Authors: Paula Martin
"And where does Mick Leary come into all this?"
Ryan grinned. "That's theory number two. I made a few phone calls and discovered Mick worked as a dock labourer last year. However, since January he's been a crewman on the ferries out of Belfast – which, if you recall, is about the time when Connemara saw the sharp increase in thefts and burglaries. Part of his job is supervising the loading and unloading of cars and trucks, which gives him access to the car decks during the crossing. Simple, therefore, to transfer goods from one car to another, in case the first car is being watched."
"Are you thinking Mick Leary could be the ringleader?"
"From all accounts, he's not particularly bright, so I doubt it, but he might have suggested the cottage to Conor, since it borders his family's farm, and the only access is through the farmyard. I did wonder why all the overgrown bushes between the Mist Na Mara car park and the cottage hadn't been cleared to provide easier access but, at present, any activity around there can't be seen from the house."
"Is there any way you can get into it?"
"Short of climbing on the roof in the dark and letting myself in through a gap where they've removed some of the old slates, no. I've heard there's some problem with the rafters, too, and I don't fancy landing in a heap on the floor with a broken leg or worse. If anyone found me like that, my cover would be blown, for sure."
"You need to find an easier way to get in, Ryan. Until we have evidence of stolen goods being stored there, or in the taxi to Roscommon, our hands are tied."
"I know, I know. We need hard evidence, not theories. But at least we're getting closer. Have there been any more reported thefts or burglaries?"
"A few car break-ins, and some petty shoplifting, but that's the norm in the tourist season. I'll let you know if there are any major incidents."
"Okay. Paddy Walsh is still taking his Monday morning taxi to Roscommon, but I don't want to arouse Tom Wild's suspicions by asking any more questions."
"What about Guy Sinclair?"
Ryan hesitated. "Not sure. Mist Na Mara seems to be thriving but it takes a lot of money to keep a place like that going. Is he getting a pay-off from Conor for the use of the cottage? I dunno. I asked Declan to check his personal and business bank accounts but there's no unusual incoming or outgoing."
"So where do we go from here?"
"I need a different car to follow Tom Wild to Roscommon and find out where Paddy Walsh is taking his box of goodies. If I'm lucky, I might even be able to follow the next link in the chain. My guess is Cavan, and possibly Armagh after that. I also need a set of skeleton keys and lock picks to get into the cottage – oh, and an undercover tail on Mick Leary in Belfast to see if that leads anywhere."
"Hire another car, Ryan, and leave the rest to me."
They chatted for a few more minutes before Enya left, and Ryan downed another bottle of water from the mini-bar as he waited for a suitable time-lapse before he left the hotel. From the window, he had a view of Claddagh harbour, and his mind went back to the day he met Kara here in Galway.
Even then she was special in a way he couldn't define. Chemistry, maybe, or was it the invisible red thread in the Chinese proverb? But that conflicted with his long-held opinion that you made your own destiny, through hard work and seizing whatever opportunities came your way. After all, that was how he had progressed through the
Garda
ranks, and if he succeeded in wrapping up this case, in all probability he would be considered for promotion.
Were affairs of the heart different? Did destiny play a part in making sure you somehow met your soul mate, your
anam cara
? He couldn't kid himself he was simply intrigued by Kara's mother's birth, and the fact that Kara lived at Mist Na Mara, which had become the focus of his current investigation, was irrelevant. It was Kara herself who had captivated him, right from the time he first met her, and now she seemed to be a permanent resident in his mind. When he wasn't with her, he couldn't stop thinking about her, and when he was, he loved every minute.
As he drove back to Clifden, he smiled as he recalled her delight at the changing views of the Twelve Bens, her giggles when a couple of sheep refused to move from the middle of the road for several minutes before they ambled onto the grass verge, and her squeal of excitement when she caught a glimpse of a Connemara pony in a field near Maam Cross.
She was so wonderfully straightforward, with a zest for life and love. What you saw was what you got, and he liked that. He loved kissing her, too, and holding her slim body, and… No, it was better not to think any more about that while he was driving. Except now his thoughts involuntarily jumped to the possibility of taking her to Dublin. When they'd met earlier in the week, she said she'd be working the next two weekends, but she was waiting for Charley's confirmation that they could manage without her the weekend after that. Now he was metaphorically crossing every finger that she'd get the time off.
As he reached the outskirts of Clifden, his phone rang, and he clicked the button on the steering column.
"Ryan, she just called me," Kara's breathless voice said through the car speakers. "Theresa called me."
Chapter 15
"Take a deep breath, darlin'."
Kara did as Ryan said, and gave a half-laugh. "Sorry, my heart is still thudding like a jackhammer. I could hardly believe it when I answered my phone and she said,
Hallo, this is Theresa Brogan
."
"Did she tell you anything about her daughter?"
"No. She asked me first how I knew her address, and I said a friend found it in the electoral roll. Then she asked if I knew where my mother was born, and I told her it was Ballykane in Tipperary. I had a problem with her accent, as it was different from what I'm used to, but she said she would like to meet with me and suggested the Harbour Café on Westport Quay next Wednesday afternoon about two o'clock. I didn't even check my calendar, but told her I'd be there. I was worried I might never have another chance if I said it wasn't convenient."
"And
is
it convenient for you?"
Her mind reeled. "I think we have presentations every day next week, but I'll ask the others to excuse me on Wednesday. And I don't expect you to take me up to Westport, Ryan. I'm sure there must be buses from Clifden."
"Aye, there's one a day in each direction, but don't you be worrying about that, because I'll take you."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I am. It's an easy drive, and we could have some lunch in the town before you meet with Theresa."
"Okay, that sounds good. Thank you."
"I'm working all weekend, but I'll call you."
Kara clicked off her phone, disappointed at the prospect of not seeing him until next week. At the same time, a flurry of nervous excitement skittered through her at the thought of meeting the woman who could be her grandmother.
* * * * *
"I've been tense ever since I woke up this morning," she said to Ryan when he picked her up on Wednesday morning. "I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to or dreading this meeting with Theresa. What if I don't like her? What if she tells me she was a prostitute and didn't want the baby? What if—"
"Stop tying yourself in knots, darlin'. You've been aware of these possibilities all along, so try to relax and go with the flow of whatever happens today. If you want my opinion, the fact that she's asked to meet you says she thinks your mother might be her baby."
"But she lives in Sligo, and wants to meet in Westport. I checked the distance, and it's about fifty miles. Do you think that means she doesn't want anyone to know she's meeting me?"
"It's possible, of course, and I'm sure the same thing happens in other places, not just Ireland, when women don't want their families to find out about a teenage pregnancy."
Kara nodded. "Yes, you're right. It's probably happened in America, too. I guess the longer you keep a secret, the harder it must be to disclose it. I can't begin to imagine what it would be like to say to a boyfriend or fiancé or even husband,
By the way, I had a baby when I was sixteen and it was adopted
."
"You didn't, did you?"
Ryan's grin dissipated some of her tension, and she laughed. "No, I promise you I didn't."
"It could be equally difficult for a man, you know. Imagine telling a girlfriend or fiancée or wife,
By the way, I have three children by three different women."
She widened her eyes in pretended shock. "You haven't, have you?"
He chuckled. "Not as far as I'm aware." As they approached a road junction at the head of Killary Harbour, he glanced around at her. "We've plenty of time, so how about a detour up the Doolough pass? It's more scenic than the main road straight up to Westport."
The narrower road followed the side of a lough for several miles, giving them stunning views of the bulky Maamturk mountains on the far side, dappled with the shadows of the puffy white clouds in the blue sky. Golden gorse and magenta rhododendron shrubs added splashes of colour to the varied shades of green all around them.
"This is so beautiful," Kara breathed, relaxing as she enjoyed the scenery which helped to divert her mind from the meeting with Theresa. "Are we still in Connemara?"
"Strictly speaking, Connemara is on the other side of the lough, and we're now in County Mayo, but the landscape is very similar."
When the road turned north and climbed into a wilder area of steep-sided hills on both sides of a long, narrow lough, he went on, "This is Doo Lough, and there used to be a hunting lodge near here in the 19th century. During the Great Famine, the people from Louisburgh were told to report to the lodge the next day if they wanted to receive their ration of corn from the Poor Law officers. It was a cold, wet, windy day in March, and hundreds of starving people struggled to make the twelve-mile trek here. Many of them died en route, and probably a lot more as a result of their ordeal."
Kara shook her head. "They must have been so desperate for food."
"I sometimes wonder if one of my ancestors did the trek, and continued down to Galway."
His comment reminded her of how little she knew about him. "Was that your father's ancestor or your mother's?"
"My dad's family moved south from Achill Island sometime in the late 1840s. He's sure it was because of the famine. Mayo was one of the counties that suffered the most, because the population consisted mainly of poor smallholders who were dependent on potatoes. Here's the memorial stone," he added, and pulled onto the grass verge. "Want to take a closer look?"
They walked about fifty yards across the rough grass to the Celtic cross memorial, and Kara looked back at the lough and the steep mountains surrounding it.
"It's difficult to imagine what it must have been like for those people when the weather is so perfect today. Did they get the food they needed?"
"No, the two Poor Law Guardians made them wait while they ate their four course lunch, and told them to return to Louisburgh. They weren't given any food, or tickets to allow them to enter the workhouse, either."
"What unbelievable cruelty."
"And the weather on the journey back was even worse. The wind funnelled up the valley, bringing freezing rain and hailstones, so many died of exhaustion or hypothermia. Some were so weak, the wind blew them off the track into the lough."
Involuntarily Kara shivered. "I've changed my mind about this valley being pretty. If I believed in ghosts, I'd think it was haunted by all those poor souls." As a small cloud hid the sun for a few moments, she shuddered again.
Ryan tightened his arm around her, and kissed her cheek. "Sorry, I didn't mean to depress you. Let's go, and I'll tell you another ancient story."
After leaving the lough and the valley, the road crossed a wide area of open heathland, and he pointed to a mountain in the distance whose sloping ridge led to a conical-shaped peak.
"That's Croagh Patrick. Legend says Saint Padraig himself fasted there for forty days and nights in the fifth century, and so it became an important place of pilgrimage. There's a small chapel at the top, and some people climb barefoot."
"Why?"
"Tradition, I suppose. On the last Sunday in July, thousands of people make the climb, including the local Archbishop, who conducts Mass at the summit." He chuckled. "It's the busiest day of the year for the mountain rescue team, who have to deal with cut feet, broken ankles, and either hypothermia or heat exhaustion, depending on the weather."
"You should be a tourist guide and not just a taxi driver," Kara said without thinking, and glanced at him apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, but you're so knowledgeable about Irish history and customs."
He shrugged. "Plenty of people know far more than I do. People who've lived up here all their lives."
As he drove on, he told her a few more local tales, including several stories about Grace O'Malley, Mayo's notorious pirate queen. At Louisburgh, they turned along the road that skirted the southern edge of Clew Bay, and arrived in Westport just after midday.
"I thought we'd have lunch in one of the pubs here in the town before we go to the harbour," Ryan said as he found a parking place on the tree-lined street by the side of the river.
Now they were in Westport, Kara's nerves tightened again, and she wasn't sure she could eat anything, but she managed a bowl of potato and leek soup with some crusty bread, while Ryan had a toasted sandwich with potato wedges.
As they finished their food, she glanced at her watch. Nearly one o'clock, an hour until her meeting with Theresa.
"You look worried," Ryan said.
"Is it obvious?" She gave him a tentative smile. "I should be looking forward to meeting Theresa, but I'm so nervous. She sounded okay on the phone, maybe a little strained, but I was, too. But what if the whole conversation with her is stilted and formal, and I find I can't relate to her on any level?"
"I'm thinking it's perfectly natural to feel apprehensive, and I bet she's feeling the same. But here's a question. How will you recognise her?"
Kara grinned. "You mean if the Harbour Café is full of elderly women sitting on their own? I told her I'd wear a red jacket, and she said she would be wearing a green coat."
"She might be regretting that now the weather has warmed up. Do you want to go to the quay now, or would you like to see more of the town?"
"How far is the quay from here?"
"Only a few minutes. We can sit on one of the benches overlooking the harbour if you need some time to relax."
Grateful for his understanding, she nodded. "Let's go."
He drove through the town, and Kara's eyes widened when he turned into a straight road with a long row of four-storey stone buildings on their left, and the harbour on their right.
"I thought it would be something like Claddagh harbour, with small cottages. This is completely different."
Ryan nodded. "All these were once warehouses, because this used to be a flourishing west coast port, hence its name. Now the harbour's a recreational centre for sailing and fishing, and the warehouses have been converted into holiday apartments and shops and cafes."
As he pulled into a parking place, Kara pointed to a green signboard above a wide window and glass door. "And there's the Harbour Café."
She collected her red jacket from the back seat of the car but didn't put it on as they walked to one of the wooden benches in a grassy landscaped area overlooking the water.
"You can see Achill Island from here," Ryan said, indicating a low hill in the far distance. "It's on the other side of Clew Bay. I'll take you there one day, because I think you might be interested in the ruins of a deserted village."
"Do you think that's where your ancestors once lived?"
"Possibly. The villagers abandoned it because they had to find food somewhere else."
Kara shot a wry grimace at him. "Aren't there any happy stories in Ireland's history? Everything you've told me today seems like doom and gloom."
"In that case, I won't tell you about the Clew Bay drowning, but I can't recall any myths or legends that end happily. Our Irish history is full of battles and disasters, but I can tell you some Irish jokes, if you want."
She giggled. "Go on."
He reeled off several corny jokes in a thick Irish accent until she was helpless with laughter but eventually she checked her watch. Ten minutes before two. His jokes had relaxed her, but now her stomach somersaulted again. "I think we should go to the café now."
His eyes widened. "We? Do you want me to come with you?"
"Please. I don't think I can do this on my own."
"Okay, but be sure to ask Theresa if she doesn't mind me being there."
She slipped on her red jacket as they crossed the road, and he held open the glass door for her. The serving counter was in front of them, and she glanced around at the dozen or so small square tables on her right. Each was covered with a pale green cloth, and surrounded by four wooden chairs, painted in different pastel colours. A young woman with two small children sat at one of the window tables, an older couple were sharing a seafood platter, and two middle-aged women sipped coffee from tall glass mugs.
She turned to Ryan. "She's not here yet."
"Will I get our drinks now, or do you want to wait until she arrives?"
Kara's heart missed a beat as she caught a glimpse through the door of someone in a pale green summer coat crossing the road toward the café. "I think this is her." With a start, she realised she'd expected someone who resembled her mother with mid-brown hair, but this woman had a longish face with curly black hair. Of course, it could be permed and dyed.
Ryan opened the door for the woman.
"Thank ye," she said, and turned to Kara. "And I'm thinking ye must be Kara?"
Kara held out her hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brogan."
"Ach, call me Theresa. Everyone does."
"And this is my friend Ryan. He's driven me here today."
"How are ye, Ryan?"
"Grand, and yourself? Would you like a drink?"
"Well now, a cup of tea would be very welcome, thank ye."
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Kara?"