Live to Fly Another Day Read online

  “Would be difficult for a thief to legitimately sell the paintings without a provenance, and fabricating one would be more difficult than the theft itself,” Declan said.

  “You should check old newspapers at the library. I’m sure you could find articles on it.”

  We thanked her and left.

  “If I order art supplies online, I could have them overnighted,” Declan said. “Framing is dear. Could just do canvases. Like she said, people will be curious to peek inside the house. Won’t be caring if the paintings are framed or not.”

  “Yeah, people would be nosing around, talking about the empty house that once held a pricey art collection. I don’t want George to be embarrassed about having sold everything off. Maybe we should wait until we can talk to him so he can okay the idea. Maybe he’ll be better soon. I have no right going against his wish of not opening to the public.” Reality burst my bubble. I let out a frustrated groan.

  “What does he have to lose at this point? There’s nothing left in the house to nick. Opening the house up to the public would be better than selling it.”

  “I have George to lose. Going against his wishes and upsetting him might be the end of our relationship.”

  I didn’t want to lose him.

  Not after he’d just found me.

  Chapter Seven

  When we returned to the house, Thomas had finished pruning his artwork, and Mac was lying next to the lilac bush. An elderly woman in a light-blue coat and square-heeled cream shoes was walking across the circular drive. A large wicker basket in her hand weighted down one side of her petite frame. Declan and I gave her a wave and parked. Declan relieved her of the basket containing the scent of something delish, and I untied Mac’s leash from the pole by the door.

  “Hello there,” she said, brushing a white-gloved hand across Mac’s back. She peered over at us. “What’s her name?”

  “Mac,” I said, not bothering to explain that he was merely obsessed with his tutu.

  She eyed us with curiosity. “I’m Fanny, Fanny Bing.”

  The woman who’d left the tulips in George’s hospital room.

  We introduced ourselves.

  A glint of recognition shown in Fanny’s pale-blue eyes, which matched the faint blue tint in her gray hair. She smiled. “How nice you came to visit George. He’ll be so pleased.”

  George had obviously mentioned me, but had he mentioned how we were related?

  “I brought some fresh-baked scones, if someone will be paying him a visit this evening or in the morning. I won’t be able to call on him until tomorrow afternoon.” She drew back the corner of a floral linen, offering a peek at some yummy-looking baked goods.

  My stomach growled.

  Declan smiled. “They look grand. We’ll be sure he gets them.”

  “I made his favorite, strawberry with little chocolate chips. Tastes like chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s plenty. You must try one. My friends and I are holding a church bake sale. Every penny helps.” She wore a hopeful smile, yet concern crinkled her forehead.

  An older woman came pedaling up the drive on a bicycle with a wire basket on the front. Dressed in fitted tan slacks, a black blazer, knee-high black boots, and a black helmet, she looked like she should be riding a horse in a polo match rather than pedaling a bike.

  Fanny’s good nature vanished, and she glared at the approaching woman. Another one of George’s admirers?

  The woman’s stern gaze narrowed on Declan and me. She slipped her rigid body off the bicycle seat, removed her helmet, and foofed her short gray hair.

  Fanny pursed her lips. “What are you doing here? You’re certainly not allowed in the house without George home. Thought you’d sneak in while he’s gone, did you?”

  “Suddenly you’re the estate’s caretaker, Fanny? I think not. You wish you were caring for George. No matter how hard you try, this will never be your home. Not with George lying ill in that hospital bed.”

  Fanny and I gasped at the woman’s callous remark.

  Declan’s gaze darkened. “One of George’s cousins, are ya?”

  “His cousin Enid,” Fanny spat.

  “I’m more than capable of introducing myself, thank you.” Her gray-eyed gaze narrowed on Declan. “You sound Irish.”

  When he didn’t respond, her gaze narrowed further. “And your names would be?”

  “None of your business,” Declan said. “I’m sure you’re also more than capable of excusing yourself.” He gestured to her bike.

  “Humph.” Nose in the air, Enid turned to her bike to find Mac peeing on the back tire. She swatted a hand at him. “Get away from that, you horrible creature.”

  “Don’t you dare touch him,” I said. “He’s the new guard dog.” I gave Mac a pat on the head.

  “Oh my yes, he looks quite intimidating in his little skirt. Well, I’ll certainly have the last laugh. You can count on that. I’ve found an investor who’s interested in turning the estate into solicitor offices. Edwards and Price.”

  Fanny slapped a white-gloved hand on her hip. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Enid let out a pleased laugh, slipping on her helmet. “Why wouldn’t I? George informed us about selling the estate when it’s not even on the market. They’ll make a deal he won’t be able to refuse. If it’s even up to him. It will likely be up to the bank.” She pedaled away furiously on her bicycle, making the Wicked Witch of the West look like a Welcome Wagon Lady.

  Fanny’s petite frame went rigid, and her hands balled into fists at her side. “Slag,” she muttered.

  I wasn’t up on British slang, but by the surprised look on Declan’s face, it was pretty bad. At least for Fanny.

  “George will be devastated if Edwards and Price buys his home. His wife, Diana, ran off with Jonathon Edwards, one of the partners.”

  My mouth dropped. “Maybe she’s lying to upset George.”

  “Oh, she’s serious. That would be exactly something Enid and her cousin Walter in Scotland would do. They aren’t worried one bit about the home staying in the family. They’re just greedy. If pneumonia doesn’t kill George, this will.” Tears filled Fanny’s eyes, and she cupped a hand over her mouth, capturing a sob.

  I slipped an arm around the woman’s narrow shoulders. “He’s going to be fine.”

  “They knew George needed money, maybe not precisely how much, but they could have helped him. Of course, the man is too proud to ask family, but they should have offered it if they thought they had any right to the home. They should have been paying their fair share all along. George never told them that Diana ran off with his money, not merely the family solicitor. He was embarrassed enough by the whole scandal. If Enid learns you’re related, she’ll assume he’s leaving you the estate rather than selling it, merely to spite them. Who knows what they’ll do.”

  I couldn’t afford to maintain myself let alone an English estate. I’d definitely donate it to the National Trust if they’d take it. Or maybe sell it for enough to pay my bills. Ugh. How could I even think such a thing with George lying in the hospital? I sounded like Cousin Enid.

  “Nobody is aware of your relationship outside of Thomas and me. Best to keep it that way.”

  And the nurses in Lancaster. Luckily, the hospital was in a city with high patient traffic and not a small town.

  “George should be offering tours of the home and gardens,” Fanny said. “He shouldn’t lose the estate because his mother became a paranoid recluse, mad as a hatter. He claims he’s honoring her wishes by keeping the house closed up, but circumstances have changed, and he’s too stubborn to see that. More than a thousand English country homes have been demolished in the past hundred years. It’d be a shame if George’s became one of them.” She took a calming breath, looking emotionally drained from her rant and our encounter with Enid. Then her eyes widened with shock. “Oh my.”

  We followed her gaze to a sheep trotting up the drive, making a beeline for the dog-shaped shrubs.

  “Enid must hav
e let it in,” I said.

  Mac took off, yanking his leash from my hand. Barking, he raced toward the sheep, which had at least three hundred pounds on him.

  “Mac, stop!” I yelled.

  He kept running.

  The minute we got home, he was off to obedience school.

  Declan set down the wicker basket, and we flew after him. The sheep spotted Mac and slowed its trot. Its head swiveled from the dog to the shrubs back to the dog. They were at a standoff. Mac let out a ferocious bark and ran past the sheep. The sheep decided Mac looked like more fun than the shrubs and chased after him. They ran circles around the sprawling lawn before Mac took off toward the gate, the sheep following. They disappeared around the corner.

  “What if Mac runs out the gate and gets hit by a car?” I yelled frantically, chasing after him.

  Declan ran ahead and reached the entrance before me. Mac was at the gate, jumping up and down, barking victoriously at his opponent now out on the road. Declan quickly closed the gate.

  “I’m going to”—I fought to catch my breath—“kill that slag.”

  “Look on the bright side. Maybe Mac found his calling. A sheep-herding dog.”

  I loved the idea of having a field of sheep in rural Ireland by Declan’s parents. And Mac having a sense of purpose at such a young age might teach him discipline. It’d taken me twenty-four years to discover my purpose in life and have a sense of direction.

  No way was either of us leaving Ireland.

  Halfway down the drive, we met Fanny speed walking and out of breath. Mac raced toward the house, on an adrenaline high from his successful chase.

  “Would you like to come inside for some tea?” I asked her. One thing I’d learned in Ireland—a spot of tea could remedy anything.

  She smiled faintly. “Thank you, dear, but I best be going. I have more baking to do. Tell George I will call on him tomorrow.” She appeared to be holding out hope that’d he’d be awake. Her smile faded, and her porcelain cheeks reddened. “We can’t let that horrible Enid win. We just can’t.”

  Thomas came running up from the back garden. “Bloody beast didn’t get at my shrubs, did it?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m going to wrap a chain around that gate until I can get a locksmith out on Monday.”

  “Enid let it in,” Fanny said.

  “The slag.” Thomas shook his fist at the gate. “When George’s mum passed, he stopped locking it. There wasn’t enough staff to let in the delivery persons, and he despised the intercom system. The surveillance cameras haven’t worked in years. We can no longer afford such an elaborate security system. No need for it now anyhow.”

  A glint of inspiration shone in Declan’s blue eyes. “If George knew about Enid’s plans, he’d be wanting to do everything in his power to keep the estate. He’d be all for the art-mystery dinner. It’s a bril idea.”

  I agreed. I’d only known Cousin Enid five minutes and wanted her defeated as much as I wanted George to win! I told Thomas about the woman’s plans to turn the estate into law offices associated with George’s wife’s lover, and our plans to save it. Next to George, Thomas would be most impacted by the sale of the house, despite what Enid thought. Thomas’s family had lived here for three generations. And next to Thomas, Fanny would have the most to lose if George was no longer within walking distance from her home.

  “George will be furious if she sells it to those crooked thieves,” Thomas said. “As if he hasn’t been through enough. There’s no reason for privacy at this point.”

  “No reason at all.” Fanny’s eyes filled with determination. “George will surely change his mind once he learns of his cousin’s underhanded plan. We must do whatever it takes to save the estate.”

  If both Thomas and Fanny were on board, we had to do it.

  “Please keep me informed on your plans,” Fanny said. “I will help in any way I can.” She marched off, gravel crunching under her heels. A woman on a mission.

  Being proactive was much better than us doing nothing while we waited around impatiently for George to get well. We could make a nice dent in his bills and have the estate on the road to recovery when he returned home.

  “We’ll put together a plan and see if we can make it work,” I said. “We went to the library to look for old newspaper articles about the theft, but it’s closed. Do you remember much about it?”

  “That I do,” Thomas said. “I was here when it occurred. But I can do better than an old man’s failing memory. I’ll collect a few items and meet you in the house.” He rushed off.

  A nervous feeling tossed my tummy. I was due back to work on Monday. I was still in a probationary period earning the CEO’s trust and proving myself. I had online classes to take and meetings to plan. Yet how could I ditch George when I’d worked so hard to uncover Grandma’s past and connect with her relatives? I’d only known him a month, yet cared more about him than the cousins he’d known his entire life. Grandma had left because she’d obviously felt it was the best choice for them or that she hadn’t had a choice. I had a choice. No way was I leaving George without at least trying to help him.

  He had nobody else to turn to.

  I peered over at the mansion, channeling Mary Crawley from Downton Abbey. When working as an on-site meeting staff, I used to always ask myself what Rachel would do in a situation. Now, I asked myself what the strong-willed, confident character Mary would do.

  She’d kick Enid’s ass across the English Channel for even trying to take Downton from her family.

  Cousin Enid was going down!

  Chapter Eight

  We unpacked the groceries—tuna salad with corn, egg salad, chicken salad, deli meat… All cold food. Declan and I agreed the massive cast-iron stove was beyond intimidating and our cooking capabilities. We were trying to save George’s house, not burn it to the ground.

  The small convenience store hadn’t sold Tayto chips, so I’d had to settle for an unfamiliar brand. I’d grabbed salt-and-vinegar-flavored crisps by mistake rather than cheese and onion. I took a bite of a chip, and the tangy burst of vinegar made my top lip curl back. I tossed the bag in the garbage. No matter how much I wanted to adapt to the Irish lifestyle, I would never acquire a taste for vinegar and give up ketchup.

  I peeked inside the tub of Rachel’s favorite flavored ice cream—caramel sea salt vanilla—relieved it hadn’t melted. I’d also bought her a stash of energy drinks before I even knew I was going to have to be a total suck-up.

  “Getting Rachel on board with the art-mystery dinner will be more difficult than getting George on board. At least I hope so. George will certainly agree with our idea after he hears Enid’s threat.”

  “She wasn’t on board about ya going for the Flanagan’s job, but that didn’t stop ya, did it now?”

  “I’ll need her expertise. This is way beyond my Meeting Planning 101 class. I have no clue how to estimate catering guarantees or create a budget when people have to buy into the event. I don’t even know how to do a budget for corporate events when the company foots the entire bill. How will we know what to charge? Where will we get money for deposits on tables, chairs…and dishes?”

  “I have money from selling my house.”

  “I can’t let you front the money for this. If we don’t make a profit, I’ll feel horrible.”

  Even more pressure for the event to succeed. But that was totally sweet that Declan made the offer.

  “Made more on the sale than I’d expected. And my donation can be a tax write-off for the restoration of a historical property.”

  “Could you do that?”

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  “What if I don’t have time to plan the event? Rachel handed off two Flanagan meetings, both in a few weeks. I have to plan that stupid glamping trip and an incentive to either Vienna, Florence, or Dubrovnik. Not to mention finding Gracie and Bernice’s Scottish ancestors, Gretchen’s German one, and my grandma’s birth record.” And I was dying to contact that
Scottish couple to see if I could find a family connection with our Coffeys.

  Gazing into my eyes, Declan placed his hands on my shoulders and massaged them.

  I relaxed slightly.

  “You’ll have time. I can help you with Florence and Dubrovnik. Work from here. Rachel planned Flanagan’s meetings from four thousand miles away.”

  True. I’d also be planning them from Milwaukee if I had to return there until my citizenship was straightened out. Yet I needed to be visible in the office prior to being deported, or who knew what underhanded tactics Gemma would use to sabotage my job. And if I was four thousand miles away, I’d have to rely on her to ship me massive program binders. She’d likely have the five-hundred-dollar shipping cost taken out of my paycheck.

  “I can hear Rachel now. How are you going to juggle the event with your job? How are you going to make enough profit to save this place?”

  “So we’ll figure out answers to all of her questions before she arrives tonight.”

  Tick tock…

  “I only have a three-day meeting next week in Dublin,” Declan said. “I can help out. I’ll be the eccentric artist in a silk robe and ascot.” He squared his shoulders and put on airs. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.” He arched a brow, wearing a crooked smile. “As shall we.”

  I clapped. “Wow, I’m impressed. It’s not only Oscar Wilde you can quote.”

  “I had to recite it for a school project. Hadn’t a bloody clue what the feck I was saying.”

  I laughed.

  “You can be researching the theft and writing the script as that’s your expertise, genealogist supersleuth.”

  I was feeling more like the bumbling Inspector Clouseau than the highly skilled Sherlock Holmes when it came to genealogy research.

  I scrambled for ideas. “It can’t be just one dinner. We need to make a ton of money. The festival lasts three days. We could do a mystery dinner each night, and during the day we could offer other events…like painting a stolen masterpiece. Back home wine and painting parties are all the rage with bachelorette parties and groups of girlfriends.”