OUT OF THE BLUE

by Caroline Clemmons

  Jim shook his head, disgust and anger evident. “If she imagines there was a mob up here chasing her earlier today, she needs to be locked in a padded room. No one drives up here without passing through the gate down there, and that’s always locked.”

  There’d been heavy dew the night before and signs of their tires were easily visible in the dirt. No other vehicle tracks showed. “You said there’d been other jumpers. How did they get up here?”

  “Just this month two kids climbed over the fence and walked up. Jumped together on a dare. Damned near drowned.” Jim nodded toward the camp across the water. “Lucky for them several Boy Scouts saw them. Two of the leaders rescued the jumpers while another called an ambulance.”

  Brendan looked back the way they’d come. “Can’t see a mob climbing the fence and chasing Deirdre all the way up the hill. You sure the gate was locked?”

  “You know how protective cattlemen are with ranch land. Cattle guard’s not enough to keep out rustlers and vandals.” Jim held up a key ring. “I had to get the key from Mr. Gibson. He almost came with me. Made me promise to bring it back as soon as we’re clear of the place. Most people I’d follow out, but I trust you to snap the padlock shut on the gate hasp when you leave.”

  Jim waved and drove away. Brendan watched until the patrol car disappeared around a clump of cedar and mesquite trees. Damned if he had an explanation. If Deirdre was putting them on, she was a darn good actress.

  Back at the house, they all went into the kitchen.

  Blossom tied on an apron and washed her hands. “You two sit there and keep me company while I cook.”

  His mom didn’t like anyone helping with meals, so Brendan took a seat at the table. “Is Dave coming for dinner?”

  “He’ll be here soon.” Her smile would have been enough answer. Mom sure was sweet on the doc.

  Deirdre sat also. “What’s expected of me here?” She looked as if she’d like to run anywhere else.

  Blossom said, “Nothing right now. It’s a one-person kitchen and I love to cook. You sit there and talk to me.” She lined up ingredients for one of her stir fry meals and started dicing onions. “Are you recovering from your frightening jump, dear.”

  Deirdre nodded but Brendan doubted it. He thought she was preoccupied. And scared as hell about something.

  Her hands shook until she clasped them in her lap. Her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. Seemed obvious to him that the visit to the mesa-like cliff top had upset her. She darted worried glances at Brendan.

  Tough. He was keeping an eye on this tasty fruitcake until he figured out what she was trying to pull.

  Blossom dumped the onions and parsley into a skillet and turned her attention to him. “Son, shouldn’t you lie down?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” But the day’s events were taking a toll on him. He’d been out of the hospital less than a week after almost bleeding to death and he was supposed to rest part of each day.

  The pungent smell of onions and herbs sautéing in butter filled the kitchen. Deirdre stared as if entranced by the range top. He could almost believe she hadn’t seen a modern kitchen stove before.

  His mother gave him another once over. “It’s a good thing you came out here to fish. I hate to think what would have happened to Deirdre if you hadn’t been there to help.”

  If he hadn’t been around, would Deirdre have jumped? Was it all a ruse to worm her way into his mother’s home or to get close to him? If so, it had worked—so far.

  As soon as Dave checked her over, she’d be off to the women’s shelter or the hospital, whichever Dave suggested. Then, Brendan could head back to his condo in town and concentrate on finding whomever had shot him and killed Larry. The tragedy weighed him down, drained him.

  Rubbing his left shoulder, he felt the indentation created by the bullet hole. A deeper scar marred the more severe injury on his left thigh. The wounds were healing, but his soul would not. Anger and sorrow prevented him from moving on. And guilt. Why had he lived instead of Larry?

  How could he forget the sight of Larry lying in the street, his blood running into the gutter? Tires squealing as a dark car drove away? Those memories haunted Brendan day and night. He wanted answers and, most of all, the names of the cop killers responsible. How could he find them while on this forced so-called vacation?

  Larry and he had become friends as soon as they’d met. They’d had good times off duty as well as worked alongside one another as partners. Brendan had let him down, big time.

  Dear Lord, he’d let his best friend die.

  He started when Deirdre touched his arm. Her eyes were warm with what looked like compassion. Damn, the nerve. She was the nut in trouble.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “What?” He couldn’t have heard correctly.

  She spoke softly, so only he could hear. “Your friend with the strange hair. It wasn’t your fault he died.”

  Brendan frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t understand why, but he had hair in stripes of red, white, and blue.” She motioned with her hand to show the stripes running from front to back. “His passing wasn’t because of you. Someone else planned it.”

  In a flash he jumped up, rounded the table, and grabbed her shoulders. “What do you know about Larry?” Brendan pulled Deirdre up until his face was near hers. “Tell me what you mean. Now!”

  “T-That’s all I know.” She didn’t fight him, only stared at him with sympathy, which soon changed to fear.

  “Brendan Hunter, what’s come over you?” Blossom reached up and whacked his head with her wooden spoon. “You apologize this instant. And I’d better not ever see that happen again.”

  He saw the fright in Deirdre’s eyes and realized what he’d done. “Hell’s bells.” Releasing her, he stepped back and sank to a chair. Not only was she crazy, she was making him act that way.

  “Sorry.” He braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head against his hands. What’d come over him, treating a woman like that? But if she knew anything about Larry’s death, damned if he wouldn’t get it out of her.

  How had she known that only a week before Larry died, while he napped in the hammock, his nieces had sprayed his head for the fourth of July? No one but Larry’s family and Brendan knew about the spur-of-the-minute dye job. They’d all laughed at Larry’s wild hairdo. He’d shampooed the colors out immediately after the fireworks display.

  “I must be the one who’s crazy.” Brendan raised his face and looked into Deirdre’s eyes. “How did you know about Larry’s hair being striped red, white and blue?”

  She narrowed her eyes and shrugged. “Y-You or your mother must have mentioned it.”

  He shook his head. “Nice try, lady, but not even Mom knew about that. Larry made me swear not to tell anyone.” He wondered if Deirdre knew Larry’s brother, nieces, or sister-in-law. Maybe they’d talked. “You know the Farris family?”

  Her brow crinkled. Lord, even when she frowned she was gorgeous. Too bad she was looney tunes. Or was she?

  “There was a family named Farris over near Dunkerig, but they moved to Galway City about a year ago. Are they who you mean?”

  Galway City? “Not in Ireland, Deirdre.” He pointed at the floor. “Here. In Texas.”

  “Texas?” She leaned forward and her mouth dropped open. “Sure and you’re putting me on. Old Mrs. Maguire’s son went to Texas to fight in a war back in ‘36. Wild Indians killed him not two years later.”

  Blossom patted Deirdre’s arm. “No wild Indians around, dear, but this is Texas.”

  “I’ll be gobsmacked.” Deirdre shook her head. “It can’t be. Texas, in America? That Texas?”

  “Yeah, that Texas.” She could play dumb all she wanted, but he wasn’t stopping until he found out what she knew about Larry’s death. “Where’d you think you were?”

  “You said we were at Hell’s Gates. I-I thought when I jumped that I’d died and gone to Purgatory.” She bit on her lower l
ip and flinched as if fearing he’d slap her.

  Not that he blamed her for distrusting him after the way he’d grabbed her a few minutes ago, but he’d never hit a woman. “If you thought this was literally the Biblical gates of Hell,”—he pointed to his mom and then to himself—“who’d you think we were?”

  His mother cocked her head and smiled, apparently eager to hear the answer.

  “I wasn’t sure if it was Purgatory or a similar place I didn’t know about.” Deirdre took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She nodded at his mom. “I thought Blossom was an angel sent to protect and guide me.”

  Blossom stepped over and hugged Deirdre’s shoulders. “Thank you, dear, what a nice thing to say. And Brendan? Who did you think he was?”

  “When I jumped, I was praying to Saint Brendan.” She looked at him, then back to Blossom. “I, um, I thought he was a wizard or a demon who’d taken the saint’s name to confuse me.”

  His mom laughed so hard she had to sit down and use her apron to wipe tears from her eyes.

  Looked to him like his mother was enjoying this way too much. “It’s not that funny, Mom.” He was losing patience.

  “Yes, it is.” She patted Deirdre’s hand then laughed again. “I’m sorry, Deirdre, I’m not laughing at you. But it is funny you thought my son, the man people call Mr. Squeaky Clean, might be a demon.”

  Before he could ask anything more, the doorbell rang. Deirdre jumped as if caught in a trap.

  Not yet, but he’d get her soon.

  “That must be Dave. Since you’re overcome with laughter, I’ll let him in.” He pointed at Deirdre. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She looked panic struck but she didn’t move.

  During dinner, Blossom and Dave giggled as if they were sixteen and alone. Leaning toward one another, they told stories about their day and friends. If a portly widower in his mid fifties qualified as distinguished, Dave fit the bill.

  What mattered was that he was good to Blossom. They were good for one another. He hoped Dave could make up for the lonely life Brendan had caused his mom.

  His chest ached each time he thought about what he’d done. If his mom knew, she’d never view her son the same way. At least Dave’s companionship brought her happiness. Brendan hadn’t seen her this contented since his dad’s death.

  Tonight, Deirdre knowing about Larry’s death overshadowed Brendan’s pleasure in watching his mom and Dave courting. What did Deirdre know? And how much? She might have his mom’s sympathies, but not his.

  Throughout dinner, Deirdre didn’t speak except to answer a direct question. She either stared at her food or darted covert glances at Brendan or Dave.

  Clearly, she worried about what each man thought. Brendan didn’t see why she feared Dave—he wouldn’t be the one interrogating her about Larry’s death. Brendan intended to get to that chore as soon as Dave finished his examination of Deirdre—provided Dave didn’t recommend she be shipped to the nearest mental ward immediately.

  As soon as the meal was over, Blossom suggested Dave check Deirdre’s health in the guestroom. The three of them left while Brendan cleared away dinner. His anger grew at the thought of Deirdre in league with the bastards who’d killed Larry and injured him. How dare she act innocent and play on his mom’s sympathy.

  Brendan reminded himself to bide his time for his chance to talk to Deirdre. He finished cleaning the kitchen and checked his watch. What the hell was taking so long? Almost an hour later, his mom and Dave came out alone.

  “She’ll likely sleep the next ten or twelve hours.” Dave dropped his black bag on the floor and plopped onto a wingback chair near the fireplace. “She was pretty upset. I gave her a sedative.”

  “She’s all right, though, so don’t worry.” Blossom sat beside Brendan and patted his arm.

  Dave laughed. “As soon as she found out I don’t use leeches, she was fine.” He leaned against the chair’s high back and looked at Brendan. “How much did she tell you?”

  Brendan shrugged. “Said she was running from people who wanted to kill her and she jumped from the cliff to escape them. A blood-stained rock hit the boat at the same time she hit the water, and she has that wound on her forehead. She seemed disoriented, but all right.”

  His mother nodded. “She had bruises all over and hadn’t seen any modern conveniences before. At the time, I thought she must have grown up without electricity or plumbing.” Mom sent him an odd glance. “And that’s right.”

  Brendan looked at his mom and then at Dave. What had transpired in the guestroom? “When we took her to the top of the cliff to meet with the deputy, she couldn’t find the place she’d jumped. Said everything had changed. I figured she was nuts or had been high on something.”

  His mom poked his arm. “Brendan Hunter, you should be ashamed. She seems like a very nice young woman, even if she’s a little confused right now.”

  Dave sat forward and looked at him. “What kind of detective are you, anyway? Did you ask her any questions?”

  Brendan took offense at Dave’s tone. What did a doctor know about interrogating criminals? “Sure I asked her questions, plenty of them. So did Jim, the sheriff’s deputy.”

  Dave raised his eyebrows. “Things like where she was from or what year it was?”

  “Hell, I can tell she’s from Ireland by her accent. Said she was from a place called Ballymish.” Brendan curbed his anger. “What’re you getting at?”

  Dave hesitated. “Your guest thinks the year is 1845.”

  Chapter Five

  Brendan leaped up. “She what?”

  Dave motioned for him to sit down. “Says she jumped off an Irish cliff on an afternoon in 1845 and landed by your boat this morning. Those people chased her because they blamed her for their potato crops rotting.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Apparently they thought the Great Potato Famine happened only in their village, and didn’t understand that a botanical blight had attacked all of Ireland.” He slapped the arms of the chair. “Damn, would you listen to me? She has me halfway believing her.”

  This was worse than anything Brendan could have imagined. The only person he’d found who knew something about Larry’s death thought the year was 1845. If that wasn’t one hell of a note, what was? No wonder she thought there were wild Indians in Texas. There had been, a hundred-and-sixty years ago.

  Brendan spoke to Dave, “She told the deputy sheriff the villagers thought she’d put a curse on them.”

  “Gave me the same story.” Dave smiled. “She was Blossom’s predecessor. Said she and her mother were the local healers, as were her grandmother and great-grandmother before her, all using plants they grew or gathered.”

  Blossom said, “That’s why she carried packets of herbs with her when she had so little else.”

  Apparently, his mother was taking this all in stride. Why was he not surprised?

  “Dave, what do you suggest? You think it’s okay for her to stay here?” Brendan didn’t want her hanging around, but he couldn’t let her out of his sight until he’d questioned her. Or tried. If she was crazy, the information would be useless.

  “I guess it’s up to you two and her. I wanted to admit her to the hospital for observation, but she wouldn’t agree. Couldn’t hurt to have x-rays, blood work, and get a psychiatrist to talk to her.” Dave extended his hands. “But, she’s an adult who doesn’t appear violent, so I can’t force her to go to the hospital.”

  Blossom leaned forward. “What about her head injury. Is she all right?”

  “She has a slight concussion, but there doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage, other than the delusions.” Dave frowned and paused. “She could even have a type of trauma amnesia that causes people to take on a historic persona.”

  “You think she’s dangerous to mom?” The hell with anything else, he couldn’t have her here if she endangered his far-too-trusting mom.

  “Not unless Blossom mentions leeches.” Dave laughed. “I’d say she’s more confused than
dangerous. Maybe her memory will right itself in a few days. Can’t guarantee anything.” He stood up. “It was a delicious dinner, as always, but I have to run along. I go on call at midnight, so I’d better get some rest while I can.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” Blossom took Dave’s arm and he beamed down at her.

  The guy had it bad for his mom and she appeared equally taken with him. Brendan heard them laughing together outside the door. At least someone in the family was enjoying the day’s events.

  Dave’s disclosures had shaken Brendan. This woman had known Prince’s name, and she’d known about Larry’s weird hairdo. But she was a certifiable nut if she thought she’d jumped from 1845 Ireland into a north central Texas lake. Why would she choose such an incredible and unbelievable story? There had to be another explanation as to why she would make such a crazy claim.

  His anger returned that she wasn’t more forthcoming. She’d baited him with information about Larry, then clammed up. Where did that leave him? Mad as hell, that’s where, but no closer to Larry’s killer than before.

  His mom returned with the neighbor’s teenaged son in tow. The college student lived next door, but worked in a pet store in town. He carried a litter box and large bag of kitty litter while Blossom carried a small bag of cat food.

  “Wasn’t it sweet of Tom to pick these up for me and bring them by on his way home?”

  “Yeah, swell.” Knowing how his mom worked, Brendan pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

  Tom nodded toward the door. “There’s more.” He left and returned loaded down.

  Damn, two fancy bowls, a kitty condo scratching post, a bright pink sparkly flea collar, a puffy bed, and toys. Toys? For a damned cat?

  Brendan glared at his mom. “What, no little designer outfits or tiny shoes?” He handed the kid an exorbitant amount of money—especially considering this stuff was for someone else’s damned cat—and sent the kid on his way.

  Blossom hummed to herself as she set the box in the laundry room and filled it with litter. Magically, the damn cat appeared and sniffed the hooded container.

  “Happy to see the facilities arrive, are you, BadCat?” Brendan watched the cat climb into the feline version of a portable toilet.