Page 44 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Chapter Eleven
They had the permit for the St. Stephen’s fair.
The story of the ambush at the Merry Fiddler Thursday night had reached Megan through Kade, whose mother had texted him the good news. They’d been watching another movie on her uncomfortable settee at the time after she’d finished another successful pottery class, and she’d launched herself at him, making him laugh.
“Everything is falling into place, love,” he said, holding her gently.
Almost a week later, she was starting to believe that. She and Kade had spent time together every day, either riding horses and walking on the beach or watching a movie at her house after Ollie went to bed. Her Tuesday and Wednesday night classes had gone well, and she expected the one she had tonight would be equally successful.
When she returned home from dropping Ollie off at school, Eoghan O’Dwyer was waiting for her. The ninety-three-year-old’s brown and green eyes sparkled. “It’s time to get serious about our fair, girl. Can you meet me on the teal bridge overlooking the river that cuts through the village at ten tomorrow?”
“I can,” she replied.
“People will have money in their pockets and be in high spirits,” he said, “having been paid for their week of work. It’s a good day to make the rounds and ask for donations.”
Given the way he and his son had handled the permit affair, she wasn’t surprised at his canniness. “It sounds like I couldn’t have a better partner.” She knew they needed prize money for the horse race and some additional expenses like the band, although Kade was hoping to convince one of the groups he liked to waive their usual playing fee.
“You can’t at that,” Eoghan said, “but I have a lot of years on you. I’ll be happy to share some of my secrets with you.”
She loved the offer, although she didn’t have a clue what he meant.
On Friday morning, she paced in front of her dresser as she tried to decide what to wear. Her farm clothes seemed too informal, but her pale blue sweater set didn’t look right.
She was trying too hard.
Compromising, she tugged on her farm jeans along with the sweater set, hoping she didn’t look like a polar bear in the tropics. Before she left, she shook her Dream Jar, holding the intention that her dreams were falling into place, like the glitter dancing in the water.
When she met Eoghan, he beamed and kissed her cheek. “Smile, girl. We’re about to have our way with the village. Now, take my arm and let me do the talking. If I feel like our prey would be more amenable to giving money to a beautiful art teacher such as yourself, I’ll pat you on the back. All right, we’re off.”
She clutched her navy handbag as Eoghan led her to the center of town. Talking to people had never been easy for her. When she’d agreed to take point on this project, she’d imagined making phone calls or sending letters, not approaching people face-to-face. And his supposition that they’d give money because she was a beautiful art teacher? Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around that. She’d been told she was nice-looking, but no one had ever said she was a beauty. And who could blame them? She’d looked like every other conservative female in the greater Washington, D.C. area: well dressed and styled but like one note in a song, not meant to stand out.
“Take a breath, girl,” he said, stopping at the garden plot in the center of the square, bursting with roses and begonias in yellows and whites. “You’re going to need a medic if you don’t relax. The secret to asking for donations and the like is to go to your friends first. Afterward, you visit your enemies and talk up what the other kind folk in town have contributed. Guilt sometimes works wonders, but let’s hope we don’t have to dish out too much.”
Guilt?
“Eoghan, I’m not sure—”
“You’re going to do grand, Megan,” he said, taking her elbow and leading her into their first store, The Final Chop. “We’re among friends. Your sister will soon have the owner as her father-in-law if you’ll recall.”
Only Seamus Fitzgerald wasn’t the one who greeted them—it was Declan McGrath. She told herself this wouldn’t be so bad. Although the butcher’s assistant had a unique sense of humor, he was a good friend of Kade’s and Carrick’s and had been present for her first taste of whiskey to toast the official opening of the arts center.
He looked up after severing a large piece of raw meat with a giant gleaming cleaver and grinned, a dimple showing in his right cheek. “Megan Bennet! Welcome, girl. You’re in terrible peril, for sure, if Eoghan O’Dwyer is accompanying you.”
Terrible peril? She’d never get used to the way these Irish talked. “Hello, Declan.”
“Insulting me, already, Declan McGrath?” Eoghan gestured to the cleaver. “You’re the one in terrible peril, what with buying Summercrest Manor, even if you got it for a song.”
“Why do you think I asked Liam to move in with me?” Declan wiped his hands on his apron. “He’ll have all that nonsense cleared out, and if he doesn’t, Brady will talk the spirits into a second death.”
Liam had told Megan about his new lodgings, but he hadn’t mentioned any of this. Suddenly she wasn’t as excited about visiting him in his new home. “Congratulations.”
“I heard about the play you and your son executed on Tom MacKenna,” Declan said to Eoghan after nodding her way. “Our Mayo football team might win a championship if you and Donal were coaching.”
“They might at that, but I’m still skeptical given the curse. They won’t win until the last two players from the 1951 championship team die. Stupid they were, celebrating while a funeral went on.”
Curses and ghosts? She knew this was Ireland, but Megan still clutched her purse as a shiver stole over her.
“Hello, Eoghan!” Seamus Fitzgerald called out as he emerged from the meat locker in back, hefting a large rack of beef. “Megan. It’s fine to see you. How’s your boy? Carrick said he hasn’t begged to be saved from my other son at school. Jamie must be actually teaching them something.”
