Irish Chain Read online

  “Thank you,” I said. “So, I suppose that’s why you’re here, to visit your uncle?”

  “Among other things.” He pulled at his mustache with one rope-scarred finger and smiled.

  Next to me, Thelma cleared her throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “This is Thelma Rook. She’s a resident here at Oak Terrace. And her friend, Martha Pickering.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, touching two fingers to the roper brim of his fudge-colored cowboy hat, nodding first to Thelma, then Martha.

  “And I’m assuming you and Edwin have met,” I said.

  “Of course we have,” Edwin said, sticking a long-fingered hand out to Clay. Clay contemplated it for a moment before giving it a quick shake. “We had the pleasure a few days ago when Mr. O’Hara and his uncle were going over his uncle’s will. He is seriously considering leaving a tidy little endowment to the retirement home.” Edwin’s narrow face grew complacent, thoughts of regular trustee checks probably dancing in his horsy head. “Not,” he added hastily, “that we expect or even desire Mr. O’Hara’s departure for a long, long time.”

  “Edwin,” Thelma said. “You make it sound like we’re waiting for a train here.”

  The song ended and the disc jockey’s buttery voice came over the microphone. “Here’s a waltz for you country fans. Grab your favorite cowgirl and give the little lady your best.”

  Edwin opened his mouth and I was on the verge of bolting, when Clay held out his hand.

  “I believe you owe me this one,” Clay said.

  “I believe you’re right,” I answered.

  We circled the floor in a country waltz as Anne Murray wondered if she could have this dance for the rest of her life. I didn’t speak as we danced, trying not to think about how Jack used to sing along to this song whenever it came on the radio. By this time the floor was filled almost entirely with young people dancing with each other, performing for the weary senior citizens, who sat and smiled at them with the pleased expressions of new grandparents. We still had the crowning of the king and queen, helping the guests back to their rooms and cleanup. With a bit of hustling, I’d be home and under warm flannel sheets by midnight. I scanned the room looking for Gabe and wondering who I could ask to crown the king and queen if he didn’t show up, when I realized Clay was speaking to me.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “I was saying you dance pretty good for someone who isn’t even paying attention. And here I’ve waited seventeen years for this dance.”

  “Oh, Clay, I’m sorry. My mind’s just scrambled with thoughts about what I need to do to get this dance wrapped up.” I looked up into his brown eyes and marveled at how kind the aging process is to men. Do they really look better with a few pounds and some wrinkles, or is it just a cultural thing we’re raised to believe? Whatever the case, Clay O’Hara had been a good-looking boy and he’d grown into a downright attractive man.

  “Maybe thinking about Jack a little?” he asked softly, giving my hand a squeeze. The familiar rancher’s calluses on his hand caused me to inhale sharply, and for a moment I longed for that hand to touch my cheek.

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I’ll shut up and let you think.”

  Working our way through the crowded dance floor, we swung by the refreshment table, where Brady O’Hara stood jabbing an angry finger at an arm-crossed Oralee. My heart dropped in dismay. All we needed now was Miss Violet to make it a knockdown dragout. I looked around, but couldn’t spot her in the crowd.

  “Oh, dear,” I said, straining to peer over Clay’s shoulder.

  “Looks like they’re at it again,” Clay remarked.

  “You know about the argument?”

  “Haven’t heard about anything else since I arrived three days ago.”

  We watched his uncle and Oralee each give one last retort, then storm off in separate directions. Oralee limped determinedly toward the kitchen, where she was probably going to chew on Mac’s ear for a while, and Mr. O’Hara lurched toward the door leading through the side gardens to the bedroom wing.

  “Well, I tried my best to bring about a truce this afternoon and your uncle gave me a knock in the shins with his cane for my efforts.” Heat rose up my neck the minute the words popped out. What did I expect him to do, punish his uncle?

  Clay’s laugh was strong and clear, the laugh of someone used to open spaces. “That sounds like Brady. Am I going to have to worry about a personal injury lawsuit on top of all his other legal problems?”

  “No,” I said, laughing with him. “I can’t believe I even mentioned it to you.”

  “He’s an ornery old cougar, that’s for sure. I humbly apologize on behalf of the entire O’Hara clan and promise to buy you a steak dinner in the best restaurant in town in compensation.”

  “That’s okay. My pride was injured more than anything else.”

  “Old Brady’s good at that.” His voice seemed to take on a bite. Then he grinned again. “You know, when Dad sent me out here to get Brady’s affairs settled, I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t sharing a dance with a pretty lady in a hoop skirt. Especially one I remember so fondly.”

  “Expect nothing and be ready for everything. That’s what my daddy always says.”

  “Smart man, your daddy.”

  When the song was over, we walked back over to where Thelma and Martha sat on metal folding chairs cradling cups of cranberry-colored punch.

  Clay nodded at the two women. “Guess I’d better go see if Brady’s all right before heading back to my hotel.”

  “Where are you staying?” Thelma asked, giving me a scheming smile.

  “Down near the mission at the San Celina Inn.”

  “That’s a lovely old hotel,” she said. “I spent my fiftieth anniversary in a room there. It had a canopied four-poster bed and a beautiful Wedding Ring quilt. If I remember right, a bottle of wine came with the room.”

  “How romantic,” Martha said.

  “Is your wife enjoying our lovely Central Coast, Mr. O’Hara?” Thelma asked.

  “Call me Clay, ma’am. And I’m not married at this particular time of my life.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  She raised her sparse white eyebrows at me and nudged Martha with her elbow. “That’s a real shame, nice-looking boy like you, all alone.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.” One side of his long mustache twitched.

  I tried to catch her eye and tell her silently to cut it out. The ladies in my quilting class, some of them without families of their own or grandchildren too far away or too busy to be more than a once-a-year birthday card, had taken an exaggerated and opinionated interest in my life, particularly the romantic part. They said it beat the heck out of General Hospital which, they claimed, was far too predictable for women of their advanced experiences. They adored Gabe, but were obviously not above encouraging another rooster to jump into the stew pot.

  “Well, it was certainly good seeing you again, Clay,” I said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again around town.”

  “Maybe,” he said, his face thoughtful. “I’ll be around for a couple of weeks or so, anyway.”

  After he left, I turned to Thelma and Martha. “And what was that all about, ladies?”

  They looked at each other and gave high, tittering laughs.

  “You two are worse than teenagers,” I said.

  We sat through three more songs and watched the few energetic dancers left improvise new dance steps. The grandfather clock next to the fireplace chimed ten o’clock—much later than most of these senior citizens were accustomed to. I’d come to the conclusion that Gabe was never going to make it, and decided since it looked better for the newspaper photographs to have an official type crown the king and queen, I would ask Edwin to do the honors. Predictably, just because I needed him, he was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, I thought of Mac, hiding out in the kitchen.

  “Cute apron,” I said
, walking into the chrome and white commercial-sized kitchen. He stood in front of a large glass-front refrigerator wearing a red-and-white-striped baker’s apron. It stated in bold black letters “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen carefully.”

  “Like it?” He picked up a white-wrapped package from a pasteboard box at his feet and placed it on one of the refrigerator shelves. “I wore it to a church barbecue last Saturday. Made some of the less humorous members of the deacons board just a tad nervous.”

  I laughed. “I guess you do have some of Oralee in you after all.”

  He smiled mischievously. “Well, as she would say, I didn’t lick it off the sidewalk.”

  I peered into the empty box at his feet. “What have you got there?”

  “Fresh fish. Some old guy dropped it off. Guess they’re having a fish fry tomorrow. Hey, there’s some refreshments left here. Try the chocolate cupcakes. They’ve got butter-pecan filling.”

  “Sound great, but I don’t have time. I was just trying to find someone to crown the king and queen, since it appears that Gabe got tied up somewhere. I can’t even find Edwin, so can I count on you in a pinch?”

  “Sure, can I keep the apron on?”

  “You know, I’m beginning to suspect you’re even more of a rabble-rouser than your grandmother.”

  “Conflict is good for a body. Keeps the blood moving.”

  “That doesn’t sound very ministerial,” I said. “Besides, I remember when your method of dealing with conflict involved a bottle of Coke shaken up and pointed at someone.”

  He winked at me. “Let’s just keep that little secret between you and me.”

  “Speaking of conflict, I saw Oralee head in here about half an hour back. She and Mr. O’Hara were at it again. Is she okay?”

  “Fine.” His voice grew short.

  “Mac, what is it?”

  “It’s ...” He hesitated. His broad, normally jovial face became somber. “It’s just this thing between her and Mr. O’Hara is starting to get annoying. I talked her into going back to her room so she could lie down for a while. He upset her so badly I was afraid she’d have another stroke.” He picked up a section of newspaper sitting on the counter and started folding it into smaller and smaller squares. “She’s eighty-two years old, Benni. Another stroke could kill her. I wish that O’Hara character would just—” He stopped, took the compressed square, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed it across the room, hitting a large commercial mixer. The look of raw anger on his face surprised me.

  “Mac, it’s just a card game.”

  He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Sorry. I guess I’m a bit overprotective.”

  “I wouldn’t let Oralee hear you say that. She’d make you shovel stalls for a week if you dared suggest she couldn’t take care of herself.”

  “Well,” Mac said, untying his apron. “Where do I go to crown the royal couple?”

  “I’ll let you know if I need you. I’m still hoping Gabe will make it. Besides, the king himself seems to be missing. We can’t have the ceremony without him.”

  “Who are the king and queen?”

  “Martha Pickering is the queen and I won’t mention the king’s name for fear of incurring your wrath.”

  “Not Brady O’Hara?”

  “The one and only. You know, except for Oralee, he’s actually pretty popular around Oak Terrace.”

  “Isn’t it funny how money has a way of doing that?”

  “C’mon, Mac, at these people’s ages? How in the world could the size of his bank account possibly make a difference to any of the people who live at Oak Terrace?”

  He looked at me soberly. “You are too naive, Benni Harper. Lust doesn’t end when the Social Security checks start coming in.”

  I laughed nervously. “This is getting way too serious for me. I think I’ll leave the worry of human vices to you. I just want to get this dance wrapped up. The only thing I’m lusting for right now is my nice, warm bed.”

  “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

  I walked back out into the recreation hall and peered around the crowded room, looking for Gabe, when Edwin rushed up, slightly out of breath, his long face shiny with perspiration. “Chief Ortiz just left a message at the front desk. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell the band to play a few more songs and we’ll start wrapping this up.”

  “Good, good,” he replied. “The sooner the better.” Then he hurried off, no groping, no wandering eyes. I wondered briefly what had got his dander up, then decided maybe I didn’t want to know. I joined Thelma and Martha over on the sidelines and listened to them unabashedly gossip about who of the young adults was cheating on who and what two of the more adventurous agriculture students really cultivated in their experimental gardens.

  “You two are a real couple of snoophounds,” I said. “I guess I’m going to have to watch myself in your presence.”

  Thelma patted my arm with her cool, dry hand. “My dear child, your life isn’t interesting enough for us to get really excited about.”

  “Well, pardon me. Maybe I should add a little vice to my life. Just for your sakes, of course.”

  She smiled with small even teeth faded the color of old piano keys. “We’re working on it, dear heart.”

  Fifteen minutes later, in the middle of a rather lame recording of “Stardust,” I was bending down and running a finger through the back of my pumps which felt two sizes smaller now, when Martha cleared her throat noisily.

  “Your sweetie’s here,” she said.

  Gabe stood at the entrance to the hall, eyes scanning the crowded room, looking both dignified and extremely sexy in his perfectly tailored gray suit. Sexy enough for me to almost forgive him for being late. Almost. Walking toward him, my legs wobbled slightly as the shoes bit into my feet.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart,” he asked in a sympathetic voice. “Got a rock in your hoof?”

  “With the way I’m feeling right now, you’re risking your very life with that remark. Where have you been?”

  “Sorry, got tied up with the sheriff on that new inter-county cooperative program we’re trying to hammer out. And he has muy grande marriage problems. He was on his third Coors when I pried myself away.”

  “Well, at least you made it. We need to get the king and queen crowned and get everyone back to their rooms before they collapse.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “No major problems.” I turned and looked over the crowd. “Only thing I have to do is find the king now.”

  “What about the queen?”

  “That’s Martha Pickering, the chubby lady over by the refreshment table. Believe me, she’ll be there until the last tart is history. No, it’s just the king who’s my problem. In more ways than one.”

  “What?”

  “Brady O’Hara. I wrote about him in the note.” By the look on his face, I realized he either hadn’t read it or had forgotten what was in it. “Never mind.” I waved my hand impatiently. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I just want to get this over with and peel this dress off.”

  “That sounds intriguing. Need any help?”

  “Oh, grow up.”

  “Now, Scarlett,” he said. “Let’s show a little of that famous Southern hospitality.” I glared at him and he held up his hands in defense. “Whoa, girl, just show me where I stand and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  I considered showing him the back of my hand, but pointed instead at Tara’s porch.

  He bent down and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “Cheer up, gringuita. It’s not even ten-thirty yet. The night is young. Think of the possibilities.” He touched a finger to my cheek.

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered, limping toward the back of the room. “You don’t have a blister on your heel the size of a cantaloupe.”

  I surveyed the crowd one last time hoping to spot Mr. O’Hara so I wouldn’t have to hunt any further, when Todd Simmons rushed past me.


  “Hey!” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t get too far away. We’re crowning the king and queen soon and the Tribune said they particularly wanted a picture of that.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He clutched his Nikon to his chest and kept glancing over my shoulder.

  “Have you seen Mr. O’Hara?” I asked.

  “Uh, what does he look like?” Something behind me continued to hold his interest. I turned to look and saw the girl in the tight red dress who’d started the conga line.

  “He’s wearing a greenish tweed coat and has a white mustache. He carries a highly dangerous cherry-wood cane.” Todd looked at me blankly, flipping the lens cover on the Nikon open and closed. “Never mind, I’ll find him. But don’t you even think about leaving this room until I get him here.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”

  I looked back at the girl in red. I bet he would.

  I took the shortcut through the kitchen to Mr. O’Hara’s wing, thinking it was a good thing Gabe had finally arrived, because now even Mac was nowhere to be found. To speed things up, I slipped off my heels and started through the garden. Though I couldn’t see anything but shadowy outlines in the partial moonlight, the sweet, earthy scents of the roses, early lilies, ferns and wisteria made such a soothing potpourri that I couldn’t help but stop and inhale deeply, letting the coolness of the bricks soak into my tired feet. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed suddenly as if people were jumping around like checkers on a giant checkerboard. Or maybe more accurately, like one of those high-speed five-minute chess games played for money that had recently become popular with the college students.

  When I watched Ramon and Todd play one this afternoon, kitchen timer ticking away the minutes, Ramon remarked, “There’s no fancy footwork in these games. The object is to capture the king as quickly as possible.”

  And at this particular moment, that certainly sounded good to me.

  3

  CLUTCHING MY SHOES to my chest, I hurried through the garden. Halfway across, a faint noise echoed through the cool darkness. It came from the small white ivy-stitched gazebo to my left. A giggle, then a muted shush. A young male voice murmured a laughing admonishment. A familiar young male voice.