Laced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “There’s one person we should never have talked to,” Bobby scoffed.

  “We had to wait so long for a table that night,” Anna remembered. “It’s probably a mistake for us to have more than one drink while we’re sitting at the bar. Loose lips sink ships.” She didn’t point out that Bobby had been the one who gave Siobhan their number after gulping down his second scotch on the rocks. Siobhan’s gift of the gab was dangerously infectious. “But it might be fun to go up there tonight and just relax and listen to music.”

  “Maybe,” Bobby said, “but I’ll need a nap first.” He opened the back door, stepped out onto the porch, and stared out at the gray Atlantic Ocean far in the distance.

  You do need a nap, Anna thought. You’re getting cranky. She went and put her arms around him.

  “What are you smiling about?” Bobby asked.

  “I’m imagining Jack Reilly’s expression if he ever found out how we knew he was coming to Ireland.”

  Bobby couldn’t help but grin. “That would be a sight to see…”

  6

  Regan couldn’t believe it. Jane and John Doe had been right here in Hennessy Castle.

  “I’d like to take a look at the room where they stayed,” Jack said in a controlled tone to Neil. “I hope it hasn’t been cleaned yet.”

  “Right away!” Neil cried and barked to a clerk. “They were registered under the name Norton. What room were they in?” A moment later Neil was handed the room key. “If they stole the tablecloth, then they must have been the ones who set the fire!” he said as he motioned for Regan and Jack to follow him.

  “The fire was definitely set?” Regan asked.

  “Indeed! Terrible, isn’t it?”

  “What time did the Nortons check out?” Jack asked as they once again raced down a hallway of Hennessy Castle.

  “About five A.M. Right after everyone went back to their rooms. They were so polite. It made me feel terrible that these two old folks were heading out so early on such a damp, depressing morning. I was actually worried that they’d catch a cold and tried to get them to stay. But they both insisted that they wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping here after there had been a fire…. Those two devils are such liars!”

  “They’re devils all right,” Jack agreed. “Did they have a car picking them up?”

  “No. They said they had their own car.”

  “Do you have the license number?”

  “Highly doubtful.”

  They reached the door of the room. Neil unlocked it and pushed the door open. The bed was rumpled but didn’t look as if it had been slept in. The room service cart from the night before was at the foot of the bed in front of the television.

  “I see they ordered the steak,” Neil observed. “It’s really gorgeous.”

  It was clear that the criminal couple had hearty appetites. The baked potato jackets had been scraped bare, traces of oil lingered on the salad plates, and only a few crumbs remained in the bread basket. Two sparkling water bottles were empty.

  No drinking on the job, Regan observed.

  There was no sign that the shower had been used. The sink in the bathroom had a blob of pink toothpaste stuck to its side. They came in their disguises, Regan thought, and were here to get a job done—like actors in a play. This had been the backstage area until it was showtime.

  Neil, Regan, and Jack checked the room from top to bottom. There was nothing left behind. The garbage cans were empty. Jane and John Doe are pros, Regan thought.

  “Neil,” Jack said, “can we go back to your office and check their reservation records? I’d also like to take a look at the kitchen.”

  Neil nodded.

  The kitchen looked like a typical large commercial kitchen. Except this one was charred. The massive stove and the wall behind it were blackened. Workers were cleaning up the mess caused by the fire and the attempts to put it out.

  “Is that the cook who pulled the fire alarm?” Jack asked Neil, pointing to a guy in his mid-forties, slightly heavy, with pointed features and dark hair peeking out from under his chef’s hat. He didn’t look as if he was having a great day.

  “Yes.”

  “Could we talk to him in your office?”

  A second door behind the front desk led to Neil’s office. It was small but cozy and, like the rest of the castle, beautifully decorated. His desk was a large wooden antique, and the chairs were leather. The plush rug had a deep red background. A small fireplace between two small windows was not lit. I guess he’s in no mood for any more fires, Regan thought. But I bet he’d love to hide in here. A theft, a fire that was deliberately set, and international thieves who had been hotel guests might cause problems for Hennessy Castle’s fine reputation.

  Neil sat behind his desk and gestured for Regan and Jack to sit in the two chairs in front of him. He started tapping on the keys of his computer.

  “They checked in at three o’clock yesterday and used the names Betty and Earl Norton. They gave their address as London.”

  “When did they make the reservation?” Jack asked.

  “Last Friday. To stay for four nights.”

  “They paid with a credit card?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see what my office can find out with the credit card information,” Jack said. “And you don’t have any information about the kind of car they were driving?”

  “No, we don’t require it. But I can assure you that we will in the future.”

  Great, Regan thought.

  “I have to say I was surprised at the way the two of them were able to carry their own suitcases when they checked out. They insisted they didn’t need any help. Things were so hectic around here that I didn’t worry about it too much.”

  “They can take care of themselves,” Jack said wryly.

  “Did they speak with English accents?” Regan asked Neil.

  “Yes. They seemed like a proper English couple.”

  Five minutes later a nervous Conor Devlin came into the office. He had taken off his white apron and chef’s hat.

  “Conor, sit down,” Neil said, pointing to the only remaining chair in the room. “We just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you tell these folks exactly what happened this morning when you came to work? I know you’ve told me, but they’re trying to help us out.”

  Conor sat and folded his hands. “I came in a little before four, like I always do to get things organized for breakfast. When I approached the kitchen, I smelled smoke. I opened the door, flipped on the light, and was shocked. Smoke was everywhere. I ran out and pulled the fire alarm, grabbed a fire extinguisher, and then ran back in. I could see the flames shooting up from the stove. I ran over, and luckily I was able to put it out.” He shook his head. “Someone had poured grease into three different pans and then turned on the jets full blast.”

  “What do you think would have happened if you hadn’t walked in there when you did?” Jack asked.

  “Lord knows,” Conor said. “The damage would have been much worse, I suppose.”

  “I wonder if whoever did this could have known that you come in at four every day.”

  “I don’t have any idea,” Conor answered. “Seems strange, doesn’t it?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

  Jack turned to Neil. “Is the kitchen locked at night?”

  “’Tis. But someone had fiddled with the lock.”

  Jack sighed. “I’d like to talk to any of your staff who had contact with the Nortons. Someone must have brought them to their room. Someone must have delivered room service. We’ve got to find out if there is anything anyone remembers about them that might help. If they were willing to set a fire that could have easily gotten out of control, I can only imagine what else they might have planned.”

  7

  Sheila and Brian were also roused from their sleep by the ringing of a telephone, Brian’s international cell phone. But their call wasn’t from a friendly cousin or cow
orker. It was from someone they had made a business deal with, a deal that was already making them queasy.

  Dermot Finnegan was on the line from Phoenix, Arizona. A sixty-five-year-old multimillionaire, Finnegan was a formidable character known for his charm as well as his temper. He’d emigrated from Ireland with his parents when he was twelve. Scrappy and tenacious, he had worked hard to earn money for his family from the day he set foot on American soil. And he had never stopped. Retirement held no interest for him. From his thirty-room mansion on a golf course, he was still wheeling and dealing, occasionally heading out for a round of golf, which he almost always won.

  He could be a bit of a tyrant when things didn’t go his way.

  “Brian,” Dermot yelled into the phone. “It sounds like you’re still asleep! By my calculation it’s past nine o’clock there. What are you still doing in bed?”

  Brian sat up. “There was a fire in the hotel in the middle of the night.”

  “A fire?”

  “Yes. A grease fire in the kitchen.”

  “You’re not going to let a little fire stop you from completing your mission, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Brian answered, rolling his eyes. Dermot was also known for talking to his employees about their “mission,” whether it was cleaning his house or carrying out his deals. Brian could just picture Dermot with a cigar hanging out of his mouth, his piercing blue eyes wide open, his face flushed. Dermot had a full head of dyed brown hair and a body that would benefit from walking around the golf course once in a while instead of always being chauffeured in a cart with a Rolls-Royce grill and heavily padded seats.

  “When are you picking up the paintings?”

  “This afternoon,” Brian told him for the hundredth time.

  “And you’re flying back immediately?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure you can’t get the artist to come with you?”

  “I told you she’s a nun who lives in a convent that is practically cloistered.”

  “Practically cloistered—you’re either cloistered or you’re not,” Dermot growled.

  “Listen, she doesn’t want her identity to be revealed. It’s a miracle we got her to paint these seven paintings as it is.”

  “I don’t know why. Look at the Book of Kells, those beautiful illuminated manuscripts on display for everyone to see at Trinity College in Dublin. It’s no secret that was done by monks. What’s this nun’s problem?”

  “She made us promise.”

  “Promises are made to be broken. We’ll work on that later. This is just phase one of our project. I’m telling you, she paints like an angel. It was very generous of you to donate her painting for the auction at my Irish Eyes fund-raiser.” He laughed. “I bet you didn’t know what valuable art you had.”

  He was right, but Brian wouldn’t admit it. “You know Sheila and I like to support Irish causes. We paid a lot of money for that painting,” he lied.

  “You should be generous to the Irish, making money off all that junk you have the nerve to call Irish memorabilia.”

  “Listen, Dermot, I promise to call you as soon as we have the paintings. Okay?”

  “All right. Now talk to that nun. See if she’ll give at least one interview. And tell her I’ll build her a convent here in Phoenix where she can paint all day. The weather’s much better here than it is in Ireland.”

  “She’s not interested.”

  “I can’t understand it! There’s a lot of money to be made off her talent, as you know. I noticed you wasted no time in cashing the check I gave you when I ordered the paintings.”

  “Did you expect me to put the money in a drawer?”

  “Of course not. But it was a broad leap of faith on my part to write you that check. A half million dollars is a lot of money. I want those paintings in my house here in sunny Arizona as soon as possible. It’s not often that an exciting new talent is discovered. I should take over Sotheby’s.” He hung up.

  Brian closed the cell phone, dropped it next to him on the bed, and rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t know getting involved with Dermot would be such a headache.”

  “I only wish I’d taken an art appreciation course along the way,” Sheila said wistfully. “If we had known how valuable that painting was, we never would have given it away, and we could have exploited ‘Sister’ on our own.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you told him the artist is a nun.”

  “What else was I going to say? If Dermot met the real artist, the mystique would be gone.”

  “True. But that Dermot is sharp. He knows the value of things. I can’t tell a tacky key chain from the seventh wonder of the world. But when I find something I can put a family name on, I go for it!” She reached over and picked up the phone beside the bed. “I’ll order a pot of coffee to have while we’re getting showered and dressed.” She pressed a button and waited. “Hello, I’d like to order room service—”

  The clerk cut her off. “Sorry, no room service this morning.”

  “What?” Sheila whined.

  “No room service. A limited breakfast is being served in the dining room. Terribly sorry.”

  Sheila sighed and hung up the phone. “No room service. That’s just great.” She shook her head. “I’ve always enjoyed our stays at Hennessy Castle, but this time I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “For a lot of reasons,” Brian agreed. “Let’s hope we don’t run into the Reillys this morning.”

  Sheila did not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  Brian forcefully threw back the covers. “I won’t be able to breathe easily until we hand over those paintings to old man Finnegan.”

  “I can’t wait to finally see them,” Sheila said excitedly, then laughed. “Over at the convent…”

  8

  Ayoung bellman named Liam, who had been the one to bring Jane and John Doe’s bags to their room when they had checked in, was ushered into Neil’s office. In his early twenties, tall and lanky, with a round face, twinkling eyes, and a quick smile, Liam clearly enjoyed the excitement of being questioned about the two suspected criminals.

  “They had a big black suitcase on wheels and two tote bags,” he began. “I loaded them onto the cart, and as we walked to their room, I told them about all the amenities Hennessy Castle has to offer, as I always do.”

  Neil nodded approvingly.

  “You know, people like to hear about the spa and room service, that kind of thing. Then I asked them where they were coming in from. They said London.”

  “Did they have English accents?” Regan asked.

  “Yes. They sounded like the queen!—like they had plums in their mouths. They walked very slowly, and the lady said she was tired from the flight and wanted to take a nap and order room service for dinner. When we got to their room, I offered to get them ice, but they weren’t interested. He gave me a good tip. That was it.”

  “Was there anything unusual about them?” Jack asked. “Anything they said or did that you remember?”

  Liam’s baby face looked thoughtful. “Let’s see…. Oh, there was one thing that kind of struck me,” he said with enthusiasm as he recalled the memory. “When I took their suitcase and hoisted it onto the luggage rack in their room, I noticed that it didn’t have any tags on it. Like it hadn’t been checked in at the airport. Some people rip the tags off right away when they unpack; others leave them on until their next trip. But they said they had just come from the airport. Believe me, I see all kinds of suitcases. Some are pretty nice, and others are pretty ratty. Have you ever seen a suitcase that’s taped up because the zipper’s broken?” Liam laughed heartily. “It always surprises me. You think that people who could afford to stay at Hennessy Castle would spring for luggage that doesn’t look as if it’s been run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

  “We don’t have many of those,” Neil said, his tone flat and disapproving.

  “No, we don’t, we don’t,” Liam agreed quickly. “Not a-tall. Indeed. No way. The guests
here are lovely.”

  “Did the other bags have tags or anything you noticed about them?” Jack interrupted.

  The bellman closed his eyes and nodded, trying not to laugh again. “Oh, dear, this is going to sound mean.”

  “What?” Jack asked. “Just say it.”

  “I live down in Galway. They had a road race recently, a mini-marathon, if you will. My girlfriend and I ran in it. It was freezing cold. When you crossed the finish line, they gave out funny little decals to stick on your gym bag. It’s a cartoon of runners piling up as they cross the finish line. One of those decals was on one of their tote bags. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Are you sure it was the decal from the race?”

  “Yes! Can you imagine? The woman did nothing but complain about her aches and pains as they slowly shuffled down the hall. I thought I’d never get back to the front desk. I never dreamt her aches and pains could come from jogging! I just can’t picture them in a 5K. It takes all kinds, doesn’t it?”

  “When was the race?” Jack asked.

  “Hmmm, last November.”

  “November?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t comment to them about the decal?”

  “No. I thought it would be rude. I didn’t think they could make it to the bed, never mind run a race. Also, I noticed the decal right before I left the room. They seemed like they wanted to be left alone.”

  At least it’s a start, Regan thought. No luggage tags and a decal that put them in Galway last November. “Do you think you could get us one of those decals?” she asked.

  “Sure. I have one and so does my girlfriend. It really is the way everyone looks at the end of one of those races. Miserable. You’d never guess that running is supposed to release those happy hormones.”

  Jack thanked Liam for his help and exchanged numbers with him.

  “I’ll bring the decal to work with me tomorrow,” Liam offered as he stood and shook their hands. “If you need it before, just give me a ring.”

  “Great,” Jack said. “By the way, do you have to register to run in that race?”