Irish Secrets (25 page)

When he entered the
Garda
station, the desk officer gave him a sympathetic grin. "The Chief's not happy."

"Why? What's happened now?"

"Best let her update you. She's in the Super's office. First door on your right."

After taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and went in.

"Well, you've really screwed this one up, Ryan," Enya said.

As if he didn't already know.
He sat down and handed the invoice copy to her. "Jenna Sinclair's earrings were bought from Hanley's in Galway at the end of June. I called them on my way back here, and they checked their records and confirmed the purchase, which was five days before the burglary at Waterside Hall."

"So Guy Sinclair's clean, and Conor McBride's story checks out."

"What about Patrick Walsh?"

"Sergeant Byrne went to Waterside this morning, and the head gardener confirmed that Mr. Walsh took plants from their nurseries to Roscommon most Monday mornings. We double-checked this with the garden centre. However, when the sergeant went to the taxi office to question the owner, it was closed."

"Closed?"

"Are you ready for this? Tom Wild has done a bunk. Scarpered, disappeared. One of the drivers, Ben Murray, said Wild sent all the night shift drivers home at ten o'clock last night and told them he was closing down. Between then and when the day receptionist arrived at six this morning, the office was stripped clean."

Ryan's heart started to beat faster. "Stripped? How?"

"Phone ripped out, radio and computer removed, everything gone except the desk, a couple of chairs, and a map of Ireland on the wall."

He nodded slowly. "I should have guessed."

"Why?"

"Because I followed Tom Wild to Roscommon last night."

Briefly, he told Enya about his futile cross-country chase as well as the reasons he'd started to suspect Tom.

"But you lost him."

He grimaced. "Believe me, no one is more frustrated than I am about that, but I wasn't psychic enough to know I needed to fill up ready for a hundred and fifty kilometre drive in the middle of the night."

"Any ideas about why Wild decided to shut up shop last night?"

"News travels fast around a small town like Clifden. One of the drivers might have seen two police cars with their flashing lights heading down the road to Mist Na Mara, so Wild may have panicked. My guess, however, for what it's worth, is that he intended to close down anyway, because he couldn't use the cottage any longer, especially now the renovation is almost finished."

Enya nodded slowly. "You could be right but, without hard evidence of any stolen goods in the cottage, or of who removed that big haul sometime on Sunday, there's not a damn thing we can do. Tom Wild has now become the chief suspect, but he isn't on our database, so that's probably not his real name."

"What about Mick Leary? My gut feeling still tells me he's involved somehow."

"The Belfast police checked and confirmed he was on the seven-thirty sailing out of Belfast to Stranraer on Sunday morning, so obviously he couldn't move anything out of the cottage."

"Whereas Tom Wild was in this area and could have done it." He heaved a sigh. "What now?"

Enya shrugged. "I'll put out a description of Wild and his car number, but I don't hold out much hope of finding him. All we can do now is wait for them to set up another route from somewhere in Connemara to—" She held up her hands. "Who knows? We're back to square one."

"And I assume I'm off the case now."

"I can't send you to any other taxi firm, can I?"

"That's true. I suppose it's useless to say I'm sorry, but I am. I really thought we could nail this one down."

"So did I, but we'll keep watching Mick Leary, because I agree with you that he could hold the key to all this. Meantime, you need to return to Dublin and see what assignment the BCI will entrust to you now."

* * * * *

Later that afternoon, Ryan loaded his car with two bags of clothes, another bag with his bed linen and towels, and his laptop and printer. He took a box of food down to Billy in the hardware shop on the ground floor.

"Use what you want from this," he said, "or throw it away. And here's an extra month's rent in lieu of notice."

Billy's eyes widened as he took the brown envelope. "You leaving, Ryan?"

"Aye, Tom Wild's taxi business closed this morning. Oh, and I've left the telly up there. It was only a cheap one, so your next tenant can use it."

"Well, thanks for that, but I'm sorry to see you go. You've been a good tenant, not like the last one. Had to chuck him out when all the neighbours complained about him playing his drums till two o'clock every morning an'—"

Ryan had heard all this before, and nodded. "Make sure your next tenant doesn't play the trumpet, Billy. Anyhow, I'll be away now."

He sat in his car for a few minutes, wondering whether to call Kara, but instinct told him she'd still be far too angry to want to talk to him. Maybe he should wait a few days, and then try.

Avoiding the centre of the town, he set off on the N59 through Connemara.

"
Slán agat
, Clifden," he muttered.

He didn't know when he would be back in the town, or if he'd ever see Kara again.

Charley's words came back to him:
You'll have to do something pretty amazing to earn her trust and respect again
, but he had no idea what he could do.

Chapter 24

"Have you heard anything from Ryan?" Guy asked, as he drove Kara through Connemara to catch the nine-fifteen bus from Galway to Dublin.

She stiffened and shook her head. "No, and I don't expect to."

Two weeks had passed since she discovered Ryan's deception. Two long weeks of continuing her normal life at Mist Na Mara, while, deep inside, she alternated between anger and self-reproach. So many conflicting thoughts conducted a running battle in her mind. Sometimes her fists clenched and all her nerves tightened as she relived the shock when she first realised he'd lied to her. Other times, she berated herself for being so naïve and trusting, instead of asking him more about himself and forcing him to tell the truth.

Guy glanced at her. "Kara, I know you're hurt because he didn't confide in you, but he
was
working undercover."

"Believe me, I've thought about everything over and over again. Maybe I should have guessed, because he never told me much about his life, but there were times when I'm sure he nearly slipped up."

"Perhaps he wanted to tell you, but couldn't."

"Which means he didn't trust me."

"Or was it because undercover work involves adopting another
persona
, and living the pretence all the time?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Just as I'll never know whether his suspicions about the cottage were the only reason he started to date me."

"But he gave you a lot of help with the search for your mother's birth, didn't he?"

"A means to an end? To earn my gratitude so I'd tell him about the cottage?"

Guy raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you being rather hard on him? It sounds like he was very supportive."

"Okay, I admit that, especially when he went out of his way to take me to see places and meet people, and he asked his friend to find out—oh!"

"What?"

"His friend, Declan. I assumed he was interested in genealogy, but he was probably a police researcher. They have access to far more records than the general public."

"It seems the friend was the means to
your
end," Guy said with a small grin.

"When you put it like that, I guess he was."

"So Ryan being a cop worked to your advantage, didn't it?"

"Maybe, but even so, relationships can't work without trust, can they? Anyway, I don't think he's in Clifden now. Liz said the taxi office had closed. Not that he was ever a genuine taxi-driver, of course." Her hands locked into fists as her indignation surfaced again. "I can't believe I made the same mistake twice."

"Twice?"

"Yeah, before I came here, I dated a cop in New York for six months, until I discovered he'd lied to me. Ironic, isn't it?"

"I'm so sorry, Kara."

"I'll survive, I guess. Besides, I have more important things to think about at the moment, such as how I'm going to tell Margaret and Jon their daughter doesn't want to know them."

Guy pursed his lips. "I wonder why your mom won't listen to you?"

"I don't know. I tried calling her earlier this week when they came home from vacation, but she became angry with me, and then I called my dad, but he was more concerned about me upsetting Mom, so I didn't even manage to tell him the full story."

"Do Margaret and Jon know why you're going to visit with them today?"

"No, I couldn't tell them over the phone. I need to see them again, but it's going to be so hard."

Guy dropped her off at the bus station in Galway, and Kara had time for a quick coffee before boarding the Dublin bus. She gazed out of the window as the gentle Irish countryside flashed past, and tried not to think about the last time she'd travelled along this road. A few weeks ago, she'd been eagerly anticipating her weekend with Ryan. Now she winced. Even though they'd shared a bed and made love, he hadn't shared the truth with her. Although the heat of her anger had lessened, the sharp edge of resentment and hurt persisted.

I still wish he was with me today.

The thought sneaked, unbidden, into her mind, and she couldn't ignore it, however much she tried. Telling Margaret and Jon about her mother was going to be heart-breaking, and Ryan's strong hand gripping hers would have helped.

As the bus approached Dublin's suburbs, she forced herself to shake away the thoughts of Ryan. Now she needed to concentrate on how to phrase her words to soften the blow for her new-found relatives.

Guy had told her where the bus would stop in the centre of Dublin, and she recognised the street. It was one Ryan had driven along, past Ha'penny Bridge, with the River Liffey on her right.

Dammit, why was everything reminding her of him?

Several taxis slowed up as they passed the bus stop, and it took her less than a minute to hail one and give the driver Margaret's address.

"Are ye American?" he asked as she settled in the back seat.

"I think my accent gives me away, doesn't it?"

Another reminder, this time of her first meeting with Ryan, when he commented on her American accent, but this driver was in his fifties, with thinning hair.

"Come here to find yer ancestors, have you?"

She smiled. "Actually, I've found them."

"Is that right? I got some relatives in America, their grandfather was my granddad's brother, but they've never been over here. Anyhow, here ye have O'Connell Street, and the statue of the great man himself, and soon we'll pass the GPO. That was the headquarters of the leaders of the Easter Rising in 1916, and if ye look to yer right, ye'll see…"

He proceeded to give her a commentary about various buildings and statues they passed, until they reached the suburbs, when he rattled off several jokes. She tried to relax, but her nerves tightened when he turned into the small avenue and pulled up outside the house.

She paid the fare, and the front door opened before she was halfway up the path.

"Oh, it's grand to see you again, my dear."

Margaret enfolded her in a tight hug, which was followed by Jon's hug.

"Is Ryan not with you?" Jon asked.

"Erm – no. That is – well, we broke up."

"Oh, that's a pity," Margaret said. "He seemed such a nice young man. Did someone else bring you?"

"No, I came by bus, and then caught a cab."

"You should have asked me to pick you up," Jon said. "But come in, come in. We have some folk here who are longing to meet you."

In the lounge, she was introduced to Patrick, a younger version of his father, and his wife Cathy, and then to Sue, whose features and colouring reminded her of her mom. The only difference was that Sue's hair was longer and she wore glasses.

"You're definitely a Kelly, Kara," Sue said. "You look like the photos of Mam when she was in her twenties."

Kara smiled. "Someone who used to work with your mom at the hospital in the sixties said the same."

"And is your mother dying to meet her Irish siblings?" Sue asked. "We can't wait to see her. She's the sister Mam told us about, but we never thought we'd ever find her. The nuns shut the door in your face, didn't they, Pat?"

Patrick nodded. "Aye, they still try to keep their secrets, but at least our government is accepting the errors of the past, and apologising for them, too."

Kara drew in a deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you about my mom."

A quick glance at Margaret showed tension on her grandmother's face, and she wished she could spare her the bitter disappointment, but now she had to continue.

"I'm not sure how to say this—" She gazed around at the sea of expectant faces, and swallowed.

"She doesn't want to know us?" Jon asked gently.

Kara saw his arm go around his wife, and swallowed again. "I've tried to tell her about you, but, oh, I'm so sorry, but she won't listen. I guess she has too much inbuilt resentment. I'm sorry."

There was a long silence. Margaret moistened her lips, Jon tightened his arm around her and blinked several times, and Patrick and Sue exchanged anxious glances.

Eventually Margaret stepped forward. "I understand how Aileen – Linda – must feel. She's spent most of her life thinking her mother abandoned her. But at least you've told us that our daughter has enjoyed a happy and successful life in America, and now we have the joy of knowing you, Aileen's daughter, our dear granddaughter. This is so much more than hundreds of mothers who were at Ballykane have ever had."

The tears welled in Kara's eyes as Margaret hugged her.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"You mustn't blame yourself," Margaret said. "Let's concentrate on the positives and not the negatives, shall we? You've found us, your Irish family, and we're so thrilled about that. And now, I think, it's time for some lunch."

Kara guessed Margaret's tears would probably come later, but for the moment, she was the strong one in the family, and the others followed her lead. During the meal, nothing more was said about her mother. Instead, Patrick and Sue asked about her life, and told her about theirs. Patrick was a science teacher at a school in Bray, and Sue, after studying history at Trinity College, worked as an archivist at Glasnevin cemetery.

"I went there last time I was in Dublin," Kara said. "It's a fascinating place, with so much history."

Sue smiled. "Indeed it is, and, of course, some of your ancestors are there."

"Really? Oh, that's amazing."

"My grandparents were buried at Glasnevin, Kara," Jon said. "And their parents, too. They were born and bred Dubliners, and the only reason I was brought up in Cork was because my father worked at the Ford Motor Company there. Now I know your Henry Ford is American, but did you realise his family came originally from County Cork? They emigrated to America at the time of the famine."

"And Mam has a story about her family and the famine," Sue said. "Tell Kara about them, Mam."

Margaret smiled. "Oh, now, there are plenty of tales to tell, but the famine story concerns my great grandparents, or was it great, great grandparents? Anyhow, no matter. William and Annie, they lived on Achill Island, off the coast of County Mayo, at the time of the famine, and they left their village and walked to Westport. They had six children, you see, and they were all starving, but there wasn't enough food in Westport, either, and then William found out the Poor Law officers were at Doolough hunting lodge, and—"

Kara's eyes widened. "Doolough? I've been there, and seen the memorial. It was eerie. You could almost feel the tragedy surrounding you."

"Ah, so you've heard the story? Well, it's interesting it affected you like that, because William was one of those who never came back. He perished somewhere in the valley on that bitter March day."

Goosebumps broke out on Kara's arms, and she rubbed the back of her neck, remembering how she shuddered when they stopped at the memorial. "Someone suggested one of my ancestors may have died during the trek, but of course I had no way of knowing. Oh my, this feels so strange now."

"Some places can have that effect," Jon said. "Possibly coincidence, or perhaps some kind of ancestral memory. Who knows?"

"What happened to Annie and her children?" she asked.

"My grandfather told me they all died except one, his grandmother, Janey." Margaret chuckled. "He said she used to scare the
bejaysus
out of him when he was a child, telling him stories about eating soggy rotten potatoes, and how she even ate grass and leaves because she was so hungry, and she said he would have to eat those, too, if he didn't finish all his potatoes at supper time."

Kara smiled. "She must have been quite a character."

"And would you believe he would never eat potatoes when he was older? He said they tasted like grass, although I'm not sure why he said that, unless he tried eating grass one time like Janey did. Anyhow, if you've all had enough lunch, let's go back into the lounge, and we can tell Kara more about her Irish family."

The afternoon passed quickly, although Kara struggled at times to keep track of all the different people the family told her about. They ranged from Uncle Frank who took part in the Easter Rising, to Aunt Maggie whose husband ran up huge gambling debts, and who had to escape through the fields at the back of the house with her young baby while the debt collector banged at the front door.

Her thoughts jumped from
I wish Mom could hear all this about her family
to
Ryan would love these stories.
She wasn't sure which thought created the bigger ache inside her.

At four-thirty, she glanced at her watch. "I need to call for a cab to take me back downtown. My bus leaves at five-fifteen."

"No need for that, Kara," Patrick said. "I'll drive you."

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

"And when you come to Dublin again, we'll take you to Glasnevin," Sue said and smiled at her mother. "Actually—"

Margaret nodded. "Sue's remembered that Jon and I always go to Glasnevin sometime this coming week to take flowers to his grandparents' grave. Monday is the anniversary of his grandmother's death, and Wednesday was his grandfather's birthday."