Miss Fairmont and The Gentleman Investigator

by Pat White

  “She left us, Gracie,” he said. “She didn’t die in a car accident.”

  Grace gripped the receiver and stared at the gold-striped wallpaper. She couldn’t make sense of his words. Wasn’t sure she’d heard him clearly.

  “When you were a year old your mom disappeared,” he continued. “She left me a note. She asked that I not look for her and begged me to take care of you, explaining how much she loved us both and that was why she had to leave. Five years later someone sent me her death notice from The Times of London. She was the innocent victim in a terrorist bombing that killed five people.”

  “Terrorist bombing? As in…”

  “An attempt to kill the prime minister that failed.”

  “Dad, do you know if she was involved with the Provisional Irish Republican Army?”

  “No, I’m sure she was not. Your mother was about peace and compassion. She would never be involved with an organization that hurt innocent people.”

  “But what do you know about her, really?”

  “I know I loved her.”

  “And she left you. And me. She left us and you never told me.”

  “I thought you’d be crushed.”

  “I had a right to know,” she declared.

  “I’m sorry, Gracie. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. What good would it have done? It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does, actually. It matters a lot. It means she didn’t want me.”

  “Don’t say that, Grace.”

  “I’ve gotta go. I love you.” She hung up and went upstairs to her room.

  Opening her door, she flipped on the light and grabbed the journal off the nightstand.

  Her mother didn’t want her.

  No, Grace refused to believe that.

  She locked her door and frantically leafed through the pages, familiar with them all, having committed most of the entries to memory.

  Grace smiled at me today.

  Gracie got her first tooth.

  Gracie is such a smart girl.

  I can’t wait to take Gracie home and show her to my family. I can’t wait to show her the hills, the lochs, the beautiful countryside. I love my baby girl so much.

  “Then why, Mom? Why did you leave?”

  She snapped the book shut, unable to read another word without bursting into tears of frustration, tears of loss.

  It was as if she’d lost her mother all over again, and she didn’t even remember losing her the first time.

  What had Dad said? That Mom’s letter had asked he not try to find her. That she professed her love for both Dad and her baby girl?

  Was it simply that she was a member of the PIRA and loved the fight for Irish independence more than she loved her family?

  That wasn’t possible. Mom was from Scotland; Dad had said so.

  He’d also said her mother had been killed by a drunk driver when Grace was a year old. Now that she thought about it, he’d told her how mom had died when Grace was twelve, right before the trying years of teenage rebellion and experimentation with alcohol and drugs. Up to that point he’d just said she’d died in a car accident.

  Suddenly she felt incredibly manipulated.

  Her father had lied to her all these years. Who could she believe?

  Her heart. Her mother’s words. They would lead her to answers. This journey would still give her peace.

  Forget the other credit cards. American Express was good enough for purchases and cash advances. She’d head up north first thing tomorrow.

  She needed to prove what she knew in her heart: her mom was not a terrorist. Her mom had loved her. What on earth would have made her run away?

  Anger coiled in Grace’s chest as she wondered if someone was responsible for chasing her mother away, depriving Grace of her much-needed love.

  Grace wanted answers, not only for her identity’s sake, but to honor Mom’s memory. Grace would uncover the truth.

  She glanced down and noticed an envelope had been slipped under her door. She hadn’t seen it when she’d come in. Placing the journal on the nightstand, she grabbed the envelope and opened it.

  She pulled out a white sheet of paper with three words on it: Please Go Home.

  HE LIT a ciggie and glanced at the Guest House of Edinburgh. It would be easy enough to climb in through the window, strangle her and be done with it.

  Although it would be rather difficult with agents surrounding the place. Agents and terrorists all out for the same thing: the list. She might have it, or know where to find it. She’d be no use to anyone dead. To think the list could be in the hands of such a naive, fragile creature.

  He glanced up the street, wondering if they knew where she was. She’d run into Franklin earlier, but the team had chased him underground for the time being. Franklin’s group had to know she was surrounded by invisible agents.

  Yet she was so very alone.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have eliminated her bodyguard from the equation. He was being paid to keep her safe. But the bloke would complicate the mission with his police instinct and attitude.

  This had to go smoothly. For England’s sake.

  Chapter Nine

  Grace hadn’t seen Bobby Finn since their blow-up at the pub. She wondered if he’d written the note telling her to go home. Why? To keep her frightened and needy? The door to his room had been shut this morning, and Mrs. McCarthy said she hadn’t seen him leave. Grace guessed Inspector Owen had detained him to give her the opportunity to get out of town without being followed.

  She was standing in line at the rental car agency when her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” she said. She didn’t recognize the caller ID.

  “Miss Fairmont? My name is Max Templeton. Your father hired my agency to keep watch over you while in the U.K.”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  “I’m wondering if my agent, Bobby Finn, is with you. We haven’t been able to reach him on his mobile.”

  “No, he’s not with me. I’ve asked him to leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry? Did he offend you?”

  “No, the local police came to see me last night and warned me about him.”

  “Miss Fairmont, Bobby Finn is a loyal agent and was an excellent inspector with Scotland Yard. I wish you hadn’t given him the slip.”

  “But Inspector Owen said—”

  “Forget Owen. He doesn’t know the whole picture. Bobby is a determined agent. I’m sure he’ll find you. When he does ask him to phone in straight away.”

  “Anything I should know about?”

  “Not at this time. Miss Fairmont, please be careful, pay attention to your surroundings and stay in well-populated areas.”

  “Thanks.”

  She pocketed her phone and scolded herself for believing Inspector Owen’s tale. What was his motivation, she wondered?

  Anxious to get out of the city, she signed the rental-car paperwork and found her economy car. She opened the trunk and dumped her bags inside, then got behind the wheel and pulled out her map of the area. She’d just figured out how to get out of town when the passenger door opened. Inspector Owen slid into the car and shut the door.

  “What the—”

  “Sorry, miss, I don’t mean to frighten you, but we lost track of Mr. Finn and I wanted to warn you.”

  “You could have called the inn.”

  “You were gone.”

  “You have my cell number.”

  “I wanted to speak to you in person.”

  Stay strong, don’t let him sense your fear. Was he even a real policeman?

  “You need to know a few things, about your mother,” he started.

  “You knew her?”

  “I knew of her. She was…” he hesitated, “involved in the deaths of innocent people.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “I know she loved me.”

  “You didn’t know about her affiliation with the Provisional Irish R
epublican Army?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “My organization wants your help.”

  “Your organization?”

  “We need information that we think your mother may have left behind when she died.”

  “She left me nothing,” she said. “Except for a locket and that was broken in a mugging.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him about the diary. Maybe because it was sacred and she didn’t want strangers leafing through it, reading a mother’s pri vate thoughts meant for her daughter. Or maybe be cause he hadn’t told her who he worked for.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him. “You need to come with me.”

  “Let go, you sonofabitch.” She squirmed to get away from him.

  Suddenly the passenger door opened. Bobby grabbed Owen, pulled him from the car and slugged him twice. The guy fell to the ground in a heap. Bobby raced to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door.

  “Move over,” he ordered.

  Stunned, she just looked at Bobby.

  “I said move.” With both hands on her shoulders, he gently slid her over and got behind the wheel. He hit the automatic lock button as Owen got to his feet and pounded on her window.

  She shrieked, Bobby put the car in gear and they took off.

  “That sonofabitch hurt me,” she said, rubbing her wrist with her hand.

  “He could have done a lot worse. What were you thinking, running off on me this morning? You could have been killed.”

  “I thought you were the bad guy, remember?”

  “Oh, I’m bad, Grace, that’s true. But I’m not the one trying to hurt you.”

  “I know.” She hugged herself and glanced out the window. “Max Templeton called my cell looking for you.”

  “Bugger, that can’t be good news. I’m taking you to Heathrow.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “This isn’t a simple holiday anymore. This is about terrorists and spies and who knows what else.”

  “They’ll find me back in the States, too. We need to get answers, find out what my mom was about. It’s the only way I’ll be truly safe.”

  “No, you’re going back.”

  “Dammit, Bobby, I’ve come this far. I’m too close to give up.”

  “What’s so bloody important that you’d risk your life to go touring the countryside?”

  “My life. Finding out who I am and why.” She paused. “Why Mom left.”

  “She died. People die. It happens.”

  “But she didn’t just die. She left us when I was a year old. She died years later. I need to know why she left. I need to know who she was.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “I guess not a lot to someone like you. You know who you are and what your mission is in life: finding bad guys, protecting good girls.” She sighed. “But I’m lost, Bobby. I’ve been lost for a long time, and the only way I’m going to find myself is by getting some answers.”

  “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

  “I’ll be at risk no matter where I am. I can’t stop that now. I’ve opened some kind of door to danger that only I can close. You’ve got to help me. Please.”

  Bobby didn’t say anything at first. He still couldn’t believe her determination to continue this trip after her encounter with Owen. Was he MI5, or with the PIRA? What did they want with her?

  He took a deep breath and headed north out of town. They’d have to ditch the car if they didn’t want to be followed. Owen could have put a tracking device on it.

  He glanced at Grace, then back out the front window. Bugger, she could have been hurt. But if they’d wanted to hurt her, wouldn’t they have done it already? And who were they? He wouldn’t mind answers himself.

  But not about his identity or his mother. He had all those. He knew the sins he’d never shake loose from his soul.

  Yet Grace seemed wounded by the news that she’d been abandoned. It was fresh in her eyes, shadowing the blue with a hint of sadness.

  And it resonated someplace deep in his chest.

  “I need to speak with Max,” he said. “The battery is dead on my mobile. May I use yours?”

  “Sure, I can call for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He glanced at her.

  “I’m sorry I believed that jerk over you,” she said.

  “Forget it. I wouldn’t have believed me, either.”

  “Why do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Beat yourself up like that?”

  “Habit. Phone Max, will you?”

  She hit redial for the last incoming call and held the phone to his ear. “It’s Bobby,” he said, when the phone was picked up.

  “We’ve been worried. Everything okay?”

  “Fine. I’m with Grace.”

  “Brilliant, I knew you’d find her,” Max said.

  “She was nearly taken by a bloke pretending to be a detective in the Edinburgh police.”

  “What was he looking for?”

  “Not sure.”

  “After we hang up, talk to her and find out what he asked her. We’re still unclear about why this has all surfaced at this time in her life.”

  “Maybe because she’s in the U.K?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Isn’t it the middle of the night there?”

  “Early morning, actually,” Max said. “I couldn’t sleep. I never sleep well when Cassie’s away. She’s visiting her mum.”

  “Miss your security blanket, do you?” Bobby joked.

  “That, and I’m worried about this case. Eddie was up all night digging for clues. Not that he sleeps much.”

  “No, only at his desk.”

  “Here’s what we know: Miss Fairmont’s mother, Mary Logan, was affiliated with the PIRA when she was a teenager and then into her twenties. But what’s odd is that her parents moved to Scotland when Mary was eighteen, during the prime of her activity. She accompanied them, yet spent half the year back in Ireland with relatives. Then she disappeared from the U.K. when she was twenty-three and ended up in the States where she struck up a romance with Don Fairmont. Two years later, she gave birth to Grace. About a year after that she left them to go back with PIRA in Ireland. She was killed in a parade bombing five years later.”

  “So, she’s gone, it should be over.” Bobby glanced at Grace, who studied him with such intense blue eyes.

  “But it’s not,” Max said. “It doesn’t tally, mate. There’s more to this woman’s life and I suspect it’s dangerous. Are you putting Miss Fairmont on a plane home?”

  “She won’t go.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “She says the trouble will follow her back to the States as long as this is unresolved.” He glanced at her and nodded. “She’s got a point, guv.”

  “Yes, now that Pandora’s box has been opened we’ll have to deal with it. We’ll keep digging, see if we can turn up anything to help you arm yourselves.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Has she accepted that you’re the agent sent to protect her, not some phony?”

  “I think so.”

  “Bobby?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s no one I’d rather have watching Miss Fairmont.”

  “Thanks, guv.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Bobby nodded to Grace to hit End, and took a deep breath. What had started as a babysitting assignment had turned into international terrorism and possibly espionage. What was MI5’s angle? Did they think her mother might still be alive and they hoped to use Grace to lure her out?

  No, by all official accounts Mary Logan had died in the parade bombing. Yet what if she wasn’t simply a soldier for PIRA? What if there was more to this intrigue?

  “Go on, I can
handle it,” Grace said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You have this look on your face like you’re afraid to tell me something.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “You’re stalling. Please, don’t keep things from me. I feel like everyone’s been keeping the truth from me my whole life. If there’s one thing I won’t forgive it’s people keeping the truth from me ever again.”

  “We have some facts but not much confirmation.”

  “What facts?”

  “Are you really up for this?”

  “Please.”

  “Fact: your mum was with the terrorist group PIRA as a teenager and up through her twenties. Fact: she came to the States for a few years in the later 1970s, for what reason, we’re not sure. That’s when she met your father. She went back to PIRA in 1981 and was killed in a bombing in ’86. We think both PIRA and British Intelligence are interested in you, her daughter.”

  “I feel like I don’t even know my own mother,” she whispered. “But why is this happening now?”

  “Did you make inquiries about your mother before you came to the U.K.?”

  “Well, sure, I had to find out where she grew up, if she had family, all that stuff.”

  “You must have accidentally alerted PIRA to your existence. What I can’t figure is what they want from you.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “What did that Owen bloke say to you?” Bobby pushed. “You need to remember every word if possible.”

  “He asked if my mother had given me anything. I said yes, the locket.”

  “Did you tell him about the diary?”

  “No.” She turned to him and held his gaze. “I don’t know why. It’s silly, I guess, but Mom’s diary is private. It’s the only thing I have of hers that shows me how much she loved me.”

  If she’d loved Grace she wouldn’t have abandoned her, Bobby thought. The lost look in her eyes made him keep that opinion to himself.

  “Was there anything in the diary explaining why her family moved to Scotland?”

  “No. She started this diary when she was pregnant with me. She wrote down stories about her childhood and her homeland though.”

  “Ireland?”

  “Scotland. She’s from Scotland, that’s why the PIRA stuff doesn’t make sense.”