“What a difference a day makes;
twenty-four little hours.”
Wasn’t it the truth?
Jim washed and changed into a pair of gray sweats and heavy socks; regardless of all the extra clothes, he still shivered. The dampness went right through him on this island nation, and chilled him from the inside out. A boy from Boston chilled, who knew? The feeling was as strange as seeing a backward running stream.
After a sigh and a shake of the head, he decided that it was time to get to work and quit thinking so vividly about what had happened in the abbey and stop sighing over what happened in Megan’s room. It was almost eleven p.m. and he hoped she’d sleep through. She needed the rest so he could go back to her room and they could pick up where they’d left off. He shook his head abruptly. No, you nitwit, give the poor girl a chance to get used to you, after all.
****
Jim hurriedly looked back over his notes from the forensics people in Boston. No fibers, no fingerprints, and the determination that the murderer was six feet two and left-handed.
This killer was smart. Very smart.
Jim bundled up his paperwork and put it away.
Why was the guy after Americans? Why? If he could determine a suspect with a hatred for Americans, then maybe he could find the motive. Right now, there was no motive except for the one in the killer’s head.
He needed to find the killer’s motive. That is, if the killer wasn’t a six foot two, left handed Irish loony.
Was there a motive?
Chapter 26
Megan awoke before midnight and stretched like a contented cat. She was sorry Jim hadn’t stayed, but glad he’d gone as well. If she were by herself, it would be far easier to make some decisions. Maybe she could make up her mind about what had happened and about what she wanted. It would be far easier to do that thinking without those wonderful blue eyes staring at her right through to her toes.
She threw on her robe and made her way to the bath at the end of the hall. The hotel was very quiet. What patrons there were on this cold, blustery night were sleeping. The heat from the shower warmed her considerably, but couldn’t wash away the wonderful, fulfilled feeling she had that had taken up residence inside her since early that evening. She smiled to herself.
She’d never imagined that having…well, that having such emotional sex with someone, loving and passionate could be so, so…what was the word she was looking for? Ah, satisfying. She giggled at herself as she wiped the condensation from the mirror. She pushed her fingers through her hair, over and over again, holding it off her neck and toweled the ends dry. Then she opened the door and peeked out; hmm, no one in the hall, so she hurried back to her room and unlocked the door.
Not feeling at all sleepy, she hummed tunelessly to herself and paced the confines of the small room. Something was bothering her. Some thought she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She stopped in front of the dresser mirror and stared at herself, and then looked down at her left hand. What was it? She couldn’t quite—
She felt married. To be honest, she didn’t know what it was to be married, but there was something in her that was akin to commitment to Jim.
It all boiled down to that. She’d said vows that afternoon in the chapel, perhaps they’d been to herself, but still, they were vows that wove around her heart, the bonds even now tightening, but in a very pleasant way. Did Jim feel the same? It seemed so funny now, remembering the dream, and remembering how it was to kneel beside him.
“Oh bother,” she muttered as she threw herself face down on the bed. “What the bloody hell am I supposed to do? Love the man until he goes back across the water, never to return? My heart wouldn’t survive. No, it wouldn’t.” She pushed her face into the pillow, breathing in the feathers and dust and sat up and promptly sneezed.
A loud pop reverberated and a puff of smoke swirled about the center of the room. Megan gasped and stumbled across the floor until the door pressed against her back.
Her ears buzzed loudly and her heart hammered. The buzzing grew louder and she put her hands up to cover her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She curled up into a tiny ball. Her eyes opened and stared at a strange apparition appearing inside the swirl of smoke. It was a whateverthehellitwas.
“Now, now, colleen. None of that.”
She heard a voice, but it was not speaking to her inside her head. It was as audible as—she’d heard that voice before, but there was a voice in a puff of smoke. She squeezed her eyes closed; maybe if she didn’t see it, whatever it was, then she wouldn’t have to believe that it was actually there.
She made her mind go blank. All this confusion—it was all the emotions crowding her good sense out of her head; she was hallucinating. The need for air burned her lungs and she drew in a large breath. She opened one eye a tiny crack. Something moved on the bed. Her body turned rigid, and she felt she’d faint at any second. She’d awakened as the star of a bad horror movie.
“And why don’t you open your eyes and have a look at your old Uncle Seamus?”
“Because I don’t believe in you, that’s why.” The words came out in a croak.
“Ah, but your heart tells me different, young lady. Now, now, open your eyes. You can see me in your mind anyway, don’t you know.”
Megan’s heart thudded painfully against her chest. And still, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and held her breath. Her oxygen-robbed lungs tried to open and contract. She made herself inhale and heard the sound of her own breath rattle in the quiet of the room. Could she open her eyes? Would she lose her mind if she did, like that fellow in mythology who’d looked at the monster and went stark, staring mad? Crap, if there was really a leprechaun standing on her bed, she’d have to apologize to Jim for all those things she said to him about being crazy.
She opened one eye. A man, the size of a school child’s ruler, dressed in a green suit, stood in the center of her bed, leaning on a cane with one foot crossed over the other.
“St. Joseph,” she whispered more to herself than to the little fellow waggling his eyebrows at her.
“Come sit down, lass. We’ve a bit of talking to do.”
Slowly, Megan uncurled from her place on the floor until her legs spread out in front of her.
“Now, I think it’s high time we introduce ourselves. I had to wait for the proper time, don’t you know. The proper time when your mind would be open to the possibility of meself.”
The leprechaun began to pace back and forth across the coverlet. Megan raised her hand to her face and pushed her slackened jaw shut with her fingers.
“I’m an angel,” he said, standing very tall, and then bowing at the waist with great formality. “I may seem not to be, but I am. You see, yon man’s religious training was so distant in his past that I had to choose to be something that he could believe in.”
“But one of the little people?”
“Aye, sad state of affairs,” he said, taking off his cap and scratching the thick red hair behind his left ear. “Now, accordin’ to what I’ve been told upstairs, my territory, don’t ya know, the two of you should be married and live happily ever after. I’m not saying that it will be easy, no, I’m not. Life on this planet is hard for any who lives here, I should know. ’Twas two hundred years past and I lived here meself,” he said, emphasizing his statement by leaning toward Megan and nodding his head.
“Yes, I lived in a terrible place near Ballycastle. Terrible, terrible. Children dying of starvation and sickness of the potato famine, men dying in the ditches for want of food.” He shook his head again and Megan saw sadness from the little man’s downcast eyes. His obviously painful memories made her forget for the moment that she really didn’t believe in him at all.
“Yes, but what’s it all got to do with Jim?” Without thought, she got up and crossed the room to sit on the floor at the foot of the bed. Seamus came near her and sat down, swinging his legs back and forth as he stared off at an invisible place across the room.
“Wel
l, ya see, the poor boy had lost his faith in God, in the Church, in all of it. So I was assigned to help him to come back into the fold, as it were, and I decided that what he needed was a lovely Irish lass and that should do the trick, right enough. But he’s been resistin’ my suggestion right along. Stubborn. It’s the Black Irish, don’t you know. A good many of ’em are like that as well.”
“So I’d heard,” Megan commented dryly.
“Now, your job, my dear, is not to worry about a thing. Your Uncle Seamus will see to all of it, I will. Remember what it says in the Good Book—He even knows every lovely red hair on that head of yours. According to the boys upstairs, your hearts were in the right place when you were at the abbey and you’ve been dedicated to one another. Good thing, too. Didn’t come a moment too soon, if you know what I mean,” said Seamus, waggling his eyebrows at her. “They demand a lot less rigmarole up there than they do down here. The ways of man get much too complicated whereas the ways of God are simple and direct. It’s the humans, don’t ya know, trying to think like they think God wants them to think.”
“So we are dedicated?” Megan faltered with the question. She felt her jaw slacken again, and she snapped it shut. Married? To Jim?
“Aye, so ya are. Now, I think I’ll pop into Jimmy’s and see how he is. Ta-ta.” With that the leprechaun pulled on both earlobes and disappeared.
Chapter 27
After the last of the green smoke cleared from the top of her bed, Megan finally managed to stand. Her legs held her up only because they were pushed against the mattress. She went to the tiny sink against the wall and washed her face and ran a comb through her hair. They were dedicated to one another, as good as married, as good as—what?
Things could get out of hand. Yes, definitely out of hand. She had to get herself together. Did the man love her enough to stay in Ireland? Did she love him enough to move to the States?
Things were most decidedly out of hand.
She couldn’t give up everything for him. Could she?
But, said a little niggling voice in the back of her mind, how are you going to live without him?
Megan walked to the door with every intention of going to see Jim. She stopped, her hand on the knob, a half turn before the latch clicked. She moved back to the sink and brushed her teeth.
Chapter 28
She deliberately made her mind go blank on her way up to the next floor. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to Jim, or even why she was going, but she had to see him now.
Maybe if she spoke to him, all of this turmoil in her head would sort itself out.
Slowly, she walked to the stairs and took them to the third floor, each step dragging, half in dread, half in anticipation. She traversed the hall, looking at the door numbers until she came to number three.
Her heart thudded almost painfully, and she wondered about the possibility of a twenty-seven-year-old woman having a heart attack. Her hand lifted to knock, and she stepped back. She raised her hand once more, and finally knocked.
Almost immediately, the door swung open. Jim stood with his hand on the knob, but his attention was locked on a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Yes,” he said, and then he finally looked up. “Oh, Megan, honey, how are you?” His look warmed as he regarded her. Megan felt the heat in his look travel down to her toes and she knew she’d melt into a big puddle if she let herself. Could she ever get used to those eyes? She certainly hoped not.
“Come on in.” Jim reached out and pulled her into the room, buzzing a kiss against her temple. His hand held hers tightly like he was loath to let her go.
Megan didn’t move, and she clasped and unclasped her hands behind her back. She felt unaccountably shy. Jim stopped in mid-stride and turned to look her full in the face.
Megan’s expression perplexed Jim. This shy, coy girl seemed quite uncharacteristic to Megan’s usual go get ’em personality, too much so.
He stood for a moment and watched her. She shifted from foot to foot, her gaze locked on the floor. Megan had changed from charging female journalist to virginal nun. In thirty minutes, no less.
“So, what gives?” he asked. He reached for her and planted a kiss on her lovely compliant lips. He held her close and his touch wandered up and down her back. She reached around him and pulled him to her. He felt her hips connect with his solid parts. Too solid. She finally looked up at him and her flush deepened.
“What is it Megan?”
“I…um…I…”
“Yes?”
She pulled away slightly as she continued to clench and unclench her hands. She pursed her lips for a second, walked to the window, looked out, and sat on the edge of the bed. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath and spoke.
“I had a visitor.”
“Is it Richard? Is he here? Where is he? Don’t worry Megan, I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’ll kill him if he’s hurt you.”
“No, no, not Richard.”
Megan looked down again and heaved a big sigh. “It was Seamus.”
She said it simply, only the name. This time she did look up at him; waiting, watching carefully to see what he would do or say.
“Seamus?” Jim sat down with a plop on the bed. He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers before he brought them to his lips in a quick but tender kiss. “Jeez. You’d think that little thing could bug off and leave us alone.”
“Are you supposing that he is what he says he is?” She looked at him now more than she had since she’d knocked on the door.
“You know, I thought about that. What if he’s some demon from Hell or from another planet, or—?” Jim ran his fingers through his hair and then braced his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers under his chin in thought.
“Demon from Hell is it? I’ll be thankin’ ye to read the parchment I have before me.” Seamus popped into the room on a puff of smoke, with his arms akimbo. He was a mere fraction of his usual size, which made his voice sound like he’d inhaled helium. He held a huge scroll in his right hand, abruptly snapped his wrist, and the scroll rolled open. The parchment was filled with bits of sparkling dust and written in gold lettering.
“To all those present.
Bear witness that the bearer of this
Identification is:
Seamus, Angel Second Class
With all the rights and duties thereto presented.”
Michael, Archangel
Jim grabbed the parchment from Seamus. He had to see this. The parchment had a strange feel to it as though it were made of spun glass. He looked carefully at both sides, running his fingertips over it and feeling the edges before he turned to smile at Megan, gave her a wink, and then said to Seamus, “Great, Seamus, but how do we know that you didn’t pick this up at a second-hand shop somewhere?”
“Me? Try to be foolin’ ya?” The leprechaun’s usually squeaky voice rose at least an octave. The little man’s already flushed face turned even redder. “Really lad! And didn’t I tell you that I’m your six times great uncle? And wouldn’t an uncle be helpin’ a poor lad like yourself and not be trickin’ him?”
Seamus’s voice grew louder, his face redder as he paced quickly up to Jim and Megan and threw his arms out wide.
“And I might as well be a-tellin’ ye that Michael the Archangel doesn’t look a thing like that Travolta fella in the movie. He’s redheaded like the lass, here. Irish, he is.”
Seamus’s face had turned such a vivid, bright red that Jim was afraid he’d have a stroke. Wait, can an angel have a stroke? Before Jim could think another fraction of a second longer on this dilemma, Seamus nodded once with vehemence. He grabbed the parchment from Jim. Again, he snapped his wrist and the parchment rolled shut like a roller blind. Then the little angel plunked down on the tiny bit of grass spread out in front of the very tiny church that had conjured itself up. Seamus sat with his nose stuck high in the air and his arms crossed over his chest.
Megan’s eyes grew large and her jaw dropped in surprise.
The performance could have won Seamus an award while at the same time flabbergasting Megan. She turned to look at Jim who wore a cynical expression. His cynicism, surprisingly, stunned her more than Seamus’s recital. Hands on hips, she turned to Jim, nose to nose.
“Now here, O’Flannery, you can’t be hurting his feelings, surely. Now, now, if the…er…man has told you that he’s your great uncle—”
“Six time’s great, love,” Seamus corrected as he gave a sketchy little bow.
“Aye, six times.” Megan put her hands on her hips and gave Jim a frosty look. “Then why can’t you believe him?” Megan’s brogue grew broader with each word only adding to Jim’s confusion.
“Ah, he’s an American, colleen. And they don’t seem to make notice of such things,” said Seamus, heaving a great sigh and then speaking conspiratorially behind his hand.
“Oh aye, so I’ve noticed.” Megan rolled her eyes to the ceiling before she again sat on the bed.
Jim looked from Megan to Seamus. This turn of events had him bamboozled.
“Now the two of you are on me? Great, just great.”
“Now, now—none of that.”
“Listen, Seamus, bug off, will you? Let me and Megan work this out for ourselves, okay? And no peeking, got it?”
“Very well. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Now, you two have a memorable honeymoon. We needn’t be going back to Dublin for a few days, aye? Such a lovely place, Castle Pollard. We might be visiting the abbey again before we leave. Such a magnificent place, reminds me of me own church in Ballycastle.”
The leprechaun smiled with self-satisfaction, bowed deeply from the waist, pulled on both earlobes, and he and the church disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Jim heard a tiny laugh waft through the room like a wisp of fragrance. He turned to Megan. He felt like he’d been sucker punched. He walked to the wall looking carefully at the place Seamus had disappeared. Then he turned back to Megan, his nose a fraction of an inch from hers.
The Wild Mountain Thyme Page 17