Winters & Somers

By Glenys O'Connell

First Edition: © Glenys O’Connell,
2008

Second Edition: © Glenys O’Connell,
2013

Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill

http://edhgraphics.blogspot.ca/         

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations,
institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the
product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The
resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely
coincidental.
All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in
print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.

Some of the words used in this book
are of Irish origin but in common use today world-wide. Some may seem a bit
unfamiliar or outlandish, so I’m including the following short glossary:

 
An Garda Síochána,
Garda
Síochána na hÉireann – The National Police Force of Ireland

Bollox, bollix, bollocks –
testicles, but usually used to describe someone the speaker is angry with.
“Jack’s a right bollix.” “Ya bollix, you wrecked me car!”

Craic – pronounced ‘crack’ with a
slight emphasis on the A sound, this has become used around the world to
describe a good time or great conversation! “I’m off to Milligan’s pub –
there’s great craic there!”

Da – father. “I’ll tell me da what
you said.”

Eejit – silly person. Same meaning
as idiot, but kinder. “You’re an eejit, Sean.”

Feck, fecking, feck off – a more
polite euphemism for the Anglo-Saxon swear words of similar sound. “Why don’t
you just feck off?” May also refer to stealing, as in; “Watch her or she’ll
feck something when you’re not looking, for sure!”

Gaff – slang for house or home. ‘Let’s
go to my gaff.”

Grand – designates something as
fine or beautiful, i.e, “It’s grand weather we’re having!”

Gobshite – despite the way it
sounds, it’s usually an affectionate or tolerant term for a fool or someone
very gullible. “You silly gobshite – what did you do that for?”

Mare – usually refers to a woman
and often not very flattering, i.e., ‘you silly mare’.

Sure – often used at the beginning
of sentences to emphasize the information. “Sure, and didn’t we all know that?”

If this has given you a taste for
some of the Irish phrases and words, A Dictionary of Hiberno-English compiled
by Terence Patrick Dolan is a great resource.

            She
spotted her prey over by the bar, drinking alone and looking sorry for himself.
Bingo! He looked exactly ready for the company of a beautiful, sympathetic
blonde.
Straightening her back to accentuate the rounded swell of her
breasts, Cíara sashayed up to the bar with a hip-sway that would raise the
blood pressure of any healthy hetero male off the charts.

She leaned on the bar, the action pressing her
cleavage into a picture that instantly mesmerized the barman and several other
men.
But here was the tricky part – to attract only the one she wanted.

            Attracting
him wasn't hard at all.  The tall, thin man on her right turned his head to
follow the barman's gaze - and was hooked immediately. Slowly, his eyes
traveled from her chest to linger on her mouth, before taking a slow detour to
her toes while taking in other vital areas along the way.

            “Well,
hello there,” he growled. A wolfish smile lit up his face and he treated her to
a display of crooked teeth. She suppressed a shudder.
This was work, after
all, but just occasionally it would be nice to work on a guy she really
fancied.

Later she’d remember the old saying about being
careful what you wished for in case it came true, but tonight she was just
another working girl.

So she returned the smile, twitching her lower
lip into that full ruby pout that men found so irresistible. She let a wave of
blonde hair fall forward over one eye as she languidly stretched out a
sun-tanned hand and drew a blood-red fingernail down his shirtfront.

“Hello, yourself,” she purred, and watched with
satisfaction as he swallowed the bait.

            Thirty
minutes later, she extricated herself from her target’s roaming hands, giggled
throatily and excused herself with the need to powder her nose.

 
          “Don't be too long, baby – I’m having a hard time waiting!” he
leered, and gave her an indulgent slap on her behind as she walked away. Cíara
turned to wink at him and blow a scarlet-lipped kiss in his direction.

He'd already invited her back to his place for a
nightcap '…and whatever else we fancy!'

* * *

            “In your dreams, jerk!” she grated, as she slammed open the
ladies' room door. “Men are all the same!”

“You got that right, love,” said a thirty-something
redhead, eyeing her over top of a powder compact.

“Ain't it just the truth and all,” said a much
older bottle blonde as she pulled up the strap of her bra. “Not one to mend
another, there's not.”

      On that note of feminine accord, Cíara stepped into a cubicle and
yanked off her slinky silver dress. She jammed it into an astonishingly
capacious shoulder bag and retrieved a tiny tight black Spandex mini-skirt and
a bright red Spandex top with off-the-shoulder straps. Wriggling into the new
outfit she hit her elbow on the door handle in the too-small space and uttered
a colorful curse.

“Someone's in a bad mood,” cackled the bottle
blonde, who stopped battling with her errant underwear long enough to raise an
eyebrow as the new-look Cíara stepped out of the cubicle. “Gawd, and aren't you
just the regular quick-change artist?”

Ignoring the other woman, Cíara scrubbed off the
red lipstick and replaced it with pale pink. Then she whipped off the long
blonde wig to reveal her own short auburn curls. She hunted around in the
depths of her bag and retrieved a black wig cut in a silky pageboy style. With
practiced skill, she tucked her natural hair under the wig, fluffed up the
style, and then examined the results in the mirror.

“My, My, Ms. Somers – you look like a new woman!”
she told her reflection.

The blonde gave a snort of laughter and flounced
out of the powder room.

 Cíara gave her appearance a quick once-over in
the full-length mirror before peeking through the ladies’ room door to check that
the coast was clear. Then she sauntered through the press of dancing bodies,
through the club front doors and into the damp and tangy air of a Dublin evening. 

One more appointment and her work would be
finished for the night.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Jonno my
boy, I saw Police Detective Jonathon Victor at work in New York and I still
can't relate that hard man to J.V. Winters, a guy who writes bodice-rippers so
full of romantic sex the ladies swoon at the mention of his name!” Gardai
Inspector Bill O’Malley grinned across the pub table at his friend.

            “Bodice
rippers? Romantic sex? I’m deeply chagrined.” Winters grinned back over a
thick-headed pint of something dark and rich.

            “And,
sure it's great you're spending some time over here. Research, huh? Is this for
a book or for a case?”

            “Hey,
the next book. It’s a bit of a departure from what I’ve been doing. More
suspense than romance. The department agreed to give me a year off - without
pay, of course. So I’m a free man.”

            O’Malley’s
eyes narrowed in good humoured envy. “How the hell did you finagle that? I know
you were wounded, but I know if I tried to get a year off for anything other
than maybe total paralysis from the neck down, the Brass would have me out
directing traffic – once they'd finished laughing, mind you.”

            “Yeah,
well, mine is the same – the bullet I took in the leg was just a flesh wound
and certainly not serious enough for the captain to be sympathetic to the tune
of a year off. So I threatened to leak to the newspapers that J. V. Winters was
actually a working cop. What really clinched it was when I said I’d reveal
which precinct I worked out of – and he had this vision of hundreds of women
clogging the parking lot, waiting for autographs!”

            “By
God, I’d love to have seen his face! You’re a mad bastard, Jonathon!”

            “Yeah,
so I’ve been told. What about you, Bill? After you worked with us for a year in
New York City I always expected you to come back permanently.” Winters eyed
the other man over his glass.

            “Myself,
I’d move in two minutes. But when Sórcha got pregnant we wanted the baby born
here, near her mother and all. Then, well, somehow it just got harder and
harder to think of leaving. And Ireland’s not like it used to be – people are
moving in here instead of all the young ones emigrating to find work.”

            “Things
have certainly changed,” Winters agreed, surveying the gleaming, newly
refurbished pub crowded with business types chattering on mobile phones while
lunching.

            “Not
always for the best, either. Money brings its own problems,” Bill commented
glumly.

            “Ah,”
Winters pounced softly. “Do I detect that perhaps there’s a reason why a tight
bastard like yourself offered to buy lunch?”

            Bill
grinned. “Always the cop, eh? Suspicious beggar, that’s what you are. But….”

            “Go
on, I’m listening. But I warn you, this sabbatical is to write the book I want
to write – not to chase around these green and wet fields looking for stolen
sheep!”

            “Don’t
condescend. We’re talking stolen jewelry.
Lots
of stolen jewelry.
Whoever our thief is, he’s got an eye for the pricey stuff. He leaves odd
trinkets worth only a few hundred pounds behind, takes stuff worth in the tens
of thousands – or hundreds of thousands. Three nights ago, he walked out of a
big Georgian house in Dublin with a necklace and earrings that in themselves
were worth a quarter of a million, but they have a history which makes them
worth twice that to a collector.” Bill drained his beer and began to make wet,
interlocking rings on the table with his glass.

            “So
what have you got so far?” Winters' interest was piqued despite himself.

            “Damn
all, and that’s the truth. No fingerprints, no sightings, the guy – or girl –
does their research well, because the robberies all occur when the house is
empty. What's puzzling is they also know where the stuff is and how to get to
it. Even if it’s in a wall safe. We're questioning all outside staff, caterers,
etc., that the victims have used, but we've not found a link so far.”

            “Must
be frustrating,” Winters sympathized. “But why did you say guy or girl? Is
there anything to indicate that it’s a woman?”

            “Nah,
not really. Just he's able to squeeze in through narrow openings such as a
bathroom window, so it must be someone fairly slightly built.  The bloody Press
got hold of the story and they’ve nicknamed him the “Diamond Darling” because
he seems to have a special liking for diamonds.  Now he’s a fecking romantic
hero!”