Page 71 of After Indigo Irish Nights
Had he just threatened her? She put herself on the outside of the shed door and took stock of the situation. Ellie had explained those terms when she’d heard them used in passing at the pub. “Travelers” was the Irish word for Gypsy—or the Romany people, as was more common these days. The tinkers were nomadic tinsmiths back in the day, many of them of Romany decent. They weren’t considered settled people like most Irish.
Her takeaway. Every country had its ethnic and cultural distinctions. Still, she knew the farmers talked about tinkers coming around and breaking into their sheds, looking for scrap metal. They’d put a lock on her shed for that purpose.
She hadn’t expected a problem, but this weasel seemed to be threatening her and her steel. More of Robbie’s self-defense instructions came to mind.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” She smiled as she lifted her phone and aimed it at him. “I like to take photos of people so I can remember their names and faces.”
He darted toward her. She was glad she was out of the shed. This way she was in plain sight of the center. Classes were going on. Someone would see her or hear her shout if it came to that. She hoped he wouldn’t get physical. Otherwise, she was going to knee him in the nuts and take off.
“You shouldn’t take photos of people without their permission,” he snarled. “Give me your phone.”
When he reached for her arm, she lifted her chin and evaded him. “You don’t want to do that. There are other artists inside who can see and hear me. My advice to you is to head on out, Ace. Quit while you’re behind.”
“I want you to delete that photo,” he said flatly, his entire body poised to spring.
No way that was happening. “Take off. Now.”
He took a menacing step toward her, so close she could smell the foul odor of stale cigarettes and onions on his breath. She didn’t step back, meeting his eyes. The worst thing you could do with a bully was run or back down, Robbie had always said.
“Kathleen! Hey!”
Ellie’s voice was welcome, but she didn’t want her coming any closer. She didn’t take her eyes off dip wad.
“Better go, Ace,” she told him again.
He strode off in angry strides, his fists clenched. She walked after him, all the way to the parking lot.
“Was that guy bothering you?” Ellie asked, breathing hard next to her. “Sorcha appeared out of nowhere and told me to find you.”
God love Sorcha. Sometimes her nosiness was a blessing. “In a minute, babe.”
Dip wad caught her staring at him as he opened his car door—an ugly red Berlingo faded from age and weather.
As he drove away, she lifted her phone, zeroed in, and took a picture of his license plate like her brother had taught her. Who knew whether she would need it? Man, he was creepy.
“What happened?” Ellie asked, rubbing her back. “Who was that?”
She became aware of how tense her muscles were. “You don’t know him, huh?”
“No.” She put her arm around Kathleen. “You okay?”
She probably would feel the nerves in a minute. She always did after a tense confrontation. “I’ve had worse in Southie. Come on. Let’s see if anyone knows who this jackass is.”
Angie had her painting class going on the first floor. It was the closest classroom, and she knew neither the teacher nor the students would mind the interruption. When she opened the door, Angie muscled out of her chair, which she was using more the closer she came to term.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, putting a hand on her large belly.
“I had a jerk come into the shed on the pretense of seeing my work. The whole thing was weird.” She pulled out her phone and brought up his picture. “Know this guy?”
Angie’s eyes widened. “This guycame into your shed?”
“Yeah. And he wouldn’t leave.”
She blew out a breath. “Oh, hell. That’s Mary Kincaid’s son.”
Ellie swore like a Boston native. Kathleen nodded slowly. Now she understood why he’d shown up out of the blue.
“Well, shit,” she said. “I guess we’d better find Bets and tell her the whole story.”
