Carol Clark - Laced

“Regan, I knew I’d like your family,” Jack joked.

They sat in the living room, and over a glass of wine Jack and Regan explained what had transpired in Westweg.

“That’s wonderful!” Gerard said. “You’re on their tail then.”

“We’ll see,” Jack answered. “Even if the Does have already left Ireland, it gives us something to go on. But Gerard,” he said, “that’s not something I’ll mention on the show tonight. The fact that Jane and John Doe left a note for me at the castle has been made public. They have to know we’re looking for them. I don’t want to scare them off if they’re still in Ireland.”

“Of course not, Jack! We’ll say as much as you want about the case and nothing more. You can stay on the air as long as you want. I have one other guest tonight who’s a very interesting fellow. As a matter of fact, Regan, your mother called before, and I told her all about him.”

“Who’s that?”

“An elderly gentleman named Shane Magillicuddy. He recently discovered original Claddagh rings bearing Richard Joyce’s stamp hidden behind a brick in the basement of his home.”

Jack and Regan listened with great interest about the history of the rings and the upcoming auction.

“No one is sure.” Gerard said, “if Joyce designed the original ring himself or if he came across the design in his travels. True romantics believe that he designed the ring when he was enslaved and pining for his sweetheart. The hands of the ring represent friendship, the crown loyalty, and the heart love.”

“Did you know that more than two hundred Claddagh rings were discovered in the ruins of the World Trade Center?” Regan asked Gerard.

“I did indeed,” Gerard said sadly. “Bless their souls. I read one story about a fireman who was killed that day. He was wearing a Claddagh ring. Now his son wears it.”

“I heard that,” Jack said quietly.

Gerard put down his glass. “Claddagh rings have such a strong meaning for the Irish. They’re passed down from generation to generation. Regan, did you know that our great-grandparents exchanged Claddagh rings at their wedding?”

“They did?” Regan asked.

Gerard went over to a bookshelf and reached for the old black-and-white picture of Hugh and Bridget Reilly that was taken on their wedding day. “You can’t tell that the rings they’re wearing are Claddaghs,” Gerard said, “but they are.” He handed the picture to Regan. “People don’t really use the Claddagh rings as wedding bands anymore.”

Regan and Jack, who were sitting together on the couch, studied the old photograph. Regan smiled. Hugh and Bridget. They were so young, but their expressions were serious. I would love to have known them, she thought. To think that their son, my grandfather Paul, immigrated to America. My life would have been so different if he hadn’t. Actually, Regan corrected herself, if he hadn’t immigrated to America, I would never have been born! Her grandparents had met in New York City. Regan looked up at Gerard and pointed to the picture. “What happened to their rings?” she asked.

“After they died, their only daughter, Bridget, inherited them. Bridget, as you know, was your grandfather’s sister. Bridget passed them on to her children, Hugh and Bridget, who were here years ago when you visited with your parents, Regan. You probably don’t remember. They’re both around my age. Hugh lives down in Cork, and Bridget is over in England.”

“I’m getting confused,” Jack said.

Gerard laughed. “When it comes to following the Reilly clan, that’s easy.”

“My Reilly relatives live not far from Cork,” Jack said. “I was going to call them and maybe take a ride down there, but I don’t think that’s going to happen on this trip.”

“And I was hoping to show you the farm in Roscommon where Hugh and Bridget raised our grandfathers, but that will have to wait as well, I’m afraid.”

Regan stared at the rings her great-grandparents were wearing and then looked up at Gerard. “The auction of the rings should be really interesting. To think that they were made over three hundred years ago…”

Gerard nodded. “I bet my guest tonight, Mr. Magillicuddy, is going to be surprised at how much they fetch. If he had promoted this auction around the world, Lord knows what response he might have gotten. But as the expression goes, the rings are burning a hole in his pocket. And he hasn’t been feeling well. I think he wanted to have the auction before he got too sick or whatever… He joked that he read the obituaries first thing every morning to see if his name was there.”

“The Irish sports pages,” Jack said.

“Aren’t they, though?” Gerard asked. “When I spoke to Magillicuddy on the phone, he was funny and sounded full of life. I think the discovery of the rings has given him a renewed sense of purpose. He’s spending all his time trying to figure out where he’ll donate the auction proceeds. And, believe me, as we speak every known charity is courting him!”

“Come along!” Louise called to them from the dining room. “And bring your appetites!”

The Irish stew was delicious. Regan and Jack were tired, but the hearty meal gave them the boost they needed to keep going. Gerard’s show didn’t start until 10:00 P.M. On the way to the radio station they planned to stop with Gerard and Louise at a pub in town to listen to Irish folk music. Then, after the show, Regan and Jack would drive back to Hennessy Castle.

“You both must be exhausted,” Louise said as she insisted Regan and Jack stay seated while she cleared the dishes from the table. “I hope you get a good rest tonight. No disturbances such as fire alarms going off at four A.M.!”

And no ghosts out on the lawn, Regan thought. She looked at Jack, who smiled at her knowingly. He was thinking the same thing.

Neil Buckley was never so happy to call it a day as when he left Hennessy Castle early Tuesday evening. Things were looking up, with the arrival of a little stove and the impending arrival of the entourage from the United States. But there were only two couples in residence at the castle that night, the Reillys and the O’Sheas.

The O’Sheas had stayed at Hennessy Castle twice before and seemed like a nice young couple. But why, Neil wondered, did Jack Reilly have to spend his honeymoon under my watch? Just my luck that two criminals who were out to get him followed him to the castle. Maybe it’s the curse of the Reillys. And with May Reilly’s tablecloth missing from the memorabilia room, the story about her ghost haunting the castle would lose some of its intrigue. That tablecloth had been part of Hennessy Castle’s lore. Neil suddenly had the thought that they should have left the memorabilia room as a crime scene, but then dismissed it. A guest might have cut himself on one of the pieces of broken glass.

Oh, well, with any luck we’ll get the tablecloth back, he thought as he drove toward his home near Galway. And we’ll get lots of good publicity. When he had taken the job as manager of Hennessy Castle several years ago, he was told to shake things up.

“There are a lot of castles and old stately hotels in Ireland for tourists to choose from,” he was told. “We have to make Hennessy Castle the number one destination!”

Neil had done his best. Among other things he had worked hard at hiring a top-notch staff, enhanced Hennessy Castle’s Website with testimonials from guests who claimed to have seen May Reilly’s ghost, and even sent thank-you notes, holiday cards, and birthday cards to everyone who had spent the night at the castle. He had done this from the day he started working there. I’ve given it my all, he thought. I couldn’t predict that criminals would be checking in disguised as old folks.