Live to Fly Another Day Read online

  Declan’s gaze narrowed. “In Ireland?”

  “No, in Milwaukee. Not sure about Ireland.”

  “Ah, right, then, I thought you said back home, which is now Ireland.” His lips curled into a smile.

  I nodded. “You’re right. The power of positive thinking. I can’t be putting any negativity into the universe.”

  “Those painting parties sound grand. We could offer them late afternoon before dinner.”

  “During the day, we could do something geared toward families. Maybe a scavenger hunt to find the stolen artwork.”

  “We’re going to be wrecked.”

  My previous on-site job executing meetings had entailed fifteen-hour days. If I was still working long hours, at least it was on my own terms and included things I was passionate about, like this event and genealogy research.

  Thomas walked through the back door, carrying two large scrapbooks. “Everything you need to know about the theft. More than the police even knew.”

  We headed into the library and sat on the couch with Thomas in the middle. Mac followed but decided to continue on to the salon rather than curling up by the roaring fire. He was taking advantage of the wide-open space before he was cooped back up in our tiny studio apartment.

  “I kept a scrapbook on everything that was printed on the theft, hoping to solve it. I never told the family. They wanted no reminders of that evening. It was never to be discussed.”

  Newspaper articles, handwritten notes, and photographs of the stolen artwork filled the top scrapbook. The worn cover and pages reflected how determined Thomas had been to solve the crime. He opened the cover, and big bold letters read TEN MILLION POUNDS IN PAINTINGS STOLEN! The yellowed newspaper clipping had a picture of George with his hand partially obstructing his face. How mortifying for him.

  Thomas took an encouraging breath. “I recall the evening like it was yesterday.”

  “It must have been terrifying.” I slipped my phone from my jeans pocket. “Is it okay if I record this?”

  He nodded faintly, dropping back against the couch, staring into the crackling fire he’d made while we were shopping. “It was half eight in the evening. Dinner had just finished, and the family had retired to the library. The kitchen staff had left, and I was putting the finishing touches on a floral arrangement in the foyer. Ivory roses with pink peonies and purple dahlias. Quite lovely.” A faint smile curled his lips, then faded.

  “The doorbell rang. George answered it. Four men with guns, wearing Beatles masks—the singing group, not the insect—forced their way into the house. The alarm system hadn’t been set as the family hadn’t turned in for the evening. Ringo demanded we go into the loo, in what was a very poor attempt at a British accent. I’m quite sure they were American. He pointed a gun in the direction of the loo as if he knew precisely where it was located. Diana went hysterical, and the man turned the gun on her. She went pale, and I feared she was going to pass out. It was the one time I actually felt a bit of sympathy for the woman.

  “She managed to calm down a bit, and they shut us in the loo, warning us to remain fifteen minutes before coming out. Diana and Isabella refused to come out of the room until the police arrived. When we returned to the salon, eight paintings and a sculpture were missing. They knew precisely what they were doing, taking the most valuable pieces.”

  Thomas eased out a shaky breath before continuing. “George’s mother went to stay with her sister in Scotland for a month. Diana lived with her parents for several months. Even after the installation of an upgraded security system, with panic buttons in each room, Diana didn’t return for some time. She wanted to move, but George refused. George’s mother spent more and more time with her sister in Scotland. The theft caused a rift in both marriages, tore the family apart.” He frowned, an overwhelming sense of despair deepening the wrinkles on his weathered face.

  Was that when George’s parents started sleeping in separate bedrooms?

  “I didn’t blame either woman for not returning right away. We jumped at the slightest noise and weren’t allowed to answer the door. George’s mother was convinced it was an inside job because the thieves knew the location of the loo. George’s father fired all the staff except for the cook and me.”

  “Did you think it was an inside job?” Declan asked.

  Thomas shook his head. “Hundreds of people have visited the house over the years and used the loo, and several plumbers had fixed the pipes. We still keep the front door locked to this day and don’t open it without good reason. Having been so distraught yesterday upon returning from the hospital, I left it unlocked. I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have opened it, assuming it was unwanted guests.” He smiled faintly. “The family was never the same after that.”

  “I imagine not,” I said.

  Apparently, Thomas was never the same either. I placed a comforting hand over his trembling one. George would surely have a similar or even worse reaction to reliving that night through the art-mystery event when he hadn’t even been allowed to discuss it for over twenty years. And it was the cause of his mother going mad.

  “Maybe this event wouldn’t be good for George’s health. He might find reliving that evening too upsetting.”

  “No, we’ll manage. We’ll get through it together. I am even more convinced now that it’s the right thing to do. Allowing people in the home will provide George the closure he needs. Help him recover.” He nodded. “Yes, it’s definitely the right thing to do. If George doesn’t have the estate to return to, I fear he won’t be leaving the hospital.”

  I’d had the same fear.

  We needed to give George the will to live.

  Mac came trotting into the room, carrying something brown in his mouth.

  “Did you get into the brown bread on the counter?”

  As he approached, the object in his mouth moved.

  “Omigod!” I leapt from the couch. “It’s a mouse!”

  My loud squeal scared the bejeezus out of Mac, and he took off in the other direction. We all flew after him, into the salon. Luckily, he zipped past the stairs rather than racing up them. He peered over his shoulder at us.

  “Mac, honey, give that to Mommy.” I tried to sound calm while I was freaking out over what kind of disease wild mice might carry. “Do mice have rabies?”

  “Don’t believe so, but the pesky critters carry a host of other diseases,” Thomas said. “I hope he doesn’t swallow it.”

  Swallow it!

  We went at Mac from different directions, finally cornering him. His gaze darted between us. Unable to come up with an exit strategy, he dropped the mouse. The poor little creature scurried off and slipped under the door to a room we hadn’t yet explored.

  I let out a huge sigh, almost collapsing with relief.

  “Will have to set the traps again,” Thomas said.

  As much as I didn’t want Mac or any of us getting bitten by a diseased mouse, or to have one scurry across my face while sleeping, or across the salon during our mystery dinner, I couldn’t kill one. I’d been devastated upon finding my pet hamster, Bruno, dead on the wheel in his cage. Dad had buried him in the backyard, now next to our cat Izzy.

  “Can’t you trap it and set it free?” I said.

  Thomas looked like he’d never heard of such a thing. “There’s certainly more than one.”

  I gave Declan a pleading look.

  “Suppose we could go to a hardware store and see what we can be finding.”

  Every time I thought it was impossible to love this man any more, he did something to prove I could.

  I smiled. “Probably best not to mention it to Rachel. She’s scared to death of mice. She used to call my pet hamster a rodent. He once got loose in the house, and she wanted to let our cat Izzy catch him.” Mac wasn’t even allowed to catch flies.

  Was I becoming a bit overbearing like my mother?

  Chapter Nine

  That evening, Declan and I were relaxing on the couch in the library in front of a c
rackling fire, yet I shivered, unable to get rid of the chill in my body. Even at minus twenty in Wisconsin, I wasn’t this cold. The dampness here, especially inside, was a different kind of cold. Once it took hold, you felt it deep down in your bones. I was going to end up sick in the hospital like George.

  “I’m going to grab another sweater.”

  “Here.” Declan handed me his blue wool sweater draped over the arm of the couch. He continued paging through the estate’s artwork portfolio Thomas had given him as if me wearing his sweater was no big deal.

  It wasn’t like we were back in the 1950s and Declan was giving me his letterman sweater to wear so everyone knew we were dating. But it was the first time I’d ever worn Declan’s clothing. I slipped the blue fisherman’s sweater on over my cream one. It felt soft…and intimate and smelled like Declan’s woodsy cologne. I snuggled up next to Declan and continued paging through the scrapbook on the theft.

  Declan took a sip of whiskey from a crystal glass. “George might have had to sell off most of his belongings, but his taste in whiskey couldn’t be bought. This is brilliant.”

  My gold-colored beverage was tea. I’d found several bottles of red wine in the kitchen cabinet but was afraid they might be pricey. Unfortunately, the tea wasn’t doing much to warm me up.

  “Why couldn’t the stolen paintings have been landscapes?” Declan pointed at a photo with a portrait of a woman. “Vermeer, Goya, Rubens… An impressive collection but a bit more difficult to copy than an Impressionist landscape.”

  “Your drawing of me is awesome. You’ll do a fantastic job.”

  A text dinged on my phone. It was Zoe inquiring on George’s health and attaching pics from St. Patrick’s Day at Carter’s pub up the road. Her parents were decked out in green, drinking pints with the pub’s owner, Des, dressed as St. Patrick, and his wife, Mags, dressed in a green robe-like dress with a white shawl draped across her head and wrapped around her shoulders. Their son Darragh was dressed like a green vampire. I assumed his costume was in memory of the Irish author Bram Stoker. I smiled, wishing we could have joined them for the holiday. The pub’s Christmas party had been a blast.

  “Who is Mags supposed to be?” I asked.

  “St. Brigid of Kildare. A female patron saint.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Mac let out a bark and jumped up from the blanket in front of the fire. He trotted out to the salon.

  I froze, my heart hammering. Not for fear it might be thieves preparing to force their way into the house, but because it was Mom and Rachel. Now I knew how the Dalys had felt every time the doorbell rang after the theft.

  Declan let out a shaky breath. “Right, then. We should probably be answering that.”

  I couldn’t believe how nervous he was about meeting Mom. She would love Declan after that bastard Andy, even if Rachel still claimed that he was a womanizer and going to hurt me. I was more nervous about selling Rachel on the mystery dinner.

  I placed the scrapbook on the cocktail table and slowly stood. “I should explain George’s circumstances before they walk into an empty house.”

  We headed across the foyer. A wave of heat rushed over me as we passed by the fireplace, and then it was gone, rising to the second floor. Hopefully, we’d be toasty warm in bed. We joined Mac, barking at the entrance, anxious to greet our visitors. I opened the door, and he shot out. He jumped up on Rachel, knocking her down a step, and Mom instinctively took a step back in case she was next. It made room for Declan and me on the stoop. I closed the door behind us.

  Despite Mom’s wrinkled blue knit pantsuit and curly brown hair gone flat, her blue eyes sparkled and she wore a bright smile.

  I wrapped her in a hug. “Welcome.”

  Mac was still jumping on Rachel.

  “Stop that,” I scolded him.

  He ignored me.

  Mom clapped her hands. “Mac, get down.”

  He obediently sat his butt on the step.

  I shot him a peeved look for not obeying me in front of company.

  “Aren’t you festive in your little tutu?” Mom scratched behind Mac’s ears, and he wriggled with excitement.

  Rachel didn’t bother brushing the tan fur from her black yoga pants and jersey cardigan. She gave Declan and me a hug. I introduced Mom and Declan. He held out his hand, but she drew him in for a hug instead.

  “It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” she said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Shaw.”

  “Oh goodness, no need to be so formal. Please call me by my first name.”

  Declan shot me a panicked looked.

  I’d never mentioned her first name.

  “It’s Barbara,” Mom said.

  Declan flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  I’d never seen Declan look flustered.

  “My fault,” I said. “You’re Mom to me. Guess I never mentioned your name.”

  “She downed all the energy drinks I bought at the airport before we were even over New York.” Rachel forced a smile, undoubtedly ready for a quiet and comfy bedroom.

  I hoped she wouldn’t mind that we were roomies.

  “We needed to stay awake in case of a water landing. I can’t believe they allow people to sleep in the exit row. How are they willing and able to assist when they’re drugged up on sleeping meds?”

  This was Mom’s second time flying over water. She and Dad had flown to Hawaii. She’d originally used her fear of flying over a large body of water as an excuse for not visiting Sadie Collentine rather than bitterness toward her mother.

  “She even asked a flight attendant if we shouldn’t switch seats with two passengers sleeping. Now you’re going to have to take sleeping meds to counteract those drinks.”

  “I can’t wait to take a long, hot shower and brush my teeth.” Mom rubbed a finger over her teeth.

  I wondered if there’d be hot water and enough bath towels for everyone. I hadn’t thought to check.

  “And it’s freezing out here.” Rachel tightened the ponytail holding back her brown shoulder-length hair. “Let’s get inside.”

  “Well, it’s not a lot warmer in there…” As I explained George’s financial situation and lack of furnishings and heat, Mom’s expression went from shocked disbelief to concern.

  She frowned. “Well, it appears George was like our mother, keeping secrets from family.” She heaved a tired sigh as if my information had exhausted her more than sleeping meds would. “Yet this isn’t the time to be upset, with George sick in the hospital. After all, he is my brother, and family.”

  The same forgiving attitude she’d had toward Grandma after my Ireland visit at Christmas when I’d learned about Grandma’s first husband, Michael, and them being estranged from their families. However, her attitude had changed when she’d learned about her mother abandoning George as a baby, leaving him with his Daly cousins. She insisted no matter what the circumstances, she’d never have left Rachel or me with relatives. Mom was now more bitter toward her mother than before. I feared she wouldn’t forgive her about George if they didn’t have the chance to meet.

  This was why I dreaded telling Nigel that his great-grandpa had left England as a convict, never to return. The downside of genealogy research was finding skeletons in families’ closets that people might be best off not knowing about. Not that I considered George a skeleton in our closet, but Nigel would likely consider his convict ancestor one.

  Sometimes ancestry research was a double-edged sword.

  Declan opened the door and ushered us inside, following behind with the luggage. The suitcase wheels bounced against the wood floor, echoing through the salon but failing to drown out Mom’s and Rachel’s gasps. Mom peered up at the crystal chandelier with half the bulbs burned out. Rachel shivered, gravitating toward the fireplace.

  “I can’t imagine my mother living in such extravagance. Even without furnishings, it’s quite impressive. To have had meals cooked for you and your house cleaned. To think George grew
up here, while Dottie and I shared a bedroom and five of us shared one bathroom.”

  I wouldn’t mention that his mother had been mad as a hatter. Maybe she hadn’t been during his childhood. If Mom thought Grandma had left her son with an unfit mother, she’d be even more upset with her.

  Mom’s gaze narrowed on the cobwebs linking the staircase spindles. “Did George also sell his cleaning supplies? I’ll make sure the house is spick and span before he comes home from the hospital.”

  We all smiled, nodding as if we were confident about George’s recovery.

  “The place reminds me of that estate in Brussels, where we did the off-site dinner,” Declan told Rachel, attempting to nonchalantly segue into a conversation about the mystery event.

  Rachel nodded faintly. “That was a gorgeous place. The rental alone was half our budget. Brecker had just bought a Belgium beer company.”

  “Wouldn’t this be an awesome venue for an event?” I said. “And no rental fee. We’d just have to pay for catering and…”

  Rachel’s gaze narrowed. “Are you thinking Brecker or Flanagan’s should hold an event here?”

  I shook my head. “Us.” I gestured to everyone.

  “Why would we hold an event here?” she asked.

  “To save the estate.” I excitedly described Declan’s and my ideas for the art-mystery event.

  Rachel let out a faint laugh. “Are you serious?”

  I squared my shoulders, maintaining a confident and determined attitude despite my worries over pulling it off. “Totally. We could do it.”

  “Remember that event you planned in Tuscany in only two weeks after the other villa closed?” Declan said.

  Rachel bit down on her lower lip, undoubtedly counting to ten, trying not to lose her patience. “Where would we get money for the deposits?”

  “I just sold my house.”

  “Oh, congratulations,” Mom said. “Are you going to buy another place or rent your own apartment?”