Laced

“The Irish sports pages,” Jack said.

“Aren’t they, though?” Gerard asked. “When I spoke to Magillicuddy on the phone, he was fu

“Come along!” Louise called to them from the dining room. “And bring your appetites!”

The Irish stew was delicious. Regan and Jack were tired, but the hearty meal gave them the boost they needed to keep going. Gerard’s show didn’t start until 10:00 P.M. On the way to the radio station they pla

“You both must be exhausted,” Louise said as she insisted Regan and Jack stay seated while she cleared the dishes from the table. “I hope you get a good rest tonight. No disturbances such as fire alarms going off at four A.M.!”

And no ghosts out on the lawn, Regan thought. She looked at Jack, who smiled at her knowingly. He was thinking the same thing.

33

Neil Buckley was never so happy to call it a day as when he left He

The O’Sheas had stayed at He

Oh, well, with any luck we’ll get the tablecloth back, he thought as he drove toward his home near Galway. And we’ll get lots of good publicity. When he had taken the job as manager of He

“There are a lot of castles and old stately hotels in Ireland for tourists to choose from,” he was told. “We have to make He

Neil had done his best. Among other things he had worked hard at hiring a top-notch staff, enhanced He

When he arrived home, Neil’s wife, Felicity, greeted him at the door and excitedly pointed to the empty spot on the living room wall where Margaret’s painting had hung.

“Darling,” Felicity said, her eyes dancing, “Margaret is terrified of May Reilly.”

“So am I,” he responded as he took off his coat. Felicity was a pistol, always had been. It was certainly true that opposites attract, but sometimes he wished she were a little less gregarious. He was quiet and methodical; she was the life of the party. Their marriage had stood the test of time-forty-one years and counting.

“Can you imagine Margaret thinking that May Reilly is going to haunt her because of the lace in her paintings?” Felicity bubbled, anxious to gossip.

Neil headed toward the kitchen. “I’ve never met a woman who was as superstitious as Margaret Raftery, except maybe my mother.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

“Your mother!” Felicity laughed as she went over to the stove, lifted a lid on a big pot, and stirred a mélange of vegetables energetically. “She thought it was bad luck to cut her fingernails on Sunday! And what day of the week did she say was always a bad day for your family?”

“Tuesday,” Neil said. “Today is Tuesday. She wasn’t wrong about everything you know,” he said defensively.

“Of course not,” Felicity acquiesced. “It just made life difficult when she thought so many things we did would ‘tempt the fates.’ We couldn’t even admire our beautiful children because she said it would bring bad luck. And she wanted us to keep the kids barefoot-even in winter!-so the fairies wouldn’t kidnap them.”

Neil rubbed his eyes. “I know.”

“And remember she didn’t want us to get married on a Saturday? That was supposed to bring bad luck, too. And she wouldn’t come into our first little house until we’d hung a horseshoe face-up over the door. Face-up so the good luck wouldn’t run out. And, of course, she was always throwing salt over her shoulder whenever anyone dropped anything in the kitchen. My floor always looked as if we were preparing for a snowstorm. I could go on and on.”

You already have, Neil thought wearily but muttered an um-hmmm in agreement. He sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and gratefully took his first sip of beer. “Poor Margaret,” he said, putting down his drink. “She’s a bit daft, but she’s been such a loyal employee all these years. The theft of the tablecloth has really thrown her off whatever little balance she had.” He pondered the events of the day as he watched Felicity, armed with a giant fork, poke at the potatoes in the oven. She’d never been a great cook.

“These need another another ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” Felicity mumbled.

“I can’t imagine who would have been driving Margaret around today,” Neil remarked. “I always had the impression she was a loner.”

Felicity shut the oven door and shook her head. “I am so mad at myself! I should have offered to walk her to the car.”

“Ah, well,” Neil said. “I hope she’s pla

Neil should have learned from his mother that it was bad luck to “tempt the fates.”

34

When Mother Sharkey and her son closed up shop, they went upstairs where Seamus was making preparations for their evening meal.

Tonight they were having spaghetti, a family favorite.

“I put the water on to boil,” Seamus said proudly, “and I set the table. How were things down at the smile center this afternoon?”

“Busy, Daddy,” Dr. Sharkey answered. “Two emergencies.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about them.”

“You will. First, I want to get out of these clothes and put on a pair of sweats.” He disappeared down the hall, whistling a happy tune.

“Da

“I’m worried about what’s going to happen to him when we’re gone,” Kathleen responded. “He’s going to miss us so much. If only we could find him a nice girl.”

Seamus nodded. “It was such a shame he drilled the teeth of that lovely lass he was going around with a few years ago. Things were never the same after that. I thought they were truly in love.”

Kathleen pointed her finger at her husband. “The saying goes, ‘You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure,’ but it was on a Sunday, remember? She had a terrible toothache and asked him for help. It wasn’t Da

Seamus sighed. “Maybe we should have been more encouraging when he wanted to go into show business.”