Carol Clark: Laced

Bobby came back in, unzipped the suitcase, and removed the tablecloth. “This is a beauty,” he said, starting to unfold it. He whistled. “It would make a great Mother’s Day present. It’s way too big for Mom’s dinette table, but she’d figure something out.” He laughed. “She can bring it to the bingo hall. The table there could handle this baby. B- 12,” he called out. “O-75…”

“She’s not going to get the tablecloth,” Anna snapped. “We’re not removing it from here ever.”

Bobby looked up at her. “What’s with you? You said before that we should sell it. I’m just kidding about my mother. We haven’t even seen her in more than a year.” He laughed his annoying laugh. “I think she secretly suspects we work for the CIA.”

Anna stirred the pancake mix. “What else is she going to think with our lifestyle? My mother thinks I married an international consultant. I retired from doing makeup to travel the world with my man.”

“You did.” Bobby gently placed the tablecloth on the couch. “It’s hard to believe this is nearly two hundred years old. You don’t want to try to sell it?”

“We should just burn it in the fireplace,” Anna said. “Get rid of the evidence.”

“I knew we should have turned off that prison show,” Bobby said flippantly.

Anna opened the refrigerator again, pulled out a bowl of blueberries, and dumped them in the pancake batter. Then she greased the frying pan.

Two minutes later they were sitting down to steaming plates of pancakes and freshly brewed cups of tea. They had become avid tea drinkers since they bought the cottage.

“These look like the best pancakes you’ve ever made,” Bobby teased, trying to lighten the atmosphere, as he smothered them with butter and syrup. Like an actor in a commercial he broke off a piece of pancake with his fork, placed it in his mouth, and with an exaggerated expression of delight, bit down hard.

“Owwww!” he cried.

“What?” Anna yelled.

Bobby reached into his mouth and pulled out a small pebble. His mouth agape, a cap on one of his front teeth fell out and landed on his plate, making a slight tinkling sound before it slid into the syrup. Now he really started screaming. “Owwww! He picked up the cap. “It’s cracked! And the air is hitting my tooth. It’s so sensitive!”

“Oh my God!” Anna cried, leaning in toward him. “That’s not a tooth anymore. It looks like a fang! They shaved it down to a stub! We’ve got to get you to a dentist!”

“Where did that pebble come from?” Bobby screamed, holding his finger to his mouth.

“I don’t know. It might have been mixed in with the blueberries.”

May Reilly’s tablecloth was across the room. And somewhere out there May Reilly was smiling.

Regan’s parents, Nora-a best-selling suspense novelist-and Luke-owner of three funeral homes in New Jersey-were finishing up a late lunch at Neary’s, an Irish pub on East Fifty-seventh Street in New York City, owned by their dear friend Jimmy Neary. Jimmy was the consummate host to everyone who walked through the door. He had emigrated from Ireland more than fifty years ago and eventually opened his restaurant, a place that became known for its convivial atmosphere and delicious comfort food.

It was a beautiful spring afternoon. Two of Luke’s cousins, Don and Chris Reilly, and their wives, Helen and Marianne, were his and Nora’s guests for lunch. They had come to Regan and Jack’s wedding and stayed in New York for a few extra days to shop, take in a show, and just enjoy themselves. Tomorrow they were heading home. Don and Helen lived in Philadelphia, and Chris and Marianne had retired to Naples, Florida.

Relaxing on the leather banquette at a corner table, they were talking about all the Reilly relatives who had been at the wedding and joking about the week Regan had had before her big day, when her wedding dress had been stolen.

“She deserves a rest. Have you heard from her?” Helen asked.

“No news is good news!” Luke said, holding up his hand. “I know Nora would love to talk to Regan, but she’s in good hands with Jack.”

“He’s a doll,” Marianne said. “I have to find one like him for our Susan.”

“I thank God for him every night,” Nora said with a laugh as she reached into her purse for a tissue.

“You don’t have to get all choked up about it,” Luke commented.

“I’m not,” Nora said, rolling her eyes. Her purse open, she could hear her cell phone begin to ring. “Normally I wouldn’t answer my phone in a restaurant,” she said, “but I’ll just take a peek to see if it’s Regan.” She looked down. “The caller ID says it’s restricted. I’ll answer quickly, and if it’s not Regan, I’ll tell the person I’ll call back.” She grabbed the phone, turned her head toward the wall, and cupped her free ear with her hand. “Hello,” she said, trying to keep her voice down.

“Mom!”

“Regan! How are you?”

“I always knew the Irish were psychic,” Don said as he leaned back in his chair. “Regan must have known we were talking about her.”

“Maybe I’m the psychic one,” Helen whispered. “I just asked if she had called.

“We’re fine,” Regan told her mother. “I wanted to let you know what was going on in case you heard about what happened from somebody else.”

“Heard about what?” Nora asked quickly.

“First of all, there was a fire last night at Hennessy Castle-”

“Good Lord!”

Regan filled Nora in on what had happened since they arrived at the castle, but she didn’t mention her four-in-the-morning sighting. “We’re on our way to Galway now. We’ll be at Gerard’s house later this afternoon… Mom, I’m losing reception. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to you soon. I wish I could say hi to Dad-” The connection was lost.

“Regan?” Nora said hopefully. But there was only silence at the other end. She closed her phone.

“Didn’t she want to say hello to dear old dad?” Luke asked. “My hand still hurts from writing out the check for that reception.”

The others laughed.

“After Maura got married, my hand had to be wrapped in ice,” Don said with a grimace as he flexed his fingers.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise with this group, Nora thought fondly. “Regan did want to talk to you,” she told Luke. “Her phone lost reception.”

“They’re out in the middle of the country, aren’t they?” Marianne asked.

“Yes, and you won’t believe what’s already happened…” Nora began.

Jimmy Neary, who had known Regan since she was a child, approached the table. “So, Nora, that was Regan on the phone, was it? How’s your girl doing over in my homeland?” he asked, his tone amused, his brogue lilting. “She must be having a wonderful time.”

“Jimmy, if you want to hear this, you’d better have a seat.”

“What happened?” he asked excitedly, reaching for a chair from the next table without even turning his head.

Nora told the tale. “So it’s turned into a working honeymoon.”

“Oh my word,” Jimmy said, his face astonished. “How do you suppose those two thieves knew they were going to be there?”

Nora looked at the three Reilly men. “They have no idea, but cousin Gerard is going to help them in Galway.”

Don laughed. “If anyone knows Galway, Gerard does. Don’t you agree, Luke?”

“Naturally.”

“Gerard is a lovely guy,” Marianne said. “When we visited Ireland, he showed us all around. He knows everyone. It’s like he’s the mayor, and he does have the gift of gab.”

Luke’s face grew serious for a moment. “Regan sounds okay, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Nora quickly assured him. “Up until now this Jane and John Doe have been strictly jewel thieves. It seems they intended for the fire they set to be discovered before it got too bad. But instead of relaxing at the castle, Regan and Jack are on their way to Galway right now to see what they can find out.”