Page 28 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

Of course, Linc hadn’t expected otherwise.

She even had a few people volunteer to do some of her hated weeding in her remaining rose garden. The Garda played nice as they listened to the thirty concerned citizens who’d asked to meet with them after the incident at Bets’ house. Given the size of the group, they met at the Brazen Donkey, the center of the village’s social life.

Linc watched it all from the sidelines, biding his time as he mused over the issue. While he didn’t say so to Bets, he knew he had one shot at neutralizing Mary. He needed to make it count.

Bets was a bulldog about returning to her usual good humor. Each evening, she and Linc would trade news about the arts center over a quiet dinner, usually at her house. The Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Center was the hottest commodity in the art community now, and artists of every size and stripe were coming out of the woodwork, asking to be added to their ranks. The towering size of the metal sculpture Ellie’s friend Kathleen was creating for them only added to the allure. The center had bucksandvision—a rarity in art circles. Then there was the new museum that would be designed by legendary architect Tom Sarkesian.

With so many exceptional artists inquiring about residencies, Bets was dancing on air. Or doing her best to dance. Linc could see the tension appear on her brow line when she thought he wasn’t watching, especially when they visited her rose garden every night after dinner. The summer nights in Ireland were long, and while the weather had turned cold and gray, her roses had continued to bloom under the twenty-four-hour watchfulness of the cameras installed in the trees.

They hadn’t spent more than a few nights apart, mostly when she and the Lucky Charms got together for some girl time. That was fine with Linc. Ellie and Brady had returned from their honeymoon, and he was more than happy to spend the evening watching his daughter glow with happiness as they all devoured BBQ or hamburgers at Summercrest Manor.

Life carried on that way until Kathleen O’Connor showed up unannounced one late rainy July afternoon. She was taller than his daughter, but the tension in her slender body made her appear even taller than her normal five eight. Maybe that was her tough girl black boots, though. He stepped back to let her inside and told himself not to be alarmed by the way she was gripping her car keys, a move her brothers had probably taught her in Southie.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked as she brushed off some rain. “Because I know this isn’t a social call.”

Her short dark hair was wet with drizzle, but he suspected that wasn’t the reason for the frown that had shifted the beauty mark beside her mouth. “No, it’s not. Did you know Mary’s sweet little boy Owen might be getting out of jail soon? Apparently, he’s been a model prisoner, and he’sreally sorryfor destroying the contents of my shed at the arts center.”

Something dark shifted in his gut. “Where did you hear that?”

“Brady heard it ‘confidentially’ from one of the Garda at the pub—the same joker Tom sent to shut down the arts center a few months back. He said he was trying to do us a favor—so we could prepare ourselves. Brady knew he was trying to intimidate him. And us.”

Denis Walsh. A corrupt asshole who gave law enforcement a bad name. Not the Garda officer who’d spoken to Donal about his concerns after visiting Mary. Fantastic. He’d hoped the other guy might have enough clout to stop a stunt like this. “We’ll handle it.”

“Linc, I’m worried, and I’m not the only one. I want to know what you plan to do about Mary because you can’t handle Owen without handling her.”

He wasn’t so sure. He had a detailed file on Mary Roisin O’Hanlon Kincaid, one he’d commissioned by the security firm who used to do that kind of work for his company. And he had one on Owen too. They might be cut from the same cloth, but they weren’t motivated by the same things. Or so he thought. “I’m still cogitating, but this ups my timetable.”

“Cogitating? What is there to cogitate about?”

Her accusatory tone put his back up and made him scowl. “Ever heard the one about throwing gasoline on a raging fire? I know what’s at stake here. I walk with Bets to her rose garden every night while she tries to put on a brave face and pretend she’s not scared to death of what we might find when we get there. And I was there the day Owen vandalized your shed.”

She swore softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been on edge since Brady came home from lunch and broke the news. Ellie was at the center. She doesn’t know yet.” She stomped around a bit more in her black boots on his hardwood, her temper on full display. “It’s an outrage to think they’re going to release him early.”

“Yes, it is.” But he wasn’t exactly surprised. It didn’t take more than one rotten apple to spoil the barrel, and there were corrupt officials everywhere.

“So how are you planning on handling it?”

“This isn’t a quick fix. Do you have any idea the amount of corruption we’re looking at on the local level? That’s not even taking Mary Kincaid’s rottenness into consideration. I’m a Yank, and an outsider. We need to play this smart.”

“I know.” She gripped her keys. “I grew up in Southie.”

He crossed over and picked up his coffee from the nearby side table, frowning when he took a sip and found it cold. “Want some fresh coffee?”

“No, I couldn’t choke it down.” She rolled her eyes at him like his daughter often did. “Linc, I don’t want to be tripping over Owen. He’s a creep, and he’s dangerous.”

“I remember. What can I do to reassure you? Install a security system at Summercrest?” They already had one at the arts center.

“I have a boxer in my bed and a Hank Aaron bat by the front door, courtesy of my brother Robbie,” she answered. “Plus, I’m pretty good with my fists if needed. But we don’t want it to come to that, do we?”

“Nope.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and fiddled with the change. “All right, I’m glad you came by and told me about Owen. I’m going to make a few calls. But do me a favor… Lock your doors, okay? This Irish habit of leaving them open gives me the heebie-jeebies. Especially right now.”

“Me too.” She crossed and kissed his cheek. “Trust me, they’re locked.”

“Good.” He wrapped her up in a warm hug before letting her go. “I’ll see you around, Kathleen.”

“Count on it,” she said before sailing out his front door as forcefully as she’d arrived.

He tilted his head back. He hadn’t mentioned it to Kathleen, but he’d been waiting for this news. He’d wondered if Tom would work behind the scenes to have Owen released early. Seems he’d been right.

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