Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (32 page)

Fiona glared at her. “Did it mean nothing to you that you were cheating my aunt and me out of our rightful inheritance?”

“I only learned of that part later. I knew Bernard was up to something with his mother’s will, but I didn’t know what.”

Oh, no,
thought Fiona. She wasn’t wiggling out of it
that
easily. “What about the other elderly patients you’re alleged to have cheated?”

“Rubbish.” Ann’s face darkened. “I was a good nurse, and I get on well with old folk. Some of the other staff at the places I worked resented my easy rapport with the patients. Yes, a few of them gave me small gifts, but none were worth much. The most I ever received was a small bequest in a patient’s will that covered the cost of a summer holiday for me and my son.”

“And yet you weren’t averse to committing a crime in return for a large payment?”

Ann’s mouth hardened. “As I said, I needed the money.”

“For what? To buy this fancy house? I wouldn’t define a house like this as a need.”

“No. My son bought the house for me a couple of years ago. The money Bernard gave me is long gone. I used it to deal with a family crisis. I’m not proud of my part in robbing you and your aunt of what was rightfully yours, but I’d do it again if it meant achieving the same outcome.”

“And you’re not willing to divulge what you used the money for?”

Ann shook her head. “It’s private and not relevant to your situation.”

Fiona glowered at her. She couldn’t work out if the woman was deliberately trying to provoke her, or if she was on the level. Either way, she wasn’t leaving until she had a signed confession. “Where is this going, Ann? I’m assuming your family crisis is no longer an issue.”

The older woman blanched. “No, thank goodness.”

“In that case, would you be willing to go on the record?”

“Sign a police statement?” She shook her head. “I don’t mind telling you the truth in person, but I’m not prepared to do anything that could sully my son’s reputation.”

“A verbal confession is no good to me. I need leverage I can use against my uncle.”

“I understand that. Bernard’s threats don’t concern me anymore, but I have no intention of getting a police record.”

Fiona bit her lip in frustration. She hadn’t come this close to nailing her uncle only to retreat at the first hurdle. “Look, can’t we come to some arrangement? If you sign a sworn statement witnessed by your solicitor, I’ll promise not to press charges against you for your part in defrauding us of our inheritance.”

The older woman’s mouth quirked. “I’m to accept your word on the matter? No, if you want me to put anything in writing, I expect you to do the same.”

“Fair enough. When are we going to do this? I’m only in the area for a couple of days.”

Ann’s smile was wan. “To use the hackneyed phrase, there’s no time like the present. If you give me a lift, my solicitor’s practice is in Lisdoonvarna. Let me give her a call to see if she can squeeze us in today.”

Gavin had no problems finding the right bed and breakfast in Doolin, and even less trouble persuading the chatty landlady to give him Muireann’s room number and to look after Wiggly Poo for a few minutes. It was just as well he wasn’t one of the many serial killers or sexual deviants who populated Jonas’s murder mysteries.

Her room was upstairs along a narrow corridor. He paused in front of door number four and knocked. “Muireann?”

Rustled movement came from within, and then the door opened a crack. Her face was puffy from crying, and her hair hung lank around her thin shoulders. “Did Brona tell you where I was?”

The sight of her looking so wretched cut him to the quick. “Yeah. And your dad paid me a visit. I wanted to see how you were.”

Her laugh was hollow. “You mean you wanted to see how pregnant I am.”

“That, too.” He glanced around the hallway. “Can I come in for a few minutes?”

She shrugged but opened the door fully. As she stood aside, her dressing gown gaped at the neck revealing her bony clavicle.

“Jaysus, Muireann. You look awful. Do you need to see a doctor?”

His ex pulled her dressing gown closed. “King of the compliments, aren’t you? For your information, I’ve already seen a doctor. I have nothing more sinister than a combination of stress and morning sickness.”

“I can’t help you with the morning sickness, but if I can do anything to alleviate the stress, tell me.”

“Bar inventing a time machine and erasing your marriage to Fiona, there’s nothing you can do to help,” she said with a bitter laugh. “If you can find space to sit down, do. Let’s get this little chat over with.”

Her room was clean and cozy and absolutely crammed with furniture. Muireann’s clothes were strewn in a haphazard fashion across the floor. She hadn’t bothered to unpack her suitcase.

Gavin cleared toiletries off a chair. “What’s going on?” He watched her tired face and tried to read her emotions.

She sat on the edge of the bed and twirled a lank strand of hair around her index finger. “Let me sum it up for you, Gavin, and you can be on your way. You’re not the father.”

His shoulders sagged, and he exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You needn’t look
quite
so relieved,” she said dryly. “Besides, you must have known you couldn’t have gotten me pregnant. What did my father tell you to have you haring up to Clare?”

“Not much. He was too busy swinging his fists.”

This time, her laugh was genuine. “That sounds about right. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. He turfed me out before I had the chance to tell him you weren’t the father.”

“He said you stormed out.”

She shook her head. “Typical. And my mother’s reaction was equally characteristic. She sat stock-still with Mitzi and Bitzi on her lap and said absolutely nothing.”

His jaw tightened. “If I could retrospectively give them a mental slap, I would. They’re clueless.”

“I don’t know why I expected better from them. All they’re concerned about is the potential scandal.”

“In this day and age? It’ll be a two-day wonder, and then no one will give a damn.” He leaned forward in his seat. “If I’m not the father, may I ask who is?”

She fingered a cigarette, then tossed the pack into the wastepaper basket. “A man I met in Brisbane. It was just a fling.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s what I came up here to decide. All I know is that I’m keeping the baby. How I’ll support us and where we’ll live is an open question.”

“Is it helping?” he asked. “The time to think?”

She shrugged. “Ask me in a few days. It’s definitely easier being away from Ballybeg. There’s no one to hassle me here and no one to judge me.”

“Whatever happens, whatever you decide,” he said, “I’ll always be your friend. I want you to know that.”

“I’m not ready to be your friend yet, Gavin. I’ll get there, eventually, but not today.”

“Fair enough. You have my number if you want to talk.”

She gave a tight nod. “Despite being a total eejit, you’re a good man at heart. I wish things could have turned out differently. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I wrecked your stuff.”

“Forget about it,” he said and meant it. “Water under the bridge.”

“My time away from Ireland and Ballybeg showed me my life in a new light. I realized that while I was mad as hell with you for humiliating me, I didn’t actually
miss
you in the way I’d expect to.”

Gavin bit the inside of his cheek. “I deeply regret the way I humiliated you on our wedding day. You deserved better from me.”

“I blame my father for that,” she said. “If he hadn’t started bellowing in the vestry, we might have kept the specifics quiet.”

“Would that have made any difference to the outcome?”

“Probably not.” She drummed her fingertips on the bedside table, then stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for checking up on me, but I’d like you to leave now.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Okay, Muireann.” He stepped forward and gave her a hug. At first, she was rigid in his embrace, but then relented. He kissed her forehead and drew back. “Take care of yourself.”

She nodded and hugged her arms around her body. “Good-bye, Gavin.”

WHEN FIONA GOT BACK from visiting Ann Dunne, Gavin and Wiggly Poo were waiting outside their B&B, the former desperately trying to control the antics of the latter. That dog was so damn cute. She wasn’t much of a dog person, but the curly-haired pup had grown on her—as had his master.

Tugging the puppy away from the cat he’d found to terrorize, Gavin strolled over to the car window. His gait was confident and he exuded positivity. Obviously, his talk with Muireann had gone well.

She rolled down her window, and he leaned in. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked.

He was close enough to kiss. She stared at his soft pink lips. “Where do you want to go?”

Flipping his phone open, he checked the map app. “We could head out to O’Brien’s Tower on the Cliffs of Moher. According to the map, it’s only a few minutes’ drive.”

“Yeah, okay. Hop in.”

They used the short drive to the cliffs to catch up on their respective afternoons.

“Apart from your relief at not being the father of her baby, how do you feel about the way you left things with Muireann?”

His brow creased in thought. “I don’t know. Hollow? I mean, a few months ago, we were planning on getting married. Now we don’t even miss each other, and we’re not sure there’s so much as a friendship to salvage. Were we going through the motions for all those years?”

“Sometimes you need to see things in a different light to truly see them, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. “I worry about how she’ll manage as a single parent. Up until this point, she’s led a pampered life.”

“She’s always been a baby person, though. Way more than me—if I have a biological clock, it’s far from ticking. I’m thinking it’ll do her good to have independence from her parents.”

The road wound around the cliffs, each bend bringing a view more spectacular than the last. Millennia of erosion had given the Cliffs of Moher their stark drops and jagged shape. The Atlantic crashed and foamed at their base, its deep blue-green water stretching all the way from the cliffs to the American continent. “The view is breathtaking,” she said. “When I get back from Australia, I’m taking a vow to visit at least one Irish place of note per year.”

“I know what you mean. Seems a shame to miss what’s on our own doorstep, so to speak.” He leaned back and gave Wiggly Poo a scratch through the bars of his carrier. “How do you feel about getting a signed confession out of Ann Dunne?”

“Stunned, to be honest. I hadn’t expected her to capitulate so easily. Makes me wary of her, if that makes sense.”

“What’s her connection to Bernard? Merely a random nurse he happened to meet at his mother’s nursing home?”

“Or one of his many mistresses?” she finished for him with a smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors of his extramarital adventures. As for whether or not Ann was one of them, I haven’t a clue. She indicated she was a single parent. No idea who the father of her child might be. She might have had an affair with my uncle, but she’s too shrewd not to have gotten a regular monthly payment out of him if there was any chance her son was his.”

O’Brien’s Tower grew from a dot in the distance to an imposing sight. Fiona found a parking space at the side of the road, and they got out.

As it was low season, the Cliffs of Moher had the barest straggle of visitors, and there was no queue for the tower. From the top turrets, they could see far out over the Atlantic. Wiggly Poo was indifferent to the view and settled down at Gavin’s feet for a scratch.

She shivered in the bitter wind, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. Their eyes met, and she forgot to breathe. “Just making sure you’re warm,” he said with feigned innocence.

“Yeah, right, Maguire.” Her mind told her to step away, to leave this at the friendly-banter stage, but her heart—not to mention other parts of her anatomy—was rooted to the spot.

They watched the sun set over the cliffs in a brilliant blaze of reds and oranges and yellows. “It’s beautiful here,” she said, staring out over the sea. “It’s a moment of perfection you wish you could bottle and keep forever.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “And maybe you can. Keep it forever, I mean.”

Her head jerked up and collided with his nose. “Oh, sorry.”

They stepped apart—him smiling, her flustered.

“I’m…” She sought for a word that would stem the rising tide of panic. “Hungry.”

He blinked.

Feck.
What a way to react to his romantic gesture.
Okay, deep breaths.

“Why don’t we go out for fish and chips in Doolin?” he asked. “Our landlady gave me a recommendation for a place by the harbor.”

Her stomach rumbled, making them both laugh. “Guess I’m hungry. Okay, come on. Let’s go for the cholesterol special and wash it down with Guinness.”