by Catie Murphy
“Megan.” Orla Keegan’s artificially pleasant voice came over the line. “I’ve Raquel Williams down here at the office and she’d like to speak to you in person.”
CHAPTER 6
“Are you—” Cords stood out in Megan’s throat as she squelched the first several ways she wanted to end that question.
“I know it’s late, but I’d really appreciate it,” Orla went on in the same falsely gracious tone. “Could you come down?”
Megan, aware she sounded like a recording, said, “One moment, please,” and put the phone against her chest as she met Brian’s anticipatory gaze. “Orla wants me to come down and meet the client whose mother died this afternoon.”
“Oh, this should be great. Let me get my coat, I’m coming with you.”
“I’m going, am I?”
“Oh yeah. You’re going because I want to see what’s about to happen.”
“Are you living voyeuristically through me now?”
“Megan, you’ve been eyeball-deep in three murders in the past year. Everybody you know is living voyeuristically through you now.”
Megan muttered, “Yeah, okay, legit,” and brought the phone back to her face. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. While I’m on my way you can think about how you’d like to express your gratitude, given the circumstances.” She hung up and followed Brian out to the hall to put the dogs on their leashes and get her own coat. “This should be good.”
“This should be epic.” Brian held the door for her, hissing Ms. Kettles away from it, and followed in her wake as Megan walked the dogs home and left them there before continuing down the block to the garage.
Its office blinds were now half open, blocking the view inside, but allowing yellow light to fall in slats onto the pavement and street in front of its street-facing window. Within the light’s square, shadows marked the etched-glass Leprechaun Limousine Services logo. The garage doors, painted with the same logo, were closed, with no spill of light leaking from beneath its lower edge. There were always people in the garage, and the lack of light both worried and intrigued Megan. If everybody had been sent home, there was a bigger storm brewing than she could imagine. The only other reason she could imagine all the lights being off was that the on-duty staff hoped Orla would forget about them if they were very quiet and hid in the dark while listening to whatever was happening in the office.
They clearly had something to listen to, too. Even from outside, Megan could hear shouting. She pushed the door open, its jangling bells silencing the women inside. They were both on the street side of the desk, with Orla standing closer to the door but with her back to it. Raquel Williams, wearing what looked like a long coat over her pyjamas, heaved a sob and rushed into Megan’s arms, nearly knocking her into Brian, who grunted and fumbled both the door and an attempt to keep Megan from falling into him. She caught herself and Raquel, got the other woman propped onto her own feet, and stared between her erstwhile boss and client. “What’s wrong?”
“She says you don’t want to d—d—driiiiive for me anymore! I thought we were friends, Megan. I don’t understand, you p—p—p—promised you’d be there for me—” Raquel’s eyes were dilated and her stance unsteady, even when she reached out to lean on Megan again. Tears smeared her face and her hair was a rat’s nest, making her look haggard and older than her years. “Y—y—you said to call if I needed anything and I couldn’t sleep and the pills made me sick—”
“Oh, god, you poor thing.” Megan guided Raquel to the couch and sat her down, checking her pulse and eyes again. “Had you ever taken Ambien before?” Raquel shook her head and Megan groaned sympathetically. “Usually it really does just knock people out, but sometimes it’s kind of a bad trip. And sometimes it’s both. There are whole Reddit boards about people doing things they don’t remember on Ambien. You—”
“Why won’t you drive me?” Raquel wailed. “Did I say something wrong? I know it’s awful and everything, but you’re the only person I even know in Dublin and my sisters are coming and we just need a friend—”
Megan fixed Orla with the most vicious smile she had available. “I swear to you, Raquel, I never said I wouldn’t drive you. That kind of decision is above my pay grade.”
“Then it’s your fault!” Raquel swiveled her gaze toward Orla, her voice rising to a shriek. “I knew it, I knew I couldn’t trust you with the way you cheated Mama on the cost of the driving service, don’t think I didn’t check the rates on the website and your competitors, you bleach-blond bitch, but Mama just loved the idea of the leprechauns and insisted!” Raquel surged to her feet, approaching Orla with what she probably meant as a threatening stalk, but which in fact was more of a wobbling weave.
“I don’t have to take this kind of abuse from a client,” Orla began, but Megan lifted her voice, overriding her.
“Ms. Williams is having a bad reaction to a prescribed drug and while I’m sure she’s sincere in her sentiments, I’m also sure that under normal circumstances she would never express herself so . . . robustly. Given—” Megan raised her voice again as Orla began a protest—“Given that it appears the only reason she’s even here is due to an executive decision to remove me as her driver, and the extenuating circumstances of grief combined with a prescription reaction, I’m sure that Leprechaun Limos will be forgiving in this particular case and allow me to drive this poor woman home.”
“I don’t want you to drive me home,” Raquel cried. “I want you to drive us everywhere! You’re my friend! We’re both from Texas! Go, Longhorns! If Megan doesn’t drive me and my sisters I’ll—I’ll—” She swung her attention back to Megan. “Is there a Better Business Bureau here?” At Megan’s nod, she bellowed, “I’ll report you!” at Orla. “I’ll report you for doing that thing you’re not supposed to! With the money! Overcharging! Overcharging my dead mama!”
“You can’t blame me for charging what the market will bear,” Orla began, and Brian, whom even Megan had nearly forgotten, murmured, “No, of course not, but it certainly won’t play well on social media, especially combined with the circumstances under which Megan isn’t driving the Williamses.”
Raquel shrieked, “What circumstances?” and collapsed back onto the couch, suddenly wracked with sobs. Sympathy twisted Megan’s heart and she sat, putting an arm around the grieving woman’s shoulders.
Orla stared at Brian like he’d turned up a viper. “What social media?”
“All of it.” He met her gaze flatly. “The Six One news, for that matter. Aibhilín Ní Gallachóir may be a sportscaster, but I bet she’d love to have another story with Megan Malone, after the whole thing last September. I bet we can have the whole country talking about Leprechaun Limos by tomorrow afternoon.” He took his phone out, making a show of opening an app.
Orla nearly slapped the phone out of his hands. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Why not? I’m just a casual observer, noticing how badly your clients and employees are being treated.”
“When Mama is dead!” Raquel wailed.
“Indeed, when Mrs. Williams is dead. How many is tha—”
“All right! Fine, have it your way, you will anyway. Megan, drive this woman home—”
“Excuse me? Last I checked I didn’t even wo—”
Impotent fury flushed Orla’s cheeks bright red. “Fine, you’re rehired—”
“For half again my former salary.”
Orla’s eyes bulged. “That’s highway robbery so!”
“And no more yanking Tymon and the others around, making them work shifts with no overtime. Oh, please,” Megan said as Orla’s eyes bugged again. “Like we all don’t know you take advantage of the kids and the immigrants whose first language isn’t English.”
“I will pay you a contractor’s rate to finish the Williams contract,” Orla snarled. “That’s it.”
“Wait, she fired you? Because Mama died?” Raquel swept a goggling gaze between Megan and Orla. “That’s why you wouldn’t drive me? It’s not because we�
�re not friends?”
“It’s not because we’re not friends,” Megan promised. She hoped, for Raquel’s sake, that this was one of those drug-induced episodes that she wouldn’t remember.
“I’d suggest not agreeing to anything until you’ve spoken with your employment lawyer tomorrow, Megan,” Brian said from the corner, as if a Greek tragedy—or perhaps a vaudeville farce—wasn’t playing out in front of him as he spoke.
Orla’s face went so white her bleached hair looked dark in comparison. “You’re talking to a solicitor, you treacherous cu—”
Megan bellowed an incredulous, “You fired me!” over Orla’s accusations of disloyalty. “What did you expect me to do?”
The door between the office and the garage flew open, a full half-dozen staff suddenly framed in it. Cillian, whom Megan had thought out driving a client, stood in the middle of them, his handsome face drawn with shock. “You fired Megan?”
Orla snarled, “This is none of your business,” at the lot of them, but none of them, whether Irish-born or new to the country, looked even faintly cowed. A part of Megan that was neither seething at Orla nor worried about Raquel wanted to cheer for the strength they found in numbers, but it didn’t seem like the time for that, either. Cillian stepped into the office, the rest of them crowding around him. Megan saw a couple of others even farther back, hardly more than shadows in the light cast from the office.
“I’d say it is our business,” Cillian replied. “If you think you can fire one of us without warning, you must think you can do the same to any of us. What’s the story here, Megan? Why’d she fire you?”
“The woman is cursed!” Orla shouted. “The dead follow her!”
Megan could see them all consider that as a real possibility, just as Bourke had done. Most of them shook it off as he’d done, although one of the older drivers had the look of a man carefully and deliberately choosing sense over superstition. All things considered, Megan couldn’t even really blame him.
Raquel whispered, “Megan?” and when Megan turned to her, gazed at her with wide-pupiled astonishment. “Megan, do you see dead people?”
“Aw, honey.” Megan sat beside Raquel, pulling her into a hug. “No, I don’t. Look, I’ll call a taxi and we’ll get you home, all right? And I’ll stay with you until you’re actually asleep.”
“N—n—no. No! No. I want Megan to drive me and my sisters.” Raquel fixed what was obviously the most gimlet gaze she had available on Orla. Megan had seen more threatening marshmallows, but she admired Raquel for trying.
Orla, at the center of many other much more effective glares, curled her lip in frustrated rage and snapped, “Then take our conversation this afternoon as notice that your employment with Leprechaun Limousines will end in two weeks’ time.”
A glint of satisfaction lit Orla’s pale eyes and Megan realized she’d found a way out of the legal problems a no-notification firing would cause her. Megan still intended to push it on the no-justification front, but not just then. Right then, she only slipped an arm around Raquel’s waist and helped her stand. “Guys, could you get the Lincoln ready for me so I can drive Ms. Williams back to her hotel? And Brian . . .” She sent a guilty look at her friend, not wanting to mention the puppies in Orla’s presence. “Could you . . . ?”
“No problem.”
“Thank you.” Raquel overpronounced the words. “I knew you were my friend.” She wobbled with Megan to the front door. By the time they got there, the garage doors were opening and Cillian was bringing Megan’s favorite car, a new-model black Lincoln Continental, to them. He waited in the vehicle while Megan poured Raquel into the back seat and made sure she was buckled in, then got out and held the door for Megan himself, murmuring, “Are you all right, Megan? What’s going on? Do you need—” He clearly didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but just as clearly meant the nebulous offer of help. Megan resisted the sudden impulse to hug him.
“I think I’m okay right now. You lads all being at the door helped, I think. It helped me, anyway.”
A tiny smile crept across his face. “We were all listening like mad, but we could only hear the half of it until you shouted about being fired. I didn’t mean to open the door. It just happened.”
“Pretty good timing, if you ask me.” Megan gave him a ghost of a smile in return and glanced down at her running gear. “God, she’ll have my skin for driving out of uniform too.”
“She didn’t when you wore that gold number.”
Megan surprised herself with a real laugh and, fortified by it, took her place in the driver’s seat. “No, but Carmen was paying for that too. Are you on late tonight?”
“I am.”
“Okay, great. I’ll text if I need anything, okay?”
“Grand so.” Cillian closed the door for her and Raquel trilled, “He’s very nice,” from the back seat in a voice that indicated she was a few breaths from asleep.
“Yeah, he is. I mean, yes, ma’am, he is. It’s just a few minutes back to the hotel at this time of night, Ms. Williams. We’ll get you home safe and sound.”
“My mama’s dead,” Raquel whispered. “I’ll never be safe and sound again.”
* * *
The drive back through Rathmines to Dublin’s city center really did only take a few minutes in ten pm traffic, but Raquel wasn’t quite conscious when they arrived. Megan parked in front of the hotel and helped her client out of the vehicle, guiding her to her room ushered by loads of sympathetic looks from the hotel staff. Megan got her into bed and Raquel, bleary with grief and drugs, mumbled, “You don’t have to stay. ‘Mmokay. ‘Mmnot okay but ‘mmokay.”
Megan sighed. “I’m worried about you going for another Ambien walk. Is it all right if I ask the staff to . . .” She trailed off, looking for a polite way to phrase it, then cautiously said, “To not let you leave the hotel again?”
“That’s a good idea,” Raquel agreed. “Smart. You’ll get my sisters?”
“I’ll get your sisters,” Megan promised. “You get some rest, Ms. Williams.”
Raquel whispered, “Raquel,” and fell asleep. Megan pulled the covers up, murmured, “Raquel,” and went down to the front desk to ask them to keep an eye out for Raquel, although she thought it probably wasn’t necessary any longer. Still, they agreed, and Megan left the hotel with a sigh, only realizing as she went out into the night that she had completely failed to keep her promise to Bourke. From the car, she sent Cillian a text saying all was well, Bourke a text saying she was once again employed by Leprechaun Limos and also driving the Williamses despite his request, Jelena a text saying she wouldn’t make it to the gym tomorrow after all, and finally, a text to Brian saying she’d be home soon and he didn’t have to stay with the puppies all night. “Remember when you’d have had to have made four actual phone calls to tell people all this?” she asked herself. It seemed like a long time ago.
Brian and Cillian texted back. Bourke, Megan hoped, was at home asleep like a sensible person, although the Irish were generally as notorious about staying up late as they were about not getting up early. She was about to drive home when she got a text from Raf saying good time to call? and shook her head like he could see her.
Gimme half an hour, she wrote back. Good news, I got un-fired.
Aw man, he said. I was looking forward to you living on our couch.
Half an hour later, the car back in the garage and Megan flopped out on her own couch with puppies on her belly, he called through the video phone app, took one look at her, and said, “Ten-minute call tops. You look exhausted.”
“Boy, and you’re the one who just got off an all-night shift.” He didn’t look like it, though, his brown eyes bright and his dark gold skin a lot healthier in tone than Megan’s own, in the tiny picture of herself at the app’s lower corner. The shadows made her eyes look deeply sunken, and it didn’t help no matter how she held the phone above herself. “Thanks for calling, Raf. I think I’m okay now.”
“Sarah filled me in, p
ero que pasa, hermana? You’re un-fired?”
“Oh, god.” Megan rolled her eyes and caught him up on the past few hours, his eyebrows growing increasingly crinkly as she did so.
“You ever hear the term toxic workplace, Megs?”
“Yeah, of course. Mostly it’s not like this. She’s just a pill, usually.”
Raf said, “Mmm-hmm,” in a much more emphatic way than Brian had earlier, and managed to sound so much like his mother in doing so that Megan began to laugh. Raf looked pained, and for a minute or two they caught up on how his parents were doing. “You talked to your folks lately?”
“I think you talk to them more than I do. No, I’m going to call them this week, though. Just to say hi.”
“Good. I know you’re not close, but I hate to think of you not talking to them.”
“We’re not un-close. Or not unfriendly, anyway. Just . . . they have their lives and I have mine. Still, I don’t know, this thing with Raquel tonight made me think about them. I should talk to them more.”
“I talk to Mama twice a week and I’m still a neglectful son,” Raf assured her. “It’s never enough.”
“Still, I could do better. Okay, look, it’s past eleven and I have to be at the airport before seven to pick up two more people whose mother just died, so I’m going to . . .” Megan changed her focus from the phone to the ceiling. “Drink heavily all night?”
“Probably not a great idea.”
Megan smiled back at the phone. “No, probably not. Okay, fine. I’ll just get some sleep, and deal with tomorrow when it comes.”
“Aight. G’night, Megs.”
“Night, Raf. Or g’morning, or g’afternoon, whatever it is there.” They hung up and Megan dragged herself off to bed, pausing only long enough to do her nightly ablutions and get her uniform onto a hanger where it belonged. The puppies climbed onto the bed with her and she set her alarm for fifteen minutes earlier than usual so she’d be able to brush dog hair off and iron her uniform. Just after she got comfortable, her phone, still in the living room, buzzed with the urgency of an incoming message. Teeth gritted, she ignored it and went to sleep.