Carol Clark - Laced

The burglary had ruined those plans. And the twin’s sixteenth birthday was just a few weeks away.

Reading about the auction of the original Claddagh rings, Dermot immediately decided he had to have at least two of them. It was meant to be! He couldn’t believe his luck. He would be the proud owner of masterpieces painted by an Irish nun and original Claddagh rings. I’ll be the toast of every Irish gathering from coast to coast, he convinced himself. People will be moved by the story of my journey back to my homeland to obtain the rings for my grandchildren. I’ll be written up in every Irish magazine as a caring, loving family man.

Not so deep down, Dermot Finnegan was very insecure.

Dermot had rushed to call Robert, even though it was the middle of the night, and demanded he come back to work.

“We have a trip to plan!” he had cried.

A browbeaten Robert hastily made his way back to chez Finnegan, then called several of Dermot’s friends who were used to Dermot’s eccentricities and happy to drop everything for a free trip to Ireland. He then started contacting hotels in Galway. The best places were booked. Dermot knew that Sheila and Brian O’Shea were staying at Hennessy Castle.

“Call Hennessy Castle!” Dermot had instructed.

“Didn’t you tell me they just had a fire?” Robert asked.

“Just call them!”

Robert did as he was told.

At 10:00 P.M. the whole group would gather at a private airport outside Phoenix, golf clubs in tow, where they would board Dermot’s plane and be off to the west of Ireland.

“Shouldn’t I let the O’Sheas know that we’re coming?” Robert asked.

“Yes, yes. Right away. Tell them not to leave Ireland with those paintings! I want to see my canvases when I walk through the door of Hennessy Castle. And, Robert, don’t forget to bring your camera!”

Sheila and Brian were miserable as they waited in the chilly car for Margaret Raftery to reappear. There was no radio, and the heat barely worked. One painting was on the backseat. Six more, and they would be home free.

It seemed like a long way off.

Because it was.

“We can always figure out a way to repay the money,” Sheila suggested, breaking the silence. “We can sell the house, and we could always borrow-”

Brain hit the steering wheel with his palm. “Dermot won’t want the money. We never should have told him that the paintings were ready and we were on our way to pick them up.”

“But Margaret told us they were ready when we spoke to her on the phone, and they were. Who could imagine that she would toss them in her fireplace like a lunatic? If I run into whoever stole that tablecloth, I’ll strangle them, I swear I will! If it weren’t for them, we’d be on our way to the airport with the paintings this very minute.”

Brian winced. “Why would anyone steal a tablecloth?”

“It’s beautiful, and it was made by a ghost. Adds to the intrigue.”

“There’s got to be more to it.” Sighing heavily, Brian said, “I shouldn’t have told Dermot a nun did the paintings. There’s no way to explain ourselves out of this mess. Everyone’s going to know we lied.”

The cell phone rang. It was Robert.

“Robert, how are you?” Brian asked, trying to sound cheerful. “It’s pretty early in the morning out in Phoenix, isn’t it?…What?…You’re coming to Hennessy Castle tomorrow? For five days? You’re kidding!…Why?…Claddagh rings, huh… My cousin has one of those… The paintings?…Yeah, Sister has a touch of the flu, but she’s putting the finishing touches on them as we speak… I know… I know how Dermot can be… We’ll see you tomorrow. Looking forward to it.” He hung up.

For a moment he couldn’t speak.

Neither could Sheila. What she had just heard sent her into a panic. Her heart was pounding, and she thought she might really faint this time.

“Dermot will be here by late tomorrow afternoon,” Brian finally managed to say. “He’s coming to Hennessy Castle. He wants to see the paintings as soon as he arrives.”

“But…but even if we have all the paintings to give him, how can we keep it a secret from Margaret and the manager of Hennessy Castle? You know what a big mouth Dermot is. We told Margaret we’d figure a way to honor May Reilly with the paintings. What are we going to do?”

“First, we have to get the paintings, and then we can figure it out.”

“Any bright ideas?”

Brian didn’t answer. He looked in the rearview mirror and spotted Margaret hurrying toward the car. She was wiping her face with a handkerchief. “Here she comes now. With no masterpiece under her arm.”

Margaret pulled open the door and plopped herself on the backseat. “Whew! I’m knackered, I am.”

“What happened?” Brian asked.

“Rory was so glad to meet me. What a nice fella. So caring. He insisted I get on the treadmill for twenty minutes to get my heart rate up, then he had me go a round with the weight machines.”

“He what?” Sheila asked.

“Rory told me that if I wanted to get my painting back, I had to start working out. I told him I get plenty of exercise cleaning Hennessy Castle and riding my bike, but he said I needed to do something called strength training-weights and all.”

“Well, you have obviously started working out,” Brian observed. “So where’s the painting?”

“Hanging on the wall of his office. It looks grand. Rory has my decal up there, too. Made me feel good. He said that if I came down to the gym five more times, he’d give me back the painting. By then I might be hooked on exercising. I think I already am. Whew!” She laughed. “Whew!”

“I don’t think this car will make it down here five more times!” Brian croaked.

“I’ll take the bus. I warned Rory about the bad luck that painting might bring him, but he said my health was more important. And I need to get out more. My son told me I should make new friends. It gets so lonesome up there in the cottage all by myself.” She fanned herself with her hand. “I’m sweating.” She reached into her pocket, but it was empty. “I just had my handkerchief. I must have dropped it. Let me have a look outside.” She tried to open the back door, but it wouldn’t budge. With a sense of renewed vigor, she flung her body against it. The door flew open and she fell out, facedown, onto the street.

And started to scream.

“Oh my God!” Sheila cried. She and Brian both hopped out of the car and helped a hysterical Margaret to her feet. Blood was trickling from her nose and mouth.

“I told you I had a dream last night that my tooth fell out!” she said, gasping for breath. Gravel and dirt were stuck to her face. Blood stained her hands. “I think one of my teeth was knocked loose!” She reached up and touched her front tooth. A large piece of it broke off in her hand. “Oh, no!” she screeched. “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”

“No, you’re not going to die!” Sheila insisted as she hurriedly pulled tissues out of her purse. “Give me your tooth, and I’ll wrap it up. Hold the rest of the tissues against your gum. We’ll get you to a dentist.”

“She might not need a dentist-” Brian started to say, but Sheila gave him a withering look.

“I’ll get in the backseat with Margaret,” Sheila told him firmly, putting her arm around the portly, sobbing woman. “Come on, Margaret, let’s get in the car. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m…all…bloody!” Margaret protested as she started to ease into the backseat.

Brian glanced over, saw the painting that was just inches from the injured Margaret, and, like a shot, raced around to the other side of the car. He pulled open the other back door and rescued Margaret’s artwork before it became flecked with blood.