'What are you thinking?'
'Thinking I'd hate to be an innkeeper,' she said. 'I could do everything but keep up appearances. '
'How do you mean?'
'I mean I could do the laundry and cooking--all that, if I had to--but the smiling and being charming to guests through thick and thin? No way. Poor Liam. Poor Anna. And what about Paddy? What if he should go down to check on the painting and really hide it, so it's never seen again?'
'My guess is, Liam will get Corrigan out here pronto. You know Corrigan will want to speak with us.'
'And Evelyn. They'll want to question her, too. I hate that.' She sat in her chair, tapped her foot. 'We weren't supposed to go home, of course.'
'Maybe we weren't supposed to mess about in people's basements, either. An innocent bit of sightseeing that opened Pandora's box.'
'Darling,' she said, 'around here, Pandora's box stays open.'
A knock at the door. Liam.
'Can you step away?'
'I can.'
Boiling this time, none of the ashen, anguished look following previous domestic cataclysms. They went along the hall and down the stairs and turned into a dark passageway with a door at the end. Liam opened the door to a large room filled with light and the smell of sawn wood.
Liam closed the door behind them, furious.
'If I go up, I'll kill him. No weapons.' Liam held out his hands, palms lifted. 'Just these, Rev'rend, that's how I'd do it. I got in th' Rover, but Anna pulled me out an' I know she's right. I can't murder my own brother, be Cain to Abel. And so I shake myself and try to be grateful th' Barret's turned up, then it comes over me again, this fierce craving to throttle him, an' I knew I needed help.'
'When is Corrigan coming?'
'Half an hour. Before th' dinner rush begins in th' kitchen.'
'You don't have time to murder your brother.'
'God above.' Liam sat on a sawhorse. 'Th' Sweeneys bringin' family tonight. Twenty for dinner.'
'Eighteen for dinner. I'm taking Cynthia to Jack Kennedy's.'
At five o'clock they were sprawled fully dressed on the bed when Maureen gave a knock.
'Can ye come to th' kitchen, then, th' both of ye? Th' detective with th' big eyebrows is here with his man takin' notes, an' two Gards in th' car.'
'We're coming,' he said.
'There's no stoppin' a goin' wheel, is it, Rev'rend? If 't isn't one thing, 't is grown into twenty.'
William, Anna, Liam, Bella at the kitchen table with Corrigan. Maureen took a seat by the door.
Corrigan gave a curt nod toward empty chairs at the table. 'Reverend, Missus Kav'na, sit there, please. I believe you're rescheduling your return to the States, Reverend?'
'My wife's ankle . . .'
Corrigan's eyes nearly disappearing beneath his brows. 'A deal of trouble, that ankle.'
'I'll say,' said Cynthia.
'You were with Seamus Doyle when the painting was discovered?'
'Yes,' he said.
'Would you tell us how you came on it?'
'We wanted to see the concealed room,' said his wife. 'And so--'
'The concealed room, Reverend?'
'It was written about in a journal kept by the doctor who built Catharmore in 1862. It was his quarantine room.'
'And did you locate it?'
'Yes. Seamus was taking us around to the rooms we wanted to see--'
'There were other rooms you wished to see?'
'Yes. The surgery and the waiting room.'
'Because we'd been reading about them,' said Cynthia.
'How did you come upon the painting, Reverend?'
'We found what we believed was the quarantine room, as it fit the description in the doctor's journal. Currently it's a storage room for the Conor boys' childhood paraphernalia. Having been a boy myself, I was curious to see what they'd held on to over the years. There was a stack of louvers leaning against a bunk bed--the louvers caught my eye because they were out of context.'
'Storage rooms typically lack context.'
'Indeed. Then I saw something in the stack that didn't look like a louver, so we put the flashlight on it. It appeared to be a gilt frame. Actually, I didn't immediately think of the Barret, I was surprised to see such a thing stored in a damp basement. Then it dawned. Seamus pulled the louvers away, and there was the Barret.'
Liam's face drawn. Bella hunched, head lowered.
Corrigan pushed away from the table, undid the single button of his tweed jacket. 'Did you have physical contact with the frame or the canvas?'
'We did not.'
'Did you replace the louvers?'
'We did.'
'Who did?'
'Seamus.'
'Did you have permission from the owner to look at the premises?'
'The owner was away at the time.'
'Who gave you permission?'
'Paddy Conor is said to be proud of the place and doesn't mind showing it now and then. Mrs. Conor knew we were looking about; in fact, we were there at her request.'
'We'd like to take this journal to the station. Where would we find it?'
'In our room,' said his wife.
'In plain view?'
'Yes.'
'Describe the journal, Reverend Kav'na.'
'Large. Leather-bound. On the table between the wing chairs.' He didn't like the idea of the journal leaving their room.
'But we're reading it,' said Cynthia.
'To your knowledge, was anyone else reading it these last weeks?'
'Nobody reads it.' Liam, snappish. ''t is long-winded as any politician, an' faded ink into th' bargain.'
'Reverend?' said Corrigan.
'I'm guessing it hasn't been read by anyone else in some time. Also, it's been in our room for a week or two, not certain how long.'
Corrigan spoke to the Gard taking notes. 'Second floor, second door on the right, and bring it down.'
'What are you up to, then?' Liam asked Corrigan.
William thumped his cane. 'A good question!'
'I'm going up with the Gards and have Seamus Doyle show us through the cellar, for one thing.'
'Sir,' said William, 'there's a very sick oul' woman up there. I'd like to ask ye not to trouble her.'
'She must be troubled, Mr. Donavan, as must anyone else in the household at this time. Mr. Conor, I'd like you to come along.'
'No way can I come up. We've eighteen for dinner this evenin' an' goin' on six-thirty, by my watch. No, no.'
'We'll need a statement from you.'
'My statement is that this whole bloody thing is a bloody torment, and I look forward to seein' it bloody done with. That's my statement.'
'We'll ask you to come to the station tomorrow. Noon sharp. We'll be taking the painting with us for evidence, dusting for fingerprints, building a case. You say your brother knows nothing of the discovery?'
'He doesn't know,' said Liam. 'What could be th' sentence for such as this?'
'Ten years, and possibly a fine into the bargain. Please come with us, Reverend. As you were the one to discover the painting, you may be helpful.'
His wife had that look. 'Detective Corrigan, you can't possibly make use of the journal while you're at Catharmore. Please be kind enough to leave it here and collect it when you're done up the hill.'
Corrigan gave her a cold stare.
'I'm reading it, sir.'
Corrigan stood, buttoned his jacket. No cigar.
Thirty-nine
He stared at his face in the bathroom mirror.
Bags under his eyes. A five o'clock shadow gone wild. No wonder Corrigan eyed him as if he were a common criminal. While banging around in the Catharmore cellar an hour ago, he reached up to scratch his chin and was dismayed to find he hadn't shaved. What day was this, anyway, and what had he done with it?
To reckon whether his brain was still operative, he ticked off the list.
Up early this morning and a run by the lake.
Jack Kennedy's for lunch.
>
Catharmore and the alarming overdose scenario.
Evelyn's peaceful surrender, the simplicity of it; he would not forget the ease of both their spirits, and the benediction he felt.
He slathered on the shaving cream, ran hot water over the razor head.
Then he had written Henry and put it in the post box and gone with Liam to the unfinished guest room for a bit of hysteria, then off to the kitchen for a round with the detective, and then up to Catharmore for another plague of questions. All this followed by Paddy being put under arrest and taken away with the painting. Evelyn had been briefly questioned by Corrigan, with only Feeney in the room; at news of Paddy's arrest, she had turned her face to the wall, stoical. As for Fletcher, Feeney was stern but forgiving, and bringing on a replacement for Eileen.
He felt the circumstances of the day in his bones; he was sauteed, baked, broiled, fried. Seven-thirty. In a half hour, dinner at Jack Kennedy's. God help him.
The razor had made a clean sweep of the left jaw when he heard someone knocking; heard Cynthia say, Come in.
Then he heard Bella say Paddy didn't do it, and then the sobbing, which went on for some time. He shaved the other side, wiped his face, stood frozen as a mullet, listening.
'Come,' said his wife, her voice nearly inaudible. 'Come and tell me everything.'
'Jack was usin' me. He never meant to take me to Dublin to see Da, and New York was but a black lie, a bit of chat he might give any bird on the street. And th' way he never met me in the lane as he said he would, and me waitin' so many hours in th' night, and for all that, I was still after doin' something for him, something terrible.'
More sobbing.
'Th' cupboard business, like I said, was for credit cards an' cash, an' a fine watch to show his mates in Dublin. But the cupboard went wrong and he was angry about it, as if I'd let him down somehow. I was glad it went wrong, for I hadn't wanted to be part of it, yet I couldn't say no to him.
'And so he'd seen th' painting an' thought it very grand, and I went on and on about its great worth, you see. Hundreds of euro it's worth, I said, and he said he was sorry about not takin' me to New York an' all that, and if I'd stake him to another chance, on his word he would take me an' we smoked a j together to seal th' promise.'
'You did drugs with him?'
'Only th' j an' only th' once. He withheld everything from me, including his charmin' affections, but he was ever promisin' more to come. 't would be grand, he said.
'I told him I was doin' th' concert for guests an' he said would I keep them entertained an' out of th' dining room. Five minutes was all he needed, he said, but ten would be better, for he'd be liftin' th' painting off th' wall and must then get round th' house and into th' lane. He said I'd see th' painting again, in th' form of fancy gear an' nice pubs, an' th' bling I'd be flashin' as he danced me round Dublin on his arm.'
Sobbing.
'He had only a bicycle, you see, no van or car to put anything in, but he said he'd get a mate with a van an' they'd carry it away. An' so the painting disappeared as planned, and then th' terrible uproar with th' Gards, an' Liam an' Mum so broken by it, an' even Mamo sufferin'. I saw it only as a painting, I didn't know about th' insurance an' all that; I didn't know it meant so much to Liam and everyone here. I thought they loved it because 't was pricey, but they loved it for its beauty, Liam said, an' 't was nearly all he had from his oul' da.
'How did you feel about that?'
'Sorry, very sorry to cause so much hurt, and frightened that I'd be linked to it, that Jack would be caught and confess.'
'And then?'
'I was to meet Jack th' evenin' after th' fair and we would go away, but then he went and sliced that poor bloke nearly to bits. 't was horrible to know I would have run away with someone after killin' a man, an' th' whole thing so vicious. I knew deep inside he was a bad lot, Jack. I knew it, but I wanted to get away from Broughadoon for all that.'
'Did he take the painting to Catharmore?'
'I don't know. I only know he'd done work in Paddy's cellar an' after that, came and went as he pleased, for th' door was never locked. He sometimes slept there, he said, when his rent was late, and no one knew it--he was on th' pig's back, he said, to be goin' in an' out of such a grand place an' no one the wiser. He never mentioned Paddy, I don't think th' painting was anything at all to do with Paddy. I think Jack couldn't get a van or whatever he needed, an' had no other place to put it 'til he could carry it away to Dublin. He had a mucker there, he said, who would fence it in London.'
'Why no fingerprints on the cupboard or in the dining room?'
'Gloves. Jack said he always wore gloves when stealin' from th' rich to give to th' poor, which was himself.'
'You must tell all this to your family, Bella, and then to the Garda.'
'They say an accomplice gets th' same punishment as th' one doin' th' crime. I don't want th' terrible desperation of prison. My da knows blokes released from prison; 't is a nasty life. I couldn't do it, Cynthia, I couldn't, please God.'
'They will love you through this--your mother, Liam, Maureen, William. They will love you through it.'
'No one really loves me, not even my da.' Weeping. 'I don't deserve love, not from anyone.'
'God loves us whether we deserve it or not. He's loving you right now as you release your sorrow to me.'
'I can't believe that.'
'There's something my husband often quotes: Love is an endless act of forgiveness. Over and over again, we need forgiveness from others, just as we need to forgive others--over and over again.'
A long silence.
'Confession makes us clean again, Bella--it reconciles us to God. Forgiveness does the same. And God will forgive you, Bella, just as everyone here will forgive you. All you have to do is ask. I promise.'
'I knew I was doin' wrong and hurting others yet I did it anyway, an' sometimes I felt really smug over bein' cruel. I can't ask God to forgive that.'
'I'll ask him for you, then.'
There was a stillness in the room, then his wife praying. He crossed himself and prayed, also. Where two or more are gathered together.
'What I came up to say is your husband needs to call Dooley Barlowe. I spoke with Dooley on th' phone, he said he liked th' funny way I talk an' I told him he has a funny way of speakin' himself.'
Cynthia laughed.
'An' so I came up to give you the message, and when I opened th' door, I couldn't hold it in any longer, it came pourin' out.'
'I've just read something about seeing a nasty thing fixed back to a good thing. You will see this fixed back, Bella.'
'I don't want to see Paddy sent away for what he had no part in. He can be a dreadful man, Paddy, but he's always been kind to me. He took me fishin' many times when I was little, an' always liked my music.'
'When will you tell your family?'
'I mustn't say anything 'til dinner is over. We'll be slammed tonight with eighteen on us, an' it must be very special. I wish you didn't have to go to Jack Kennedy's.'
'We'll be back.'
'His meatloaf is gross, his chops are cremated. '
'I'll remember that.'
'If you could be with me when I tell them . . .'
'Of course. Yes. I'll be with you.'
'Even your husband, who seems to settle Liam down.'
'We'll do it. I'm proud of you, Bella. You're living up to your name.'
'I couldn't go on like I was goin'.'
'You're growing up.'
He heard the door close and went into the room and put his arms around his wife. They held each other, wordless, looking beyond the window to the lough, as Fintan and Caitlin had done when they saw the rainbow.
Forty
'Hey, Dad.'
'Hey, buddy.'
'Thanks for callin' back. I wanted to tell you I'm not done.'
'Great. Terrific!'
The kitchen crew going hammer and tong.
'Bet you're done, though. You've been gone a long
time for a guy who doesn't like to travel.'
'Right. But I'm not done, either. We'll be a few days yet, I'll let you know.'
'She apologized.'
'Wonderful.'
'Said she was sorry she called me a rich puke of shallow character.'
Classic Lace Turner. Self-educated largely through the services of a rural bookmobile, now an honor student at the University of Virginia. Impeccable grammar, colorful way of putting things.
'Are you a rich puke of shallow character?'
'I don't think so.'
'Trust me, she doesn't think so, either. How about you?'
'What do you mean?'
'Did you apologize?'
'For what?'
'Come on. Whatever you said or did to make her punch you.'
'Yes, sir.'
'May I ask what it was all about?'
'I wasn't going to tell you, because it makes you crazy. But since you're asking--we had a date, I was late.'
A cloud of steam over the stove top; Bella hoicking a roast from the oven.
'How late?'
'There was this friend who came by, I never get to see him--'
'How late?'
'An hour.'
'First time?'
'I wish. I've been late a lot, and she hates it; I mean, really hates it. But hey, Dad, love is three-sixty-five, twenty-four/seven. Why get upset about a few minutes?'
They'd had the Punctuality Talk many times over. It was a thorn. 'That sounds good, but . . .'
'But what?'
'Love shows up on time.'
The dreaded phone silence.
'Well, look, son, they're busy here. Know that we love you. Catch you later, gotta go.'
That was Dooley's sign-off protocol--he'd never used it before. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.
He was thinking of Evelyn Conor as he went upstairs. He felt he should be there, but Feeney had sent him home. 'You have a date with your wife,' Feeney said. 'Best to keep it.' Anyway, off to Tobernalt and Innisfree tomorrow and no chance to visit Catharmore. This wasn't feeling right.
Jack Kennedy's was loud, crowded, upbeat. They sat at the bar.
'You're plenty beautiful,' he said.
'Thanks. I love it when you talk like that.'
'Proud of you.'
'Proud of you back. Bella says skip the meatloaf.'