Laced

“Hon, sweetie, hon, sweetie. Gross.”

“I wonder if I should call that American guy who was here asking about them.”

“Why?”

“To tell them they called each other hon and sweetie all the time.”

“You think?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve got to go. My mom’s bellowing to me from downstairs.”

When Clara hung up the phone, she sat there staring. Why not? she thought. I have nothing better to do. She dug out Jack Reilly’s card from her purse and started to dial.

32

On the ride up to Gerard’s house, Jack called Keith and told him to find out everything he could about A

“She dropped out of sight about eight years ago,” Jack said. “And not long after that, Jane and John Doe fell from the sky.”

“I will, boss. And I’ve got news for you.” Keith filled Jack in on the post office box in Suffern, New York, where the credit card used at He

“Find out if he had a strange laugh and if she was sucking on a breath mint,” Jack suggested wryly.

Keith chuckled. “The head of security told me that the saleswoman is really angry, which is good. Something tells me she’ll have a lot to say.”

It was a quarter to six when Jack and Regan pulled into Gerard’s neighborhood. They had just parked in front of Gerard’s pleasant-looking house when Jack’s cell phone rang. It was Clara, the receptionist at the Get in Shape gym. Jack listened as she told him about the terms of endearment Jane and John Doe used for each other.

“Hon and sweetie?” Jack repeated.

“Yes. I forgot, but my friend Maebeth reminded me.”

“Thanks, Clara. We believe her name might be A

“No, but I’ll ask Maebeth if it rings her bell.”

Jack smiled. “Okay. And thanks again. If you or Maebeth remember anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

Jack hung up and put the cell phone in his pocket.

“Hon and sweetie?” Regan asked as they walked up the path to Gerard’s front door.

“Our friend Clara says that’s what the couple at the race called each other,” Jack said with a shrug.

“Occasionally my parents call each other hon and sweetie,” Regan said as she rang Gerard’s doorbell. She smiled. “Maybe they have a secret criminal life. Or maybe Jane and John Doe are just another loving couple.”

“Maybe Jane and John Doe are just smart enough not to address each other by their real names in public.”

“Then he should be smart enough to curb his crazy laugh.”

“You’re right, Regan,” Jack said.

The door was pulled open. “Welcome!” Gerard cried. “Come in!”

As Regan stepped into the warmth of Gerard’s living room, she immediately felt a sense of belonging, just as she had when she and Kit visited more than ten years earlier. She remembered the cozy rooms filled with family pictures, including one of Regan and Gerard’s mutual great-grandparents on their wedding day. Most of the relatives in the photos were black Irish, like Regan-dark haired, light ski

Louise, a vivacious, pretty woman with chestnut brown hair and green eyes, stepped out of the kitchen to greet them. “Regan!” she said, extending her arms for a hug. “And Jack! Oh, he’s a handsome one, he is!”

“Regan, I knew I’d like your family,” Jack joked.

They sat in the living room, and over a glass of wine Jack and Regan explained what had transpired in Westweg.

“That’s wonderful!” Gerard said. “You’re on their tail then.”

“We’ll see,” Jack answered. “Even if the Does have already left Ireland, it gives us something to go on. But Gerard,” he said, “that’s not something I’ll mention on the show tonight. The fact that Jane and John Doe left a note for me at the castle has been made public. They have to know we’re looking for them. I don’t want to scare them off if they’re still in Ireland.”

“Of course not, Jack! We’ll say as much as you want about the case and nothing more. You can stay on the air as long as you want. I have one other guest tonight who’s a very interesting fellow. As a matter of fact, Regan, your mother called before, and I told her all about him.”

“Who’s that?”

“An elderly gentleman named Shane Magillicuddy. He recently discovered original Claddagh rings bearing Richard Joyce’s stamp hidden behind a brick in the basement of his home.”

Jack and Regan listened with great interest about the history of the rings and the upcoming auction.

“No one is sure.” Gerard said, “if Joyce designed the original ring himself or if he came across the design in his travels. True romantics believe that he designed the ring when he was enslaved and pining for his sweetheart. The hands of the ring represent friendship, the crown loyalty, and the heart love.”

“Did you know that more than two hundred Claddagh rings were discovered in the ruins of the World Trade Center?” Regan asked Gerard.

“I did indeed,” Gerard said sadly. “Bless their souls. I read one story about a fireman who was killed that day. He was wearing a Claddagh ring. Now his son wears it.”

“I heard that,” Jack said quietly.

Gerard put down his glass. “Claddagh rings have such a strong meaning for the Irish. They’re passed down from generation to generation. Regan, did you know that our great-grandparents exchanged Claddagh rings at their wedding?”

“They did?” Regan asked.

Gerard went over to a bookshelf and reached for the old black-and-white picture of Hugh and Bridget Reilly that was taken on their wedding day. “You can’t tell that the rings they’re wearing are Claddaghs,” Gerard said, “but they are.” He handed the picture to Regan. “People don’t really use the Claddagh rings as wedding bands anymore.”

Regan and Jack, who were sitting together on the couch, studied the old photograph. Regan smiled. Hugh and Bridget. They were so young, but their expressions were serious. I would love to have known them, she thought. To think that their son, my grandfather Paul, immigrated to America. My life would have been so different if he hadn’t. Actually, Regan corrected herself, if he hadn’t immigrated to America, I would never have been born! Her grandparents had met in New York City. Regan looked up at Gerard and pointed to the picture. “What happened to their rings?” she asked.

“After they died, their only daughter, Bridget, inherited them. Bridget, as you know, was your grandfather’s sister. Bridget passed them on to her children, Hugh and Bridget, who were here years ago when you visited with your parents, Regan. You probably don’t remember. They’re both around my age. Hugh lives down in Cork, and Bridget is over in England.”

“I’m getting confused,” Jack said.

Gerard laughed. “When it comes to following the Reilly clan, that’s easy.”

“My Reilly relatives live not far from Cork,” Jack said. “I was going to call them and maybe take a ride down there, but I don’t think that’s going to happen on this trip.”

“And I was hoping to show you the farm in Roscommon where Hugh and Bridget raised our grandfathers, but that will have to wait as well, I’m afraid.”

Regan stared at the rings her great-grandparents were wearing and then looked up at Gerard. “The auction of the rings should be really interesting. To think that they were made over three hundred years ago…”

Gerard nodded. “I bet my guest tonight, Mr. Magillicuddy, is going to be surprised at how much they fetch. If he had promoted this auction around the world, Lord knows what response he might have gotten. But as the expression goes, the rings are burning a hole in his pocket. And he hasn’t been feeling well. I think he wanted to have the auction before he got too sick or whatever… He joked that he read the obituaries first thing every morning to see if his name was there.”