I Dream of Irish Wolfhounds Chasing Sherlock Holmes, So It S No Wonder I Wake with a Nasty
1
DARCY
CHAPTER 11
I dream of Irish wolfhounds chasing Sherlock Holmes, so it’s no wonder I wake with a nasty headache.
Normally, I’m a champion sleeper but with Dad on the loose I spent the night in a cold sweat. I don’t think I’m cut out to work with socialites. I don’t know how to stop Paddy O’Toole, super-spy, and I’m damned sure I should have told Alex about my suspicions. None of which matters before a pot of coffee.
Wrapped in yellow bunny print fleece, wearing oversized socks to keep out the cold, I’m halfway through my first mug when the front door slams. I flinch but don’t open my eyes. There’s only one person I know with a key to my front door who slams it before sunrise. My Dad.
“Top of the morning to you.” Footsteps clatter across the old kitchen floor before he roots in my cupboard for a cup, pours coffee and joins me at the table. I don’t open my eyes because I’m focused on the red blood vessels on the inside of my lids.
“Good Lord, lassie, you look like the bride of a banshee.”
I crack one lid open and glare at my father. “Who are you and why are you in my house?”
“Och, lassie you’re a fright. Why don’t you run upstairs and brush your hair. You’ll feel better.”
My back sinks a little lower and my nose damned near dips in my coffee. “Be quiet for five minutes or go home.”
Dad snorts and my sense of humor peeks out from behind the dark cloud of sleeplessness.
“There once was a man from Kilkenny whose face was as bright as a penny.”
Then it retreats. “Dad!”
Dressed in jeans and a crisp white shirt, Madelines joins us. “Oh, good morning Mr. O’Toole. I didn’t hear you come in.”
That’s a lie. She only calls Dad Mr. when he wakes her from a dead sleep. I blink a few times and her image comes into sharp relief. Madeline is beautiful. There’s no doubt about it, not when she can look vibrant and fresh minutes after being startled from sleep. Long tendrils of sun-streaked hair float about her cheeks as she makes tea and joins us at the table.
Dad turns toward her like a flower to the sun. “Well, aren’t you a fine rare rose lassie.”
She smiles back. “Thank you, Paddy, you’re a perfect gentleman.”
A perfect pain in the arse is more like it, but I’m tired of my attitude, so I slap my palms on the table and push to my feet. Is it too much to ask for a few minutes of peace before the day begins? “You two want breakfast or what?”
“Bangers and mash and while you’re up I could use a wee refill.”
Not about to mash potatoes at six in the morning, I Americanize his order. “Sausage and scrambled eggs coming up.”
Dad holds his mug out as if if he knows I’ll comply. Smiling as brightly as I can, given it’s ten minutes to six, I give him a wee refill and wait.
Dad peers into the nearly empty cup and frowns. “Perhaps a wee bit more.”
This time when I pour, I let the coffee flirt with the rim of his mug before turning toward my friend. “Madeline, what would you like?”
“I’d love a coddled egg.”
Not in my kitchen. “Why don’t you let Dad tell you what he’s been up to while I cook breakfast.”
Tossing half a dozen sausages into a cold skillet, I light the burner, then interrupt Dad’s travel monologue. “Why don’t you tell Madeline about Alicia and your undercover activities.”
I give her a slight nod and nearly grin at the concern spreading across her features.
“Oh.” Madeline folds her hands on the table and considers my father. “Please, Paddy, I’ve love to hear all about your activities.
“About that.” Dad scratches the stubble on his chin. Something in Madeline’s nature or posture must remind him to be a better man because he hesitates, clears his throat and looks at me. “Lassie, I’m not sure I should divulge unfounded rumors. What if I’m wrong?”
Now that’s a thought I wish he’d had sooner—about a lot of things.
I roll the sausages in the pan and admire the crispy brown crust forming on the skins. “Better to get it out in the open Dad. You know Madeline will only wear you down.”
“Tis true,” he grumbles.
Satisfied Madeline will keep Paddy from mischief, I turn back to the stove and my breakfast duties. By the time, I’ve whipped up scrambled eggs and poured orange juice for three, conversation at the table has died to the occasional murmur.
“So, Dad,” I say, sliding our plates onto the table. “What are your plans for today?”
“Besides another cup of coffee lassie, I have a rare spot of free time.”
Filling his cup, I give him a bland look. “Didn’t you tell me business was booming and that you were shorthanded.”
“Tis, lassie, I thought you could lay a wee bit of pipe this afternoon so I could attend to other matters.”
“What matters Dad.”
He’s quiet while I polish off the remains of my breakfast and get to my feet. “Well?”
“Toast would be lovely. Maybe a dollop of marmalade.”
I stare at Madeline who moves around the table to slice strawberries onto Dad’s plate.
Paddy eyes the red berries and looks up. “You two will be the death of me.”
“Hardly.” I empty the pot into Paddy’s travel mug and hold it just out of reach. “Go to work Dad and stay away from Alicia.”
“Will I see you this afternoon?”
“Not laying any pipe Dad.”
Dad pulls me into a bear hug. “Ah, lassie, there’s no denying it. You’re my favorite daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter.”
He chuffs a laugh, lets me go and wraps his arms around Madeline. “And you are my favorite other daughter.”
She kisses the tip of his nose. “Go to work Da.”
“Da.” Paddy beams at the both of us. “Between the two of you, I have an embarrassment of riches.”
Madeline and I walk Paddy to the door and watch as he ambles through the mist to a rusty, green Datsun B210 from the late seventies. I should hand it to Dad, he’s the thriftiest man I know.
“Well that was fun,” says Madeline as she turns toward me. “I may need a nap.”
“All I need is more coffee.” We head back to the kitchen and while I brew a fresh pot, she fills me in on her latest project. She’s doing a series of oil paintings based on Monet’s lily pads, but instead of traveling to his home in Giverny, she visits the Japanese Tea Garden in Gold Gate Park for inspiration.
“How late did you work last night?”
“Past three.” She covers a yawn and gets to her feet.
“Going back to bed? Maybe we could talk about the engagement plans before you do.”
“Darcy, everything I’ve seen you do is fabulous. But I’m awake and the light is perfectthis time of day so I’m going to the tea gardens.
“Isn’t it foggy?” I do a double take out the multi-paned glass of my kitchen window. Yep. We’re socked in.
She swats that idea away. “If I can get there by the time it thins to wispy tendrils it’ll be worth the trip.”
“Dinner?”
“I’m meeting Father. Would you like to come along?”
And be grilled by the Pope of Wall Street? “No thanks, you two have fun.”
Madeline’s smirky smile tells me she can read my thoughts. I grin back, and while she disappears down the hall, I clean up the mess I’ve made cooking breakfast. Then I drag myself upstairs and get ready for my day. Thirty-five minutes later, I’ve showered, dressed, and landed back in the kitchen with my legal pad at the ready.
I’m out of time. I need to call to Alex.
Trouble is, it’s still too early, so I doodle and drink coffee. When I get jittery from the second pot, I break into the peanut butter cups I stash in the pantry behind the green lentil pasta I never use.
Sugar and caffeine is not the best brain food, but I focus my intent and make a list. I start with Pros and Cons. Under Cons I write “Alicia” because she can fire me at any moment. Then I consider this and move her to the Pro category, if I think she’ll fire me, I have nothing to fear so I might as well go all-out. Since Alex is a guy and doesn’t interfere in my plans, I place him under Pros. Then I move him to Cons because he’s a complication. Not only do I think he’s hunky—a fleeting emotion on my part—but I’m keeping secrets. Maybe. I’m not at all certain Alicia cheats.
I stare at my list until the ink blurs.
I stare at my hands and decide I could use a manicure.
I stare at the clock.
It’s a quarter to nine. I should call and tell Alex about my suspicions, but I can’t get over the image of Alicia in my kitchen—even though she recovered herself pretty-damn fast. I just hope she’s on the up and up; though I’m afraid I’ve known women like her. Happiness isn’t enough. They need the over-the-top royal treatment to feel special. Still, she deserves my best.
She deserves to be happy so I call Alex.
Who answers on the first ring. “What.”
“Hello?”
“You’ve got the wrong number, I’m not interested.”
Yeah wise guy, I’m selling light bulbs. Before I can answer, Alex hangs up, so I stare at the
phone and wonder what kind of idiot answers the phone with “what.” Not a guy who can plan a party with sensitivity. I down the reminder of my cold coffee and hit redial.
“What?”
“Don’t hang up, this is Darcy.”
“Darcy?”
“Your engagement party planner and you are in serious trouble.”
“Oh right, Darcy.”
I hear shuffling papers and a muted voice. “Alex?”
“Listen Darcy, I don’t mean to be rude, but—”
“I can solve your problems, give me five minutes.”
“I don’t really have the—”
“Two.”
I think I hear Alex swear before he lets loose a long breath and says, “Go.”
“Alicia wants you to handle the rest of the engagement details so she knows you love her.”
I hear his quick intake of breath, raise my voice and speak louder. “I’ll do the work, we don’t even have to meet. I’ll fax over a list of details and you can rubber stamp them.”
“Is that so.”
I can’t tell if this is a statement or a question. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I figure you’re busy, and you’re a guy and—”
“Done, but we’ll meet in person.”
Not if I have anything to say about it
“Tomorrow at noon works for me.”
“We don’t have much time here Alex, I’m not a miracle worker.”
“I know, you’re a plumber. Listen, Darcy,” his voice softens to a low timbre, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult but my day is backed up as it is.”
I don’t say anything. I wait for him to figure out the timeline and realize, we have days not weeks.
“So, I’m really in the doghouse?”
“Maybe.”
“Well am I or aren’t I?”
“You will be, if you don’t prove to Alicia that she’s the only one on the planet who matters to you.”
“How the Hell do I do that?”
That’s the big question isn’t it.
CHAPTER 12
Alone in a sports bar, waiting for Alex, isn’t exactly were I wanted to be this evening. Then again, I haven’t had time to think about anything but the engagement party, so I order a nice chocolate stout and buffalo wings, while I settle in to people watch. The room is cozy in a neon-clad lumberjack kind of way, with worn tables tops, cozy booths and pine walls.
I like it here. From my small booth along the back wall I can watch the action. The crowd is younger than at Paddy’s usual pub, but the sentiment’s the same; lots of beer on tap, tv screens hung in every corner, and a flickering neon sign above the bar, extolling the virtue of pure rocky mountain water in the making of America’s favorite beverage.
The wings arrive before my errant client, so I wait a few minutes, then dig in.
Halfway through the basket, Alex shows up. He’s wearing scuffed boots, jeans, and a plaid, flannel shirt in greens and blues. I glance down at my chest, and though my shirt is cotton, we’re damned-near matchy-matchy.
“Hi Darcy, sorry I’m late.”
I wipe my chin with a napkin, and wave him into the booth. “I’m just glad you decided to meet with me tonight instead of tomorrow. I need every second of your time I can get.”
“Yeah, no prob. Darcy, are you sure you’re up to this? I mean, I love the new toilet but this is different.”
“Of course, I can.” Trying not to huff under my breath, I swipe a carrot through blue cheese dip and pop it in my mouth.
While I chew, he peers into the basket of wings. There isn’t much left.
“Think you could eat a few more of those?” Alex flags down the waitress.
I shake my head, and though the stout is terrific, I decline another. “Ice water would be great.”
Unlike a lot of guys I know, Alex doesn’t make a face when I order water. Well that’s one for Cro-Magnon Man. Now if we can get through the rest of the decisions before he fades, I’ll elevate him to marriage material.
For Alicia, not me.
While Alex waits for his order, I pull out my legal pad, and rummage in my purse for a pen. When the waitress sets down our drinks, I figure I’ll let him relax until he’s halfway through his mug of beer. The pale stuff. The stuff not worth drinking.
He makes it to the bottom of the mug before I speak. “Tough day?”
“The worst.”
I’d like details but I hate to pry. “Ready to work on the plans?”
Alex brackets his beer with both hands and looks down at the table. From the shape of his fingers you’d think he was a piano player, or an artist. Madeline has hands like those; long, slender, with the merest hint of a callous.
I hide mine beneath the table. “We could do a little brainstorming, start with a list.”
Alex leans back in the booth and looks at me. “What I’d really like is a distraction. Tell me something about yourself.”
The knot in my shoulders hitches a little tighter. “We have work.”
“We have time.”
I hate to talk about myself, but the waitress slides a chopped salad and a tray of steaming sliders in front of Alex. “Another beer?”
Boy, did I order the wrong entree. I can smell the grilled onions from my side of the table. My mouth waters. When I glance up I notice Alex is staring at me. “What, did you get a dirty fork?”
“You sure you can plan a party?”
“Of, course.”
Alex ignores his food. We watch each other, our weird little standoff broken only when the waitress returns with more drinks and a clean plate.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I didn’t order another beer.”
“You’ll need it.” Alex moves one of his burgers onto the plate and adds a pile of salad. “You like salad, right?”
“Lettuce is for burgers.” I’m about to tell him I”m full when my stomach growls.
“It’s good for you, so either join me, or tell me your life history.”
I grab a fork and flick a piece of dried parsely off the tines. I’ll start with salad because who wants to end a meal with rabbit food. “Thank you,” I tell him. “This looks delicious.”
Alex turns his attention to his meal and we eat in silence until his phone vibrates on the table. he answers, and, after a series of uh huhs and grunts, hands it to me.
I pluck the phone from his hand and gingerly hold it to my ear. “Darcy? Darcy this is Alicia, we need to meet.”
Oh crap. She’s spotted Dad. I bet he’s been tailing her in that stupid rusty car of his. “Okay.”
“I’ve reconsidered the party plans and I wish to go with your ideas. The decorations were gorgeous.”
Really? Even though I worked hard to flesh out my ideas, and I’ve tracked down some amazing silver serving pieces, my stomach gives a queer flip flop I define as pride.
So, what about Alex?
“Did Alex involve himself with the plans?”
“Actually, he did.”
“How were his ideas?”
“Not bad. He put a lot of thought into his ideas, so I’d say he not only loves you, he adores you.”
“Darcy, is Alex listening to our conversation?”
“No.” I stare at Alex. “He went to the bar for another beer.”
“I see. Well let him down as easily as you can and Darcy …”
“Yes.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention my indecision the other day. I was having a moment.”
“Of course.”
“Good. I imagine Alex will be relieved he no longer has to focus on our engagement.”
Sensing another trap, I get an idea. “Alicia, you’d be surprised. He’s working on a grand gesture.”
“A grand gesture? I like the sound of that.” She sighs is a flutey exhalation. “Tell you what, let him pick the chef, but I want you to make sure the menu is spectacular.”
“Will do.” I’m over the conversation so I give Alex a wide smile while I say to Alicia, “your fiancé is back. Care to have a word?”
They chitchat for several minutes while I devour the slider.
Eyes still on me, Alex flips his phone into the air, catching it before it crashes to the table top. If I tried that, I’d be buying a new phone.