Irish Stewed (12 page)

I tossed a look over my shoulder just in time to see George go inside and Declan close in on me. “Somebody’s idea of a joke,” I said.

Since it was warm, he was wearing a gray T-shirt with the words
Property of CWRU Law School
printed on the front, and when he crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms bunched. “Maybe, but it’s not exactly funny,” he said.

The look I gave him should have told him this wasn’t news to me.

His nose wrinkled, Declan glanced around. “Is it all from your Dumpster?”

“Every last crumb.”

“What do you suppose someone was looking for?”

“Trouble?” I hoped he caught the edge of sarcasm in my voice, but something told me he didn’t even notice. George showed up with the garbage bags and the coffee and Declan grabbed one cup, handed it to me, and kept the other for himself. Since he kept his voice down, I don’t know what he said to George, but George nodded in response, left the roll of garbage bags on the ground, and went back inside.

“Hey, you might get busy and you’ll need your cook in there, not out here,” Declan said in response to my quizzical look. “So finish your coffee.” He encouraged me with a lift of his own cup. “And let’s get to work.”

I did, and we did. I swept up mounds of garbage and Declan shook out bag after bag and held them open so I push the garbage into them. He tied each bag and tossed them back into the Dumpster they’d come out of.

After fifteen minutes, we could actually see the blacktop again.

After thirty, my arm muscles protested.

“My turn to sweep.” Declan grabbed the broom and we traded tasks.

I watched him cover a wide swath of parking lot in four efficient swipes. “I saw you on the news,” I told him.

It should be illegal to smile when you’re standing ankle-deep in garbage. “I hope they showed my good side.”

I refused to let him know that I thought every side was his good side because number one, it would make me look as pathetic as Myra, and number two, something told me he already knew that. It would explain the attitude. And his cocky self-assurance. And maybe the fact that he thought that smile that had a way of tickling its way inside me and igniting all sorts of fantasies I hadn’t had the time or the energy for of late was his ticket to information.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were representing Owen?” I asked him.

As if he actually had to think about it, he pursed his lips. “You never asked.” He moved effortlessly and swept up another long, straggling line of paper napkins and paper towels toward the bag I held open.

“I thought you were a gift shop manager.”

“I am a gift shop manager.”

“And you practice law on the side.”

“Actually, the gift shop is my side job.”

“Because keeping your family out of trouble is your full-time job.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’ve been talking to Carrie over at the art gallery.”

“She doesn’t like your family.”

“Believe me, she’s made that perfectly clear. She thinks
we’re some kind of Irish version of the Mafia, who travel from hit to hit in Gypsy wagons and tell fortunes on the side.”

“She says your uncle Pat—”

“Oh, come on!” Declan’s groan was overdramatic. “You don’t actually believe that kind of nonsense, do you?”

“I’m new in town. I don’t know what to believe.”

“Then believe me when I tell you not to believe everything you hear.”

“Even everything I hear from you?”

He had the good grace to smile and keep on sweeping.

When he was done with that particular mound of gunk, I scooped, tapped, and tied the bag, and when I was done, I realized he was watching me carefully. “What?”

“I didn’t expect you to be the type who’d get down and dirty.”

“I didn’t expect you to try and bribe me with pastrami.”

“Because I bought you dinner? You think it was a bribe?”

Could I still smile now that my shoulders ached and the stench of garbage had settled into my pores? I tried. “I think you want to find out what I know so you can help your cousin get out of trouble.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s my job. He’s my client.”

“And you never mentioned it.” He opened his mouth but I beat him to the line. “Because I never asked.”

“Exactly.” He started in on the last of the scraps, sweeping across the parking lot and closer to where I waited, bag in hand. “What we really need to figure out was what Jack was doing here,” he said once he’d closed in.

I couldn’t agree more, but I didn’t bother to mention it. If we did find out why the Lance of Justice had been hanging around and that discovery somehow led back to Sophie . . .

I swallowed the sudden panic that filled my throat.

“Maybe it would help if you let me talk to your cousin.”

He stopped midsweep. “Why?”

“Why not? He might be able to tell us something that will help.”

He gave the broom two quick pokes forward. “He says he doesn’t know anything about the murder and I believe him.”

“Come on!” I threw my hands in the air. “I’m the one who figured out that Owen couldn’t have come upstairs from the basement. The least you can do is let me talk to the kid.”

“Just to satisfy your curiosity about who killed Jack Lancer.”

“Absolutely.” I didn’t bother to add that whatever Owen had to say, there was an off-chance that it might also shed light on what Sophie was up to and what she was trying to hide.

I wasn’t exactly lying, just telling a half-truth.

But I wasn’t about to take chances.

Under the folds of the black garbage bag, my fingers were crossed.

S
ince it was a little early in the morning for a motorcycle ride and in lizard-patterned leggings and a silk chiffon henley, I wasn’t dressed for it anyway, I drove. On the way across town Declan explained that because Owen was from out of town, he needed someone to vouch for him while he was awaiting a hearing on breaking and entering charges. No one—and Declan emphasized this point—was more well respected in these parts than his parents, Malachi and Ellen Fury, so Owen was staying with them.

After what Carrie at the art gallery told me, I was expecting brightly painted Gypsy wagons and a booth out front where various and sundry Fury and Sheedy relations told fortunes. What I found instead was a tasteful blue colonial with understated cream trim. The lawn was neat and as green as the shamrocks that decorated the mugs over at the Irish store, and tulips in every color of the rainbow lined the walk to the front door.

“Party tomorrow,” Declan said when he saw that I was checking out the three cars parked in the driveway and the people—women, men, and children—who scurried from those cars to the front door and back again, their arms filled with serving bowls and chafing dishes, loaves of bread and fifty-pound bags of potatoes. “My niece Caitlin is making her first holy communion.”

“You have siblings.” I don’t know why it surprised me; Declan had talked about the importance of family in his life.

“Four brothers, two sisters, eleven nieces and nephews. So far.” He flashed a smile and pushed open the car door. “My parents would like more grandchildren than that. Come on. You are about to meet some of them.”

I did.

Rusty-haired James—whom everyone called Seamus—was older than Declan and married to a woman named Kate, who was in the kitchen and elbow-deep in peeling potatoes.

Broad-shouldered Aiden was closest in age to Declan and looked the most like him. It was his little girl who was being honored the next day. He was busy wrapping knives and forks in napkins and he told me his wife, Fiona, would be by later after she got off work.

Sisters Bridget and Claire weren’t there, either, because both were RNs and both were at work at the hospital in Youngstown that morning. Truth be told, I was grateful. By the time I’d also met brother Brian and his wife, Nora, and heard about the oldest in the family, Riordan, who was in the air force and stationed in South Korea, my head was in a spin.

It was a wonder I was coherent by the time a woman of sixty or so stepped out of the family room. Ellen Fury was petite and once upon a time, she must have had the same
flaming red hair I saw on any number of her grandchildren. These days, the color was faded to that of a well-thumbed penny, but no less spectacular against her porcelain skin. She had small, fine features and bright eyes the same shade as the blue T-shirt she wore with jeans. She also had a generous smile. Big points for her: it didn’t wilt around the edges—at least not too much—when she realized her youngest had brought an unfamiliar woman into the house.

Ellen shook my hand and offered a smile at the same time she slid a look at her son. “Declan didn’t tell me he had a new friend.”

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond to this so I left it up to Declan to handle his mother.

“She’s not exactly a friend,” he said as if he were sharing a confidence, but loud enough so everyone was sure to hear. “She’s more like a new neighbor over in Traintown. And she’s poking her nose into the murder.”

“You mean the Lance of Justice?” Kate set down her potato peeler long enough to squeal with delight. “It’s all anybody can talk about.”

“And Laurel”—Declan made a ta-da sort of gesture in my direction—“she found the body.”

This caused a flurry of excitement. Before I knew it, Ellen grabbed my left hand, Kate grabbed my right, and with the rest of the crowd following, they dragged me into the dining room, where they deposited me in a chair and gathered around.

“The kettle’s about to boil,” Ellen told Declan, and settled herself. “You can make us tea while Laurel tells us more.”

“There’s really not much to tell,” I assured her. “I don’t know much of anything besides what you’ve heard on the news already.”

“They say it was a mob hit.” Kate was breathless.

“Because of something the Lance of Justice was investigating,” Nora added.

“Hey, maybe it’s the food pantry down at church!” Aiden barked out a laugh and raised his voice so Declan could hear him. “Wasn’t that Lance guy down there once poking around?”

Declan stuck his head out of the kitchen door. “He was doing a piece on hunger in the county,” he said. “Not looking into what we do down at the pantry.”

“We?” Since Declan ducked back into the kitchen, I shifted my gaze to his mother. “You all work down at the food pantry?”

“Declan does.” Ellen’s smile told me she approved. “He has for years. So has your aunt Sophie.”

“She’s not really my aunt,” I was sure to add, even though I doubted anyone was listening.

Ellen leaned forward, her gaze pinned to me. “So . . . ?”

I reminded myself what we’d been talking about and shrugged. “So, if the police know anything more than what’s being reported on the news, they aren’t sharing the information with me. That’s why we . . .” I slid a glance toward the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. “We thought maybe if we talked to Owen—”

Ellen tsked.

Kate frowned.

Nora’s lips thinned.

Seamus grumbled a curse and at that, the various kids collected around the table giggled and whispered.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if their reactions were a criticism of my plan or of Owen.

I found out soon enough when Ellen shooed the kids away. Once they were out of the room she said, “That Owen
Quilligan’s got cabbage for brains. It’s why we invited him to spend some time with us in the first place. We thought a change of scenery would be good for him. He got in some trouble back home, you see. A stolen car.”

“And that pizza place where he was working was missing some cash,” Nora added.

Ellen shot her a look that clearly said that it wasn’t right to air all the family’s dirty laundry in front of strangers. She folded her hands on the oak table in front of her. “We thought the family here would set a good example.”

“We thought,” Kate added, “that we might be able to change his sneaky, thieving ways.”

“Or at least if he kept them up, Declan would be able to spring him from jail,” Nora put in.

“Which he did,” her mother-in-law reminded her. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the boy betrayed our trust. Imagine, him stealing copper like a street thug!”

“I told you he was no good.” Aiden shook his head in disgust. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was involved in the murder, too.”

His mother shot him a look. “You know that’s not possible. He might be stupid, but he’s not evil.”

“Or he is and he’s never been caught,” Aiden said.

“Which is why—” Declan returned with a teapot and cups on a tray and I waited to say anything else until he set it down and passed the cups around. I waved off the offer of a cup of tea. “If I could just talk to Owen . . .”

Ellen looked up at Declan.

“I don’t see what it would hurt,” he told her.

Ellen nodded, and Declan offered me a hand and led me through the living room with its beige carpet and soft green upholstered couch and easy chairs and up the stairs where the walls were lined with framed pictures of children and
grandchildren and Ellen herself with a broad man with a beard, both of them smiling and Blarney Castle in the background. We stopped outside a closed door at the top of the steps.

Declan knocked and identified himself before he pushed open the door.

Owen sat on the edge of one of the two double beds in a room I didn’t even have to ask about; I knew it had once been shared by Bridget and Claire. The walls were pink, the woodwork was white, and there were framed photographs hung over each bed. A red-haired girl gymnast; a blonde posed with her swimming team.

Owen glanced up when we walked in and shut the door behind us and when he looked at me, his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned.

“If she’s a cop,” he grumbled, “I’m not saying nothing.”

Declan pulled over a chair from the desk that sat along the far wall and waved me into it. “She’s not a cop, she’s a friend.”

“And a gorger. You told me not to talk to any of them.”

Declan glanced my way. “A gorger is an outsider, a person who’s not a Traveller,” he explained before he turned back to Owen. “You haven’t been paying attention to a word I’ve said to you since you came here. We don’t live in a bubble anymore, Owen. Not any of us. You have to start dealing with those in the outside world. When I told you not to talk to them, I was referring to the media. Not to someone who might be able to help you.”

The kid folded his arms across his chest and looked at me through the shock of carroty hair that fell across his forehead and into his eyes. “How’s a girl going to help me?”

“First of all, Laurel’s not just some girl. She’s a businesswoman and a smart one at that. Which means you’ll
be polite when you’re addressing her and you’ll call her Ms. Inwood. You got that?”

Whether he did or not, Owen gave a brief nod.

“As for how she’s going to help . . .” Declan drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “We don’t know yet. We thought if we talked—”

“You mean if I talked. You want me to admit I was there in the building the night that guy was killed.”

“You were there in the building.” Declan’s voice rang with authority. He sounded so different from the man who’d ordered pastrami and key lime pie for me, my head snapped up and I found him standing opposite Owen, his fists on his hips, his feet slightly apart. There was steel in his stance and fire in his eyes. “I’m not going to put up with your crap, Owen, and I’m not going to lie for you. Not to the cops and not to any judge. We know you were in the basement. Your fingerprints were all over down there, and all over that door that led from outside to the basement steps, the door you broke into to get inside. We know what you were doing there. It’s time to pay the piper, lad. Do the crime, do the time.”

Owen’s pale skin went ashy. “You think I’ll actually go to jail?”

Some of the rigidness went out of Declan’s shoulders. “Not if you’re honest.”

“Okay, all right.” Owen pushed off the bed and stomped to the other side of the room. There were two windows there that looked out over the spreading branches of a maple tree, and Owen watched a brown squirrel scamper out on a limb. “I was going to take the copper. I admit it. I’ll admit it in court if I have to. But there’s no way I had anything to do with killing that guy.” He spun toward his cousin. “You know that, Declan. You know I’d never do a thing like that.”

“I do know it. And we’ve got the evidence to back it up. Your fingerprints are downstairs, but not upstairs, not even on that back door upstairs that was broken into. We’ve got to keep that in mind. We’ve got to make sure we have all the facts and we’ve got to figure out what they mean. And Laurel here, she’s trying to help. She’s the one who proved to the cops that you never came upstairs.

Owen scrubbed a finger under his nose. “I was just sort of, you know, hanging around. After I left Bronntanas. I figured I’d walk around the neighborhood and see what was happening. Only there’s not much happening there at all, is there?” He made a face. “Then I saw that there were no lights on in that dumpy restaurant and—”

“Hey!” Declan’s voice snapped the kid to attention. He pointed at me and Owen paled even more.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean dumpy. I meant . . .” Since he obviously did mean dumpy, he shook off the rest of his apology and went right on. “There weren’t any lights on and there was nobody around so I figured I’d just go in and see what I could see.”

“And take what you could take.” It was the first I’d said since we walked into the room, and I made sure to keep my voice even and neutral. We all knew Owen was a thief; there was no use hitting him over the head with my opinion.

“I wasn’t planning on touching the cash register or anything,” the kid told me. “I just thought . . . well, you know what I thought. I figured I could make a few fast bucks. It wasn’t like I had a truck or anything to load the copper into. So it’s not like I was gonna take out all the plumbing or anything. I figured just a couple pieces. Just so I could sell it and get some pocket money. I found a wrench and a pair of pliers and these big scissors sort of things down on one of the shelves and I figured with
that stuff, I could pull out some of the copper. I got a couple small pieces, and that’s when I heard noise from upstairs.”

“What kind of noise?” I asked.

“People walking around. Voices.”

I glanced at Declan but since he didn’t say a thing, I took the lead. “Men’s voices?”

The kid shrugged.

“Women’s?”

Another shrug. “Just voices, and I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention because I thought . . . well, I figured I was screwed for sure. That somebody who worked there came in for something and that they were going to find me if I didn’t haul my butt out of there.”

“And that’s when you dropped what little copper you’d already cut and ran?”

He nodded in answer to my question. “Only I didn’t get very far. I just got over to the steps that led up to that door I came in when I heard a guy say something pretty loud. Then there was another sound, like chairs falling over.”

I could picture the scene. “And then?” I asked him.

“Then things got really quiet.” As if he were reliving the scene, Owen froze at the center of the room, his arms tight against his sides, his breath suspended. “I waited,” he said, glancing up at the ceiling just like he must have glanced up when he was down in the Terminal’s basement. “I dunno how long. I thought”—he swallowed hard—“I thought if I ducked out the door I came in, somebody might see me. So I just stood there. And then, that’s when I heard the glass break.”

I glanced at Declan. “The back door? Upstairs? The door that leads right outside?”

He looked at Owen. “You’re sure it was after you heard
the commotion? Not before? Because both the killer and the victim had to get in the restaurant, and that broken back door was the only way in.”