One Fool At Least (The Madeline Mann Mysteries) Page 19

  “Why did he come here?” she asked tearfully now as Libby stroked her arm. “How did he even know I was here?”

  “He was in the trunk of your car,” I offered.

  The three teenagers sat together on the couch, staring at all of the adults as though they were performing an opera. Ardmore stood in one corner; apparently he’d been called in by Pat Shea to explain a thing or two.

  Colleen Kirk stared at me in disbelief. “In the trunk of—how could he—oh my God,” she said. “I didn’t even know he was in there.” A spurt of anger appeared in her face. “He could have gotten me arrested! Here I was making an appointment with Pat and Libby, who feared me so much they needed police protection—and that sonofabitch was hiding in my trunk!” Her tears dried, but her face took on a manic look. “That sonofabitch,” she said. “I’m so sorry to you all. And to my poor brother. Oh, Finn,” she said. She looked suddenly old.

  A few minutes later her brother Aidan appeared at the door; he had been summoned by Libby, and he looked a bit shell-shocked himself. Still, he handled things well when he saw his sister. He knelt beside her and put his arm around her, letting her cry on his shoulder. And then he said, “Come on, Coll. We’ll go talk about this at my place. The restaurant is closed.”

  Colleen nodded. She looked exhausted, and as soon as I saw that lack of energy I felt its corresponding weight in myself. I collapsed into a chair in Pat’s living room and decided that I would stay there for the rest of my vacation. I watched Colleen go, after a private talk in one corner with Pat and Libby, who accompanied her to the door and gave her hugs before they sent her off with her brother.

  “The only one she has left now,” Libby said, empathetic tears in her eyes.

  “They’ll be okay, I think,” Pat said. “Colleen is young. She can bounce back from this.”

  Jack walked up to Ardmore. “Thanks for being my back-up,” he said. “I didn’t have much of a plan.”

  Ardmore took a swig of some whiskey Pat had slipped into his hand. “Well, you’ve got balls,” he commented.

  “And yet I wonder what you were doing out there, gun in hand,” Jack said, smiling. Pat handed him a whiskey, too. Pat ought to get some sort of award for diplomacy, I thought suddenly.

  Ardmore took another large sip and swished the liquid around in his mouth for a minute. Then he bent his big frame into a chair next to Slider, who still sat on the couch, his mouth hanging open. “I was trying to look out for my honorary brother here. I figured, when someone took a shot at me, that this was something linked to Finn’s kin, and then I heard about Slider’s incident with Kirk the other day. I started driving by here several times a day, just to keep my eye on things.”

  Jack and I exchanged a glance. I wished Pat would hand me a whiskey. And then he did, and I felt a rush of love for him. I took a sip, coughed and sputtered, and then let the warmth calm me in its wonderful, sinful way. Libby was kneeling in front of me, examining my cast. She shook her head at me, still shaken by Jack’s and my ordeal and, I found out later, the revelation her son had made to her just before the craziness—that he had renewed feeling in his legs.

  “It looks okay,” she said.

  “It is okay, Libby. Everything’s okay.”

  I touched her shoulder, then looked back at Ardmore, who was taking his sweet time with the story. “Today I drove past and saw Hendricks’ car. I worried that something had happened, so I drove up the driveway a ways, then got out and walked. And that’s when I saw her—” he pointed accusingly at me—“trying to go hell bent for leather on those chopsticks. It would have been comical, but I happen to know that girl means trouble, especially when she has that look on her face.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m a trouble maker,” I said drily.

  “So I went back to the car, got my gun, and went in the direction I’d seen her go. That’s about it. I saw Kirk there waving a weapon around, and I figured it would be permissible to shoot it out of his hand. Especially because the bastard killed my brother; he’s lucky I didn’t miss his hand and shoot him between the eyes.” There was nothing lighthearted about Ardmore’s expression now, and the hardness of it made me realize he had some of the renegade qualities of his own father—his father, who had ordered me kidnapped.

  And Ardmore planned to be a lawyer.

  It was a funny old world.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finn’s will ultimately wasn’t that problematic. Slider learned that he had been named, along with Ardmore, as a key beneficiary. However, a portion of Finn’s savings—which were surprisingly substantial—had been allotted to Aidan and Colleen, and Pat’s lawyer friend said that it was likely Colleen would still inherit her share, although she would obviously not get what her husband had wanted for the two of them.

  Finn had confided the contents of his will to David, since he wanted some financial advice as well, and Kirk had been horrified to learn of Finn’s intentions, and what he considered the false loyalty of Colleen’s adopted brother. It had rankled with him; Colleen confessed that David “hadn’t been himself” in months; I wondered if David Kirk had ever been quite right.

  It was over money, of course, that he and Finn had been arguing the night Finn died—the night Kirk shot him. According to Colleen, who had spoken only briefly with her husband at the jail, David had not intended to kill Finn; then again, he’d gone to see him with a loaded gun in his pocket. He insisted that his intention was to make Finn change his will first, but the will wasn’t in the office, and Finn wouldn’t provide its location. His lawyer had provided it, of course, after his death.

  Kirk had threatened Flanagan with death to him and all of his “new family,” which Finn took to mean Slider, Ardmore and all of their friends. That of course included Molly, which was why Finn had whispered the warning to Slider as he, Finn, died.

  Slider took all of this news surprisingly well; there were tears in his eyes when he heard the story, but he simply nodded and held Molly’s hand and said he was glad he’d had time to meet and know his brother, and glad of the new friend he had in Ardmore, his link to Finn Flanagan.

  *

  Before we left Montana I went back to the doctor, who said my foot looked better, and fitted me with a walking cast. I returned the crutches joyfully, and gave my husband a big hug. “Think how much has happened since we came here,” I said, nibbling his earlobe.

  “What in the world are you going to tell your mother?” Jack asked, knowing that my mother has senses beyond human comprehension.

  “Nothing. We just tell her I broke my ankle, that’s all,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Jack took me on two more glorious days of sightseeing. We drove on Eternity Road, right up into the Cat’s Teeth, which was terrifying and exhilarating; there might be no more miraculous view on earth, but one basically has to defy death to see it, as the road is right on the edge of a precipice, and it’s a long way down. Jack had the audacity, once, to try to adjust the radio while he was driving, but I screamed so loudly and at such a high pitch that he didn’t try it again.

  Twenty minutes later, when he dared to speak to me, he said, “Good thing you’re not driving with my dad. He used to fill his pipe in his lap and drive with his knees.”

  “On this road?” I asked, still in a pitch high enough to draw the dogs of Montana.

  Jack shrugged. “On any road. But this one, yeah.”

  “And your mother was okay with that?” I demanded.

  “No.” Jack grinned at the memory. “Not at all.”

  *

  On the last day of our honeymoon Damian Wilde drove up to our cabin. Jack, luckily, was out in back, picking some wildflowers for me. I went out alone to see what the man wanted. I could only imagine what was going through his inscrutable mind; he and his son both were mysteries to me.

  “Hello,” I said, walking toward him on my new cast. I felt a new confidence, knowing my foot was almost mine again, and that I was no longer a stranger to this place.

  “Hel
lo, Madeline,” he said. He took off the hat he was wearing—a full-fledged cowboy affair. “I wanted to see you before you left town.”

  “Well, you’ve just made it,” I said lightly. “I leave tomorrow.”

  “I wanted to say—” he scratched his head and stared at his feet for a moment. Damian Wilde was at a loss for words. “I wanted to say—that I hope your trip was not as terrible as some people are saying, I mean—”

  I felt odd. Was I supposed to forgive this man for what he had done? And yet, standing in the bigness of that scenery, I couldn’t seem to summon up any anger. “I understand you were very worried about your son. You’d lost one and didn’t want to lose another. That doesn’t excuse what you did, but I know you’re not an evil person.”

  Wilde smiled at me. “Most women won’t even admit that much.” I sensed that he was relieved. Maybe he thought I’d punch him in the nose again.

  “Well,” Wilde said, suddenly brisk. “I want to give you something.” He went to his posh car, some long sleek black thing, and opened the passenger door. He emerged with a gargantuan bouquet of roses, roses of all colors, like a fragrant rainbow. Tucked in between were Montana lupine and larkspur, along with baby’s breath dyed the palest shade of lavender. The flowers must have cost a thousand dollars.

  He handed it to me, and, weak woman that I am, I took them, even eagerly, along with an envelope that he handed me separately. “Wow,” I said.

  “I wish you a happy marriage,” he told me seriously, and laughter bubbled in my throat. “You and your husband both.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I understand you won’t be pressing charges against—”

  “No,” I said. “I won’t pursue it.”

  Our eyes met and I waited until I saw the regret in his before I looked down at my flowers. “They’re lovely,” I said.

  “And so are you, Mrs. Shea,” Damian Wilde told me. He held out his hand, and I shook it, and then he drove away.

  Jack appeared with a lovely mountain bouquet, and looked crestfallen when he saw what I held in my hand. “This is for my mother,” I said. “I have no interest in any flowers except the ones you’re holding. You picked them for me, and they are my favorite blooms in the world.”

  We went inside together, where I put all the flowers in water, although I left my mother’s roses in their bundle. I wondered how badly airport security would damage them searching for hidden weapons. It was only later that evening that Jack read the little card and saw the attached gift. “He says he hopes that all of our dreams come true,” Jack said dryly. Then his eyebrows shot up. “And he’s given us 20,000 dollars in traveler’s cheques.”

  I hooted. “Oh my gosh! We have ourselves some blood money. Let’s spend it all, Jack! Every last cent.”

  “Oh, we will,” my husband said. He pushed Wilde’s flowers away, but tucked the money carefully into my purse.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’d like to say that my journey home was less stressful than the flight to Montana. This time, though, I’d opted not to sedate myself, and I didn’t fall asleep, so I still endured a white-knuckled flight which included some turbulence. Jack told me that I was courageous, that it took great fortitude, blah blah. I was just glad I made it alive, and I wobbled into O’Hare airport, laden with our carry-on bags and Wilde’s roses, and Jack claimed our bags while I leaned against the wall, enjoying the solid earth.

  We emerged from baggage claim to see a familiar group of people heading toward us. My parents led the way, and my brothers hung behind, looking nervous but also a bit angry. “Uh-oh,” I said to Jack, who set down the bags.

  “Hey, Delia, Karl,” Jack said warmly to my parents.

  My mother stared only at me; her face was white and pinched with stress, and her anger was obviously at war with her relief at seeing me alive. “Madeline Rose Mann,” she said in her best mothery voice. “I believe you have some things to tell me about your honeymoon.”

  I didn’t even bother to glare at Fritz and Gerhard. Who knew what sorts of torture they’d been forced to endure? My mother might even have withheld food from them if she thought they had information that she did not.

  I handed the flowers to Jack, walked to my mother and hugged her tightly. “I love you, Mom,” I said. I stepped back and included the men in my gaze. “I love you all. And Jack and I will be happy to tell you whatever you want to know, but it has to be at our apartment, and I have to take a shower and get in pajamas and maybe even eat some chocolate. And then I’ll be ready to talk.”

  Jack nodded. “We’re looking forward to seeing our own little place again.”

  My mother agreed, slightly mollified. I handed her the huge sheaf of roses that Jack had been concealing, but not very well. “These are for you,” I said. “A little bit of Montana.”

  “They’re lovely!” my mother said. “You’ll have to take us there some time.”

  Jack and I exchanged a glance and began to laugh, long and loud, our voices echoing down the halls of the airport and into the night air. We were still smiling, or maybe we were smiling again, when we drove into Webley and back to The Old School.

  The End

  About the Author

  JULIA BUCKLEY's work has earned praise from Crimespree, Kirkus, and The Library Journal. This is the third Madeline Mann mystery; Julia's other series, the Teddy Thurber mysteries, begins with The Ghosts of Lovely Women. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and Romance Writers of America. She blogs at Mysterious Musings and Poe's Deadly Daughters.

  Julia lives in Chicago with her husband and two sons. Like her character Teddy Thurber, she is a bibliophile who teaches English.