Laced

Sheila dug them out of her purse.

Ten minutes later they found the cottage, which stood alone off the winding country road. A cluster of trees surrounded it. “There’s smoke coming out of the chimney,” Sheila said. “I thought that-”

“Let’s ring the bell and see if she came home early,” Brian interrupted. A minute later they were knocking at the door.

A wild-eyed Margaret Raftery answered, huffing and puffing. She still had on the gray dress and white apron that was her uniform at He

“Hello, Margaret. We saw the smoke in the chimney and thought you might be home,” Sheila explained. “We’re here to pick up our paintings.”

“Forget your paintings! I just finished ripping them to pieces! They’re burning in my fireplace at this very moment!”

“What?” Brian thundered. “We paid you!”

“You can have your seven hundred euros back. I have it all here for you!” She turned and ran from the door.

They quickly followed Margaret inside her tiny cottage. Brian raced over to the fireplace where giant flames were hungrily licking the shredded paintings. Before his eyes the canvases curled up and turned to ash. “Why did you do this?” he cried. “Why?”

“I don’t want to be cursed by May Reilly. I should never have copied her special lace pattern in my paintings! It was wrong, I tell ya. It was wrong! And to take money for the paintings was a sin! You should never have asked me to.” She pulled crumpled bills out of a piggy bank and threw them in the air. “Get out of here!” Margaret spotted the mug with the Raftery crest that Sheila and Brian had recently sent her. She ran over, grabbed the mug from the shelf, and flung it into the fire like a woman possessed.

“I resent that!” Sheila said. “We gave that to you out of the kindness of our hearts.”

“Hmph,” Margaret protested. “When I met you last November at He

Brian’s face was turning beet red. Sheila was afraid he might have a heart attack.

“We want your paintings,” he said to Margaret, his voice shaking. “We don’t want our money back. We made a deal with you. A deal’s a deal.”

“I don’t care about your deal!”

The sight of her fast-talking young American stockbroker husband from Arizona trying to discuss deals with a superstitious older woman from rural Ireland was making Sheila light-headed. This was a nightmare. They’d never be able to pay back Dermot anytime soon, and he’d find out they had lied to him. He would definitely ruin their lives. She did the only thing she could think of to get this woman’s sympathy.

She fell to the floor in a faint.

12

Down in their cottage by the sea, Hon and Sweetie both took long hot showers, washing their hair that had been matted down by the wigs and getting rid of all the traces of their old-age makeup. Wrapped in white terry cloth robes, they lay down on their four-poster bed, exhausted. Neither one of them had slept all night, and now, as the high of pulling off another job was starting to wear off, they were both ready to crash.

“Even though these jobs are fun, they’re stressful,” Bobby said quietly. “I’d love it if we could go to a health club this afternoon and work out, but it’s not a good idea to be seen too much in public places.”

A

“We have to figure out where to go next,” Bobby said as they both drifted off. When they woke a few hours later, they were still tired but knew they wouldn’t be able to sleep again until the evening. They were in that half-awake, half-asleep zone that makes people miserable.

“You want me to make blueberry pancakes?” A

“Why not?”

“Don’t get too enthused,” she said.

“I’d be delighted to have your delicious blueberry pancakes. The thought of them makes my mouth water.”

“That’s better.”

The cottage was small but charming, having been refurbished before they bought it. The kitchen, dining area, and lounge were all part of the main room, with a large hearth fireplace at one end. Bobby turned on the television while A

“Come here!”

A

Bobby pressed the mute button.

“Where’s the suitcase with the tablecloth?” A

“It’s still in the car.”

“We should bring it inside.”

Bobby grimaced. He was stretched out on the couch. He knew she meant that he should be the one to get it. “I’ll go outside later. Who’s going to steal a suitcase from our car? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Somebody like us,” A

Grunting, Bobby got up from the couch. He opened the front door and went out to the car in his bare feet. He rushed back in a moment later. “It’s gone!”

“What?” A

“Just kidding.” He turned and went back outside.

“You’re such a riot,” A

Maybe trying to embarrass Jack Reilly wasn’t such a great idea after all. They certainly didn’t get any valuable jewelry out of it.

Bobby came back in, unzipped the suitcase, and removed the tablecloth. “This is a beauty,” he said, starting to unfold it. He whistled. “It would make a great Mother’s Day present. It’s way too big for Mom’s dinette table, but she’d figure something out.” He laughed. “She can bring it to the bingo hall. The table there could handle this baby. B- 12,” he called out. “O-75…”

“She’s not going to get the tablecloth,” A

Bobby looked up at her. “What’s with you? You said before that we should sell it. I’m just kidding about my mother. We haven’t even seen her in more than a year.” He laughed his a

A

“You did.” Bobby gently placed the tablecloth on the couch. “It’s hard to believe this is nearly two hundred years old. You don’t want to try to sell it?”

“We should just burn it in the fireplace,” A

“I knew we should have turned off that prison show,” Bobby said flippantly.

A

Two minutes later they were sitting down to steaming plates of pancakes and freshly brewed cups of tea. They had become avid tea drinkers since they bought the cottage.