Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 (23 page)

Phoebe dragged her attention away from her phone. “Is that the entertainer? Helen said she’d hired a local singer of note.”

Clio struggled to keep a straight face. “I haven’t seen his act, but I’ve heard it’s…original.”

Phoebe beamed. “Excellent. Helen loves crooners like Tom Jones and Daniel O’Donnell. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.” The PA’s phone beeped a reminder. “I need to check on the drinks delivery. See you both later.”

After Phoebe left, Olivia met Clio’s eye and they both dissolved into a fit of undignified giggles.

“A local singer of note?” Olivia asked between heaves. “Does your mother know what sort of entertainment John-Joe provides?”

“I doubt it. Seán Mackey booked him for her.”

“Did he now?” A curious expression settled over the woman’s pretty features. “I get the impression that Seán isn’t your mother’s greatest fan.”

“I get that vibe too. She’s very bossy with him.” Her eyes crinkled with mirth. “Mind you, she’s bossy with everyone.”

“And…” Olivia paused for dramatic effect. “I also get the impression that Seán is
very
fond of you.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The butterflies in Clio’s stomach performed a little dance, erotic memories of last night flashing through her mind. True to his word, Seán had kept her busy—and satisfied—all night long. Leaving in the early hours of the morning had been a wrench.

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Olivia’s mouth curved into an amused smile. “Every time you look at Seán Mackey, or he looks at you, I think I’m in imminent danger of witnessing spontaneous combustion.”

Clio felt a fiery flush crawl up her cheeks. “Nothing as dramatic as that.” And yet it was—at least between the sheets. Or on the sofa.
Or in the shower…

“Oh, I don’t think so. I think I’ve hit the target. I’m right, aren’t I?” The edges of Olivia’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “There
is
something going on between you and the sexy Sergeant Mackey.”

She laughed out loud. “You think he’s sexy? Does Jonas know?”

“The women of Ballybeg—and some of the men, I dare say—have been mooning over Seán since he moved here last February. He could be on the screen with those features. You agree, don’t you? Go on. Admit it.”

“You’re very nosy.”

“Only about people I like. Besides, Bridie thinks you and Seán would be perfect together, and she’s had some success matchmaking couples in the past.”

“I think Bridie’s matchmaking skills would be stretched finding the perfect man for me.” A sexual partner was one thing. A permanent companion wasn’t for her, at least not until she’d ironed out the wrinkles in her life. “Hey, can I ask you something?” Clio plunged on with the question she’d been angling to ask since Olivia had arrived earlier. The same questions she’d intended to ask Seán last night but hadn’t felt comfortable doing so once he’d confided in her about his parents’ murder-suicide. “I heard a rumor that the former owner of Clonmore House was involved in some dodgy dealings and that one of his partners ended up dead. What was that all about?”

Under her perfectly applied makeup, Olivia paled. She blinked several times before answering, and when she did so, her voice held a wobble of emotion that was far from the poised and confident woman Clio had grown to know over the past couple of weeks. “The man who died was my former husband.”

Clio’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“No, it’s fine.” The other woman’s chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, then she seemed to pull herself together. “You’d have heard about it eventually. Might as well be from me. As it happens, Aidan’s murder had nothing to do the dodgy dealings he and Bernard Byrne—Clonmore House’s former owner—were mixed up in.” With a wobbly smile, Olivia glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back to the kitchen and check on the food. Hope you enjoy the party.”

Clio doubted that “enjoy” was the accurate adjective under the circumstances, but she managed a nod. “My mother said she’d invited Jonas.”

Olivia’s serious expression gave way to a proper grin. “I think she wants to persuade him to be interviewed on her show before it goes off the air.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Helen,” she said in a tone dry as sandpaper. “She never lets an opportunity pass her by. Hey, if you and your staff need any help, just let me know.”

After Olivia went downstairs to the kitchen, Clio reflected on what she’d learned. She could scratch the dead partner off her list of subjects to discover more about. Next move was to approach Bridie and glean what she could about this Bernard Byrne dude. All she knew about him so far was that he was rich, a suspected crook, and Bridie’s brother. Perhaps she could persuade the older woman to divulge more details. She could only hope that this angle of inquiry would shed some light on whatever it was that attracted Ray to Ballybeg.

In the ballroom, the party was in full swing. Helen was in her element. The moment she spotted Clio, she beckoned her over, eyes sweeping over her outfit. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

Clio fingered the beads of her gown. Despite her reservations in the boutique, she had to admit the dress suited her. “Thanks for buying it for me.”

“Well, you couldn’t wear your usual jeans and T-shirt to an event like this.” Helen waved an imperious hand. “Now come and mingle with the guests. There are a couple of eligible single men present.”

Clearly, their brief moment of mother-daughter bonding was at an end. Clio suppressed a smile. “I’m not exactly a mingler, and I’m definitely
not
in the market for a husband.”

“Nonsense. You just haven’t met the right man.” Her mother slipped an arm through hers and dragged her across the room. “Judge and Mrs. Carroll have a son your age. Pity he couldn’t make it down to the party.”

The notion of being forced to talk to the Carrolls again had Clio looking wildly around the room in search of salvation. Her mother propelled them toward the table where the judge and his wife were seated. Both husband and wife wore matching expressions of haughty boredom.

“How did you enjoy your afternoon golfing at the Clonmore Castle Hotel?” Helen asked. With a snap of her fingers, she indicated to a hovering waitress that she should refill the judge’s glass.

“Splendid. Simply marvelous. Wonderful golf course, don’t you know,” the judge replied in his ponderous monotone. If a person could speak in beige, this was what he or she would sound like.

Helen’s tinkling laugh grated on Clio’s nerves. “Why don’t I introduce you to Major Johnson? The Earl of Clonmore, actually, although he insists on not using his title. He’s a keen golfer and a wonderful bridge player. I think you’d have a lot in common.”

“Well, I—” Judge Carroll demurred, but Helen hauled him to his feet and dragged him off toward the table where Bridie and her husband were sitting with Jonas.

After flashing an apologetic smile at Mrs. Carroll, who seemed utterly disinterested in pursuing a conversation with Helen Havelin’s irrelevant daughter, Clio dashed off in pursuit of her mother. This was her opportunity to chat with Bridie and do her best to ferret out information that might give her a clue as to what Ray was really after.

Her path through the crowd was intercepted by a morose-looking Tammy. The girl was pale and drawn, an impression not alleviated by the long black velvet dress she was wearing.

Clio put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Are you okay, pet? You’re chalky white.”

“Period cramps. Can I go up to my room and read? I swear the sight of Gran air kissing people is making them worse.”

Clio laughed. “Go on. I’ll cover for you. Besides, you’ve put in an appearance. I think that was all she wanted you to do.”

“Thanks, Mum. I’ll nick a couple of painkillers from your bathroom cupboard and head to bed.”

After Tammy melted into the crowd, Clio continued toward Bridie’s table. Raised voices on the other side of the room made her spin round to see who was causing the commotion.

Over by one of the indoor trees Helen’s gardener had bought to decorate the ballroom, an older man she didn’t recognize was in a police uniform, jabbing a chubby finger into Seán Mackey’s chest. Seán, in turn, was holding what looked like a hip flask and sniffing its contents suspiciously.

Clio strained to hear what the old man was yelling about, moving closer to the scene of the argument.

“That’s enough, O’Shaughnessy. If you’ve been imbibing this concoction”—he raised the hip flask—“I’m not surprised you’re off your head. That said, Helen is our hostess. Show some respect while you’re under her roof.”

“Show respect?” The older man spat on the floor. “Fuck that. She’s nothing but a Tinker-loving whore.”

Silence fell over the assembled company. At Bridie’s table, Helen’s perfectly made-up cheeks paled under the rouge.

Seán’s expression turned grim, his stance defensive.

Without pausing to consider the wisdom of her actions, Clio marched over to the soon-to-be ex-guest. “Shut your gob before I chuck you out on your arse. No one speaks about my mother like that. Who the hell do you think you are?”

The old man’s gray-stubbled jaw jutted. “We don’t like Tinkers around these parts, and we like Tinker-lovers even less. I’m just saying what other people are thinking. I believe in calling a spade a spade. Colm MacCarthy has the right idea. Drive the feckers out of town.”

“I have no time for obnoxious bigots.” She placed her hands on her hips and stared him down until his defiant gaze dropped to the floor. “Given your disdain for the Travelling community, I’m surprised you accepted my mother’s invitation. Or did the promise of free booze make you temporarily forget your prejudice?”

“Cliona, that’s enough.” Her mother stepped forward. She held her champagne glass so tightly that Clio was sure the stem would snap. “Sergeant Mackey, would you escort Inspector O’Shaughnessy from the premises? Please make sure he doesn’t drink and drive.”

“With pleasure, Ms. Havelin.” Seán took hold of O’Shaughnessy’s arm. “And I intend to learn more about Colm MacCarthy and the Travellers while we’re waiting for his ride. Not to mention”—he took a sniff of the older man’s hip flask and recoiled—“where you got this vile concoction.”

The retired inspector wrenched his arm free, breathing heavily. “I don’t need a police escort, for fuck’s sake. I can find my own way to the door.”

“You’re not driving after drinking
poitín
and goodness knows whatever else.” Punching a number into his phone, Seán turned to Helen. “I’ll call him a taxi and make sure he leaves.”

After Seán followed the old man out of the ballroom, Helen smoothed down her dress. “Let’s put that unpleasantness behind us and enjoy the evening. Waiters, can you make sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped up? We’ll be going down to the pool area soon for the performance.”

A few minutes later, Seán returned. “The man’s a prick,” he said, catching Clio’s strained expression. “Ignore him. Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“You know my biological father came from a Traveller family, right?”

Seán started visibly. “No. I had no idea.”

“It’s not relevant to my life. He came from a Traveller community but left the life to take up acting in Dublin. That’s how my mother met him. She did some stage acting before her television career took off. Anyway, they married and had me, but my father died when I was still a baby. I don’t remember him, and I’ve never had anything to do with his family. Larry Havelin was the only father figure I had. All the same, it pisses me off when idiots make racist comments about Travellers. As long as they’re not harming anyone, let them live their lives.”

“I agree.” Seán rubbed his jaw, where the barest hint of stubble shadowed his skin. She longed to reach out and stroke it, yearned to rub her nose against his bristly cheek and inhale his scent.

His eyes met hers, held her gaze. The intensity of his look seemed to strip her of all inhibitions. The ballroom and its occupants receded into nothingness. All that remained was him, her, and their red-hot connection.

The gong sounded, sending Clio’s heart straight to her throat.

“Jaysus,” Seán said. “Helen has a gong?”

“An affectation left by the previous owners, apparently.”

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention?” Phoebe, Helen’s hapless assistant, squeaked into a microphone, looking as though she wanted the marble floor to split open and swallow her whole. “Please proceed to the pool area downstairs, where a well-known local singer will perform for us.”

“Ugh,” Seán groaned. “Why did I let my inner imp take over? I never should have suggested my uncle to your mother. His act is going to be a flaming disaster.”

“It’s a cross between the Chippendales and an Elvis tribute, right?”

“That’s right.” He sighed. “Thankfully, he stops at his swim trunks. Unless he gets drunk. In which case I’ll have to arrest him for indecent exposure.”

“My mother is expecting some sort of Tom Jones–style act. This sounds a lot more interesting.”

Seán laughed. “Oh, it’s interesting, all right. Helen will be livid.”

“I almost hope he does go for the full monty,” Clio murmured, linking her arm through his and following him down the stairs to the pool. “It would certainly liven this shindig up. With the notable exception of Bridie and a couple of others, I’ve rarely seen so many pompous gits in one place.”

“Olivia’s cooking is a redeeming feature,” he said, snatching a savory pastry from a tray before they exited the ballroom.

“The food is delicious. I’m hoping I can persuade my mother to ask Olivia to cook a takeaway meal for Tammy’s birthday.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “She’s threatening to cook dinner herself.”

He pulled a face. “I take it your mother’s cooking isn’t an improvement on her sandwiches?”

“Gosh, no. Unless she’s planning on casting a magic spell, it’s bound to be disgusting.”

“Come on, everyone,” Helen trilled. “Time to go downstairs and enjoy the show.”

Seán and Clio exchanged glances and dissolved into laughter.

TAKING CLIO’S ARM, Seán escorted her down to the swimming pool area. The beaded tassels on her dress swished as they descended the stairs. The outfit looked even better on her tonight than it had in the boutique. The green material clung to her figure, accentuating her delicate curves. A long necklace wound about her throat, and dangled down to brush against the hint of exposed cleavage. Seán’s mouth grew dry and his trousers tight. Memories of last night loomed large. He’d far rather drag her upstairs to find a bed than watch his uncle disgrace himself.