Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 Page 7

  “Why is a police car outside?”

  Clio’s heart leaped in her chest. “Jesus, Tammy, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” the girl said, not sounding the least contrite. She slouched toward the fridge, wrenched open the door, and took in its contents with a moue of distaste. “There’s feck-all to eat.”

  “There’s plenty to eat. And watch your language.”

  Tammy cast her mother a scornful look. All rage and bitterness were directed her way these days. However heinous Tammy might find Helen, Clio bore the brunt of her frustration. “Why are the Guards here?” the girl demanded as she extracted a carton of milk.

  “Helen mentioned problems with a stalker.”

  Tammy’s expression radiated skepticism. “Who in their right mind would want to stalk Gran? She’s ancient.”

  Clio suppressed a smile. “She’s in her sixties. Please try to get along with her. I know she can be difficult, but we are living in her house.”

  “Only because you insisted on dragging us down here. I don’t see why we couldn’t have stayed in Dublin. Now I’ll see even less of Dad than before.” Tammy unscrewed the cap and drank the milk directly from the bottle. It was an exercise in provocation. Tammy knew Clio hated it when she did that.

  “Your dad isn’t the best influence in the world, pet.”

  Tammy glared at her. “And you are?”

  “I know I’ve made mistakes, but your father…” She trailed off. What was the point in dragging up her ex’s dodgy friends and even dodgier family? For all Clio knew, calling him over the O’Leary situation instead of Ray might have been the smarter move. “We’ll arrange a visit after your exams,” she said, plastering a smile on her face. “How does that sound?”

  “June is months away. Why can’t I see Dad on my birthday?”

  Clio sighed. “We’ve been over this before. Please let’s not fight.”

  The girl crossed her arms over her thin chest and treated her mother to her trademark death glance. “I’m going for a walk. We’re done unpacking, right?”

  “I unpacked the last few boxes before the Guards arrived, but I’d rather you didn’t go outside alone until we know more about this stalker story.”

  Her daughter raised an eyebrow in a facial expression so similar to Helen’s that Clio nearly cried. “You’re taking her seriously?”

  “The police are here. They’re taking her seriously.” Clio grabbed the sugar bowl from the cupboard and flipped the switch on the coffee machine. “See this as your cue to catch up on schoolwork before Monday.”

  Tammy’s belligerent expression slid back into place. “I don’t want to go to that school. The principal is a snob. A sure sign the kids will be too.”

  “Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. Regardless, you’re going to be attending Glencoe College as of Monday. You might as well get used to the idea.”

  The girl seemed to shrink in her oversized black sweatshirt. “I’ll hate it.”

  “If you start with that attitude, you probably will.” She brushed a stray lock of hair from her daughter’s face. Being a responsible adult sucked. Watching her child struggle with insecurities and depression was a painful reminder of her own teenage years. She didn’t want Tammy to be miserable at her new school, but they’d already been in Ballybeg for over a week. The girl couldn’t hide at home forever. “Tell you what. Why don’t you brainstorm ideas for a mural on your bedroom wall, and we can start working on it next weekend. It will be a nice treat after a hard week at school.” Since the move, she hadn’t had time to sketch or paint. She was itching to get her hands on a brush. Plus a mother-daughter art project would do them both good.

  “I’ll consider it.” Tammy replaced the milk in the fridge and paused as if willing herself to say something. “I’m sorry I broke the vase. Did Gran give you hell?”

  “Don’t worry. I told her you’d pay her something out of your pocket money.”

  The girl nodded. “Fair enough. I guess I’ll go read in my room until the police leave.”

  “Happy reading, pet. I’ll pop up once they’re gone.”

  After her daughter left the kitchen, Clio finished preparing the coffee tray. Left to her own devices, Clio was fine with a packet of sugar and a milk carton, but Helen would freak if she didn’t bring a sugar bowl and a milk jug.

  Helen…Ray…the police…The tremors in her limbs returned. She had to pull herself together.

  Focus. Breathe. Think.

  Neither Seán nor Superintendent O’Riordan was a mind reader. They couldn’t know what she’d done—or rather, what Ray’s men had done. All she had to do was remain calm. Times were, she’d had a knack for turning every situation to her advantage, no matter the odds.

  Since Ray and his gang had attacked O’Leary, she’d lost her nerve. Time to sharpen her mettle and kick some gangster arse.

  Chapter Eight

  TIME DRAGGED WHILE CLIONA was gone. Seán shifted uneasily in his chair, hearing the creak of antique wood. Until she’d left, he hadn’t realized how Cliona’s presence acted as a sandbag for his resentment toward his father’s former mistress. Now she was gone, he was struggling to maintain his professional demeanor. Helen’s coy banter with the super was enough to make him hurl.

  His eyes roved the room—anything to avoid looking at the woman. She sure had a lot of ornaments. Most were hideous. All were expensive. She’d better have good insurance.

  His gaze settled on a display table by the window. He stood to take a closer look. These pieces were older than the others. Exactly how old, Seán couldn’t say, but they reminded him of stuff in a museum. He liked the little copper cat. He bent to take a closer look.

  China rattled, and Seán jerked round. Cliona was back, bearing a coffee tray and looking less frazzled than before. Their eyes clashed. If this were a staring contest, she’d give him a run for his money.

  “How do you take your coffee, Sergeant Mackey?” she asked, all cool efficiency.

  “Black, no sugar.” He stepped away from the display table and reclaimed his seat.

  Cliona had long lashes, he noted while she poured his coffee. And she smelled divine. He caught another whiff of her perfume when she leaned over to give him the cup. Thank feck she was careful to avoid skin-to-skin contact during the handover. Lack of sleep had addled his wits. He couldn’t afford to do something daft…like kiss her.

  When everyone had a cup, the super extracted his notebook. “Now,” he said, businesslike, “I’ve brought Sergeant Mackey up to speed on the situation, but if you could sum it up for him in your own words?”

  Helen inclined her neck a fraction. She had poise, he’d give her that. She perched on the edge of the sofa, hands folded on her lap, legs crossed at the ankles, knees angled slightly left. Beside her, Cliona slouched awkwardly. She had neither the perfect symmetry of her mother’s bone structure, nor her confident bearing. That must have been tough growing up.

  “It began six months ago,” Helen said. “I received the first in a series of poison pen letters. Nasty missives are an unfortunate byproduct of fame, and it wasn’t the first time I’d been the recipient of one.”

  If she made a habit of shagging other people’s husbands, he wasn’t surprised she got hate mail. It was a wonder no one had put out a hit on her.

  Now, Seán. Behave. Pushing personal bias to the side, he concentrated on doing his job.

  “What makes these letters different?” the super asked.

  “The sender knows a lot about my private life. They delight in sending photographs of me at the gym, out shopping, or dining with friends. They’ve also made reference to personal information to which few are privy.”

  Cliona’s shoulders stiffened.

  Interesting reaction. What’s she hiding? Seán found his voice. “Do you think the sender is someone who knows you personally?”

  Helen’s hard eyes focused on him. He had the impression she was annoyed he’d had the temerity to address her without an invitation. She gave a l
azy one-shoulder shrug. “I don’t know, Sergeant. I’m not in the habit of socializing with psychopaths.”

  Seán scribbled a few notes, more to stop himself from making a sarcastic retort than to record information. “Ms. Havelin, can you think of anyone with a particular grudge against you?”

  Apart from me.

  She examined her red fingernails. “I’ve made a few enemies in my time. In my line of work, it’s inevitable.”

  Seán’s fingers stiffened around the pen. “There’s no one you suspect of writing these letters?”

  “No.” Her answer came a fraction of a second too late.

  Seán made another note.

  “There’s been a further development,” Helen said, “hence my request that you stop by today.”

  Cliona’s head shot up. Clearly, mother and daughter did not communicate.

  “A black car keeps following me. One of those four-by-fours with tinted windows. The police in Dublin are aware of the situation. Until this morning, I’d hoped it was a coincidence and had nothing to do with the threatening letters.”

  Seán leaned forward, instincts alert. “What happened this morning?”

  “I saw the car loitering outside the gates of Clonmore House.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t a tourist? Checking a map?” Cliona’s tone edged into frantic.

  “No.” Helen’s headshake was emphatic. “I know that car.”

  “Did the Dublin police run the plate?” asked Seán.

  Helen’s laugh was brittle. “Yes, Sergeant Mackey. They ran all of them. The car has a different license plate each time. The only thing the plates have in common is that they’re all fake.”

  Cliona reached for her coffee. Her hands trembled so much that she returned the cup to its saucer with a clatter. Was she freaked over the stalker? Or was her trepidation to do with whatever had spooked her yesterday in the hotel lobby? “Why didn’t you mention this before?” she asked, looking at her mother.

  “Because I didn’t want to worry you,” Helen’s hands remained steady around her coffee cup, “and because I hoped it was yet another problem we could leave behind in Dublin.”

  A significant glance passed between mother and daughter. A warning? This time, Helen was the first to look away.

  “What other problems?” Seán’s tone was gruffer than he’d intended.

  “Nothing that has any bearing on the letters.” Cliona fiddled with her necklace, crossed and recrossed her legs.

  Her mother said nothing. The blank mask was back in place.

  Seán tapped his pen against the coffee table. After years on the force, his bollocks radar was highly tuned. These two were spooked. And they were lying through their orthodontically perfected teeth.

  “If you’re frightened for your safety, Ms. Havelin, why haven’t you hired a bodyguard?”

  “Because, Sergeant Mackey, I wasn’t aware I needed one.” The tight smile didn’t reach her green eyes. Eyes the same shade as her daughter’s, but in contrast to Cliona’s expressive mood stones, Helen’s were arctic.

  “What’s changed?” Seán asked.

  The older woman darted a look at the super, then back to Seán. “I received this in this yesterday’s post.” She slid a cream envelope across the coffee table.

  Seán retrieved a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and put them on. The envelope was made from good quality paper, the address printed on a laser printer. There was no return address, but he hadn’t expected to find one. The postmark gave him pause. Galway City. Was the Galway postmark a coincidence? He didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Inside was a Catholic memorial card with a picture of Helen Havelin. The space for the date of death was filled with a question mark.

  “A death threat,” he murmured. Helen must have seriously pissed someone off this time. Seán showed the card to Cliona and the super.

  The super’s bushy brows frowned a V.

  Cliona blanched. “Who’d send a death threat to Mother?”

  “If I knew who, I wouldn’t have called the Guards.” Helen fidgeted in her seat, her perfect poise slipping. “I wasn’t worried for my safety before, but I am now.”

  The super turned to Seán. “I’ll need you and Garda Glenn to keep an eye on the house on the days Ms. Havelin is in residence.”

  His head jerked up. “What?” Surely he couldn’t be hearing right.

  “You’re to watch out for Ms. Havelin when she’s in Ballybeg. Escort her if she needs to go somewhere.”

  Seán forced his gaping jaw back into position. Surely the man wasn’t serious. “May I have a word, sir? In private?”

  The super gave him a hard look followed by a stiff nod. “Please excuse us for a moment, ladies.”

  Once they were out in the corridor, Seán shut the door and turned to his boss. “If you’re expecting the staff of Ballybeg Garda Station to act as bodyguards for Helen Havelin every weekend, how are we supposed to take care of everything else? We’re short on manpower as it is.”

  “There’s nothing else to be taken care of,” the super said in a stern tone. “At least nothing of importance.”

  A hard ball formed in Seán’s chest. “What about the fire at the halting site?”

  “Probably a fight with a rival clan.” The super shrugged, the Travellers’ fate dismissed with one small twitch of his shoulder.

  Frustration coiled in Seán’s stomach. “With all due respect, sir, one of them has a nasty burn on his leg. So far, no one’s actually hurt Ms. Havelin. That makes the Travellers case a priority.”

  “Your salary is paid by taxpayers’ money, including a sizable chunk of Ms. Havelin’s income.” The older man’s nostril’s flared. “Since when did Tinkers bother to pay tax?”

  Seán glared at his boss. “They’re entitled to justice, sir, same as everyone else. I don’t care how much tax Helen Havelin pays. It doesn’t give her the right her to use the local police as her personal bodyguards.”

  The super’s bushy eyebrows drew together, drawing attention to his frown lines. “How dare you show such disrespect?”

  “Disrespect? I’m not her servant.”

  “No, but you are a servant of the state, and I’m your commanding officer. If I say you’re to keep an eye on Ms. Havelin, then that’s what you’ll bloody well do.”

  He ran a hand through his short hair. This was insane. How dare one pampered celebrity commandeer the meager staff of Ballybeg Garda Station?

  Seán fought to steady his breathing. “I’ll do the guard duty, but I want to stay on the Travellers case.”

  The super was as prickly as nettles. “Ah, leave it, Seán. The Tinkers aren’t worth the trouble.”

  “That’s not the impression you gave when you called me on my night off.”

  “Bitter about not getting laid, is that it?” The veins on the super’s nose pulsed an ugly red. “I’ve read your files. You’re a good policeman. I know the attacks on the Travellers can’t be tolerated, but their presence near Ballybeg is a nuisance. Whenever they stop at the damn halting site, a slew of petty crimes follows. If someone from the town is attacking them, it’s in revenge.”

  Seán drummed his police boot against the stone tile. “I don’t care how many petty crimes they’ve committed, sir. The fire could have been lethal.”

  His boss paused and then said, “If the situation escalates, we’ll reassess. In the meantime, I want your priority to be protecting Ms. Havelin.”

  “So if one of the Travellers dies, it warrants police time? Good to know.”

  The super sighed, his features softening. “Helen is only in Ballybeg for two or three days each week. You’ll have plenty of time to look into the attacks on the Travellers when she’s away.”

  Seán’s jaw tensed. “As you say, you’re the boss. I can hardly refuse.” Not while his Dublin transfer was in limbo, as the super well knew.

  “Good lad.” The older man’s cheery smile slid back into place. “Let’s rejoin the ladies.”

&nbs
p; With leaden limbs, Seán trudged after his boss. He had the distinct impression he was in for a long couple of months.

  Chapter Nine

  CLIO SPED UP THE DRIVE to Tammy’s new school and reviewed her Monday to-do list. The list was succinct: Find a job. Fob off a gangster. Avoid one sexy policeman. The last item would be the trickiest.

  In the two days since the Ballybeg police force had been watching over Helen, she’d done her best to avoid Seán and his delectable dimples. He’d stayed at Clonmore House until late Saturday evening, and his younger colleague had taken over on Sunday. Clio heaved an internal sigh. How was she supposed to negotiate with criminals with the police underfoot? She needed a miracle. And barring divine intervention, a one-way ticket to South America.

  Beside her, Tammy sat slumped in the passenger seat, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. “Do I have to start today?”

  “We’ve been over this. If you miss any more school, you won’t be able to sit the Junior Cert exams.”

  “I’m going to fail them anyway. Starting today or next week won’t make a shred of difference.”

  “Don’t be defeatist. Glencoe College has an excellent reputation. The principal has made a special study plan for you, including extra tutoring in math and chemistry. If you apply yourself, you’ll be fine.”

  If Tammy’s truculent expression were any indication, the girl wasn’t convinced. Frankly, neither was Clio. Tammy was intelligent but lacked discipline. She was clever at art and languages and got good grades in those subjects by putting in the minimum of effort. Math and science were “boring” and “only for nerds” so Tammy chose to ignore them. Math and science, unfortunately, didn’t choose to ignore her.

  The girl folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “If the other kids know I’m getting extra help, they’ll make fun of me.”

  “I doubt you’re the only student getting assistance in a particular subject. Any problems with your classmates, tell Ms. Cavendish.”

  Tammy snorted. “Yeah, right. Acting the tattletale is a great way to make new friends. I don’t see why I couldn’t stay home for another week and help you finish unpacking the house.”