unmuffled engine sounded in the distance.
"... and I thought the old gentleman might prefer not to
testify." Kennedy was frowning at me, intent.
I drew a long breath. "Thank you for that. Since I found the
body, I'll have to testify. I should have thought of it."
"Routine," he murmured.
"Did you wangle the invitation tonight in order to slip me
this little party favor on the sly?"
He picked up his wine glass. "I'm, how d'ye say it, socially
challenged?"
I spluttered into my wine. "No, you are not. You're socially
slinky."
"Sure, I could have had me sister Connie serve it to you with
your breakfast." He drooped over the wine, melancholy.
"The whole family is playboys entirely."
His teeth flashed in a grin.
It was a long time since I had read The Playboy of the Western World, so I gave up mangling the idiom. "Have you
found Mr. Tierney?"
"Toss? He'll turn up like a bad penny." Kennedy sipped. "I
spent the day at St. Malachy's, that's the high school, talking to lads
with attitude. 'Twas wearing. Maeve took pity on me."
Outside, the engine—motorcycle, I thought absently—neared
and stopped. There were few noises other than birdsong in the Irish
countryside. The mechanical sound was almost comforting.
Possibly the archaeologist heard her name. She detached
herself from a low-voiced conversation with the Steins, strolled over,
wine glass in hand, and took Kennedy's arm in a way that was not
quite possessive. "I'm peckish, Joe. I deduce we're waiting for Miss
Wheeler. Roast lamb or chicken, Miss Dailey? What odds? The
Stanyon cook is temperamental and quite splendid."
I was about to explain that I had been Mrs. Dodge for a
number of years when the doorbell rang. Alex and Barbara
exchanged looks. Barbara shrugged and slipped from the room.
Maeve Butler's long mouth quirked at the corners. "Poor
darlings, they're besieged."
"Isn't it the stroke of good fortune they've a castle to hole up
in?" the sergeant said. "Now, Maeve, I explained that Professor
Dailey's daughter is a married lady."
"Oh God," I blurted. "I forgot to call my husband."
Both of them looked at me with expressions of benign
concern.
"You can't go in there!" Barbara's voice rang sharp.
The drone of conversation stilled, and we all turned to the
door to the hall.
A young woman, blonde and rather short, pushed into the
room. A man in black leathers had slunk in behind her, followed, like
a worried terrier, by Barbara Stein. The blonde swept us all with a
scornful glance. "Where is she then? Where's Miss Wheeler?"
"In her room, Grace. I'm won't have her disturbed."
Barbara's tone was cold but indignation reddened her cheeks.
The young woman's eyes flashed. "Sure, and why not? I've
every right to disturb the grand Miss Fucking Wheeler." She said fooking . "I'm Slade's woman, aren't I, and I'm carrying his
child."
Chapter 4
And I hope that the next generation
Will
resemble old Rosin the Beau.
Irish song
"Grace!" One of the men—Alex or Novak or McDiarmuid—
said the name in a choked voice. My father and Tracy Aspin broke off
their conversation. The Steins froze where they stood.
Grace Flynn—I recalled the full name of Wheeler's girl-
friend—looked defiant but embarrassed. Her face flushed, and she
kept her chin up and her eyes wide open. If she hadn't been trying to
project another image, I would have said she looked cute. Her escort,
who was not cute, slunk after her.
I heard Maeve draw a startled breath and felt, rather than
saw, Joe Kennedy move beside her. The rest of us shifted from foot to
foot and gawked. Whatever Grace's object may have been, and it was,
at least in part, dramatic, she certainly had our attention.
As for me, I felt as if someone had hit me in the stomach, and
I remembered, again, that I had not called Jay.
For several years I had been trying to have a baby. Both Jay
and I had undergone every possible fertility test with the result that
we knew his sperm count—so-so—and my basal temperature—
unreliable. I
"... and I thought the old gentleman might prefer not to
testify." Kennedy was frowning at me, intent.
I drew a long breath. "Thank you for that. Since I found the
body, I'll have to testify. I should have thought of it."
"Routine," he murmured.
"Did you wangle the invitation tonight in order to slip me
this little party favor on the sly?"
He picked up his wine glass. "I'm, how d'ye say it, socially
challenged?"
I spluttered into my wine. "No, you are not. You're socially
slinky."
"Sure, I could have had me sister Connie serve it to you with
your breakfast." He drooped over the wine, melancholy.
"The whole family is playboys entirely."
His teeth flashed in a grin.
It was a long time since I had read The Playboy of the Western World, so I gave up mangling the idiom. "Have you
found Mr. Tierney?"
"Toss? He'll turn up like a bad penny." Kennedy sipped. "I
spent the day at St. Malachy's, that's the high school, talking to lads
with attitude. 'Twas wearing. Maeve took pity on me."
Outside, the engine—motorcycle, I thought absently—neared
and stopped. There were few noises other than birdsong in the Irish
countryside. The mechanical sound was almost comforting.
Possibly the archaeologist heard her name. She detached
herself from a low-voiced conversation with the Steins, strolled over,
wine glass in hand, and took Kennedy's arm in a way that was not
quite possessive. "I'm peckish, Joe. I deduce we're waiting for Miss
Wheeler. Roast lamb or chicken, Miss Dailey? What odds? The
Stanyon cook is temperamental and quite splendid."
I was about to explain that I had been Mrs. Dodge for a
number of years when the doorbell rang. Alex and Barbara
exchanged looks. Barbara shrugged and slipped from the room.
Maeve Butler's long mouth quirked at the corners. "Poor
darlings, they're besieged."
"Isn't it the stroke of good fortune they've a castle to hole up
in?" the sergeant said. "Now, Maeve, I explained that Professor
Dailey's daughter is a married lady."
"Oh God," I blurted. "I forgot to call my husband."
Both of them looked at me with expressions of benign
concern.
"You can't go in there!" Barbara's voice rang sharp.
The drone of conversation stilled, and we all turned to the
door to the hall.
A young woman, blonde and rather short, pushed into the
room. A man in black leathers had slunk in behind her, followed, like
a worried terrier, by Barbara Stein. The blonde swept us all with a
scornful glance. "Where is she then? Where's Miss Wheeler?"
"In her room, Grace. I'm won't have her disturbed."
Barbara's tone was cold but indignation reddened her cheeks.
The young woman's eyes flashed. "Sure, and why not? I've
every right to disturb the grand Miss Fucking Wheeler." She said fooking . "I'm Slade's woman, aren't I, and I'm carrying his
child."
Chapter 4
And I hope that the next generation
Will
resemble old Rosin the Beau.
Irish song
"Grace!" One of the men—Alex or Novak or McDiarmuid—
said the name in a choked voice. My father and Tracy Aspin broke off
their conversation. The Steins froze where they stood.
Grace Flynn—I recalled the full name of Wheeler's girl-
friend—looked defiant but embarrassed. Her face flushed, and she
kept her chin up and her eyes wide open. If she hadn't been trying to
project another image, I would have said she looked cute. Her escort,
who was not cute, slunk after her.
I heard Maeve draw a startled breath and felt, rather than
saw, Joe Kennedy move beside her. The rest of us shifted from foot to
foot and gawked. Whatever Grace's object may have been, and it was,
at least in part, dramatic, she certainly had our attention.
As for me, I felt as if someone had hit me in the stomach, and
I remembered, again, that I had not called Jay.
For several years I had been trying to have a baby. Both Jay
and I had undergone every possible fertility test with the result that
we knew his sperm count—so-so—and my basal temperature—
unreliable. I
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