“With what, Dutch?”
If talking about this could help her, he would do it. “Late at night, when I can’t sleep, the devil whispers to me. My mind goes to the day my dad died. I was sixteen. I’d ditched school that day, with my friends. Across town, my father had a massive heart attack. He was dying, asking for me. Everyone tried to find me. The school. My mom. My brother. By the time I got to the hospital, it was too late. Dad was gone, and I hadn’t said good-bye.”
“Oh, Dutch.” She slid to the edge of the chair. “I’m sorry.”
“If I hadn’t broken the rules, my father would have said his good-byes.”
“You’ll say your hellos in heaven.”
A smile came across Dutch’s face. “That’s what my mom said. But I had to come to terms with what had happened. Had to stop the devil from stealing my peace, because, boy, did he lay into me.”
“How did you combat the devil?”
“Prayer. My pastor told me the only way to get the devil off my back is to pray, send him packing each time he whispers into my ear. Just as you need to do.”
“But I’ve prayed season after season after season.”
“There’s a second part. You must accept His forgiveness. He died for our sins on the cross so that we would be made free.”
“I don’t know, Dutch. I don’t know. It’s a terrible thing, all the doings that day.”
“What happened?” His tone was as gentle as he could make it. “You can tell me.”
“I . . . I’ve never told anyone before. Not the whole story.”
He bent forward. “You’re safe with me. What happened on the cliff that day?”
She seemed to be on the verge of letting him in, but suddenly she stopped. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you about this.”
She didn’t trust him yet. Fair enough. “Okay. I’m here if you want to unburden your soul.”
“That’s Father Albert’s role.”
“Then talk to him. Let him help you.”
“Maybe.” Her voice seemed unsure.
He touched his hand to her knee. “Have faith that you are forgiven. Give your cares to Him. Let it rest in His hands.”
She stared at the portrait of Jesus.
Dutch reached for her hands and squeezed them. “Your time for grieving needs to end. You’ll have no room for me until you let Teddy go.”
“Room for you? Aren’t you the bold one? You’re off to fight a war. You really think you’ll give me another thought after tomorrow?”
“I’ll never stop thinking about you.”
Palms together, fingers lacing, they were inches from each other’s lips, yet worlds apart. Dutch thought she might drift closer, maybe even kiss him or say something. The sound of the gate opening stole the moment.
“Who could that be at this early hour?” Her hand slipped from his as she stood. “The sun hardly up.”
Dutch sat back. “You’ve got more visitors than Grand Central station.”
“It’s probably Tuda with . . .” She parted the curtain a slice. Her profile gleamed from the morning light. “Finn.”
“Tuda’s here with Finn?”
“No, just himself. Best you get into your hiding place.”
Dutch stood. “Here we go again.”
For the last time, he hoped, filled with a brew of relief and sorrow. The thought of leaving her now tore at him. For both of them to be free, they needed one another.
CHAPTER 21
The insistent fist pounding on the door shook the wood and strained the hinges. Nan looked around the room. Everything needed dusting. She couldn’t remember her house being this dirty before, not even after Teddy’s death, when she’d cried for two weeks.
She kicked the box from the doctor under the table.
Dutch was right about Teddy, she knew, but she couldn’t deal with that right now.
“Who’s there?” she called, as though she didn’t know, but she had to delay answering the door for as long as she could.
“Officer Finn.”
Digging her fingernails into the door, she gouged out a speck of red paint. She heard the hiding-place latch open and then close. Dutch was tucked away, safe for a while.
“I said, who’s there?”
“Officer Finn. You’d best open the door. I’ll not go away until I get what I’m after.”
“Coming.” Nan positioned her foot an inch behind the door. Fingers on the latch, she looked behind her at the wall where Dutch hid.
She cracked open the door, cold air swirling around her ankles and finding its way up her legs.
Fog, thick as sea foam, slithered into the courtyard, shrouding the outbuildings. Finn’s smell radiated toward her. Sweat. Pig muck. Cheap cologne. He was tucked into his uniform like something the bog had spat up.
Finn tipped his cap. “Morning, Nan.”
“Ah sure. Good morning to ya.” She ignored the nausea swimming through her. She mustered up a sweet smile. “What’s wanting on this fine, soft day, Officer Finn? Your ma? Is she well?”
“She’s grand. I’m not here for Ma. You and I have official business.”
Nan’s toes curled. “Have we?”
“Yes.”
He waited a beat, sized her up with a gaze that started at her boots and ended on her eyes. She willed herself to appear calm but couldn’t stop the tremors racing up her legs.
“What about?”
“Thomas Carlow.”
Nan let out a breath, cut the sign of the cross over herself, and said, “May the Lord welcome him into heaven.”
“Unlikely given his sinful nature.”
Who is he to judge? “Aren’t we all sinners?”
“Some more than others.” His focus dipped back and forth between her breasts and below her belt.
A shudder quaked through her. Once she got rid of Finn, she’d need a bath. Maybe Dutch was right; eventually she’d pay for her flirtations, but not today. No matter how belligerent Finn might get, she’d add to her debt by remaining charming.
Rubbing one hand over his double chin, he shifted his other to the gun at his side. “Since Sergeant Halpin is still at hospital with his wife, he’s assigned me temporary Garda.”
“Lord have mercy.” On us all. “Any word on Kelly?”
“None a’tall. Halpin’s by her side, and the doctor has agreed to remain nearby, but I gather the situation is grave.”
“In the hands of the Lord, then.” Everything, always and forever, including this encounter. “We’ll need to pray for them both. You best be on your way.” She started to close the door.
One fat hand held it open. “Not yet. I must make an official report on Carlow’s death. Let me in, Nan. It’ll only take five minutes.”
“Let you into my house? Ah now. It wouldn’t be right. Me a single gal and you—”
“Willing to change that.”
Her stomach churned. “I’ll stop by the station later and give you my statement.”
With his meaty paw on the door, he grinned. “If you prefer. But if you have things to do today, it’s best we take care of this official matter now. Five minutes, Nan. Or two to three hours at the station. And if you don’t show up today, I’ll come back tonight and arrest ya.”
Nan lifted her chin. “Why so long at the station?”
“Because I can make you wait.”
Of course. He’s being strong on me. “And you’d do that, would you?”
“I would. I’m an official member of the Irish government on a mission. Let me in. You can trust me.”
Knots formed between her shoulder blades. Trust and Finn were two words that did not mesh. Something about his smirk was so downright arrogant, it unnerved her.
She weighed the options. He would drag her through hours at the station, or he’d show up tonight to arrest her. That wouldn’t do a’tall. Best to just let him in now and get rid of him for the rest of the day.
She hesitated. Something was different. Didn’t feel right. The way he licked
his lips, tugged on his jacket. Dutch’s warning about Finn rang through her mind.
Tuda will be here any second, she thought, pushing down the warning. Best to get this over. Finn wouldn’t take no for an answer this time.
“All right, Officer Finn. I’ll leave the door open. And your gun—park it outside. No one comes into my house with a gun.”
“Sure then, if that makes you more comfortable.” He set the weapon into a leather bag at the side of his bicycle. “In case your cat gets a notion to steal it.”
“You never know with Mr. Dee.” She opened the door, and the cold morning air rushed in. “Let’s make this quick. I’ve rounds to start.”
“That all depends upon you,” he muttered, not bothering to wipe his feet before he stepped inside.
Finn strutted toward the burning turf fire. He swaggered around the room and sniffed like a dog in search of a buried bone. She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking of the “bone” that was safely hidden behind the wall. She resisted the urge to glance in Dutch’s direction. Mother had always warned that even a mere glance would be a dead giveaway.
Finn settled onto the cane-back chair and stretched out his legs.
You’d think he was here for Sunday supper, the relaxed way he acts, sitting there as though about to be served.
“I fancy a cup of tea, Nan.”
“Do ya? Lucky for you, I just made some.” Or rather, Dutch had. There was enough for one cup. “Sugar? Milk?”
“Black. Why do ya have two dirty cups out here? One beside each chair?” He touched the cup. “Still warm?”
Nan set the cup beside Finn, reached for the one Dutch had used, and shrugged. “I’m a terrible housekeeper lately. Are ya here to discuss my lack of cleaning skills or Thomas Carlow’s death?” She sat across from him, her nerves raw.
He noted the multitude of dishes on the sink board. “Seems there’s two of everything.” Picking up his teacup, he stared over the rim as he sipped. “Things in pairs.”
“My dirty dishes are piling up. What of it?”
“Just an observation.” Finn pulled a notepad and pencil from his inside jacket pocket. He licked the pencil’s sharp point several times, his wet tongue glistening in the glow of the fire. “All right then, Nan. Let me hear your account of what transpired last night.”
Nan related the full story with as many details as she could remember. Finn took it all down, glancing up at her breasts as though the words were emanating from there.
He finally set his eyes on hers. “Do you suspect foul play?”
“Why would there be foul play? He was a bachelor without any relatives. Barely a pence to his name, I’d reckon.”
“I’m being my thorough self is all. I’ll ask ya to answer the question. Do you suspect any foul play?”
“None a’tall. It was the drink. The ruin of many a good Irishman.”
“I don’t drink that much,” he blurted.
“I wasn’t accusing you.” And you’re not a good Irishman, she thought.
“Grand, then. That should do it.”
“Good. You’ll be on your way.” She started to rise.
“Sit.” He tucked the pad and pencil back into his inside pocket. “We have another matter to discuss.”
“What might that be?” She slid back against the chair, wishing she could wrap it around herself for protection.
“I could be a hero right now.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
He nodded, his jowls jiggling like a gelatin pudding. “I could have the Garda, the Irish Army, and my fellow LDF officers here, pulling your house apart.”
A rush of panic sparked through her. “Why would you be wasting everyone’s time with such an altogether useless pursuit? I told Father Albert, I do not have any literature on birth control.”
His blush turned into an angry glare. “That’s not what I mean.” He kept his focus on her. “I’m knowing he’s here. If not in the house, then in an outbuilding.”
The cat jumped onto Nan’s lap. She snuggled him to her chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How about you, Mr. Dee? Have you a clue what he might be after?”
“Officer Christopher Whitney.” Finn’s voice carried through the room and torpedoed through her. She continued to pet the cat. “Who?”
“‘Dutch.’ I know he’s here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Where did you get a daft notion like that?”
“My ma.”
“Your ma? Is she hearing the voices again?”
Finn leaned forward, his belly pressing into his legs. “She is. She overheard a conversation between Margaret, Mrs. Odin, and Mrs. Norman in the shop. They didn’t know she was listening, but she heard it all. How he came to your door. How the doctor helped. How Tuda helped, too. You’ll not get away with this, none of ya.”
Stroking the cat, she shook her head. “Snooping, is it? Your ma got things wrong.”
“She didn’t.”
“Then you must have misunderstood her.”
He snorted. “If you want to keep a secret, don’t tell the likes of those old biddies. You might as well have announced it over the wireless.”
Nan looked skyward. If ever I needed Your help, it’d be now, sweet Jesus. She leveled a glare at Finn. “The RAF pilot is not here, Finn. I resent your accusations. Get up and be on your way. And tell your ma to keep her nose in her own business.”
The buttons on his jacket pulled as he puffed up his chest. “I’ll not ignore the information.”
“Officer Finn, what you heard is gossip.”
“I can have the Irish Army here with one word and, by doing so, secure my Garda position after the war ends. I’d be a hero, I tell ya. A hero.”
“You’d be a fool. There’s no one here but me and my cat. So go ahead. Why don’t ya call them in? Be a hero.”
“Because I’d rather be your hero.”
“My hero? Is that so?”
“On my word. If you agree to certain terms, I’ll let the bomber boy go and turn a blind eye to you and your friends’ involvement in this highly illegal activity against Ireland. Otherwise, you’ll all go to jail. I’ll see to it.”
Her palms pressed against the cat’s soft fur. “Just out of curiosity, what terms?”
“Marry me.”
Acid bubbled up from Nan’s stomach, but she remained outwardly calm. She squeezed the cat so hard, he shifted in her arms and gave her a questioning meow.
“Is that all?”
“And once we’re married, you’ll give up your practice and be a proper Irish wife. You’ll take care of my ailing ma.”
Nan laughed. “So I’m to be a pig-farmer’s wife? A nurse to your mother? No, thank you very much.”
“A Garda’s wife. You’ll have respect.”
“I have respect now.”
“You won’t after I’m done with ya. And your friends won’t, either. Women’s prisons are ever so bad.”
She clucked her tongue. “First of all, you’re wrong about the bomber boy being here.”
“He’s here. I’ll find him.” His eyes shifted around the room, settled on the wall beside the fireplace as though he knew Dutch was there.
Impossible.
“And secondly,” she said, straightening her back, “we are not getting married. Ever.” She didn’t mean for her voice to rise to such a high-pitched and piercing level.
His face hardened like ice covering the rain barrel. “That’s a long time. About the same amount of time you’ll spend in prison for your violations against the state. One way or another, I’ll find that bomber boy. I can offer you freedom from prosecution. He can fly home, back to his own kind. Don’t be an arse, Nan. I’m willing to marry you, not just bed you.” He reached over, placing his hand on her knee.
She slapped his hand away and pressed back against the chair. “Bed me? Are you mad? I’d sooner eat fungus sandwiches and drink bog water than let your lips touch mine. There’s the door. Use it. I’m far too busy today to p
lay games.”
He rose to his feet and closed the distance between them, towering over her, his stale breath insulting her senses. “You’ll do more than kiss me.”
“I won’t. Get out, you blaggard. I’ll report you to Sergeant Halpin and all your superiors if you don’t leave me be this instant.”
“My word against yours. And who would believe you?”
His eyes darkened like two portals to hell. A vile energy oozed from him. Even Mr. Dee stiffened, matching the tension in Nan’s legs.
“Last chance, Nan. I’ll let him go if you marry me.” Finn’s odor was sending her insides into a boiling pot of protest.
“Never. Get out of my house!” She held Mr. Dee closer.
“You’ll marry me. You’re lucky I even want you.”
“Lucky? I’d sooner lick the devil’s toes.” Nan’s heart was banging against her ribs.
His lips narrowed to a slash. “I’ll have you, one way or the other.”
His pudgy hand, fingernails jagged and dirty, reached for her. The cat growled and swatted Finn’s thumb. A thin line of blood blossomed over his skin.
“Ouch!” He recoiled, shook his hand. When he saw the blood, his eyes blazed. “I’ve had enough of you, ya fleabag cat.” Grasping Mr. Dee by the scruff of his neck, Finn tore the cat away from Nan.
“No. Let him be.” She stood.
The cat clawed and hissed but couldn’t reach his target.
Nan grabbed Finn by the arm. “Stop.”
“This is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to that bomber boy once I find him.” Finn flung the cat across the room. Mr. Dee slammed into the wall, dislodging a portrait of Saint Patrick. The picture hit the floor and shattered. The cat lay there, twitching. The splintered glass sparkled around the animal, blood spattering the shards.
“Mr. Dee.” Dead. Her cat was murdered. Seething energy shot through her. “How could you?” Nan’s fist smacked Finn’s chest. He grabbed her by the waist and shoved her back into the chair. He was on top of her, kissing her throat, moving his mouth over her skin.
“Are you mad? Leave me be. I’ll never marry you. Never.”
“We’re beyond marriage.”
Grounded Hearts Page 22