Laced

A

She turned back to her computer, booked their flight, and logged onto the Sweetsville blog to see if there was a posting from her mother. Usually after her mother was scrappy with her, as she was last night, she posted a message before going to bed.

A

This time she hadn’t.

Shrugging, A

A

Across the Atlantic Ocean, Hortense was lying on the couch in her den. She had turned out all the lights after she threw out the cops. I should never have mentioned the Sweetsville blog to them, she realized. Now they’ll be monitoring it for sure. And they’ve probably tapped my phone by now.

A

49

Jack’s cell phone rang on the table next to the bed. Although it wasn’t even 6:00 A.M., he and Regan were awake, courtesy of their neighbors, the O’Sheas. “This has got to be good news,” Jack said, reaching for it, “unlike most phone calls at this hour.”

“Hello.”

“Jack, it’s Keith. I think what I’m going to tell you will make you happy.”

“Try me,” Jack said. He lay back down next to Regan, put the phone on loudspeaker, and held it between their heads.

“I’m in upstate New York, near Rochester, in a town called Sweetsville. I just had a chat with a woman named Hortense Hager who has a daughter named A

“It sure is top secret,” Jack said sarcastically.

“My sentiments exactly. A

“She was?” Regan asked excitedly.

“Hi, Regan,” Keith said. “Yes, she was.”

“This is getting better and better.”

“I know,” Keith answered. “A

“You didn’t ask Hortense if her son-in-law had a peculiar laugh, did you?” Jack asked.

Keith chuckled. “No. Hortense is pretty upset with me. She rather rudely threw me out of the house.”

“Poor woman,” Jack said. “She must realize A

“I’m sure she does. I called you this early because I knew you wanted to be updated.”

“I certainly do,” Jack agreed. “Never hesitate to call.”

“I’ll keep you posted, boss.”

Jack snapped the cell phone shut. “Now we know, Mrs. Reilly, that John Doe has a loose cap.”

Regan rested her head on Jack’s shoulder. “And a fu

Jack sighed. “We’re getting closer.”

50

Sheila and Brian couldn’t believe how well the morning was going. Four of Margaret’s paintings were carefully piled in the backseat next to Sheila and it was only 8:00 A.M. No one had quizzed Margaret too much about why the paintings had to be returned. She promised her friends she would paint them new ones.

“One more to go then-” Margaret began as she got back in the driver’s seat.

“I thought it was two more,” Brian said, trying to sound graciously confused.

“Let me finish, will you? I was about to say one more in these parts, and then we’ll take a spin down to the gym in Galway. That will make six, plus the one you have from yesterday is seven. Then that’s every painting I owe you. And I’m begi

Brian forced himself to laugh. “You’re a card, Margaret, you really are. Hey, I thought the gym owner wouldn’t give you back the paintings until you worked out a few times.”

“I called him early this morning and told him I had to have the painting. I promised him I’d keep working out.”

“Wonderful,” Brian gushed.

“My paintings are good,” Margaret said. “I just didn’t believe in my talent. It’s time I let it shine.”

Just wait until we’re out of town, Brian thought.

While they drove around collecting paintings, he figured out their next move. When they got back to He

Brian still had to write the letter. Dermot wouldn’t arrive until until late afternoon. There was plenty of time.

And if Dermot insisted on taking the paintings back on his private plane, then Brian and Sheila would tell Dermot that only they could pick up the paintings at the convent and would, of course, deliver them to his plane. If Dermot has any decency, Brian thought, he’ll give us a lift back to the States.

Whatever happened, the paintings could not stay at He

Margaret pulled up to the farmhouse where Brian and Sheila had had breakfast the day before. It felt like a lifetime ago.

I hope that kid with the camera doesn’t come out, Brian thought nervously. That’s all we need. “Last stop before Galway,” he a

Margaret ignored him and got out of the car.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t stay for breakfast,” Sheila muttered from the backseat.

“I’m worried about the kid.”

“I know.”

They waited anxiously. Ten minutes later Margaret came out with the painting. “I couldn’t pass up a quick cup of Philomena’s tea,” she told them as she speedily backed out the car, her head turned toward the road.

Neither Brian nor Sheila thought it worth mentioning that Philomena’s pajama-clad grandson had come tearing out of the house with his camera and was ru

When Margaret made it out to the street, she threw the car into forward and tore off down the road.

We’re almost home free, Brian thought with relief. It had been a great idea to have Sheila dress as a ghost. Margaret was a different person, thanks to her midnight visitation. This morning she wasn’t scared or hesitant. She was actually good company. Conversing with May Reilly’s ghost had done her a world of good. The new Margaret will be painting, working out, and having a good time, Brian told himself. Her whole life will be different thanks to the influence of Sheila and Brian O’Shea.

In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have imagined how different.