by Mary Carter
“Fifty euros,” he said. “But you have to strip down to your knickers.” She was a betting woman after all. Before he could even get his shirt off, he was watching her run into the river in her little bra and black panties. Maybe he would forget all his doubts, just go for it. He jumped in and pulled her into him.
“You’re shivering,” he said.
“It’s like the Antarctic,” she said.
“It’s refreshing,” Ronan said. “Now, what are your other questions?”
“I can’t think,” Carlene said. “It’s too freaking cold.”
“My job here is done,” he said. They couldn’t go anywhere else in wet clothes. As much as he enjoyed seeing her in her skivvies, he’d realized his mistake. He had to take her back to the pub now. They rode back in a comfortable silence. He would ask her out, and soon. There was no use rushing it.
“Hey,” she said when he dropped her off.
“Hey,” he said.
“I’ve got a trad band booked for tonight. You should pop in. Johnny Spoons is playing.”
“How do you know Johnny Spoons?” Ronan said. Johnny was the best spoon player in Galway. He’d never been able to book him.
“Sue Finnegan told me about him,” Carlene said. “So I just called him up one day.” Must have been the American accent, Ronan thought. Either that or Johnny Spoons had already heard that the new American bartender was hot.
“I might do,” Ronan said. “I might do.”
“Well, I hope you do,” Carlene said. “Because actually, there’s something I’d like to show you—but it’ll have to wait until no one else is around.” Ronan hoped the grin on his face didn’t look as lecherous as he felt. Apparently, it did.
“Take it down a notch, cowboy,” she said. “It’s nothing like that.” She held out her hand. He took it, turned it over, and kissed her palm. “Uh, thanks,” she said. “But I was actually just looking for the fifty euros you owe me.”
CHAPTER 26
The Curse of the Full Moon
Bartenders will tell you, people act funny when there is a full moon. They don’t even need to look to the sky for proof, it’s there in front of them, evidenced in the strange behaviors of their regulars at the bar. Carlene had never believed in that kind of stuff before. She wouldn’t be saying that after tonight. To Carlene’s dismay, Sally was dressed in a short, low-cut little black dress and her raven hair was swept up on her head with a few tendrils falling down. She was wearing stilettos. When Carlene asked her what the occasion was, Sally happily informed her that she had it on good authority that Ronan would be in tonight, and she was going to seduce him. Carlene looked down at her own jeans and leather flip-flops and soft turquoise shirt that looked more like an artist’s smock than a seductive tool. Would it be suspicious if she ran up and changed?
The lads were more fidgety on this particular tonight, Anchor was tugging on his goatee, Riley could hardly set his pint glass down without demanding another one, and Ciaran was arguing with Collin about helium balloons, a conversation Carlene didn’t even attempt to follow. When the trad band came, they were sans a spoon player. Johnny, the rest of the band assured her, was on his way. This gave Carlene the perfect excuse as to why she was constantly looking at the door. Everyone seemed to be drinking more, getting drunk faster.
“It’s a full moon,” Sally said when Carlene commented on this.
“Really?” The first chance she got, Carlene snuck out to the backyard and gazed at the sky. Sure enough, there it was, fat and happy on the horizon, a yellow-white, pulsing orb. It was nearing the end of October, a good time for a full moon. For Carlene it conjured up everything she loved about the season. Hayrides, and campfires, and the smell of leaves changing color, and back to school, and new sweaters, and new beginnings. New Year’s never felt as fresh as fall. It was her favorite time of year, and once again she reminded herself how lucky she was. She would call her friends back home tomorrow and catch up.
She would insist that her father come for Christmas. Maybe she would start a blog about her time in Ireland, so everyone back home could read about how she was doing. What a great idea! Of course she’d yet to get a computer and Internet service, but she was making enough money now that it should be possible. She was humming to herself and even skipping a little when she came back into the pub.
And there was Ronan, seated at the bar. She couldn’t see all of his face because Sally was leaning into him, and her cleavage was obscuring the view. Ronan, however, was looking around the bar, just as she had done when she was looking for him. When his eyes landed on her, he smiled. Carlene flushed with joy. Sally’s head jerked in her direction. Carlene was too late in noticing this, her gaze and smile still on Ronan, so by the time she made eye contact with Sally, it was too late. In the split-second glance between them, Carlene knew that Sally knew. Sally immediately pulled away from Ronan and began lathering attention on the other boys, but from the stiff way she was now carrying herself, Carlene feared Sally wouldn’t keep up the happy act for long.
The band was ready to play. “Drink up,” the singer announced. “The more you drink, the better we sound. But if you start to think we’re good looking, it’s time to stop drinking.”
Besides the regulars, there weren’t very many people about, and Carlene could only hope they would come in later. Maybe people were night owls during a full moon.
It was Johnny Spoons who brought the crowd. He stumbled in the doorway with about ten people in tow. Carlene didn’t know any of them, but they were all loud and drunk. They swarmed a table near the band. Johnny lurched forward to join the band. He knocked into the music stand positioned center stage and nearly took out one of the guitar players. The band jumped back as Johnny toppled over and fell. He lay facedown on the music stand, both man and sheet-holder splayed out onstage. Carlene expected the rest of the band to swear and drag him off the stage; instead, they cheered.
“Get him a pint,” the leader of the band yelled. Sally moved to do just that.
“Absolutely not,” Carlene said.
“What do you mean?” Sally said.
“We’re not serving him any more,” Carlene said. “He’s had enough.” The members of the band hauled Johnny to his feet and propped him in a chair. They began to play. Johnny did too, and damn if he couldn’t still play. Those spoons traveled up and down his arms like they had a life of their own. He bounced his head and knee to the music while those spoons sprang to life. Carlene was astounded; he truly had a remarkable gift. She would never see cutlery in the same light again.
“Full moon,” Anchor said.
“Where are the cheese toasties?” Riley said.
“Hungry, boss?” Sally said.
“I’d eat a nun through a convent door,” Riley said. Carlene went to the small refrigerator. The cheese was gone. There had been a huge block in there last night.
“Do you have the cheese?” Carlene asked Sally.
“No,” Sally said. Carlene looked around the bar to no avail.
“It’s missing,” Carlene said. “It was in here last night, I swear.”
“There’s bad news and there’s worse news,” Ciaran said. “The bad news is you’ve got a mouse. The worse news is, he’s robbing bits off you when you’re asleep.” Ciaran laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Sally took money out of the register.
“I’ll get snacks from the shop,” she said. “You don’t want to run out of food during a full moon.” The boys watched her ass as she left the room. Carlene was starting to feel just a little bit apprehensive about this full-moon business. Seriously, what happened to the cheese?
The men Johnny brought with him could sing, and dance, and drink. They did all three with great gusto. They spread out, and soon every corner of the bar was filled—the pool table, the dartboard, the dance floor. At one point, one of the guys grabbed Sally’s hand and brought her into the middle of their dance. The next thing Carlene knew, Sally was dancing on top of the table. She looked at Ronan. He
was watching her too, but nobody seemed particularly alarmed. Carlene waited a minute and then walked over to the table. Sally was noticeably drunk. Carlene wondered when this happened—she hadn’t seen her drinking behind the bar. Carlene reached her hand up toward Sally.
“Down you go,” she said. Sally tried to pull Carlene up with her. She was surprisingly strong. One of the men grabbed Carlene by the waist and lifted her onto the table. Carlene was mortified. Sally started dancing with her, encouraging her to put on a show. Carlene tried to push Sally away, but Sally clung onto her.
“Somebody bring me a bottle of Jameson,” Sally yelled, still hanging on to Carlene.
“Sally, let go,” Carlene said. “Let’s get down from here.”
“We’re going to have a wee shot first,” Sally said. Someone handed her up the bottle. Sally managed to drink from it and hold on to Carlene at the same time. Carlene could have jumped off, but it would have meant taking Sally with her, possibly injuring her. Carlene was just about to yell for Ronan when there he was, standing by the table, ready to catch them. Sally slammed the bottle of Jameson into Carlene’s chest.
“Drink,” she said. Carlene looked to Ronan. Sally grabbed Carlene by the back of the hair and tugged until Carlene’s head tilted back. She put the bottle up to Carlene’s lips. Carlene’s choices were drink or choke. Carlene drank, came up sputtering. Sally cheered.
“Jaysus,” Ronan said. He reached out his arms and Carlene leaned into him, no longer caring if Sally fell on her ass. Carlene could feel Sally staring daggers into her as Ronan took her in his arms. Sally kicked off a stiletto. It hit Carlene square in the middle of her forehead.
“Whoops,” Sally said. “Sorry.”
“Somebody needs to get her out of here,” Carlene said. A ripping sound erupted from behind her. The dartboard had come clean off, taking part of the wall with it. It crashed to the ground.
“You bollix,” the dart player up next screamed. “I was winning. You owe me five hundred—”
“It came clean off the wall,’” the other protested. “That’s a forfeit.” Before Carlene knew what was happening, they were fighting. At first they simply butted into each other, then hopped around each other, then put their fists.
“Shit,” Carlene said. “What do I do?” The regulars got off their stools and slowly gathered around, but nobody made a direct move to get in between them. “We need to stop this,” Carlene said. The lads waited until the first two punches were thrown. It wasn’t as elegant as a boxing match, Carlene thought. The band stopped playing, all except for Johnny Spoons, who continued banging out a solo. Finally, the regulars swooped in and each grabbed one of the fighters. They continued to swear, spit, and threaten. Anchor and Ciaran dragged one of them out to the front yard, Ronan and Collin wrestled the other out back. To Carlene’s horror, Sally, who was finally off the table, was holding Columbus.
Carlene didn’t know where she’d found him, Columbus always hid when there were people in the bar, but there he was squirming in her firm grasp. Carlene slowly approached and held out her hands.
“I’ll take him upstairs,” she said. “He doesn’t like crowds.” From the window overlooking the front yard, Carlene saw one of the fighters puking into her bushes. Sally ignored Carlene’s request and took the cat behind the bar. Carlene followed her.
“Sally,” she said. “I think you need the night off. Go somewhere else and have fun.” Sally set Columbus on the back of the bar. The cat immediately tore off, knocking a Jägermeister bottle off as he went. It smashed to the floor and immediately permeated the room with the sticky scent of black licorice. Ronan and the lads came back inside. Collin gathered his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. Carlene hadn’t noticed his shirt until now. It read: I SLEPT WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND. Underneath was a thumbs-up from Facebook along with: 324 people like this.
Sally stepped forward. “I bet you’re excited for your date,” she said.
“Sally,” Carlene said.
“Where are you taking her?” Sally’s voice was raised so that everyone in the pub could hear her.
“It’s not a date,” Carlene said. “It’s friends going out for dinner.”
“That sounds like a date to me,” Sally said. “Doesn’t that sound like a date to you, Ronan?” Ronan’s face tightened and he shoved his hands in his pocket.
“I haven’t a clue,” he said. He wouldn’t look at Carlene.
“I was here when it all went down,” Sally said. “She can protest all she wants, but Collin here asked her on a date, and she said yes.” Carlene shook her head, but knew she wasn’t going to win any fights with Sally in this condition.
“Go home, Sally,” she said.
“Will you take me home, Ronan?” Sally said. Carlene waited for him to refuse, and was just about to offer to call her a taxi when he spoke up.
“Sure,” he said. “We’ll grab something to eat first.” He looked deliberately at Carlene. “You don’t mind, do ye? It’s not like going out to eat with a girl is a date or anything, is it?” Carlene, half-stunned, just stared at him.
“Be my guest,” she said. They left, Sally draped around him, half dragging him out. Collin stood awkwardly by the chair. The lads resumed their places at the bar. Carlene looked at the clock. It was just after midnight; they would expect her to stay open for them for another three hours at least. Even though official closing times were half eleven during the week and half twelve on the weekends, it was well known that the pub would stay open for the regulars.
“Are we still on for Tuesday?” Collin asked. Carlene wanted to shout at him, throw something at him, tell him they were certainly not on for Tuesday. But he looked nervous and sweet, and this wasn’t his fault at all. And no matter what anyone said, it wasn’t a date.
“Sure,” she said. “We’re still on.” He smiled and the lads wolf-whistled and Carlene went into her routine: pouring drinks, washing glasses, listening to the chatter around her. The lads started a game of cards, and things went back to normal for a little while. She even got everyone out by half two. She was just shooing the last of them out the door when she noticed two men standing by the road, just underneath the split tree, watching her. They were wearing frowns and tweed suits. Was it normal to be afraid of men in tweed? She wanted to call the lads back, but they were already stumbling down the road. The men stepped closer. Under the front light, Carlene could see they were considerably older than she first thought, in their fifties maybe.
“We’re closed,” Carlene said, hoping she didn’t sound afraid.
“Is Ronan McBride here with ye?” one asked. He didn’t sound friendly. They seemed sober, but it did little to ease the tickle of apprehension Carlene felt at the base of her neck.
“He no longer owns this pub,” Carlene said.
“Aw, but he still comes here, doesn’t he?”
“A bartender never tells,” Carlene said. They looked at each other and laughed.
“You’ll give him a message,” one said.
“I told you—”
“Tell him Robbie says hi. Asked specifically how his lovely mother is doing,” the man finished. They smiled, turned, and walked away. Carlene felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She’d heard the friendly banter of the Irish before, asking after one another, lamenting the weather, catching up on news. This wasn’t the same. They weren’t really asking after Mary McBride, they were laying down a threat. Carlene picked up her phone and stared at it. If she called now, would he even answer? Would he just think she was jealous?
If everything had gone as planned, he’d be with her now, exploring the souterrain under a full moon. He’d be able to reassure her that the men were harmless and she’d misread the situation. He’d laugh when she told him she was worried they were fashion-challenged loan sharks. Where were Sally and Ronan right now? There weren’t even any restaurants open this late. Carlene looked at the full moon and flipped it the bird. Then, knowing it had to be done, she picked up the
phone and called Ronan, even though it meant he would probably think she was a jealous man-chaser.
CHAPTER 27
The Nice Guy
Carlene was delighted to hear that Collin was taking her to dinner in Salthill. Just a few miles from Galway’s city center, Salthill was a beachside haven, with a promenade, restaurants, bars, and plenty of B&Bs. Carlene needed to get out of Ballybeog, put some distance between her and the pub. Declan agreed to bartend, Sally was MIA. Given that Carlene heard Sally had been discouraging everyone from coming to the Half Tree, Carlene took it that she’d quit. It bothered her that she didn’t get a chance to personally fire Sally.
Unlike Ronan, Collin was a cautious driver, maybe because his little car didn’t even look like it could go very fast without falling apart. After a while, Carlene realized it was just as scary, if not worse, to have cars beeping at them, then hurling past effing and blinding at them. Collin didn’t react—in fact, nothing at all ever seemed to bother him, and Carlene reluctantly admitted that was one of the things that bothered her about sweet Collin. Was she doomed to fall in love with dark, brooding, complicated men? Could she admit to herself that Collin was just too clean-cut, too sweet, too nice? Just like Ronan basically accused her of being. They’re going to walk all over you.
And were they? Someone was stealing kegs and cheese, and slapping up walls, and who knows what else they had in store? Could it have been the men in tweed? What she needed was an official investigation, some kind of Nancy Drew/MacGyver type effort. Would the folks of Ballybeog hate her even more if she morphed into some kind of Sherlock Holmes? I mean, really, what kind of person steals a block of cheese?
Collin took her to a little Mexican restaurant. It was cozy, painted bright orange, and had Mexican blankets hanging on the walls, along with an Irish flag. Little shamrocks were painted on the margarita glasses. The menu was typical Mexican, but also included chips. Carlene devoured her burrito and margarita, then noticed Collin had barely touched his enchilada.