There You'll Find Me (24 page)

“And how did you get the address?”

“By prowling through her drawer.”

“Why haven’t you been on the set in the last few days?”

“Because I told you I quit.”

“And I said I didn’t accept that.”

“My ride is waiting. I have to go. You can yell at me later.”

He ran a hand through his blond hair and huffed. “I’ll take you.”

“No.” I took a step toward the tiny car, but Beckett put himself in my path.

“They’re filming Taylor’s scenes today, and I have nothing better to do, so. Unless you’re
afraid
to ride in the truck with me—like you’re afraid to be my assistant?”

I just looked at the boy. “After the last twenty-four hours I’ve had, I am fresh out of any Southern grace, so I suggest you step out of my way.”

His left cheek dimpled. “That bad, huh?”

“Your sympathy overwhelms me.”

“Are you thinking of having Mr. Donahue drive you back to America, then?”

“I have new information on Mrs. Sweeney, and I’m going to see her sister in Galway.”

“Right now.”

“Exactly.” The woman was getting worse at an alarming rate.

How much time did we have? “Please be so kind as to get out of my way. The meter’s running.”

“I’ll take you.”

“I’d rather walk.”

“Mr. Donahue.” Beckett smiled at the old man. “We don’t need you today, sir, but thanks for coming out.” He pressed some cash into the old man’s hand.

“No! I need you!” I made a dive for the back door handle, but Beckett grabbed it first.

“Have a good day now,” Beckett said.

Mr. Donahue scratched his head and looked between us.

“Don’t you drive away without me, Mr. Donahue.”

Beckett clapped the man by the shoulder. “Why don’t you go inside the inn and tell Mrs. O’Callaghan you want a piece of pie?”

Mr. Donahue’s bushy brows shot north. “Pie?”

“And all the coffee you can put in that flask you keep under your seat.”

The cabbie tipped his cap again. “Good day to you.” And before I could stop him, Mr. Donahue shut off his car and hobbled toward the house in search of a morning snack.

I closed my eyes and waited for my blood to cool. “I am calling his superior.”

“That would be his wife. She’s deaf in one ear, so make sure you speak loudly.”

Of course.

“Why did you do that?” My voice was flat with defeat.

“Because Mr. Donahue is too old to be behind the wheel and drives in the middle of the road. He’s had three wrecks in the last month. Two with a tree and one with a squirrel.”

I hated not having a car. I felt so stranded. And mad. And helpless.

In all these things, I am more than victorious
. . .

Beckett walked to his truck and opened the passenger door. Bob shot from the porch and bounded into the back, his tail thumping against the bed like a drum. “Get in.” Beckett jerked his chin toward the cab before giving into a long-suffering sigh. “Please.”

I struck a pose that was an artistic combination of attitude and defiance.

He had the nerve to grin. “You
are
afraid to be alone with me.”

“Well, apparently my charm is so overpowering, you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself whenever I’m near. But no, I’m not afraid of you.” And I had to talk to Mrs. Sweeney’s sister.

“Wasting daylight.”

Stomping toward the truck, I shot daggers at Beckett. “Don’t try any funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He took my hand and helped me inside.

The radio played as we drove down the winding roads to Galway. Gray clouds mingled above us in the sky, and rain threatened to spill. I watched the green meadows on either side of the truck and wondered if my eyes would ever adapt to such vibrant color.

He turned on the heater. “You going to ignore me the whole way?”

“Probably.”

With a pirate’s smile, Beckett stretched his right arm across the back of the seat. His fingers grazed my shoulder, and I inched away just as my stomach gave a light growl. After waking up, I’d practiced for three hours, not bothering to stop to eat breakfast. The date for the audition was closing in, and I felt it with every passing second.

“The least you could do is offer a little conversation.” Beckett dodged a pothole, keeping his eyes on the road.

“You want me to talk?”

“It would be the polite thing to do.”

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

“Any topic will be fine.”

“I’m going to sit here and silently think of one. Might take a while.”

“We could talk about the weather.” This morning his accent was almost as strong as Nora’s coffee. “Or we could discuss politics. But that’s never a friendly subject. There’s the economy.” He took his focus off the road and leveled his gaze on me. “Or you could just tell me what happened that has you so fired up.”

“Beatrice happened. She basically framed me for cheating in English. And do you know why?”

“Just her way of showing love?”

“Because she thinks I’m a threat to you and your girlfriend Taylor.” I watched his face for any reaction, and of course there was none. The boy was a trained actor, letting me see only what he wanted me to. “Beatrice is afraid if there’s no you and Taylor, there will be fewer parts for her.” It was so dumb, just saying it out loud made me mad all over again.

The wipers squeaked against the cracked windshield, and I turned around to check on Bob.

“He’s fine,” Beckett said. “He loves the rain.”

Bob ran from one side of the truck to the other, head thrown back, snapping at raindrops with his oversize teeth.

“Nothing about you makes sense,” I said. “Not even your dog.”

“Maybe Bob and I are just misunderstood.”

“Or deranged.”

“Want me to have Beatrice fired?”

Yes
. “No.” What I wanted most was answers. But I guess his silence on the Taylor subject was my answer. They were together, messed up though it was, and my lips could never touch Beckett’s again.

The rest of the hour crept by in silence. Beckett watched the road, and I stared out the window, committing the sights to heart. What would it have been like to just keep driving? To have pushed Beckett out, taken the wheel, and just kept going?

After a few wrong turns, Beckett finally pulled onto a gravel road. Rock walls lined the field around us, which was filled with grass as high as my knees.

“This is it.” Beckett passed me the directions, and I tucked them in my purse. “It’s that white house there.”

The two-story home sat in the middle of a field. A fence contained the horses that ran in the backyard. Red shutters sent out a cheery greeting, giving me hope that the woman within was just as inviting.

The truck rambled down the driveway before lurching to a stop. Beckett hopped out and came around to open my door.

“Thank you.” I delivered my appreciation to his chin as I ignored his outstretched hand. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“You’re not going in there by yourself. Sean and Nora would kill me.”

“A tempting idea,” I mumbled. “Fine, then, come on. But don’t get in my way.”

His smile was infuriating. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Not bothering to wait for Beckett, I bounded up the steps and knocked on the door.

No answer.

I set my fist to the door again. “Hello?” I called.

I heard clomping and movement in the house, and a full thirty seconds later the door opened and a small woman appeared. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Doyle? I’m Finley Sinclair—”

“Are you here about the pig?”

“No.” I cast a glance over my shoulder. “Though I brought one with me.”

“Eh?” Her bobbed hair gently curled around her ears, and her clothes were as fashionable as Mrs. Sweeney’s pajamas were not.

“Who did you say you were?”

“I’m a friend of one of your family members.”

She smiled, revealing nice, even teeth. “And which one would that be?”

“Your sister.”

Her face fell like I’d sucker punched her. “I don’t have a sister.”

“Cathleen Sweeney?”

“She’s dead to me.” Mrs. Doyle started to shut the door, but I stopped it with my hand.

“Please, you have to listen to me. Cathleen is sick.”

“In the head!”

“No.” Well, maybe a little. “She’s dying. Bone cancer. She doesn’t have much time.” The words fell to the ground like angry little bombs. Mrs. Doyle’s face tightened, but she remained expressionless, her eyes only mildly annoyed.

“I suppose she sent you to me.”

“No.” I steadied my voice, though I was desperate for her to see the urgency. “She has no idea I’m here. Please, Mrs. Doyle. Don’t let her die with this between you.”

“Did she tell you what she did?”

I shook my head.

“She took my fiancé, she did. The man I was supposed to marry. She up and married him herself. Charles Sweeney had sworn to love me all the days of my life, and he just left me for her.” Red splotches climbed up her pale neck. “You have her tell you the rest of the story. She got what was coming to her.”

“A man who abused her?”

“I’ll not listen to that. Charles was a dapper, kind man. Wouldn’t have hurt a fly. And then she lured him into her web and bled him dry. Maybe he did turn to the bottle, but she forced him. There was a curse on that marriage, and it came to no good. Cathleen stopped being me family the day she said ‘I do’ to that man.” Mrs. Doyle pulled the screen door closed. “Good day to you.” And she slammed herself inside.

I stared at the Gaelic welcome sign in my face. “That went well.” I turned to Beckett. “Nice lady. Her heart’s just brimming with mercy.”

“Her heart’s brimming with pain.”

I guess I knew a little something about that. “I have to fix this.”

Beckett cocked his head, his eyes soft on mine. “Why, Finley?”

How could I explain? “Because Mrs. Sweeney can’t die thinking her soul is condemned. She can’t go without knowing she’s been forgiven.” I shook my head, uncertain of my own motives.

“It’s important. That’s all I know.”

He nodded. “’Tis enough.”

“Enough for what?”

He walked down the steps, then faced me again. “Enough for me to help you.”

I dogged his heels, following him to the truck. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” He held open my door with a lopsided grin. “That’s just the kind, generous type of guy I am.”

“And what do I have to do in return?”

Beckett smiled. “I just so happen to have an opening for an assistant.”