forty-two

Merrit had let Simon O’Neil decide where to go on their Friday night date. She hadn’t cared, to be honest, still nonplussed by the idea of an outing with him. She sat at a crowded communal table in McGann’s Pub along with a pack of tourists and locals. In the corner, a trio made up of tin whistle, banjo, and accordion played a folk tune. Voices rose in song and in conversation while Merrit waited for Simon to return with their pints.

A few minutes later he pardoned his way through the crush of drinkers. He mouthed “help me,” grinning all the while. Merrit liked his off-duty style. The jeans hanging low on his hips, the leather man-bracelet, the blue t-shirt layered under a casual v-neck sweater.

He edged his way into the empty chair next to Merrit. “That was the mighty gauntlet.”

She didn’t mind his arm pressed against hers or their knees knocking together. It wasn’t purposeful. They had nowhere to maneuver once seated.

She lowered her voice. “You must know I’m going to ask—what’s the latest with the case?”

“Sláinte.” He tapped his glass against hers. Someone jostled him. He held up his pint over the table to let the liquid settle down. “So that’s why you agreed to go out with me. To get information.”

Merrit played along. “Of course, why else? I’m sure Danny must have mentioned my tendency to meddle.”

“He did, indeed, and I was told not to humor you.” Simon lowered his voice. They leaned against each other in an attempt to privatize their conversation. “Between you and me? We’ve confirmed the turf cutter—the sleán—has EJ’s blood on it.”

“You’re no fun. I already figured that out.”

“Fish and chips!” One of the barmen arrived at the end of their table carrying two steaming plates. “On your way, then.”

The plates traveled hand-to-hand down the length of the table to Merrit and Simon. The food smelled heavenly, the fish fresh, the batter light and crispy. Humming “yum-yum-yum” under his breath, Simon sprinkled on salt and malt vinegar, and forked up a piece of fish.

“Brilliant,” he said with mouth full. “Should be its own food group. Go on, then, give it a go.”

“Tell you a secret. I’ve never tried fish and chips.”

“What?” Simon addressed the table at large. “Do you believe this one? She’s never tried fish and chips.”

“Hey,” Merrit laughed, “I’m from California. You’re more likely to find hummus on menus than fish and chips.”

“Time to remedy that.” He repeated his seasoning ritual atop her meal and held up a forkful of fish in front of her mouth. Merrit paused amidst the urgings from their tablemates. This felt too intimate somehow, as if she was supposed to make a sexy production out of sliding the fish off the fork. Without fussing over it, she accepted the bite. The fish fell apart in her mouth, moist and savory with the crispy batter. Around them the crowd clapped as the band switched to a jig.

“Delicious,” she said by rote, but after swallowing amended herself. “That is good.”

“Now, a question for you,” Simon said. “You and matchmaking. Not your dream job, so why do it?”

Merrit sputtered on a sip of beer. He was the first person to come right out and ask her this question. “I’m not sure.” She set her pint aside. “I’ve never been the ambitious type, you know? I studied journalism but didn’t do much with it. Career-wise, nothing grabbed me, so I drifted along like an untethered kite. And then along comes the father I’d never met before, ready to make my mind up for me. Liam keeps saying I’m charmed for matchmaking. What do you do when you’re being handed the family business?” She poked at a piece of fish with her finger. “I take that back. Not a family business. More like being handed a life, a community, a purpose. What do you do?”

“Tricky, yeah,” Simon said. “That Liam, though. He intrigues me. The man’s a romantic at heart, don’t you think?”

“Romantic? Liam?”

“Think about it. You’re a matchmaker, bringing people together who’ve never met before. How could you not believe in love at first sight?”

She stared at him. He couldn’t be talking about them, on what might be their first and last date. “Is this how you interrogate suspects when you’re not being the warm-up act for Danny? It’s quite effective.”

He laughed. “Calm your qualms. It was only a question.”

Merrit washed down her chagrin with a mouthful of beer. “Let’s listen to music now.”

Simon kept up a light patter as one song led into another. Three songs later, Merrit offered to buy the next round and rose, feeling relaxed for the first time in—what, weeks? Months, even? It had been a while since she’d gone out “on the town,” or, since she was in Ireland, out “on the razzle.”

Simon rose along with her. “Sit back, relax, I’ve got them.”

Merrit caught a movement like colored plumage near the door of the pub. She craned her head for a better view over Simon’s shoulder.

His smile disappeared. “Something wrong?”

Between the layers of bodies, a flash of blue and blond. “Zoe’s here. Looks like she might be with someone.”

Simon relaxed. “I’m not surprised. Everyone shows up when the Sons of Erin play.”

“I’ll come along with you for the beer anyhow.”

Merrit eased her way out from between the community tables into the bar area. Simon fetched up behind her, his hands touching her shoulders for a second to stop himself from knocking her forward.

Zoe waved. “Merrit! Hello, Detective O’Neil. I thought Dad might want the car tonight so I cadged a lift from Sid here. If you’ll excuse me, I owe him a pint.”

She pulled her wallet out of her purse and disappeared into the thick of it along the bar. Merrit waited, expecting a greeting from Zoe’s friend, but he stood by, smiling in a low-key way. Next to Zoe, he was so bland he needed the sartorial equivalent of a dash of salt and pepper. He unbuttoned a jacket that strained around his tummy and tucked his hands into the pockets. The stance emphasized his slouchy shoulders.

Liam would love this pairing. He’d have much to say, Merrit was sure. A rumble sounded from her purse. Merrit excused herself and pulled out her mobile. She scanned a text from a phone number she didn’t recognize.

Please come. Hurry.