Carol Clark - Laced

Brian stood, walked over to the desk, and turned on the computer.

“Talk to me,” Sheila said.

“I have a plan.”

Sheila’s eyes brightened. “You do? What is it?”

“Now I played football in college-”

Sheila resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“We always had to think about what our opponents might do-how they’d react. Put ourselves in their shoes. Take advantage of their weakness.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Margaret is our opponent.”

“Right.”

“She bases her decisions on superstitions and fear.”

“Right.”

“Tonight we’re going to scare the wits out of her.”

“Brian!” Sheila sounded horrified.

“We have to. But we’ll be nice about it. You’re going to dress as May Reilly and knock on her window when she’s sleeping. You’ll instruct her to get the paintings back from her friends-or else.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No. It’s our only hope. You can’t go into battle without a strategy. Now we just have to get the tools to implement our plan.” He logged onto the computer and tapped in his password.

Sheila sat there, stunned. “What are the tools?”

“A wig, a cape-you know, the usual things ghosts are known to wear.”

“I don’t think there’s a costume shop in the village,” Sheila said sarcastically.

“I’m sure there isn’t. Let’s just hope there’s one in Galway.” He tapped on the keys of the computer. “Thank God for these search engines.”

“Brian, did you ever think that we might scare that poor woman to death? It’s possible, you know.”

“It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Practice being May Reilly-a firm but benevolent ghost.” He laughed. “Whhoooooahhhhhhhhh.”

Sheila stood and went into the bathroom, shaking her head.

Down the road, in the graveyard, another strong gust of wind blew around May Reilly’s tombstone. Leaves fell from the trees and skittered across the ground. A bolt of lightning followed by a crack of thunder pierced the air, and once again it started to pour.

Clara, sitting at the reception desk of the gym, was bored out of her mind. She had done her nails, read a pile of beauty magazines, and stared out the window. One of the magazine articles gave tips on how to look your best all day at work. After all, so many romances bloomed in the workplace. Not in this workplace, Clara thought. There’s not a prayer Prince Charming will walk through that door.

Her day had been brightened by the Americans asking her questions about the couple at the Fun Run. Clara and Maebeth had been on and off the phone all afternoon, discussing the man with the weird laugh. It wasn’t unusual. Anytime a thought passed through Clara’s mind that she deemed worthy of a discussion with Maebeth, or vice versa, she picked up the phone. As a result they spoke at least twelve times a day.

Maebeth worked as a waitress from 6:00 P.M. to midnight, which unfortunately meant there wasn’t much time for chats in the evenings.

Clara rested her chin on her hand. Was there anything else weird about that couple? she wondered. That laugh was so embarrassing. If my dad laughed like that, I’d die. She was sure that Maebeth would agree. Clara reached for the phone and dialed.

“What’s new?” Clara asked when Maebeth answered.

“Nothing. Henh, henh, henh.”

Clara giggled with abandon. “Wouldn’t you just die if your friends were over your house and your dad started laughing like that?”

“Totally die.”

“It would be so exciting if they found those two. Wouldn’t that be the best? We could tell everyone we were part of a criminal investigation. I just wish we knew their names.”

“I know. All they said was hon…sweetie…hon. I was like, gag me. And remember when she fell? He was laughing and said, ‘Are you okay, hon?’ And she was so mad. She’s like, ‘Yes, sweetie.’ It sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“I, like, totally forgot about that.”

“Hon, sweetie, hon, sweetie. Gross.”

“I wonder if I should call that American guy who was here asking about them.”

“Why?”

“To tell them they called each other hon and sweetie all the time.”

“You think?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve got to go. My mom’s bellowing to me from downstairs.”

When Clara hung up the phone, she sat there staring. Why not? she thought. I have nothing better to do. She dug out Jack Reilly’s card from her purse and started to dial.

On the ride up to Gerard’s house, Jack called Keith and told him to find out everything he could about Anna Hager.

“She dropped out of sight about eight years ago,” Jack said. “And not long after that, Jane and John Doe fell from the sky.”

“I will, boss. And I’ve got news for you.” Keith filled Jack in on the post office box in Suffern, New York, where the credit card used at Hennessy Castle was sent, and the jewelry theft at the Nanuet Mall. “It doesn’t sound like their kind of job, but I’m heading up to the Nanuet Mall this afternoon to view the security tapes and talk to the saleswoman who had been showing the couple the necklace.”

“Find out if he had a strange laugh and if she was sucking on a breath mint,” Jack suggested wryly.

Keith chuckled. “The head of security told me that the saleswoman is really angry, which is good. Something tells me she’ll have a lot to say.”

It was a quarter to six when Jack and Regan pulled into Gerard’s neighborhood. They had just parked in front of Gerard’s pleasant-looking house when Jack’s cell phone rang. It was Clara, the receptionist at the Get in Shape gym. Jack listened as she told him about the terms of endearment Jane and John Doe used for each other.

“Hon and sweetie?” Jack repeated.

“Yes. I forgot, but my friend Maebeth reminded me.”

“Thanks, Clara. We believe her name might be Anna. Does that ring a bell with you?”

“No, but I’ll ask Maebeth if it rings her bell.”

Jack smiled. “Okay. And thanks again. If you or Maebeth remember anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

Jack hung up and put the cell phone in his pocket.

“Hon and sweetie?” Regan asked as they walked up the path to Gerard’s front door.

“Our friend Clara says that’s what the couple at the race called each other,” Jack said with a shrug.

“Occasionally my parents call each other hon and sweetie,” Regan said as she rang Gerard’s doorbell. She smiled. “Maybe they have a secret criminal life. Or maybe Jane and John Doe are just another loving couple.”

“Maybe Jane and John Doe are just smart enough not to address each other by their real names in public.”

“Then he should be smart enough to curb his crazy laugh.”

“You’re right, Regan,” Jack said.

The door was pulled open. “Welcome!” Gerard cried. “Come in!”

As Regan stepped into the warmth of Gerard’s living room, she immediately felt a sense of belonging, just as she had when she and Kit visited more than ten years earlier. She remembered the cozy rooms filled with family pictures, including one of Regan and Gerard’s mutual great-grandparents on their wedding day. Most of the relatives in the photos were black Irish, like Regan-dark haired, light skinned, with blue eyes. This is my clan, Regan thought. We share bloodlines, and as my mother says, our DNA is covered with shamrocks. That’s why I feel so comfortable here in Gerard’s house.

Louise, a vivacious, pretty woman with chestnut brown hair and green eyes, stepped out of the kitchen to greet them. “Regan!” she said, extending her arms for a hug. “And Jack! Oh, he’s a handsome one, he is!”