Whiskey Island by Emilie Richards

in the last few years it had mellowed—with a little help—to the color of champagne. Both Deirdre and her husband were casually dressed, but her designer sweater was hand knit, and his sports coat had been tailored by Brooks Brothers.
    The Grogans were less colorful than some of the family, but they were kind and decent people. Deirdre devoted every spare minute to the West Side Catholic Center, and Frank, whose business success was legendary, was a soft touch for any family member who needed a reference or a loan. They had always regarded the Donaghue girls as the daughters they’d never had. Throughout Peggy’s childhood they had acted as surrogate parents when they could, making sure she lacked nothing. They had tried to do the same for the older and fiercely proud Megan and Casey, without much success.
    “Peggy was just telling us about her job,” Deirdre said.
    Megan was aware that Peggy’s job was a sore spot. The Grogans were wealthy enough to easily put Peggy through college and had tried repeatedly. But Peggy had turned down the bulk of their generosity, diplomatically allowing them to pay for her textbooks but nothing more. Whatever her job didn’t take care of, a generous academic scholarship did.
    “The staff has been great about instructing me whenever they have the time,” Peggy said. “I’ve learned to do some simple procedures, and one of the physicians makes a point of letting me ask questions while he works if there’s nothing else I have to do.”
    “You have great references for medical school,” Frank said. “And with your grades, you’ll be able to go anywhere you want. You know we plan to help you.”
    “We’re investing Peggy’s share of the saloon profits for med school,” Megan said firmly. “We have been for a while.”
    Peggy spoke up. “Since everyone’s pockets are overflowing, why don’t you team up and send me to Aspen for a couple of months? A little skiing, a little Colorado sun, and I might not bother with med school.”
    “Why don’t we just buy you skis when you graduate?” Deirdre said.
    Everyone laughed, and the tension eased.
    Megan started back toward the kitchen, but halfway there, she was surprised to discover that her uncle had followed her.
    “Megan.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and didn’t remove it, even when she stopped. Instead, he propelled her to a relatively quiet corner. “I have to talk to you.”
    “Look, we can talk about med school once it’s a reality,” she began. “She hasn’t even made her final selection yet.”
    “It’s not about Peggy, honey.”
    The “honey” threw her. Frank, unlike Dennis, was careful with endearments and emotions.
    He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d said. He pushed a hand through his thinning hair, the way he did whenever he was uncomfortable. His oversize Adam’s apple bobbed as he cleared his throat. “Look, I had a visitor this morning. I thought you might want to know….”
    She saw that one of them had to get straight to the point. “Who?”
    “A man named Niccolo Andreani.”
    Her mental gears ground to a halt, and she took a moment to answer. “Nick came to your house?”
    “No. No, I should have said that right away. At my office, he—” He stopped, as if he’d just heard what she said. “You know him, then?”
    “Uncle Frank, Nick’s the man who interrupted the carjacking. I was hoping he’d drop by tonight to help us celebrate. I guess I should have sent somebody by his house to tell him.” When her uncle was silent too long, she added, “Look, what was he doing at your office? And why are you telling me about it?”
    “He didn’t come to the office directly. One of my workers found him prowling around the property.”
    The property was Grogan Gravel. As a young man, right out of high school, Frank Grogan had worked at the railyards on Whiskey Island. One night he had come up to the Whiskey Island Saloon to quench a day’s thirst and met young Deirdre