14

Jennie wakened to the gentle strains of an Irish lullaby. Gram was singing in the shower again.

Jennie stretched and yawned, debating whether or not to get up. Gram had opened the blinds to the patio doors, giving Jennie a wonderful view of the ocean without her having to move. Seeing the water took her back to the day before. How close they’d come to losing Shelagh. Jennie wasn’t angry anymore about being locked in the gardening shed. She hadn’t even been that frightened. Well, maybe a little. It seemed like a bad dream now—one she didn’t want to repeat.

Gram came in, wrapped in a white terry robe and a pink towel around her head. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“No thanks to you,” Jennie teased. “Do you always sing in the shower?”

“No. Only when I’m in Ireland—in a castle. Something about waking up to that spectacular view just makes me want to sing.”

Jennie yawned again as she slid up to sit against the headboard. “It is nice.”

“Do you have any plans for the day?”

“Nope.” Jennie rubbed a tender spot on her neck. It was probably the result of falling asleep on the concrete floor of the gardening shed. “Do you?”

“Hmm. William asked if I wanted to spend the day looking into Liam’s death. I’ll go to the library and possibly to the monastery.”

“The monastery?”

“Yes. They’d have a record of his death, and there may be some notes from the priest at that time. If there’s time, we can talk to some old-timers who might remember Liam and be able to shed some light on his death.”

“Oh. So it sounds as though you have your whole day planned.” Jennie tried not to look disappointed. Though she didn’t have plans of her own, she wasn’t too excited about spending the day alone while Gram was out working on a murder case.

Gram must have noticed her reticence. “You’re welcome to come along with us.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll tell William you’re coming.”

Half an hour later they joined William in the dining room for breakfast. Jeremy and Declan had eaten and gone. Not surprising, since it was already nine-thirty.

“Good morning.” An elderly woman with a husky voice and flaming red hair came into the room. Her long, velvety green dress swayed as she walked.

“Mother.” William bounced up and hurried to her side. He offered her an arm. She slipped her left hand through it and, using the cane in her right hand, shuffled to the table, where William pulled out a chair. “I didn’t know you were coming down. You should have called for help.”

“Nonsense. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” To Jennie and Gram she said, “Thinks I’m an invalid.”

“Mother, this is—”

“I know perfectly well who my guests are. Be a good boy and tell Megan I want some tea.”

When he’d gone, she leaned forward and in a conspiratorial voice said, “I’m Maude Kavanagh,” for Jennie’s benefit. “Now, Helen, you must tell me how your visit is going. Have you seen Catherine? Poor dear was so looking forward to your visit. Is she doing any better?”

William returned before Gram could answer, and behind him came Megan with Maude’s tea.

“I was just asking about Catherine, William.”

“She’s doing well,” Gram said. “Of course, they’re all rather upset about the fire.”

“Yes, I heard. How dreadful. Declan seems to think it was set on purpose.”

“Looks that way.”

“What’s the world coming to? There are hooligans everywhere. Even in our area.” Maude poured tea from the pot into a gold-rimmed teacup. “And how about you, Jennie? Are you enjoying your stay? Jeremy told me about your picnic.” Her eyebrows raised. “Apparently the Keegan children are still up to their old tricks. And you poor dear, being shut up in that old tomb. Must have been terrifying.”

“A little. How is Jeremy’s ankle?”

“He was still hobbling around on it this morning.” The duchess paused to take a sip of tea. “Declan’s taken him to the doctor to have it x-rayed. I suspect they’ll fit him with crutches and send him on his way. Serves the boy right, prowling around cemeteries. Children these days have no respect for the dead.”

“Oh, now, I’m sure that’s not true. They were just having a bit of harmless fun,” William said.

“Humph. Now, Helen,” Maude said, abruptly changing the subject, “you must tell me all about your family.”

Gram did, and the duchess listened. Jennie found the older woman fascinating and couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. She was obviously wearing a wig. She also wore makeup—lots of it—yet didn’t seem overly done. She had soft features and more weight than was probably healthy.

“Declan and William told us about your move here from England,” Jennie said during a lull in the conversation. “That must have been quite the adventure.”

“I’ve my father to thank for it. At first I was furious that he’d marry me off to some Celtic savage. Even if he was from the ruling class, I wanted nothing to do with the Irish. The English thought them absurdly stupid, you know.” She glanced at Helen and William. “Of course, they proved me wrong, but for years we couldn’t understand how the Irish could have gotten themselves into that famine business. They were surrounded by the sea. They could have brought in food from other countries.” The duchess waved her hand. “But that’s history, isn’t it. I fought coming here at first. But my father insisted. My journey to Ireland was frightening for a young girl. I was only sixteen, mind you. Your age, Jennie, isn’t it?”

Jennie nodded. “I can’t imagine my father sending me to some other country to marry someone. He barely lets me out of the house to go out with my friends.”

“Yes, things have certainly changed, haven’t they?”

Jennie frowned. “So you were only twenty or so when Liam died.”

“Yes, and with a three-year-old,” Gram said. “That must have been terribly difficult for you.”

“Not so bad. Liam was not a very attentive husband. Once we married I hardly ever saw him. I think he was afflicted with some kind of illness, but he never said. Oh, not that he neglected his duties. He provided well for William and me.”

“William asked me to look into Liam’s death. Has he talked with you about it?” Gram set her spoon down and lifted her cup to her lips. Jennie perked up at Gram’s question. She listened intently for any clue the duchess might be able to provide.

“William has the foolish notion his father was murdered. I’ve tried to talk him out of it. Does no good at all to dig into past events.” Maude sighed. “I prefer to dwell on the good memories.”

She patted her son’s hand. “All your questions will come to no good, I’m afraid. I’m tired, William. See me to my room.” To Gram and Jennie she said, “I do hope you’ll forgive me. I seem to tire easily these days. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yes.” Gram stood when the duchess did.

William excused himself and offered his mother his arm. She leaned heavily on him as she walked, her limp more pronounced.

Gram smiled. “All this time and she’s still the proper British lady.”

Deciding to spend the day with Gram and William had been a mistake, Jennie realized as they stopped at a pub for a lunch of fish and chips. They were trying to find some of Liam’s acquaintances, and they had. But so far the ones they’d spoken to contributed nothing new. Their stories were embellished, and Jennie doubted any of them were true. Several admitted that they, too, had questioned the idea that Liam could have fallen. One, a retired police officer, had agreed to have lunch with them while they chatted. He’d been called out to the castle to investigate the accident.

“’Twas a baffling case,” the officer said. “No evidence of foul play. Well, not a case, really. I thought all the while it must have been a suicide. The duchess would have none of that kind of talk. According to her there was nothing in his life terrible enough to make him want to kill himself.”

“What did you finally decide?” Gram asked.

“We didn’t. We could never prove anything one way or the other. A true mystery, it was. Family man. Handsome wife, young son. He had everything to live for. And he was a kindly man, always giving to this cause and that. No one seemed to carry a grudge. He had no enemies that we could find and more than his share of friends.”

“What was your take on it?” Gram asked. “Surely you had an opinion.”

“An accident, more than likely. Perhaps he took it into his head to lean over the wall. Might have done so if he’d seen something amiss—a piece of trash or something.”

So far this man was the only person who’d come up with a viable story. Most of the people felt certain Liam had angered one of the castle ghosts. But if he was such a nice guy, that didn’t make any sense at all.

“Had he been drinking?” Gram split open a steaming piece of deep-fried fish.

The retired officer frowned. “As I recall, Liam wasn’t a drinking man. Not in public, at least. But now that you mention it, there had been the smell of liquor, which would have accounted for his being careless. May have gotten it into his head to balance atop the wall.”

They speculated a little more over the remains of their lunch, and before long Jennie, Gram, and William went back to the car.

Jennie wondered how much of the testimonies they heard could be trusted. The men were all in their eighties. Jennie began to wonder if they’d be able to solve the old mystery. Had too much time passed, after all?

“You’re awfully quiet, Jennie.” Gram turned around in her seat. “Are you all right?”

“Just tired.” Jennie leaned forward. “Do you have more people to talk to?”

“Not today. We thought we’d head over to the monastery and look through some records.” William backed out into the road.

“If you’re bored, we can take you back to the castle,” Gram said.

“No. That’s okay.”

While Gram and William pursued obituaries and newspaper articles, Jennie discovered the department where birth, death, and marriage records were kept.

“I have to do a genealogy report for school,” Jennie told the library attendant.

“We have a lot of guests who come here just for that reason.” The attendant was a young man wearing a robe like the kind used by monks for centuries. He introduced himself as Brother Andrew. “Tell me your last name and I’ll help you get started.”

“McGrady,” she said. “My grandfather was Ian McGrady. He was born in County Cork. He married Helen O’Donnell.”

“Ah … that shouldn’t be hard to find.” Andrew typed the information into the computer and within seconds found a perfect match.

“Wow. It did all the work for me,” Jennie remarked. “I thought I’d have to fill it all in myself.” Ian McGrady’s family tree went clear back to the sixteenth century. Along with it was a history of the clan and a coat of arms.

The attendant printed it out for Jennie and moved out of the seat. “Would you like to do one for your grandmother’s side?”

“Sure.” Jennie went back and found the new form and typed in her grandmother’s name and age, along with the town.

The genealogical information appeared just as quickly: Mary and Hugh O’Donnell, Mary’s parents, and her siblings. “This is so cool.”

“We used to have to do all of these by hand. Computers are wonderful tools.”

Jennie stared at the screen. “I think there’s a mistake here, though.”

“What’s that?”

“My grandmother was born in 1943. It says here that Mary and Hugh were married only six months before she was born. There’s an extra little line here—like maybe something is missing.”

“There’s a way to check.” Andrew typed in Hugh O’Donnell’s name and accessed his records. The marriage date was the same.

“It isn’t unusual,” Andrew said. “Oftentimes children were born ‘early.’ Of course, they were usually conceived out of wedlock. The parents didn’t actually fool anyone. Fornication is perhaps the most common of sins.”

Jennie frowned at the screen. She didn’t like to think of her great-grandmother as having had sex before marriage. Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. “Um. Thanks for your help. I think I can work it okay now by myself.”

“Certainly. If you need help, let me know.”

Jennie printed out the forms for Hugh and Mary, still wondering if it had been a mistake. Maybe she’d show Gram and ask her about it. Or maybe she’d find an answer in Mary’s diaries—which she hadn’t had a chance to look at yet.

With Gram and William still head-to-head in front of a microfiche machine, Jennie looked up William’s name and printed out the Kavanagh family history. She found herself going back generations and generations to actual royalty. The Kavanaghs had ruled Ireland.

From genealogies, Jennie went into Irish history. She spent the next hour reading about the battles and the famous potato famine. Maude’s comments earlier had struck Jennie as unsympathetic. Yet she found herself wondering why so much tragedy had permeated the country. Why had so many perished of starvation when others survived?

Gram came up behind Jennie and massaged her shoulders. “Find anything interesting?”

“Yeah. I got our genealogy charts and some family history. There’s something I wanted to ask you about.” Jennie glanced at William and realized Gram might not want to talk about the family secret—if it was a family secret—in front of him. “I’ll show you later. Did you find what you wanted?”

“Nothing new, I’m afraid. The inspector was right about the investigation never closing. It was labeled an accident that didn’t rule out suicide. I’m afraid we’ve hit a dead end.”

“Maybe something will turn up when we look through my father’s belongings,” William said. “My mother saved his writings and log books. I’ve perused a few things, but …” He brightened. “Perhaps you and I can go through them together, Helen.”

“We’ll save those for another day.” Gram smiled up at him.

“I’ve invited your grandmother to take in a bit of golfing this afternoon at the country club on the south coast. Would ye like to join us, then, Jennie? We’d love to have you.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not much of a golfer. Now, if it were swimming …”

“’Tis a county club. You’re more than welcome to swim while we golf.”

“Great.” Jennie’s mood brightened. She hadn’t been swimming since before leaving home, and it was the one sport she loved doing most. Besides, going with Gram and William would provide a perfect excuse not to spend time with her cousins. After what happened the night before, Jennie wasn’t ready to hang out with them.

Jennie gathered her papers and stuffed them into her backpack, which she’d retrieved from the Keegan place on their way out that morning. Mary’s linen tablecloth and diaries were still inside. Since they had to stop at the castle for Jennie to get her swimsuit, she removed her genealogies and Mary’s diaries from the backpack and put them in the drawer of the nightstand. She hesitated a long moment, thinking she should stay there and read through Mary’s diaries but decided there would be plenty of time for that in the days ahead.

Trading her backpack for her beach bag, Jennie hurried back to the car, where Gram and William were waiting.

Swimming refreshed Jennie as it always did and put her in a great mood. She was even agreeable to spending some time at the house with Shelagh and Sean. Her anger with them had dissipated, and now she looked forward to putting things straight and finding out what had actually happened at the cemetery.

They arrived back at the castle to find an invitation from the Keegans to join them for a Friday night celebration of Bridget’s birthday at the local pub.

Jennie donned what she’d come to call her standard uniform: jeans and a sweater. This sweater was knitted in intricate cable designs, with a lavender Aran yarn that had come straight from the Aran Isles. Or so the saleswoman at the shop had told her. They’d stopped in town on the way back from the country club, and Jennie decided to buy the sweater she’d seen the day they arrived. She loved the feel of the soft wool.

They had a light dinner of salad and shrimp at the castle. Jeremy declined to go to the party, saying his ankle was swollen and painful. Jennie caught him as he was heading back to his room and asked him if he really had hurt his ankle or if it was part of their game.

“Sean and I were planning to scare you,” he admitted, “but when you didn’t come along in, we got tired of waiting and were going back out when I tripped on one of the marble slabs. I really did hurt my ankle.”

“I’d like to know who locked me in that tomb.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Sean said he was with you the whole time. Is that true?”

“Most of the time. We heard you coming, and he went to get you. Then he came back, said someone else was out there.”

Jennie frowned. “Your father. And that monster of Sean’s.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think Dad …”

“Of course not. I think Sean did it. He looked sheepish when Gram found me.”

“You’re wrong about that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Jennie, I know Sean. If he had locked you in that tomb, he’d have been bragging about it today. But he didn’t say anything. He was upset when I asked. You’re not still mad about it, are you?”

“No, just curious.”

“Well, I guess I would be too.”

“I wish you could come along.”

“Nah. They’ll spend the night dancing and singing. And they’ll try their best to teach you how even if you don’t want to.”

Jennie chuckled. “They did that the night we had dinner here.”

“It’ll be worse, trust me. Besides, my ankle is still pretty sore.”

“Why don’t you like it here?” Jennie asked. “Ireland is beautiful, and people seem to really enjoy themselves. Your grandfather seems very nice.”

“He is. I have all I could possibly want—except my friends back home … and my mother.”

“Jennie,” Gram called. “Are you ready?”

“Coming.” Jennie turned back to Jeremy. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

“Positive. Have a good time.”

“I will.” Jennie chuckled. “As long as my cousins don’t decide to pull another prank.”

They reached Mulhaney’s Pub around eight, and people were already singing and dancing. Shelagh and her mother were singing an Irish ballad, and Thomas was playing for them. Two other fiddlers accompanied them. Father O’Roarke was there as well, nodding his head to the music. Jeremy had been right. Even with Jennie’s insistence that she had two left feet, her family, Gram included, got her to do some Irish clogging. She managed to move her feet without tripping over them and eventually came to enjoy it. Gram threatened to give her lessons when they got back to Portland. Jennie lasted about thirty minutes. Thirsty, and her legs feeling like wilted lettuce, she went back to the table. “You’re not quitting already, are you, darling?”

Gram had been talking to William and stopped when Jennie approached.

“Just resting.” Jennie sat down and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

William stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go along?”

“Wouldn’t want to take you away from the celebration. At least not until you’ve had some cake. No, I may even be back.”

He ambled outside.

“Where’s he going?” Jennie asked.

“Home. Apparently the duchess isn’t feeling well.”

“That’s too bad.”

Gram nodded. “Hope it’s nothing serious.”

By ten, Jennie was ready to go home. She was hot and, after ordering a root beer, went outside for a few minutes. The lights were on in the shop windows, so Jennie wandered down the street. On her way back, she saw a bent-over figure setting something down near the door of the pub. At first Jennie thought it might be someone littering—a street person getting rid of a bottle in a brown bag. Jennie hadn’t planned on picking up the bag or even looking at it, but as she approached the door, she heard a ticking noise. The hairs on her arms stood up like armed guards. A chill trickled down her spine. A bomb?