Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (25 page)

“Was I quick enough for you?” he asked as he pulled up her knickers and jeans.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, breathing heavily. Her eyes were glassy, and her face was deliciously flushed.

“Excellent.” He kissed her hard. “In that case, I’ll be on my merry way.”

Fiona sagged against the stockroom wall, basking in the heady afterglow.

Holy feck
. What an orgasm!

“Fiona? Are you here?”

She yanked her clothes into place and checked her appearance in the small mirror. Her cheeks were pink-tinged with a healthy glow. Her hair was wild. She pulled a brush through it before venturing back into the shop.

Olivia stood before the counter dressed in a chic black-and-white suit. She’d removed her coat and was hanging it on the coat stand.

“Hmm,” she said when she caught sight of Fiona. “You look delightfully flushed. What were you reading in the stockroom?”

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t be able to get away until the afternoon?”

“So I did, but Aidan’s buggered off with a golfing crony, and I decided to switch on the voice mail and take a break.” Olivia sat down at the James Joyce table and perused the menu. “I’d love to know what’s tickled you pink.”

“You can wonder all you like,” Fiona said. “You’re getting nothing out of me.”

“Such a bore,” her friend said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m dying for a decent gossip.”

“You might be in luck.” She made two cappuccinos and set them on the table. “As long as I’ve no customers, I can talk.”

“Oh, yes,” Olivia said eagerly. “You said you had something to tell me.”

“Yes, but you have to promise to keep it quiet.”

“Fee,” Olivia said in mock sincerity, “I am the soul of discretion.”

“When you like the person confiding in you,” Fiona said with a laugh.

“You know you qualify.” Her friend dumped two sugars into her coffee and stirred. “So spill.”

“Were you aware that Aidan was my grandmother’s solicitor?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said, licking foam from her lips, “but that was way before my time at the practice.”

“Do you know if he kept her file?”

“I’d imagine so. It would be in the archives by now.” Olivia narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at? Do you think there was something amiss with how the estate was handled?”

“I don’t know. I recently learned my grandmother always told her children they’d each receive a third of her estate after her death.”

“But—”

“When she died, her will left everything to Bernard.”

“Families can be odd, Fee. Who knows what she was thinking when she cut your dad and Bridie out of her will.”

“Until Bridie mentioned it to me, I’d never questioned the division of the estate. To be honest, I had no idea my grandparents had owned so much land. I assumed Bernard had bought most of his property by himself.”

Olivia stirred her cappuccino. “You’re not mercenary, Fee, and I’m not stupid. I’m guessing you have reason to believe there was something other than a vindictive old lady behind the will.”

“That’s just it. My grandmother was the gentlest soul you could meet. There wasn’t a vindictive bone in her body.”

“So what’s made you suddenly question the validity of her will? What exactly did Bridie say?”

“She said my grandmother’s will was written a couple of months before she died. The witnesses were my aunt Deirdre and a nursing home carergiver named Ann Dunne.”

“Deirdre?” Olivia blinked in surprise. “Didn’t your grandmother loathe her?”

“Exactly. That’s what’s so odd about it. Plus, I did a little sleuthing at the nursing home and found a porter who remembered Ann Dunne, the second witness. He implied Ann was known for coaxing monetary gifts out of patients, and she left the job after having supposedly won the lottery.”

Olivia shrugged. “It happens. Just not to me, alas.”

“All the same,” Fiona said, “it’s odd.”

“How can I help you?”

“Would you be able to check if Bridie’s description of the will is accurate? The division of the property and the names of the witnesses?” Fiona wrinkled her nose and lowered her voice. “I know I could ask Aidan directly, but he’s still Bernard’s solicitor.”

The bell jangled, and two women came into the shop. Fiona stood hastily and cleared away their coffee cups.

When Olivia had put on her coat, she approached the counter. “I’ll have a look and let you know what I find.”

ON THE MORNING of the Christmas Bazaar, the town hall was a hive of activity.

The hall was located in a building dating from the middle of the nineteenth century. Fiona remembered the hall vaguely, but it had been many years since she’d been inside. The floors were a rich polished wood. High ceilings made the room appear larger than it was. An enormous Christmas tree stood in one corner of the hall, and the walls were festooned with decorations. Speakers played Christmas carols in the background although the songs were barely audible above the hum created by the hall’s occupants. If it hadn’t been for the prospect of spending the day with Muireann, Fiona would have looked forward to the bazaar.

Why had she agreed to go along with her cousin’s plan? A weird sense of owing her a favor? But what kind of favor was this? Another chance for Muireann to humiliate her?
Just a few hours
, she reminded herself,
and I’m off for a drink with Olivia
.

Two teenage boys placed a large table next to her pile of book boxes. “Thanks, lads,” she said with a smile. “Which one of you is which? I never could remember.”

“I’m Kyle,” said the slightly taller one.

“And I’m Ronan,” said the other.

Both boys sported shocks of red hair and cheeky grins. Olivia’s little brothers weren’t so little anymore. At some point during Fiona’s eight-year absence from Ballybeg, they’d grown from freckled urchins into gangly young men—something her own little brother never had the chance to do. She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. Grief hit her at unexpected moments. Not as often as it had a few years ago, but when the emotion hit, it had the power to wrench her out of the present.

“Kyle! Ronan!” Nuala O’Mahony, the official organizer of the bazaar, bore down upon them, her lips pursed into a line of disapproval. “What’s taking you so long? Hurry up and help Ruairí MacCarthy carry drink crates in from the van.”

“We’re on it.” The boys winked at Fiona and scurried off to do Nuala’s bidding.

“Honestly,” Nuala said, a frown marring her smooth forehead. “Those two are as foolish as their father.”

“That’s rather harsh.” Fiona had never warmed to Nuala, although she admired her dedication to honoring her late son’s memory by raising funds for cystic fibrosis research. Despite a few extra lines etched around her eyes, she was exactly as Fiona remembered. She favored floral-print dresses and brown leather brogues and held her long, dark hair in place with a hair band. The girlish appearance was deceptive, hiding the personality of a termagant.

She was rescued from further conversation with Nuala by the timely arrival of Gavin and Jonas with the last of her book boxes. “Thanks a million, lads. I appreciate it.” She smiled at Jonas. “I didn’t know you were down for the weekend.”

He grinned. “I daren’t miss the bazaar. Mum would kill me.”

“Jonas,” snapped his mother. “Why aren’t you helping Susanne set up the drinks stand? Go on, boy. What are you waiting for? There’s work to be done around here, and everyone needs to pitch in.”

If Jonas was less than thrilled to be commandeered in such a manner, he hid it well. He aimed a mock salute at his mother and headed across the room to a blond woman who was unloading crates of beer and fizzy drinks.

Nuala soon found someone else to criticize. Before another moment could pass, she was advancing toward a group of hapless schoolchildren who were attempting to hang colorful Christmas decorations on the walls. “No! Not there. Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do I have to do everything myself?”

Gavin observed Nuala’s retreating back in amusement. “Don’t worry,” he whispered as he deposited more boxes on the ground behind Fiona’s designated tables. “Her bark is worse than her bite. She wants everything to be absolutely perfect, and of course it rarely turns out that way. She always gets stressed about the bazaar.”

“She’d better not snap at me.”

“I doubt she’d dare.” His voice was a deep burr. She caught a whiff of his aftershave as he set another book box on the floor. Adrenaline kicked into action, as did her hormones. X-rated memories of their encounter in the stockroom flooded her mind and brought a blush to her cheeks.

He glanced around the hall. “Muireann not here yet?”

“No,” Fiona said crisply. “She’s late.”

She’d sensed Gavin’s tension the moment he’d met her at the Book Mark that morning to collect the boxes. It rolled off him in waves. They’d gone through the motions of pretending the easy camaraderie and flirtation of the past couple of months was unaffected, that today held no more significance for either of them than it did for anyone else present at the bazaar.

But they both knew it for a lie.

Muireann would be there—the woman Gavin could’ve, would’ve, should’ve married. In spite of her current gaunt state, Muireann was stunning. Fiona scrubbed up nicely enough, but she paled into insignificance next to her beautiful cousin.

And that was what this was about, wasn’t it? It had come to Fiona last night in a moment of clarity. Muireann intended to pose them, put them on display beside one another and show Gavin what he’d lost through his colossal cock-up.

He sneezed a few times in succession. No wonder his voice sounded even deeper than it usually did.

“Do you have a cold?”

He took a clean tissue from his pocket. “I guess so. It came on me last night. I was hoping it wouldn’t develop into anything beyond a sinus headache, but I was obviously bang out of luck.”

“Perhaps a glass of mulled wine will help.”

Gavin laughed. “Yeah, especially after taking a painkiller. I’d be out for the count for the rest of the day.”

“The Major is larruping into the rum punch,” Fiona said, nodding toward Olivia’s grandfather. “So you’d be in exalted company.”

“I can just imagine what Nuala would have to say about that. Besides, I’m meant to be serving buns and cakes to the good folk of Ballybeg. It wouldn’t do to go dropping a cream cake on the floor, would it?”

“You’d probably have a few crying children to deal with if you did.”

He grimaced and blew his nose. “I’d better head over and help Nora Fitzgerald with the cakes. If I dawdle, she’ll go nuts. She’s already pissed with me over the wedding suit.”

“Speaking of suits… what have you done with Wiggly Poo?”

“Did Bridie not tell you?” He cocked an eyebrow. “She offered to look after him.”

Fiona laughed. “Poor Bridie’s in for a fun morning.”

“Gavin,” screeched Nora Fitzgerald from across the hall. “Are you helping me or not?”

He grinned at Fiona through watery eyes. “I’d better get going.”

“Thanks again for hauling boxes.”

She watched him stride across the hall. So this was it, then. He’d see Muireann and come to his senses. He’d decide to win her back. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Did she really believe he was so fickle? And if she did, what did it say about her self-esteem?

Her mind racing, she unloaded the various boxes of used books, old annuals, and magazines. They took up two of the large tables provided by the town hall, and she had surplus supplies in reserve for later.

She’d finished arranging her wares to her satisfaction when Muireann made her entrance. Her cousin swanned into the hall, stopping to air-kiss everyone she passed.

“Hello, Fiona,” she said when she reached the bookstall. “You’re looking festive.” She smirked at Fiona’s red pullover.

“It’s warm,” Fiona said tersely, “and the town hall is not.”

Muireann’s peach cashmere pullover and light gray slacks looked perfect on her slender frame.

“You’re late.” She didn’t bother to disguise her impatience.

“Only by a few minutes.” Her cousin rooted through a box of old magazines.

“Here’s a calculator, in case you need it. The cash box is here. It should never be left unattended. If one of us needs to leave the stall, the other has to be here. Understood?”

Muireann nodded absently, flicking through a magazine.

Fabulous.
She must have had a moment of insanity when she agreed to work with her cousin. “Look, either get to work or leave. I’m not shouldering your share of the work in addition to mine.”

Muireann arched an overly plucked eyebrow. “From what I can see, you’ve set everything up. Why can’t I read a magazine until the bazaar starts?”

Fiona bit back a retort. She itched to slap the smug expression off her pretty face. The only thing keeping the impulse in check was the knowledge it was exactly what her cousin wanted her to do. She gritted her teeth and willed patience.

When the bazaar opened at two o’clock, there was a crowd of people waiting at the doors. Over the next couple of hours, they were run off their feet, which kept Fiona from dwelling on her guilt and resentment toward her cousin and her deepening feelings for Gavin.