“The hedge schools demonstrated that Ireland would not be demoralized,” Alex said in his professorial voice. “They showed how far the Irish would go to protect their culture.”
The wind kicked up for a minute and then died down again. Without a word, we all turned away from the memorial.
“Feels like a sacred place up here, doesn’t it?” Ian said a few steps later.
“Is that a church or a school?” I asked, indicating the small, simple building on the property. It was about a hundred yards from us.
“A schoolhouse, built in the early 1800s,” Ian said, and he and Alex continued to talk about how, after the penal laws were repealed, the government had finally established a system of small country schools that many Irish families accepted. The Programme Specialist from LIT Tipperary had told Ian that this particular school remained in operation until the 1960s.
“I know it’s locked, but I wonder if I can see anything through the windows,” I said.
Alex and Ian followed, lagging behind, still talking. I heard a car and turned to look past where our car was parked, but I didn’t see anything. Then the engine cut off, maybe someone parking, another visitor to the memorial, I thought. I went to one of the windows of the schoolhouse and peered in. “Rows of old-fashioned desks,” I said.
A gunshot and the sound of breaking glass pierced the air all at once. I ducked next to the building, yelping. A window was shattered next to me, but not the one above me. I saw Alex and Ian crouched on the ground, there in the open. Had they been in the line of fire? I couldn’t tell. We called to each other. No one appeared to be hurt. Alex told me to stay put. A minute later, a car motor started up. The men waited another moment and then stood, and I rushed to them.
Alex was brushing himself off, trying to appear unflustered, but he was breathing hard. Ian rubbed his arm. Maybe he’d landed on it, diving to the ground, or maybe he was just remembering the gunshot that had grazed that arm just two nights ago.
I asked again if they were all right.
“Just mad as bloody hell,” Ian said. He jerked his phone from its clip on his belt and punched in 999.
CHAPTER 13
Not more than fifteen minutes later, two officers arrived, dispatched from somewhere locally. It didn’t take long to tell them what happened. “A shame it is that someone would shoot out the window of the old schoolhouse,” the younger of the two men mused.
The other exchanged a look with Alex that said the shooter likely had something in mind besides the window, and Alex followed up with an explanation about the incident Friday night. “You can check with the Thurles police. We made a report.”
“Do you know who might want to shoot you?” the older man asked Ian.
“I would have told you, first thing, if I did,” Ian said. “I have no idea, same as I told the Guards in Thurles.”
I gave Ian one of those meaningful looks that mothers learn to do so well. He met my gaze, blinked, and looked away. It wasn’t my place to tell about the message that had come to his website—If you were meant to be dead, you would be. Had he changed his mind about telling the Guards?
The local officials didn’t keep us long. They didn’t seem to know what else to ask us, so they said we could leave and they would contact us if they needed us. Yes, of course they knew Shepherds. They had heard good things about the O’Tooles.
“Are the crime scene investigators coming?” Alex asked. His question was met with frowns. Certainly you couldn’t blame the men for not knowing that we all kept up with CSI. “You should be able to recover the shells and determine what kind of gun was used.” Alex must have heard how he’d sounded. “My apologies,” he said. “We’ll go so you can do your work.”
The older man winked. “Don’t you worry now. We’ll be in touch with Headquarters.”
On the way to the car, I said to Ian, “Headquarters? Is that Thurles?”
“It is. The locals are nice enough, and they do fine when it comes to breaking up a brawl in the pub, but this is something the Guard in Thurles will take up.”
“Is that why you didn’t say anything about the message?”
“What message?” Alex asked.
“Ah, Jordan, you can be trusted to keep secrets, I see,” Ian said.
He explained to Alex, who was not annoyed with me, as I’d predicted, but rather at Ian. “And this happened two days ago? My boy, you must go to the Guard.”
“After what happened here—I will indeed. As soon as we get to Thurles,” Ian said.
Grace was alone in Reception when we arrived at Shepherds. She seemed to be sorting through mail. Alex greeted her briefly before he headed upstairs—for a nap, I suspected. We had dropped Ian off in town. He was going first to the police station—called the Garda station—and then, he said, “I’ll be stopping in at Finn’s. I could use a pint after all that drama.”
“Maybe he’ll get a ride back if he stays until after dark,” I’d said to Alex, thinking about the road where Ian was shot Friday night. Alex had told me Ian would take care of himself and he didn’t need me to be a mother hen.
“How did you like the Hedge School?” Grace asked.
I didn’t know how to break the news except to just say it. “There was another shooting.”
“Oh, you can’t mean it!” Grace looked horrified. “Was anyone hurt? Where’s Ian?”
“He’s at Finn’s, and no one was hurt,” I said, “but I’m still shaking inside.”
“For good reason! Oh, I am so sorry, Jordan. I’ll make us some tea,” she said.
We had our tea in the keeping room, that warm, inviting family room off the kitchen. I filled Grace in on the events of the afternoon. “What do the Guards plan to do?” she asked. I had no answer. Then we heard Colin come through the rear entrance, whistling. Grace looked surprised. Maybe Colin had not whistled much lately. She called to him, and he appeared in the doorway, shedding his tie. Sunday clothes and Colin O’Toole did not exactly go together.
“Aren’t you a little too cheery to be coming from a funeral?” she said.
“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “It was sad, of course.”
“Get yourself a cup and join us. We have a pot here,” Grace said. “Jordan will tell you what happened at the Hedge School.”
I told the story again, and Colin’s reaction was the same as Grace’s. Nothing like this ever happened in Thurles. No shootings. No murders. This was supposed to be a peaceful little town! And all of these incidents while Alex and I were visiting. Not what they’d hoped their American friends would experience in Ireland! They were both profuse with apologies. They didn’t mention Bridget, but their daughter’s troubles had to weigh heavily on their minds.
“None of it is your fault,” I insisted, “and the two of you could not have been more gracious to us! We love being at Shepherds.”
“It’s a wonder Alex can think about writing a book,” Colin said.
“I think he’s getting what he needs. We’ve packed a lot into a few days, and we have nearly a week left.” I stopped short of saying anything about the tiredness that seemed so out of character for Alex. Colin and Grace didn’t need one more thing, one more source of worry.
“Maybe I can spend more time with you and Alex this next week.” Colin shook his head. “Mother of God, I hope nothing else comes up!”
“What about the funeral?” Grace asked. “You came in whistling.”
“And to think, I almost talked myself out of going because I knew the whole town would turn out—and I’m not much for a starched collar and tie.” He glanced at me. “But out of respect for the doctor, who was good to our family, I went anyway. And sure, the whole town was there.” He turned his gaze back to Grace. “And so was Liam Riordan.”
“Mr. Riordan!” Grace exclaimed. “I thought he was seriously ill.”
“That’s what his son would have us believe, isn’t it now?”
“He wasn’t sick?”
“Hard to say. Sure, he looked
a bit pale. I went up to him after the mass and expressed my condolences. Told him our family appreciated Dr. Malone, and Mr. Riordan said, yes, his son-in-law was a good man. I said, ‘I’m glad to see you out and about. I hope you’re over what was ailing you,’ and he just chuckled and said, ‘I fear my ailments were much exaggerated. I’m not an easy man to put down.’ And then he said, ‘I’ll be back in the bank soon.’ ”
Grace’s face lit up. “Lucas can’t keep you from talking to him if he’s in the bank. And Mr. Riordan will be reasonable. Oh, Colin, that is very good news!”
Colin’s eyes twinkled, like a mischievous lad’s. “Ah, but I haven’t got to the best part. I said I’d be glad to see him back at work and started to walk away. Lucas was giving us the evil eye from across the room. But Mr. Riordan stopped me. Put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Don’t you worry, Colin. We’ll figure something out for you and Grace.’ ”
Grace gave a noisy, relieved sigh, clasping her hands as if to contain her joy. “I never doubted he would work with us, but I was afraid he was so sick that he’d never come back to the bank, and we’d have to deal with Lucas.”
“I’m sure that’s what Lucas was hoping,” Colin said. He glanced at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Forgive us, Jordan, for boring you with all of this business talk.”
“I’m sure Jordan has caught on that we have a problem at the bank,” Grace said. She explained to me, “Lucas Riordan wants this place. That’s the bottom line. And we’ve got a big payment coming up. But if Mr. Riordan can give us just a little more time—as I’ve said before, we have a big summer already booked. We’ll be grand.”
“Lucas Riordan wants Shepherds?” I said.
“I don’t know exactly why he wants us to go under, but he’s been sniffing around,” Colin said. What Helen had said struck a chord in my memory. Something Lucas Riordan was planning that the public didn’t know about, but it involved a golf course. A resort development? Was that why Lucas Riordan wanted Shepherds? It had to be.
“I’ve heard talk that he’s optioned a couple of properties around here,” Colin went on, “and another thing—I saw Kevin Conner after the mass. Lucas got his claws into the Conner farm, not far down the road. Kevin said he’s taking his wife and new baby to Dublin, hoping some relative there will help him find work. Small farms are having a hard time of it.”
“Kevin Conner.” I repeated the words. “I think we heard him playing at Finn’s.”
“I expect you did. He’s a fine musician,” Colin said.
“What about his father? They all live there together,” Grace said.
“The old man’s going to stay with Kevin’s sister, in Galway, for a time, anyway.” Colin shook his head. “Kevin said his dad was taking it hard. He was born on that farm.”
Grace said, “I wonder if Mr. Riordan knows what Lucas has been up to. I just can’t believe he’d approve of Lucas’s heavy-handed way of doing business.”
“How long has Mr. Riordan been sick?” I asked.
“I’ve been trying to see him for at least a month.” Colin drained the last of his tea, and then—typical Colin—his voice had a lilt as he said, “But the winds have shifted. Everything is going to be fine for us now. Whatever Lucas has done to others, Mr. Riordan is not going to let it happen to us.”
I took a short nap myself. Alex and I decided we’d have dinner at Ryan’s Daughter, a small restaurant in the town center, popular with the locals, Colin said. The doors opened at six, and if we went early, we should not have trouble getting seated. I was fine with going early. Somehow, in all the excitement at the Hedge School, we had completely forgotten lunch.
Colin was at Reception when I went downstairs to wait for Alex. “I called a friend at Ryan’s, just to be sure,” he said with a wink. “It will be their pleasure to serve you.”
“You’re too good to us, Colin,” I said.
“And why shouldn’t I be?”
Helen came in the front door. She and Charles had been to Kilkenny, and she couldn’t wait to give a report on their visit.
“Yes, Alex and I were there Thursday,” I said when she took a breath.
She held up her camera and began clicking through her photos. “You’ll like this one, Jordan. I took it from Castle Park, and you can see all the rooftops, how they represent so many different architectural periods and styles—but you know about that, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Good composition. You’re quite the photographer.”
She looked pleased. “You’re kind to say so, Jordan. I do enjoy my little hobby.” She held another frame up to my face. “I loved this watercolor in the Butler Gallery. You know the castle was the Butlers’ Irish residence. They owned it for six hundred years, until 1967, when they presented it to the people of Kilkenny for fifty pounds. Actually gave it away. Remarkable!”
“Remarkable,” I echoed.
“It was a lovely tour. Charles even liked it. He’s really quite interested in history and culture, but one wouldn’t know it, the face he puts on.”
“Where is Charles?” I asked.
“Out in the car park. Talking to Lucas Riordan.”
“Lucas Riordan?” Colin put in. “Sweet Mother, what could he be doing here at Shepherds? He must have come straight from the cemetery.”
“We drove up at the same time,” Helen said. “They’re golfing friends, you know, Charles and Lucas. They go back years, to their wild youth.” I nodded, as I’d heard this several times.
“I would think he’d be consoling his sister. She just buried her husband,” Colin said.
The irony in Colin’s tone seemed to have escaped Helen. “Actually, I don’t think Lucas was close to his brother-in-law. Not that he wasn’t sorry about his death—I’m sure he was, naturally—but his sister and the doctor were getting a divorce. I have to say the Riordans have been quite civilized about all of this, don’t you think?”
“All of this?” I asked, though her question may have been directed at Colin.
“The wake, the mass, behaving as if the doctor and Lucas’s sister were still married—they were still married, of course, but they were not living together. The Riordans could have behaved quite differently, but they have conducted themselves with dignity.”
The expression on Colin’s face said he would have had plenty to say about that if Helen had not been a guest at his establishment.
The door opened and Ian came in, followed by Charles and then Lucas Riordan. Ian had brought fish and chips for dinner in his room. He thanked Lucas for the ride from town and went upstairs. I met his gaze; he gave me a thumbs-up. I would be anxious to hear what the Guard had said about the message on his website. Charles and Helen continued to stand around, with Helen expressing condolences to Lucas over his family’s loss. Lucas’s response was cool: “One of those things, isn’t it now?”
I moved to a chair, out of the way. Lucas glanced at me, as if wondering who I was and concluding that I wasn’t anyone important. He left the Prescotts’ side, edging toward the Reception desk, where Colin stood, exceptionally straight-backed, I thought. Colin said with strained courtesy, “I didn’t get to speak to you at the mass, Lucas. It was a fine funeral.”
“Ah, but you did speak with my father, didn’t you, now?” Lucas said.
“I did.”
“And I’ve come here to tell you, Colin, you need to stay away from him.”
Colin tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, as if sizing up the shorter, thicker man across from him. Surely Colin wasn’t thinking of throwing a punch, but I could sense his blood beginning to boil. “I don’t understand the problem,” he said, each word sharp-edged.
“Understand this,” Lucas said. “My dad is in poor health and he’s just had a shock, with James’s death, and I don’t appreciate it that you took the occasion of the funeral to ask for help with your loan. Is that clear enough now?”
“I did no such thing,” Colin said. “I told him I was glad to see him out and about. I told
him I was sorry about Dr. Malone. I see nothing wrong with that.”
Lucas leaned in closer to Colin’s face, but Colin didn’t back away.
“I expect I know what you talked about, and I’m giving you fair warning. You stay away from my father. You have no business with him. What business you have is with me, and we’ll conduct it at the bank. Don’t you be going behind my back.” Lucas straightened his lapels in a pompous manner and said, “You have a nice evening now, Colin.”
Colin said, “Mr. Riordan told me he’d be back at the bank soon. I can wait for him.”
I winced, thinking, Oh, Colin, that was the wrong thing to say.
“We’ll be seeing about that,” Lucas said. He bid the stunned Prescotts good evening, reminding Charles of their tee time the next morning.
Silence took over for a minute, until Charles spoke. “I must say, I’ve never quite seen that side of the old boy.”
CHAPTER 14
For the first morning since I’d been at Shepherds, I was not ravenous when I woke.
Ryan’s Daughter, a small restaurant just off the square, had turned out to be another charming Irish eatery, warm and welcoming. Our entrees—roast beef for me, curried chicken for Alex—had come with huge portions of mashed potatoes, mashed carrots, and mashed turnips, all delicious. Best of all was dessert, which I could not resist because of the way the friendly young waitress described it: “Rich chocolate cake with fudge sauce, topped with raspberries and whipped cream. Homemade, of course.” Alex and I decided to split the item, but it was not fifty-fifty. I was the one who polished off most of the decadent dessert.
“Another rave review,” Alex had said, scribbling in his little notebook as we finished with coffee.
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