Irish Secrets (17 page)

"And what's 3.5 kilograms in pounds? I still can't put my head around metric figures. We don't use them in the U.S."

"About seven and a half pounds," Ryan told her.

Relieved that the news had diverted them away from the topic of stolen goods, he signalled to the server. "We're ready for the scones now."

As they piled strawberry jam and clotted cream on their warm scones, the conversation drifted from babies to the old furniture Liz and Conor had collected that afternoon from a farm near Skelleen.

"A wooden bedframe, two ancient chairs, and a food press," Liz said. "They'll need cleaning up but they're perfect for the cottage. Anyway, why were you up in Westport, Kara? Apart from having a day out with your boyfriend, of course."

When Kara's cheeks coloured, Ryan guessed she must not have told Liz about her search, and wondered why she was keeping it a secret. Or was she blushing at Liz's assumption that they were now a couple? The thought pleased him, and he reached to squeeze her hand.

"I took Kara through the Doolough pass," he said, to save her from having to answer. "We stopped at the memorial to the 1849 famine tragedy."

She shuddered. "Even on a sunny day like today, the valley had an eerie sense of sadness. I could almost visualise those starving people, in ragged clothes, struggling against the wind and rain. I don't think I've ever felt so aware of tragedy, not even when I visited some of the Civil War battlefields at home."

"Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin had the same effect on me," Conor said. "I first went there on a school trip when I was about fourteen, and every hair on the back of my neck stood on end when I stopped outside one of the cells in a long dingy corridor. Much later, my dad told me his grandfather was imprisoned in Kilmainham after the 1916 Rising."

Liz grimaced. "That's spooky."

Conor nodded. "There's no way of knowing whether he was in that particular cell, of course, but ancestral memory can be a strange phenomenon. Perhaps one of your ancestors took part in the trek to Doolough, Kara."

Kara shrugged. "I'll never know, will I? Ryan says there are no contemporary records of the hundreds who did the trek, apart from the names of a few of those who died."

Liz leant toward her. "Do you have Irish ancestry, Kara?"

Again Ryan saw Kara's cheeks redden, but she spoke casually. "I think I may have some, but I've not been able to trace them. Mmm, these scones are delicious."

* * * * *

After Ryan pulled into a parking space in Clifden's Market Street, he turned to her. "What would you like to do this evening?"

Kara laughed. "Relax somewhere, I guess, and forget about baby adoptions and famine walks, and even about celebrity hotel rooms being broken into."

He leant sideways to kiss her cheek, but she moved her head so their lips met, and the quick kiss became a longer one.

"Thank you for today," she said, when they eventually broke apart.

"It's not over yet. Come on, let's go for a drink."

They walked hand-in-hand along the street to a pub near the market square where they could sit outside in the early evening sunshine. Ryan went inside to buy their drinks, and Kara claimed a table with two seats when a couple stood up to leave.

"We've had quite a full day, haven't we?" she said, when he returned with their drinks.

"I'm sorry it turned out to be a disappointing one for you."

"With Theresa, you mean? I think I knew as soon as I saw her that she wasn't my mom's mother."

"I did, too. You're very like your mother, which suggests her genes are strong, and therefore you might expect her mother to have similar features, but Theresa's face was much longer than yours, and her eyes were closer together."

Kara lifted her glass of white wine, but put it back on the table with a frustrated huff of breath. "I've just realised something I forgot to do. I should have shown her the photo of my mom as a baby. She might have recognised her, if her daughter and my mom were in the nursery together at Ballykane."

"Good point, but too late now. Did you show the photo to Sister Gabriel?"

"No." She let out a small laugh. "I'm hopeless at this family history stuff, aren't I?"

"You're new to it, that's all. I'm assuming you haven't told Liz about your search?"

"Not yet. The only person who knows is Guy, and only because he took the call from Sister Gabriel when she first contacted me."

"Why haven't you told anyone else?"

"I'm not sure." She thought about his question. "To start with, it was something I thought I needed to do on my own. It seemed too personal to broadcast to everyone. Most people know who their grandparents are, so I felt kind of embarrassed at not knowing mine. I guess that sounds silly."

"Not silly at all, because you have to remember we Irish are well used to people, Americans especially, coming to Ireland to search for their roots. After all, hundreds of thousands of us emigrated there."

"Or were adopted."

"That, too, and adopted people have more problems than the regular emigrants. At least the famine ships' records weren't deliberately destroyed."

Kara sipped her wine. "You remember the invisible red thread you mentioned?"

"Connecting people who are destined to meet?" His blue eyes softened. "Aye, and I like to think it's true, otherwise we wouldn't be sitting here now."

She smiled. "I'm glad we are, but why did you say it was the wrong time for you? You said you'd changed your mind, but you never explained what you meant when you first said it."

"A bad experience last year." He gave her a wry grin. "Made me think life was simpler without a woman to complicate it."

"Have I complicated your life?"

"If you have, it's a complication I'm enjoying."

"Me, too. I'd decided the same. About men, I mean, but at least you aren't a cop like the lying toad I dated last year. No invisible red thread there, but do you think it applies to everyone?"

Ryan gulped the rest of his Guinness before asking, "How do you mean?"

"I was thinking about Sister Gabriel. If she hadn't come to Mist Na Mara, and if I hadn't introduced her to Alice Vernon, I wouldn't even have known my mom's birthdate was wrong on her adoption certificate."

"Are you going to call her?"

"Yes." She looked at her watch. "It's nearly seven o'clock. I'll give her a few minutes to walk from the convent to her seat on the promenade. I need to tell her about Theresa, but do you still have the other birth certificate? I'd like to check the date and names. She may remember something."

She waited while Ryan clicked his phone several times, and handed it to her. While he went into the pub to order more drinks, she studied the certificate.

By the time he came outside again, she'd told Sister Gabriel about her meeting with Theresa, and the nun was delighted at the prospect of Theresa contacting her.

"We were such good friends during the time she was at Ballykane, so again, thank you so much, my dear."

Kara took the opportunity to ask the important question. "Sister, there was another birth in the second quarter of 1959. The mother was Margaret Kelly. Do you remember anything about her?"

There was a moment's silence. "Well, I recall several girls called Margaret. It used to be a popular name, you see, and Kelly is a very common surname in Ireland, of course. I'm struggling to remember them all now."

Kara's heart sank, but she persisted. "You don't recall any baby called Aileen Kelly in the nursery?"

"I never went up there after my Mary died."

She bit her lip. "No, of course not. I'm sorry, Sister."

"No need to apologise, but that's jogged my memory a little. There was a Margaret who worked in the nursery. She'd been training as a nurse until she became pregnant, and I think her surname was Kelly."

"Do you know what happened to her? After her baby was adopted, I mean."

"Anyone with any training like that was usually sent to a hospital or orphanage somewhere. Oh, and there was another Margaret who ran away. I'm sure she was Margaret Kelly, too, but they never brought her back, and I've no idea where she went. I'm sorry, Kara, this isn't helping you, is it? It's so difficult remembering names from over fifty years ago, but I'll ask Sister Augusta to check for girls called Margaret Kelly, although, as I told you, many of the old records are missing."

"Yes, I understand, but thank you, Sister."

She ended the call, and gazed in defeat at Ryan. "I think we've hit a brick wall unless we can find some other way of tracing Margaret Kelly."

Chapter 17

Three days later, before Ryan set off for Mist Na Mara, he called the Chief Superintendent to update her. He'd sent her a text on Wednesday evening when he went into the pub to buy the drinks for himself and Kara, and told her about the thefts at Waterside Hall. Enya's return text was emphatic:
Get into that cottage ASAP. If you find anything, call me.

"Found nothing," he said now, when she answered her phone. "I got in easily with one of the skeleton keys you sent, but apart from the building materials – several dozen boxes of slates, roofing tools and fixings, and replacement beams and guttering – there was nothing."

"When was this?"

"Wednesday night, Thursday, and last night." He gave a short laugh. "This job would be easier in the winter, when it goes dark earlier. As it is, I've been out there about midnight, and again about seven thirty for the last three mornings. Found a better hiding place that I can access from the road instead of from the car park, but Conor McBride hasn't unloaded anything from his van apart from two wooden beams yesterday morning."

"Did you manage to tail the taxi to Roscommon last Monday?"

"I did, and it was a waste of time. I followed Tom Wild to a garden centre not far from the town centre, and half-expected another taxi to be waiting in the car park, to take Paddy's box on the next leg of its journey. Instead, Tom dropped Paddy off and drove away while Paddy took the box into the centre. About twenty minutes later, he returned to pick Paddy up again. Rather than follow them back to Clifden, I waited in the car park until it closed, but saw nothing suspicious at all."

"He may have an accomplice at the garden centre, of course."

"You want me to camp out there until the box is passed to someone else?"

Enya laughed. "No, I won't ask you to do that. We need proof first that Paddy
is
delivering stolen goods. If he is, I'll ask the Roscommon police to investigate the garden centre."

"I'll stake out the cottage tomorrow. Assuming Paddy's doing his usual trip on Monday morning, he has to collect his box of goodies from somewhere. If it's not the cottage, we may need to switch our attention to Conor's industrial unit. Any leads on who broke into the rooms at Waterside, by the way?"

"Nothing yet. The security cameras in the corridors didn't show anything unusual, and all the housekeeping staff and room maids have been interviewed. One woman said she saw Caitlyn Connolly's jewellery on the vanity unit in her suite but claimed she didn't touch it, and dusted around it."

"What else was stolen?"

"The usual electronics – several laptops, tablets, e-readers, phones, and cameras. Plus ten of Hugh McPherson's signed books, two of Eamonn Maguire's wife's rings and a pair of gold earrings. All stuff that can be easily disposed of, apart from Caitlyn Connolly's jewellery. Necklace, bracelet, earrings, all eighteen carat gold with diamonds and rubies. Valued at over seventy thousand Euros."

Ryan let out a low whistle. "And she left them lying around in her room?"

"While she had lunch in the restaurant, yes. She intended to wear them for a photo shoot in the afternoon."

"Hope they were insured."

"Yes, and we have photos. We've sent them to all the usual auction houses, pawnbrokers, and jewellers."

"By now someone's probably hopped on a plane with the jewellery in their hand luggage. It could be in Belarus or Bangkok by now."

"Or has Conor McBride hidden it in a box of roofing tools which your friend Paddy will take to Roscommon on Monday?"

Ryan suppressed a groan. "You want me to search through all the boxes in the cottage?"

Enya chuckled. "You know what we always say? Leave no stone unturned."

"I hear you." He didn't relish the prospect of unpacking every damned box and flicking his flashlight around in the hope of catching the glint from a diamond necklace. "And speaking of my friend Paddy, as you call him, have the gardening staff at Waterside been interviewed?"

"Gardening staff? Why?"

"Paddy Walsh is a gardener there."

"You think he might be a thief as well as a courier?"

"It's possible, isn't it?"

"Okay, I'll ask Joe Byrne from Clifden
Gardai
to check him out."

"Make sure he checks out all the gardeners. We don't want to scare Paddy off at this stage."

"Hold on a minute. Did you say Paddy Walsh?"

"Yes, why?"

"One of the room maids at Waterside was a Walsh, Anne or Anna, I think."

"Not exactly an uncommon name, is it? After Murphy and Kelly, of course."

"You're right, I'm clutching at straws."

He laughed. "But you'll leave no stone unturned, isn't that right?"

"It is."

"Let me know what you find out. I'm determined to nail this lot somehow."

He clicked off his phone and pursed his lips. Tomorrow he would search the cottage yet again, but today was his day off, from both detective work and taxi-driving.

When Kara said she was free on Saturday, he suggested a trip to the Cliffs of Moher. The forecast had predicted a spell of good weather, and it was correct. The sun shone from a cloudless azure sky, and it promised to be a perfect day.

As he drove to Mist Na Mara, he reflected on the dilemma he had struggled with during the last couple of days. He'd almost choked on his beer on Wednesday evening after her comment about him not being a cop like the lying toad she'd dated last year. Should he have told her there and then that he
was
a cop? He'd also have to admit that, while trying hard not to lie to her, he hadn't told her the whole truth.

An innate caution stopped him from saying anything, but since then, countless arguments clashed in his mind. Only three people, his boss at BCI headquarters, and Enya and Declan in Galway, knew his real identity. Even the Clifden
Gardai
were not aware he was working in their area. They would only be told if and when Enya decided it was necessary. The fewer people who knew, the less risk there was of anyone revealing his true identity.

Could he add to that number? Could he justify his personal need to be honest with Kara with the professional need to maintain his assumed role for the duration of the investigation? After all, she had worked with the New York police, so she'd understand the need for secrecy. Would he jeopardise the investigation by telling her the truth?

His head fought with his heart and, as he turned into the drive at Mist Na Mara, he heaved a deep sigh, still uncertain what he should do.

* * * * *

"Have you been waiting long?" Kara said as she climbed into the passenger seat.

"Only about five minutes."

She tried to ignore the way her breath quickened at the sight of him in black combat shorts and grey tee shirt, and dragged her gaze away from his muscled calves. "I'm sorry. I was watching out for you, but Amy brought her baby downstairs. She came home from the hospital yesterday, but she was tired and the baby was cranky, so we left them alone last night, even though we were all dying to see Olivia Maeve. Oh my, she is the cutest little thing."

"All babies are cute, aren't they?"

"Yes, but she's not all red and wrinkly like I thought she'd be. Her little cheeks are smooth, and when I held her for a few minutes, she gazed up at me with big blue eyes." She shook her head slowly. "I couldn't help but think about all those mothers who must have fallen in love with their babies, like Amy has with Olivia, but then had those babies taken from them."

"Especially when they've watched them start to grow and develop their individual personalities."

"You're right. It was beyond cruel to take their children away from them." She waited until he negotiated the traffic in Clifden's town centre and turned onto the main road toward Galway. "Did you ask Declan about Margaret Kelly?"

"I did, and I'm afraid it's not good news."

"I think I expected that. What has he discovered?"

"He checked births and marriages, but it's a very common name. There were at least thirty births each year between 1935 and 1945, and over two dozen marriages each year in the 1960s. Without more information, he says there's no way of identifying the Margaret Kelly you want."

"So I was right. This is the end of my search. Oh well, at least I tried."

"I'm sorry, Kara."

He reached his left hand to her knee, and she drew in a quick breath at his understanding. "Thanks." After a small shrug of resignation, she smiled. "Let's forget it. I've been looking forward to today, and I've even brought my sunscreen."

"Aye, and you might need it. At least it makes a change from the waterproofs and umbrella you usually need in our Irish weather."

* * * * *

Five hours later, when Ryan turned into the large car park near the Cliffs of Moher, Kara grinned at him. "Okay, we've visited a sixteenth century castle and a Stone Age tomb entrance, had lunch near a tenth century stone fort, seen the ruins of an eleventh century cathedral with some fabulous Celtic crosses, and visited a town where they've held a matchmaking festival every September for a hundred plus years. I'm so impressed by your knowledge of this area."

"And as an historian, I love your enthusiasm for our history."

"You're an historian?"

He shook his head quickly. "Not a professional one, but I have the kind of mind that retains trivia, and I already told you I'm interested in Irish history."

"How far into the past are we going now?"

"Only about three hundred million years, or however long ago these cliffs were formed."

He grasped her hand as they walked up the wide path to the viewing point, from which they surveyed the full splendour of the cliffs, rising vertically for several hundred feet above the sea. The Atlantic waves crashed against the rocks at the base of the cliffs, throwing spray and spume into the air, and seabirds wheeled and perched along the cliff faces.

Kara sucked in her breath. "This is—" She shook her head. "There are no words to describe this view."

He hugged her as she leant against him. "And so say the millions of people who come here every year. It's the most visited natural attraction in Ireland."

"I've seen photos, of course, but none of them do justice to the sheer majesty of these cliffs."

"Now you have a choice. We can follow the path south along the edge of the cliffs, or we can go north to O'Brien's Tower."

She glanced both ways. "Let's go up to the tower."

At the top of the steep path, they stopped by a wall of vertical rough-hewn flagstones to take in the full panorama of the cliffs that stretched five miles southward along the coast.

"Stunning," she breathed and tightened her arm around his waist.

When she turned to smile at him, he leant forward to kiss her. What started as a brief kiss deepened into a lingering one, sending heat radiating down his spine and coiling in his lower region. If there hadn't been dozens of other people on the plateau surrounding the tower, he would willingly have pulled her down on to the grass and…

"Ryan? It
is
you, isn't it?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, he jerked back, and his heart plummeted.

"Sinead! You're the last person I expected to see here."

She was the last person he
wanted
to see. His glance travelled from his ex-girlfriend's tanned face and honey-blonde hair to her companion, an equally tanned dark-haired man about the same height as himself.

"This is Chas," Sinead said. "We met on a Mediterranean cruise last month, and this is his first visit to Ireland, so I'm showing him the sights. Chas, this is an old friend of mine, Ryan—"

"Ryan Brady," he interrupted. He shot a warning glare at Sinead before he stepped forward to shake the other man's hand, and prayed she wouldn't blow his cover again. "How are ye, Chas? I hope you're enjoying your visit to Ireland."

"Some great scenery," the other man replied, and grinned. "And I like your pubs, too."

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend, Ryan?" Sinead said.

"Yes, of course."

He turned to Kara, about to introduce her, but she beat him to it. "I'm Kara Stewart, and this is my first visit to Ireland, too. I love the scenery here, and all the history. Ryan's taken me to so many awesome places."

Sinead's blue eyes narrowed. "Are you here on a short visit? I'm assuming you're American from your accent."

"I'm working at—"

Ryan cupped his hand around her elbow. "Will you excuse us, Sinead, Chas? Apologies, but we're on our way to the Visitor Centre now."

He guided Kara away from them, and as they set off down the path from the tower, she turned to him, her forehead creased in obvious confusion. "What was all that about?"

"I'm sorry. It was a difficult situation. I dated Sinead for a time, but it didn't end well."

"Why didn't you want me to tell her where I'm working?"