The waiter whistled softly. “You were looking at old May Reilly’s grave. She was a talented lacemaker who supposedly haunts the castle, but we haven’t heard from her for a while.”

  “She haunts this place?” Regan asked.

  “Apparently May was always complaining that she wasn’t appreciated. One of her lace tablecloths is in a display case upstairs in the memorabilia room. She made it for a special banquet of dignitaries who were visiting the Hennessy family, but May got sick and died before they paid her. Legend is that she keeps coming back for her money.”

  “Sounds like one of my cousins,” Jack said.

  “I don’t blame her,” Regan protested. “She should have been paid.”

  At 4:00 A.M. Regan woke with a start. Jack was sleeping peacefully beside her. The rain had started up again and sounded as if it was coming down harder than before. Regan slipped out of bed and crossed the spacious room to close the window. As she pulled back the curtain, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky. Regan looked down and in the distance saw the figure of a woman dressed in a long black coat, standing on the back l
awn in front of the lake. She was staring up at Regan and shaking her fists. One hand was clenching a piece of white material. Could that be lace? Regan wondered.

  “Regan, are you all right?” Jack asked.

  Regan quickly turned her head away from the window, then just as quickly turned it back. Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky.

  The woman was gone.

  Jack flicked on the light. “Regan, you look as if you just spotted a ghost.”

  Before she could answer, the smell of smoke filled their nostrils. A moment later the fire alarm went off.

  “So much for peace and quiet,” Jack said quickly. “Let’s throw on some clothes and get out of here!”

  Tuesday, April 12th

  2

  Regan and Jack had had so many wonderful plans for their honeymoon. Running for their lives down to the somewhat smoky lobby of Hennessy Castle at four in the morning wasn’t among them. Their fellow bleary-eyed, agitated travelers were appearing from all directions. Many were in pajamas and robes. Women who at dinner were perfectly made up and coiffed now looked like the “before” picture in beauty magazine makeovers. Regan was glad that she and Jack had quickly thrown on jeans and sweaters and grabbed their jackets.

  Life never seems to go the way you plan it, Regan thought. And I think I just saw a ghost. Married two days. Jack’s going to think I’m nuts. But I definitely saw someone, and then she disappeared—which, thankfully, is just what the smoke seems to be doing.

  “Just a little grease fire in the kitchen. Thank God no injuries,” a sixtyish man wearing a red uniform jacket with gold braiding announced to the crowd. “As you can see, there isn’t too much smoke. Although where there’s smoke there’s fire, I do admit. It’s nearly under control. The breakfast cook pulled the fire alarm in a panic. It wasn’t really necessary.”

  A feeling of relief rippled through the crowd.

  “My name is Neil Buckley, and I’m the manager of Hennessy Castle. If you don’t mind, would you please step outside for a few minutes.”

  “It’s raining!” shouted a woman wearing stiletto shoes and a fluffy feathered pink bathrobe. “If it’s under control, we should stay inside!”

  “It’s a necessary precaution until the firemen give us the okay. Please. Oh—here they are!”

  Firemen came rushing through the front door of the castle, lugging their equipment.

  “Around the corner to the kitchen!” Buckley cried. “Martin, show them the way if you would!” he ordered a young man who was wearing a red vest with the Hennessy crest.

  “Right away, sir!”

  The firemen hurried off.

  “Now, as I was saying,” Buckley continued, “please step outside. The rain is letting up. We have brollies for you by the door.”

  The pink bathrobed woman pointed her well-manicured hand that was laden with multitiered diamond rings. “We’d better not be charged for tonight!”

  Regan shook her head. Just hours ago this castle seemed like a romantic and cozy respite from the crazy fast-paced world. Now an acrid smell hung in the air and one of the seemingly genteel guests was picking a fight about her room charges. Jack put his arm under Regan’s elbow, and along with the others, they walked outside onto the dark driveway where it was rainy and chilly.

  “Mrs. Reilly, allow me,” Jack said with a smile and a raised eyebrow as he started to open their umbrella. But before it was up, a woman who’d been behind them coming out the door became distracted by an impending sneeze. She bumped into Regan as she bellowed achoo! Regan was pushed against Jack, which she didn’t mind, but she was glad she hadn’t ended up on the ground. “Achoo!”

  Regan and Jack both took a step backward.

  “Sorry!” the petite woman said. “Sorry. I’m so allergic to smoke, you can’t believe it.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a lace handkerchief. “This whole thing is outrageous,” she said.

  Regan and Jack exchanged a quick smile. “Don’t worry about it,” Regan said.

  The woman, who was probably in her early thirties, was a cute little blond. She couldn’t have been more than five foot two. Clutching her white lace handkerchief tightly, she looked as though she were getting ready for the next big achoo which was probably on its way. Regan was reminded of the woman she had just seen on the back lawn. She had been clutching something white in her hands, and it seemed natural. But to witness this small woman sneezing like a horse and then dabbing her nose with a dainty white handkerchief struck Regan as incongruous.

  The woman blew her nose once, twice, three times, and then rolled her eyes. “I said to my husband, this is just our luck. We’re here for, what, two days, and a fire breaks out. Brian, hold that umbrella over my head, please. My hair is getting wet.”

  Brian reminded Regan of a big teddy bear. He was about six foot three, with brown hair and a handsome face. He shrugged and obeyed.

  “We’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” Regan said. “No one was injured, and we should be able to get back inside pretty soon.”

  “Aren’t you the optimist?” the woman, who sounded American, grunted. Looking at Regan as she continuously dabbed her nostrils, she asked, “What brings you here?”

  “Our honeymoon,” Regan answered.

  “Nice,” the woman answered. “We went to the Bahamas on our honeymoon three years ago. It rained all week. I mean every day. At least when you come to Ireland, you’re not counting on sunshine. You’re obviously American. Do you have an Irish background?”

  Regan smiled. “Yes.”

  The woman’s face lit up. “We started a business online selling memorabilia emblazoned with Irish family crests. You might want to take a look at our catalogue.”

  Brian pulled on his wife’s arm. “Sheila, not now.”

  “We’re standing in the rain, Brian. What else do we have to talk about? I’m certainly not keeping them from anything.” She looked from Regan to Jack. “What’s your last name?”

  “Reilly. And mine was Reilly before I married him,” Regan answered.

  “Let’s hope it means you’re compatible.”

  “We are,” Jack assured her.

  “You know there’s a ghost named Reilly who supposedly haunts this castle. A lace tablecloth she made almost two hundred years ago is upstairs in the memorabilia room. There’s a little plaque about May Reilly up there. Have you seen it?”

  “No. We were so tired after dinner last night, we figured we’d look in the morning.”

  “Who knows?—You might be related to her.”

  “Maybe,” Regan answered.

  “I’ll leave you our catalogue at the front desk tomorrow. Our business is going really well. Really, really well. Let me tell you, if there’s anything that people like better than the sound of their own name, it’s the sight of their name on anything from plaques to dishes, to certificates explaining the family crest. And you’re both Reilly. Two for the price of one! We’ll even throw in a mug for free!” She laughed. “By the way, I’m Sheila O’Shea, and this is my hubby, Brian.”

  Introductions were made, and the men shook hands the way men do when they’re not really interested in the conversation.

  “Where do you live now?” Sheila asked.

  “New York. And you?”

  “Phoenix. I love the sunshine.” She paused. “You know about our business. What do you do?” She smiled in her most friendly way, then raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Anything we can buy from you?”

  “Not unless you need the services of a private investigator, which is what I am. Jack is the head of the Major Case Squad in New York City.”

  Sheila’s smile remained plastered on her face. “Nice,” she said. “Your jobs must be so interesting.”

  The door of the castle opened, and Neil Buckley appeared. “You can all come back inside,” he announced. “Anyone whose room smells of smoke, check with Martin at the desk. We have a few vacant rooms that are far from the kitchen. And we’re serving tea, coffee, and pastries in the lounge
for anyone who would like an early bird breakfast.”

  “No, thanks,” Jack whispered in Regan’s ear.

  The crowd surged toward the door. Most guests seemed anxious to get back to their warm beds.

  “See you later,” Sheila said abruptly as she and Brian hurried off.

  Regan and Jack headed straight for their room. Jack unlocked the door and went into the bathroom while Regan walked directly to the window facing the lake. She paused for several minutes, staring out into the darkness.

  Once they were back in bed, Jack turned to Regan. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind? When I came out of the bathroom, you didn’t even notice. You were just staring out the window.”

  Regan hesitated. “Jack, I know it sounds crazy.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Before we ran downstairs, you said it looked as if I saw a ghost. I think I did. A woman with a long dark coat and a scarf over her head was looking up at me and shaking her fist. She looked as if she belonged in another century.”

  Jack smiled. “You think it’s May Reilly?”

  “I knew you would think it’s crazy, but there was something hazy about her. And then she disappeared.”

  “It’s just so unlike you.”

  “I know.”

  A framed print slid off the wall and crashed on the floor.

  They were both startled, but then Regan smiled. “Maybe I’m not so crazy after all. But I refuse to get out of bed right now.”

  Jack pulled her close. “So do I.” He turned and called out. “Good night, May Reilly! Let us get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll admire your tablecloth.”

  Regan laughed. But something was making her uneasy. Could I really have seen a ghost? she wondered.

  Down the hall, Brian and Sheila had also climbed back into bed.

  “I can’t believe it,” Brian said. “Of all people you chose to bump into, you have to pick the investigator wife of one of the NYPD’s biggest cops. What possessed you?”

  “I couldn’t help it! The smoke was really getting to me, and she was walking out the door right in front of us. And she was so nice. I shouldn’t leave them our catalogue? Maybe they’ll pass it around to their Irish friends.”