Page 73 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

He shook his head, his green eyes taking in Ghislaine. “Only…an update on our Garda problem. Hello. I’m Donal O’Dwyer.”

Ghislaine’s hand holding her notebook slid down her side. “Ghislaine Monet. No relation to the artist, I’m afraid.”

Sophie had heard Ghislaine use that line a million times, and usually it made people laugh, but Donal only continued to stare. So did Ghislaine, for that matter.

Linc finally nudged him. “You were saying…”

“Right.” He coughed a moment before continuing. “Denis’ supervisors aren’t going to step in. I have a feeling they’re more afraid of what will happen if they do.”

“Meaning Malcolm definitely played a hand in this,” Linc said harshly. “Tom doesn’t inspire that kind of fear.”

Donal nodded. “I’m going to take it to the next level—the Garda Síochána Ombudsman Commission in Dublin—but that’s going to take more time. I don’t have contacts there.”

“Let me help you,” Ghislaine said, shooting him a beatific smile. “By the time we’ve told our story, they’ll be callingyouto set up a meeting. You said your last name was O’Dwyer. Any relation to Eoghan O’Dwyer?”

His hard jaw shifted into a broad smile. “He’s my father.”

Ghislaine rested her weight on her back heel and smiled back. “Everything is as it was billed and then some,” she said mysteriously. “Good genes and taste run in your family then. Are you an artist as well?”

Linc crossed his arms as Donal ducked his head, his cheeks turning ruddy. “I dabble a bit. I’ve only just started. But you don’t want to hear about that.”

“You’d be surprised.” Ghislaine sent Sophie a look. “I can see why you came to this town, not that Linc’s referral and my other sources weren’t sufficient.”

Other sources beingher mother?

“Good to see you, Donal,” Bets said, arriving with a tray. “How did it go?”

Linc took the tray from her and gave a harsh sigh. “As expected. He’s going to submit a complaint against the Garda to the national body.”

“Meaning more bureaucracy,” she replied with a groan. “I suppose lots of places suck, but nothing is easy in this country, least of all fighting corruption, which is endemic, and eejits, who are all too common. And yet I stay.”

“You must love it,” Ghislaine said, taking a cup of coffee from the tray Linc offered.

“There are a lot of positives,” Bets said, picking up her tea, “but the negatives really bite my behind, if I can be that direct with you.”

Sophie smiled as Linc offered her the tray. “Next up, a French maid’s outfit.”

“That will be the day,” he responded all John Wayne like, making everyone laugh.

“Is that orange pekoe tea, Bets?” Ghislaine asked. “I confess, it smells heavenly.”

Bets’ face went blank, and she shared a look with Linc, whose mouth parted before slamming shut. “No, it’s just plain old Irish tea.”

Donal’s teacup clattered. “I smell oranges too.”

Sophie sniffed the air. She’d smelled oranges at Jamie’s cottage upon her return, but today she didn’t smell anything. Maybe there was some flower or bush outside that emitted an orange-scented fragrance that carried easily inside a home. “Not me.”

Bets shot to her feet and pressed her hands to her cheeks, a huge grin on her face. “Oh, I’m just so happy all of a sudden.”

“Me too,” Linc drawled. “That orange scent is about the nicest thing I’ve ever smelled. Right, Donal?”

The older man’s smile widened as he shared a look with his friend. “It’s heaven-sent, if you ask me.”

Now she was really confused. “The smell of oranges is supposed to improve one’s mood and create an uplifting spirit.”

“I adore the smell,” Ghislaine said, her eyes watching Donal over the cup. “It’s feminine, yet it has a certain strength to it.”

“We had someone in our village who was famous for wearing it before she passed,” Bets told Ghislaine. “The poet we named the arts center after.”

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