Anna watched him disappear into the bedroom and then looked over at May Reilly’s tablecloth that was in a heap on the floor. I should get rid of it, she told herself. If anyone came into the cottage while we’re gone, it would be damning evidence against us. But then again, it could bring us so much money in the underground market. I’ll figure it out later.

She turned back to her computer, booked their flight, and logged onto the Sweetsville blog to see if there was a posting from her mother. Usually after her mother was scrappy with her, as she was last night, she posted a message before going to bed.

Anna stared at the screen.

This time she hadn’t.

Shrugging, Anna tried to shake off the uneasy feeling that came over her. I’ll call Mom when we get to Los Angeles, she decided. If I call her now, Bobby will think I’m wasting time when I should be packing and closing up the house.

Anna looked at her watch. I shouldn’t call this late anyway. Stop feeling so anxious, she told herself. There’s enough to worry about-like getting out of Ireland before Jack Reilly finds us. She fought off the urge to pick up the phone.

Across the Atlantic Ocean, Hortense was lying on the couch in her den. She had turned out all the lights after she threw out the cops. I should never have mentioned the Sweetsville blog to them, she realized. Now they’ll be monitoring it for sure. And they’ve probably tapped my phone by now.

Anna, honey, don’t call. Wherever you are, don’t call.

49

Jack’s cell phone rang on the table next to the bed. Although it wasn’t even 6:00 A.M., he and Regan were awake, courtesy of their neighbors, the O’Sheas. “This has got to be good news,” Jack said, reaching for it, “unlike most phone calls at this hour.”

“Hello.”

“Jack, it’s Keith. I think what I’m going to tell you will make you happy.”

“Try me,” Jack said. He lay back down next to Regan, put the phone on loudspeaker, and held it between their heads.

“I’m in upstate New York, near Rochester, in a town called Sweetsville. I just had a chat with a woman named Hortense Hager who has a daughter named Anna. Anna travels with her husband, Bobby Marston, who is a-quote-consultant. Hortense said her daughter can’t tell her where she lives or even where she is at any time because her husband’s work is so top secret.”

“It sure is top secret,” Jack said sarcastically.

“My sentiments exactly. Anna was a makeup artist in New York City.”

“She was?” Regan asked excitedly.

“Hi, Regan,” Keith said. “Yes, she was.”

“This is getting better and better.”

“I know,” Keith answered. “Anna met her husband, Bobby, eight years ago when he rented an apartment across the street from where she lived. Before she realized the reason for my visit, Hortense said she had spoken to Anna yesterday, and the most interesting thing Anna told her was that Bobby is having dental problems. One of his caps fell out. The security guard at the Nanuet Mall proudly told me that he knocked the teeth out of the guy who stole the necklace last December 23rd-which just happened to be the day the Does rented the P.O. box in Suffern and Anna called her mother to say she and Bobby suddenly couldn’t make it for Christmas.”

“You didn’t ask Hortense if her son-in-law had a peculiar laugh, did you?” Jack asked.

Keith chuckled. “No. Hortense is pretty upset with me. She rather rudely threw me out of the house.”

“Poor woman,” Jack said. “She must realize Anna is up to no good.”

“I’m sure she does. I called you this early because I knew you wanted to be updated.”

“I certainly do,” Jack agreed. “Never hesitate to call.”

“I’ll keep you posted, boss.”

Jack snapped the cell phone shut. “Now we know, Mrs. Reilly, that John Doe has a loose cap.”

Regan rested her head on Jack’s shoulder. “And a funny laugh.”

Jack sighed. “We’re getting closer.”

50

Sheila and Brian couldn’t believe how well the morning was going. Four of Margaret’s paintings were carefully piled in the backseat next to Sheila and it was only 8:00 A.M. No one had quizzed Margaret too much about why the paintings had to be returned. She promised her friends she would paint them new ones.

“One more to go then-” Margaret began as she got back in the driver’s seat.

“I thought it was two more,” Brian said, trying to sound graciously confused.

“Let me finish, will you? I was about to say one more in these parts, and then we’ll take a spin down to the gym in Galway. That will make six, plus the one you have from yesterday is seven. Then that’s every painting I owe you. And I’m beginning to think you got yourselves quite a bargain.”

Brian forced himself to laugh. “You’re a card, Margaret, you really are. Hey, I thought the gym owner wouldn’t give you back the paintings until you worked out a few times.”

“I called him early this morning and told him I had to have the painting. I promised him I’d keep working out.”

“Wonderful,” Brian gushed.

“My paintings are good,” Margaret said. “I just didn’t believe in my talent. It’s time I let it shine.”

Just wait until we’re out of town, Brian thought.

While they drove around collecting paintings, he figured out their next move. When they got back to Hennessy Castle, he would set up the paintings in his room for Dermot to admire and then give Dermot a letter from Sister saying how happy she was that Dermot appreciated her work, but she had a few more touch-ups to add before the nuns at her convent would pack the paintings in an extra-special religious box, seal it up, have the box blessed, and send it off to Phoenix.

Brian still had to write the letter. Dermot wouldn’t arrive until until late afternoon. There was plenty of time.

And if Dermot insisted on taking the paintings back on his private plane, then Brian and Sheila would tell Dermot that only they could pick up the paintings at the convent and would, of course, deliver them to his plane. If Dermot has any decency, Brian thought, he’ll give us a lift back to the States.

Whatever happened, the paintings could not stay at Hennessy Castle for the next five days-not with Neil and Margaret floating around the halls.

Margaret pulled up to the farmhouse where Brian and Sheila had had breakfast the day before. It felt like a lifetime ago.

I hope that kid with the camera doesn’t come out, Brian thought nervously. That’s all we need. “Last stop before Galway,” he announced cheerily.

Margaret ignored him and got out of the car.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t stay for breakfast,” Sheila muttered from the backseat.

“I’m worried about the kid.”

“I know.”

They waited anxiously. Ten minutes later Margaret came out with the painting. “I couldn’t pass up a quick cup of Philomena’s tea,” she told them as she speedily backed out the car, her head turned toward the road.

Neither Brian nor Sheila thought it worth mentioning that Philomena’s pajama-clad grandson had come tearing out of the house with his camera and was running after them.

When Margaret made it out to the street, she threw the car into forward and tore off down the road.

We’re almost home free, Brian thought with relief. It had been a great idea to have Sheila dress as a ghost. Margaret was a different person, thanks to her midnight visitation. This morning she wasn’t scared or hesitant. She was actually good company. Conversing with May Reilly’s ghost had done her a world of good. The new Margaret will be painting, working out, and having a good time, Brian told himself. Her whole life will be different thanks to the influence of Sheila and Brian O’Shea.

In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have imagined how different.