They finally arrived at the Ladners’ car. While Griff gave elaborate directions to Doug for the drive to Limerick, Olivia pulled Jane aside. “Dale deserves this after leaving you here on your own.” Her eyelid closed in a meaningful wink. Jane supposed she agreed with her and wondered if she’d missed a text or call from Dale while in the noisy pub. The Breewoods ducked into the teensy back seat of the Ford KA, and the Ladners climbed into the front, and they were off.
Griffin and Jane proceeded to her rental car. He had the keys in his pocket, so he punched the fob to unlock the doors. She asked him to drive again and remembered to get in the correct side, on the left. He said with a laugh, “I gave your friends directions for the long way. We’ll beat them home.”
“What’d you do that for?” Jane glanced at him as if he were a stranger. And in spite of the closeness of the night, he was. They’d just arrived on Sunday and this was only Thursday.
“Just a bit of fun. Besides, we need to get there first. I have the key to the castle.” Griff waggled the keys, making a ringing sound like wind chimes, then chuckled as he inserted the key in the ignition.
“How do I know you’re taking me straight home?” She pretended to swoon, like her heart was giving out.
“I guess you’ll need to trust me.” Griff’s blue eyes danced in his handsome face. The moment was suspended in the air for a few heartbeats. Then he leaned over and put his lips on hers. She smelled his scent, like the salty sea and the smoldering peat and the burning malt of the Guinness. His lips tasted like Guinness, too.
Had she fallen asleep into a dream? She murmured, “The Irish are certainly a friendly people.” She turned to stare out the window, aware that Dale might be waiting for his connecting flight from Boston to Denver.
As if reading her mind, Griff asked. “Are you upset about Dale leaving? How serious are you two, anyway?”
Jane lowered her seat back to recline and closed her eyes. “I thought he was going to ask me to marry him on this trip.” Were they even together anymore? They were likely on the outs.
“There’s something you should know.” He was silent for a few seconds as he inspected the steering wheel. “I overheard Dale’s telephone conversation, while I was at the receptionist desk, while you were having breakfast. He was talking to someone called Polly.”
“Y-yes?”
“He was standing right next to me. I couldn’t help hearing it.” Griff turned the ignition switch and pulled out into the traffic. “Dale told Polly he loved her.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What else did he say?” She wrestled her seat back up, wide awake now.
“When he ended the call, he said, ‘love you.’ It sounded like they’re getting back together, Jane.”
A pang shot through her. How could Dale tell her he loved her, and then turn around and say the same thing to his ex-wife? But then, how could she kiss Dale one day and Griff the next? Was it the same thing? Was she just as bad?
She took a deep breath to calm her heart.
At least she knew now.
Dale had abandoned her for Polly.
Chapter 8
Jane was surprised to find Olivia sitting by herself in the dining hall, alone with a cup of tea. The steaming tea emitted the strong, serious scent of Earl Grey.
“Good morning. Where’s everyone else?” Jane poured herself a mug of coffee.
Olivia slid down in her chair and gazed into her lap without saying a word.
“What’s the matter?” Jane rubbed her eyes. Could Olivia tell she’d cried herself to sleep the night before? Was Dale’s betrayal obvious? Would everyone know he’d left her for his ex-wife?
“We were planning to go to the Cliffs of Moher today.” Olivia’s tone was apologetic, not a typical response for her.
“Is that all?” Jane’s muscles eased. Her fingers smoothed the puffy bags she knew were under her eyes.
Olivia cleared her throat. “Well, originally you were going to spend the day with Dale while the rest of us went to the cliffs.” Her words were slow and hesitant.
When Bruce suggested the trip, Jane had thought long and hard about visiting Ireland again. She had tried to overcome her past, but knew she hadn’t, not totally. Just enough to return to this beautiful country, but not enough to return to the cliffs. Was today the day to put her fears entirely behind her? Should she go with her friends? Just the thought of it made the memories resurface. No, she wasn’t ready. She would go someday, but not today.
She forced a smile of confidence. “I don’t mind having a day to myself.” That much was true. She would find something to do.
Olivia put her head in her hands. “I don’t want to leave you here on your own.”
Jane set her coffee cup on the table and stole over to put her cheek against Olivia’s. “Thanks for thinking of me, my friend.” She gave Olivia’s shoulders a quick squeeze, then stood back. “Really, I’m fine. You go and have a great time. The cliffs are fantastic, so beautiful, so high. And the view! You can’t come to Ireland and not see the cliffs.”
“It’s all right, then?” Olivia’s voice rose to a high pitch, as if uncertain.
“Of course.”
Olivia regarded Jane for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was back to normal. “All right. By the way, what happened with Griff last night? Anything you’re ashamed of?” Jane did a double take, but her friend said, “Just teasing. How’d you get back before us, anyway? For some reason the drive home took us forever.”
“Did it?”
“What’re you two doing in here, so cozy?” Cheryl swept into the room, her eyebrows bunched together. “Watcha talking about?”
Jane hadn’t spent a lot of time with Cheryl, as they’d originally planned. Cheryl had been her closest friend, helping her get into the exclusive dinner club. Then the Breewoods moved away, from Denver to Portland the year before. Their friendship had diminished over time and distance, while the dinner club continued to gain new members. Although Jane had become quite chummy with Olivia, she’d been hoping on this trip to regain the close bond she’d once had with Cheryl.
Jane sensed she was somehow in the wrong. “We were only talking about the cliffs. I want you to go. I’m going to relax today. Read a book. Take a walk.”
“Okay.” Cheryl stuck her right thumb up. “Sounds like a plan.”
Not wanting to admit she felt left out, Jane said, “You guys have fun.”
“Didn’t we have a good time last night, though? Griff took us to such a great spot. Bruce is hoarse this morning from all that singing.” Cheryl’s smile slowly fell into a pout as she pushed out her lower lip and her chin dimpled. “Did Griffin say anything more to you about the police investigation?”
“No. Nothing more.” Jane wished he had.
Cheryl’s face perked back up into a grin. “Okay, then. I won’t worry. Bruce keeps telling me not to worry.” She parked herself in the chair next to Olivia, and the three women set about devouring the filling, traditional breakfast. Jane ate Weetabix, a shredded wheat cereal. Spoken in Fiona’s accent, the name of the cereal sounded like, “whatever-it-is.” When Bruce and Doug sailed in, Jane finished up, told them all to have a great time, and returned to her room.
Unlike Cheryl, she was still worried, or at least concerned, about the mystery surrounding Alsander’s death. Might as well do some research. She dropped into a chair by the window overlooking the River Shannon and once again opened the text on excited delirium. There was something familiar about the binding. Had she seen this book somewhere before?
She digested the information in the small print, taking notes. Most people with the syndrome—agitated delirium was another name for it—either had a mental illness or used drugs, such as amphetamine or cocaine. Hyperthermia—she had to stop and look it up on her tablet computer—was one of the few physical findings. It meant the victim had an elevated core body temperature; in other words, they were overheated. Victims often exhibited irrational, agitated behavior, even
violent behavior. Most of the case histories indicated that the victim was in police custody when the condition resulted in death. Detailed accounts of the studies were so technical, she put the book down.
Griff had mentioned the name of Alsander’s doctor, Dr. Watcherly, so she added his name to her notes. Maybe she should contact him, but didn’t know if Ireland had the same confidentiality requirements as in the States. Deciding to put the book away for the moment, she pondered what else to do.
Despite assurances to her friends, she was at a loss now that Dale wasn’t around.
Her cellphone burst out with the ringtone of Elvis singing, “Hound Dog.” It danced across the table, heading for the edge. She wasn’t really an Elvis fan, but her son had chosen that song in tribute to her new puppies. She watched Dale’s name on the caller ID until it quit playing. Likely, he’d landed in Denver, but she wasn’t ready to talk yet. If he was back with Polly, she needed to hear it face-to-face.
At that thought, tears welled up and spilled over, but she only indulged in a brief crying spell. She splashed cold water over her eyes, reapplied fresh makeup, and brushed her hair with some force. Time to deal with the world again. Not a sound could be heard outside her room, so she descended the stairs, figuring the others were long gone.
Griff was at the reception desk. “What are you up to?”
“My friends took off sightseeing, and I have the day to myself.” She twiddled the button on her sleeve.
“We’re all alone in the castle. What should we do? Alone and all.” Griff looked as appealing as he had the night before. He was wearing a sky-blue rugby jersey with the word, “Garryowen,” on the emblem, untucked, over black, slim jeans and black, leather boots.
Jane’s cheeks burned a little, yet her heart lifted a little.
Before she could respond, Ryan Breewood shoved through the front double doors and marched up to the reception desk. He jammed his hands on both hips and planted his feet wide apart. “The gardaí have been questioning me like I’m a hoodlum or somethin’.”
She turned an eye on one man, then the other.
“They had a look at my records, wanted to know all about Alsander’s prescription and when it was changed, how much, how often…and who was the last one to pick up his medication.” His volume inched louder, his pitch climbed higher, as he counted off each point on his fingers.
Griff’s tone remained calm. “Ryan, the Superintendent is considering everything, including his health, just to be thorough.”
“How’s it look, me being interrogated by the guards?” Ryan’s voice echoed around the grand entryway.
“They’re just verifying his medicine.” Griff held onto his composure as he gripped a pen in his hand.
But Ryan was about to lose it. “This better be cleared up, an’ fast.” He spun around and stomped out the front door.
Jane said, “Wow. Ryan’s really mad. He didn’t even say ‘hi’ to me.”
Griff rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s always mad, it seems like.”
“He told Bruce he expected to be questioned, so I wonder what upset him exactly. I should let Bruce know about this.” She clamped her lips in a straight line as she tapped out a text, but when she tried to send it, she got an error message. “My text didn’t go through.”
“Reception’s bad at the Cliffs of Moher.” Griff held his index finger to his ear and his little finger to his lips, as if on a phone call.
She shut her eyes. Something wasn’t right. “How’d you know where they went?”
“They told me where they were going when they left.”
“Oh, I see.” Likely, the others had explained why Jane didn’t join them, too. Should she out with it, tell him about her fear of the cliffs?
She gazed through the open doorway to the old stone buildings opposite the parking lot, side-by-side on the cobblestone street, with no space in between or in front. A candle shop, a solicitor’s office, a bakery…snuggled next to each other, as close as lovers, and here she was, unloved. On her own. Abandoned. Alone.
Studying her hands, she began, “You know, I told you yesterday I’m a widow…about that—”
“And what a beautiful widow you are.” Griff eased out from behind the desk. He came close and gave a lock of her hair a tug, which must be his signature move.
“You’re very sweet.” She couldn’t look up. Her eyes were still dropped down, her mascaraed eyelashes heavy on her cheeks. Maybe she’d applied a bit too much makeup trying to hide her red eyes.
“I mean every word. You’re a fine thing. Grand. Anyone can see that.” His lilting voice was so captivating. “I have a few errands to run. Would you like to come along?”
The empty day stretched ahead. More time in this Irishman’s company was just what she needed. And she might be able to slip in a few questions about his uncle. She raised her head. “All right. That would be nice.”
“Let’s take my motor scooter and you could ride pillion.”
“What’s that?”
“On the back.”
That sounded like a lot of fun. Why the heck not? She gave him a smile that said she was game. “I’d love, love, love to go!”
“All right then, a mhuirnín.”
“A what?”
His melodic Irish laughter rang out, but he didn’t explain.
Jane waited on the front steps until Griff came around the corner propelling a red Vespa, with mirrors sticking straight up from the handlebars. He passed her a helmet and positioned another, larger helmet on his own head.
She fastened the buckle under her chin, then her hands flew to the hem of her skirt. “Oh, look what I’m wearing. Should I go back and change?”
“Not at all. You look a vision. Anyway, all the women wear skirts when they ride.” He put one leg over and sat on the seat. “Get on. You’ll need to ride side-saddle.”
She lowered her bottom onto the seat behind Griff and stationed both feet on the slender floorboard. She arranged the strap of her tiny shoulder bag across her chest. With her right arm she encircled Griff’s waist and with her left hand she pinched the hem of her skirt against her thigh.
They took off.
While they rode through the narrow streets, Jane caught a glimpse of the witchy-looking Mairéid O’Doherty with the stout-looking Sean Smithwicket. She was exchanging money for a package. At least that’s what it seemed like, but they’d sped past before Jane could get a closer look.
Was Smithwicket, the plump, pleasant-appearing man, who conveyed the impression of an innocent Samwise Gamgee, selling Griff’s cousin…what—drugs?
Very interesting. Something more to find out about. But, there was nothing she could do at the moment, as she clasped Griff with one hand and her skirt with the other.
The wind whipped her hair out from under the helmet. Her hair continued to fly in her face and she laughed, the sound of her laughter carried away on the rushing air. A frisson of excitement burned in her stomach as they bounced down the cobbled road. They passed from city to country, on a precarious strip of paved lane, tunneling between high, green hedges and scattered rock walls, until they returned to cityscape again. Jane saw a signpost for Ballysimon flash past. In no time they were in the old part of the city. Griff drove the scooter up onto a sidewalk alongside the cobblestone street and parked.
After tugging off her helmet, Jane ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “What’s this place?”
“Where I order my fresh produce. There’s loads of farmers’ markets out this way.” Griff took her elbow.
Glad to have worn her comfortable, ballet flats, she navigated the uneven cobblestones alongside Griff. At a city square busy with shoppers and vendors’ booths, Griff strode up to a craggy farmer in front of a vegetable stall. They talked business while Jane meandered through the rows of baskets mounded with string beans and lima beans. She stopped at a flower stand to take pictures of the colorful bouquets.
Griff soon caught up with her. “Let’s mix business with
pleasure. Are you up for some fish and chips? You have to be hungry.”
“I am.”
He led her a few blocks away, then down an alley, like an English mews, to a tight, crowded pub, which looked like it had seen better days—stained and dented wood tables with cigarette burns, rickety chairs, and a haze of smoke in the air—an authentic pub, not a tourist trap. They entered into the cool, permeating, sour smell of whiskey.
“Dia Dhuit, Isleen,” Griff called out to the older woman behind the bar.
“Dia Dhuit to you, Griffin.” Her lined face relaxed into a smile.
Everyone in the pub seemed to know him, slapping his back, telling him in their musical accents they were sorry to hear of his uncle’s passing. Griff appeared solemn as they gathered about, but brightened when he introduced Jane, not mentioning she was merely a guest of the castle. They eyed her with interest.
After the other customers went back to their conversations, Griff and Jane were alone at the bar. “Two fish and chips and a pint for me, please,” Griff told the bartender. “And what would you like to drink, Jane?”
The old barkeep gave Griff a steady gaze as she pulled the pint. “Mairéid’s been gadding about, sayin’ how she owns the castle now…”
“She’s sayin’ that, is she? Well, she doesn’t own it. I do.” His voice came out gruff.
Jane looked for an angry expression on his face, but there wasn’t one. She broke the moment of silence. “I’d like a white wine and ketchup with my chips.”
“She was in yesterday. Said she did own the castle. That you aren’t telling the truth if you’re sayin’ it’s yours. What kind o’ white?”
“Just your house wine is fine.”
“Nineteen euro.” The elderly woman set their glasses in front of them on square, white napkins.
“I’m not lying and she’s wrong.” Griff plonked two €10 notes on the bar. “Wake’s tonight, funeral’s tomorrow, Isleen.”
A Stewed Observation Page 8