agonizing, I’ll do what you say. I tell you, though, I’m
really thinking of canceling out on this library conference in Dublin – I don’t
like leaving the man alone for two days!”
“Ah,
now, Peggy – two days, just you and J.V. Winters in a posh hotel!” Ruth
grinned.
“Yeah,
me, J.V. Winters, and about 200 other library workers, all drooling…”
“Well,
I’m jealous, I can tell you…”
CHAPTER SIX
Frank O'Keefe's fax was waiting for Cíara when
she arrived at her office on Monday morning. She opened his file and popped the
information in, noting that guests were expected to arrive early that evening
for a reception before the conference started. If she got to the hotel early
she'd be able to scope out the lay of the land – particularly the room
arrangements.
She worked quickly to get her report for the E.
P. Walters Agency neatly typed and courier delivered. The sooner she got rid of
this, the sooner she could put the memory of the disastrous evening out of her
head.
She spent the rest of the morning catching up on
office work and feeling a little nibble of anxiety as she saw her diary was
thin for the rest of the month - a feeling that was alleviated when Joe, one of
Dublin's notorious motorcycle couriers and boyfriend of Cíara's best friend,
Mary Margaret, arrived back from his mission to deliver her report to Walters.
He grinned broadly as he handed her an envelope.
“Had me wait for this, they did – and gave me a
tip. They must value you a lot, girl,” Joe said, helping himself to some of
Cíara's coffee.
“More like they want to get rid of me quickly,”
Cíara replied, “And get your thieving mitts off my coffee!”
“So, how's business going?” he said, perching on
the edge of her desk and taking another swig from the coffee mug before handing
it back. “You know if ever you need any muscle as back up in this detective
business….”
“Eeeurk! You drooled down the side of the cup!”
Cíara wailed, changing the subject. “You know, I really needed that coffee!”
“Well, I'd get you another one, “Joe said
maliciously as he stuffed his fee inside his leather jacket and picked up his
motorcycle helmet, “But I saw your granny heading along the street this way and
I don’t want her to catch me here. She's been driving me crazy with wanting to
come for a ride on me bike!”
“Don't you dare take her!”
“Hell, no – the old lady would have me done for
speeding while she gets her kicks!” And Joe took off down the stairs, his
leather boots hammering on the steps.
Oh, God, all she needed was a visit from Granny
Somers.
At least the old lady would never find out about
the shadier side of her business, and maybe soon she'd have an established
clientele and be able to give up the seduction racket completely.
There
are other sources of financial backing, whispered the nasty little
traitorous voice, But the money’s yours by right, anyway.
“I’d
rather starve than touch their filthy money. It’s just to salve their
consciences,” she muttered to herself. And those consciences certainly had a
lot of stains to try to erase.
The
door opened and Granny Somers walked in. “What you need here is a
receptionist,” the old lady announced “I’m free for a few hours a day – want me
to drop by?”
Oh,
Lord! Cíara rubbed her gritty eyes. Granny esconced in her office. Grace
Muldoon threatening to come up to Dublin some day and ‘help out’ with some of
the cases she was sure would be piled high on Cíara’s desk. Her estranged
paternal grandparents whispering ‘make-up’ noises down the telephone again.
Maybe she should run away and join the circus –
after all, she’d had plenty of practice juggling odd people!
“I
take it that’s a no, is
really thinking of canceling out on this library conference in Dublin – I don’t
like leaving the man alone for two days!”
“Ah,
now, Peggy – two days, just you and J.V. Winters in a posh hotel!” Ruth
grinned.
“Yeah,
me, J.V. Winters, and about 200 other library workers, all drooling…”
“Well,
I’m jealous, I can tell you…”
CHAPTER SIX
Frank O'Keefe's fax was waiting for Cíara when
she arrived at her office on Monday morning. She opened his file and popped the
information in, noting that guests were expected to arrive early that evening
for a reception before the conference started. If she got to the hotel early
she'd be able to scope out the lay of the land – particularly the room
arrangements.
She worked quickly to get her report for the E.
P. Walters Agency neatly typed and courier delivered. The sooner she got rid of
this, the sooner she could put the memory of the disastrous evening out of her
head.
She spent the rest of the morning catching up on
office work and feeling a little nibble of anxiety as she saw her diary was
thin for the rest of the month - a feeling that was alleviated when Joe, one of
Dublin's notorious motorcycle couriers and boyfriend of Cíara's best friend,
Mary Margaret, arrived back from his mission to deliver her report to Walters.
He grinned broadly as he handed her an envelope.
“Had me wait for this, they did – and gave me a
tip. They must value you a lot, girl,” Joe said, helping himself to some of
Cíara's coffee.
“More like they want to get rid of me quickly,”
Cíara replied, “And get your thieving mitts off my coffee!”
“So, how's business going?” he said, perching on
the edge of her desk and taking another swig from the coffee mug before handing
it back. “You know if ever you need any muscle as back up in this detective
business….”
“Eeeurk! You drooled down the side of the cup!”
Cíara wailed, changing the subject. “You know, I really needed that coffee!”
“Well, I'd get you another one, “Joe said
maliciously as he stuffed his fee inside his leather jacket and picked up his
motorcycle helmet, “But I saw your granny heading along the street this way and
I don’t want her to catch me here. She's been driving me crazy with wanting to
come for a ride on me bike!”
“Don't you dare take her!”
“Hell, no – the old lady would have me done for
speeding while she gets her kicks!” And Joe took off down the stairs, his
leather boots hammering on the steps.
Oh, God, all she needed was a visit from Granny
Somers.
At least the old lady would never find out about
the shadier side of her business, and maybe soon she'd have an established
clientele and be able to give up the seduction racket completely.
There
are other sources of financial backing, whispered the nasty little
traitorous voice, But the money’s yours by right, anyway.
“I’d
rather starve than touch their filthy money. It’s just to salve their
consciences,” she muttered to herself. And those consciences certainly had a
lot of stains to try to erase.
The
door opened and Granny Somers walked in. “What you need here is a
receptionist,” the old lady announced “I’m free for a few hours a day – want me
to drop by?”
Oh,
Lord! Cíara rubbed her gritty eyes. Granny esconced in her office. Grace
Muldoon threatening to come up to Dublin some day and ‘help out’ with some of
the cases she was sure would be piled high on Cíara’s desk. Her estranged
paternal grandparents whispering ‘make-up’ noises down the telephone again.
Maybe she should run away and join the circus –
after all, she’d had plenty of practice juggling odd people!
“I
take it that’s a no, is
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