Whiskey Island (6 page)

He was not an expert on such things, but at first glance he knew the cuff link was old and probably valuable.

He wrapped his fingers around it, debating what to do. The carjackers had been caught in the act, and in no way could the cuff link be evidence of their crime. He doubted, in fact, that it had anything to do with them, at least not directly.

But the homeless man, the man he was more and more certain he’d seen, might well have dropped this. The man was probably a scavenger. He might comb the city trash for items to sell, even hoarding some as personal treasures.

This valuable cuff link, as odd as it seemed, might well belong to him.

Niccolo debated what to do, but his mind was made up even before he slipped the cuff link into his pocket.

5

T
he Donaghue clan, in all its degrees of separation, loved celebrations. If Bobby Donaghue’s first grader lost a baby tooth, they celebrated. When Kyle Donaghue Flanagan was elected Cuyahoga County auditor, they celebrated. Had Kyle—known as Sticky Fingers Pete to the family—been banished from that office for unethical activities, they might even have celebrated that, as well.

The Donaghues were three and four generations removed from the famine that had propelled their starving ancestors into coffin ships and sent them to America. The horror had dissipated with each new generation, but the urge to celebrate life’s smallest moments had not.

A great number of the Donaghue celebrations took place at the Whiskey Island Saloon. There had been a memorable bash at the turn of the millenium—so memorable, in fact, that the place had been relatively quiet ever since, as the family recovered. But just one night after the attempted carjacking and Casey’s unexpected homecoming, the Donaghue clan was in full swing again. Megan, who had foreseen it, had stocked the kitchen accordingly. If nothing else, the leftover potato chowder was going quickly and would never see the freezer. They had the carjackers to thank for something.

“How’s my favorite niece?”

Megan submitted to an uncle’s beery hug. This was Dennis, her mother’s eldest brother. Marriage into the Donaghue clan was as good as a blood tie, as long as the new in-law didn’t preach or put on airs. The in-law’s relatives were accepted, too, most particularly if they had a drop of Irish blood.

“I’m fine, Uncle Den.” She hugged him back, then pushed him away. “You’re switching to Coke now, aren’t you?”

“You want me to toast my nieces’ very lives with a soft drink?” Dennis Cavanaugh frowned so magnificently that his tortoiseshell glasses slid down his ski-slope nose.

“I want you to
stop
toasting them.” Megan knew who among the family to chide, who to cajole and who to refuse. Uncle Dennis had a two-drink limit because once he’d had a few more, he was harder to get rid of than fleas at the dog pound. As a child, she’d been told that, after one memorable binge, Dennis had moved in with her parents, and it had taken a full week to send him packing.

“Have a bowl of potato chowder to take your mind off your thirst.” Megan chucked him under a whiskery chin.

“Rosaleen’s?”

She nodded. Rosaleen was Megan’s great-great-grandmother, and her recipes had been the mainstay of Whiskey Island cuisine since the saloon was established. The recipes were legendary, not just within the family, but in the larger community, as well.

Dennis’s eyes were shining in anticipation. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me what you put in it to make it so creamy, would you now?”

Megan pretended to think, opened her mouth as if to speak, then clamped her lips shut and smiled.

“Rascal,” he crowed.

“Peggy?” Megan shouted and waved simultaneously, and Peggy, carrying a tray filled with empty glasses, turned.

“One chowder.” She pointed at her uncle. “And a Coke to go with it.”

Peggy blew Uncle Dennis a kiss and went off to deposit her tray in the kitchen.

Casey wandered up to join them. As guest of honor, she was dressed in skintight black velvet leggings and an embroidered gold tunic elaborate enough to evoke mayhem in a pasha’s harem. It suited her.

She made a wry face. “I’m taking a break from cute childhood sayings, winsome anecdotes and fetching little recollections of pets, best friends and clubhouses built from cardboard boxes.”

“You’ve come to the right place then, darling,” Dennis said. “I’ll tell you the truth. You were a hellion, pure and simple, and your sainted mother spent more time trying to keep the good sisters from throwing you out of St. Brigid’s than she did behind that bar over there.”

“Cut out the brogue and the blarney, Uncle Den,” Megan said fondly. “You’ve been to Ireland once. On a two-week tour.”

“But what a grand two weeks it was.”

Casey kissed his cheek. “It’s refreshing to hear an honest man. My years away seem to have polished my past into something I sure as hell don’t remember.”

“You were gone too long,” Dennis said. “Can you expect everyone to recall what a she-devil you were?”

“Be careful, or I might think I wasn’t gone long enough.”

“We missed you, darling. Each and every one of us in our own way. You had no right to remove yourself from the heart of the family for so long.” He kissed her cheek, then wandered off to join another conversation.

“Having fun?” Megan asked wryly.

“What do you think?”

Megan cocked her head. “I think you’re overwhelmed. It’s been a long time.”

“It was gatherings like these that convinced me we should sell the saloon in the first place.”

Megan realized they were treading very close to the subject they hadn’t discussed in years, the subject that had caused their rift. “And gatherings like this convinced me we
shouldn’t.
”

“Well, you got your way, didn’t you, and here we are, having another.”

“Are you really so unhappy to be surrounded by family again?”

“What can I say? After insisting I’d never walk through that door again, here I am. I needed help, and I came running. To Whiskey Island and you.”

Casey was waylaid by a second cousin, and Megan trooped off to take a break from the crowd. By her count, in addition to the regulars and a few walk-ins, there were about fifty well-wishers here tonight—a smallish group, under the circumstances. Winter had brought with it a particularly nasty strain of flu, and most of the Donaghues with small children or resident grandparents had stayed home to avoid it.

In the kitchen she found Peggy ladling chowder into a bowl. Artie, the oft-absent night cook, was probably taking a well-deserved break.

Megan was struck, as always, by how lovely her youngest sister was, with her dark chestnut hair and a darker rendition of Megan’s own amber eyes. Her features were softer than Megan’s or Casey’s, her willowy body more rounded. Most notably, though, she seemed to have faith in the whole human race, and it showed in every expression and gesture. When Peggy was a little girl Megan had been terrified she would befriend an ax murderer, convinced he was simply a good man who needed career counseling.

“You couldn’t have managed without me, you know,” Peggy said over her shoulder. “This place is a zoo tonight.”

Since news of the carjacking had been printed on the front page of that morning’s
Plain Dealer
Metro section, Megan’s day had been one long barrage of calls and surprise visits from worried relatives who wanted to make sure the sisters were really all right. By noon it had been clear a celebration was expected. By one Megan had been enmeshed in planning, ordering and cooking. She had not had ten minutes all day to talk to either Casey or Peggy.

“It’s great to have you home,” Megan said, “but somebody would have taken an extra shift to help out. You’re supposed to be doing more important things.”

“What could be more important than a family reunion?”

Megan knew better than to quiz Peggy here and now, but she decided to put out a feeler. “I’m thrilled you and Casey are here, but I thought classes started this week.”

“They do.”

“And it doesn’t matter if you miss a couple?”

“I was only home for two days over Christmas break. When Casey told me what she was planning, the hospital agreed I could take some time off.”

During the school year, Peggy, who was hoping to enter med school next year, worked part-time as a receptionist in an emergency room. Although the job didn’t pay well, it did give her valuable experience. When the hospital scheduled her to work over the holidays, she’d been forced to agree or lose her position.

Megan rested a hand on Peggy’s shoulder. “You know me. It’s my job to worry about you. And I don’t want you to think you have to run interference between Casey and me, if that’s why you’re here.”

“Hey, can’t I just come home when I want to? Without an ulterior motive?”

“Of course, and I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you, too. I’m just sorry you got caught up in that business in the parking lot last night.”

“Don’t worry. In a day or two I’ll just think of it as a good look into the minds of a couple of psychopaths. Some up-close training, free of charge.”

Megan turned her sister to face her, searching her features for some sign of damage, some sign of unhappiness, as she always did. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about psychiatry?”

Peggy smiled. “Why not? We need a psychiatrist in this family.”

“Are you kidding? You’ll be so busy with relatives, you won’t have time for anybody else.”

“No problem. I’ll just charge double. The way you always overcharge them for drinks.”

“I don’t overcharge, they overtip. But Uncle Den on your couch?” Megan pretended to shudder. “Maybe you should try sports medicine. There’s not an athlete in the bunch.”

“We don’t have to decide right now, do we? If I don’t get the chowder out to Uncle Den, who knows what else he’ll find to keep him occupied.”

Megan dropped her hand. “Put me on your schedule for a good long talk, would you? I’d like to catch up.”

Peggy’s smile disappeared. “You’d like to grill me. And a warning’s in order. I don’t want to be grilled. I just needed to be here with my sisters, and I needed some downtime. Okay?”

There was an edge to Peggy’s soft voice that took Megan by surprise. “How much downtime?”

“As much as I need. Can you respect that?”

Megan’s internal radar was flashing Mayday, but she nodded. “Sure. I’m here if and when you want to talk. Otherwise I’ll stick to the weather and next season’s batting lineup.”

Peggy relaxed a little. “The Indians are always safe.”

“Unless they’re losing.”

Peggy set the chowder on her tray. “Bite your tongue.”

Back in the saloon, Megan chatted with more relatives and patrons and filled a few glasses before she crossed to the corner by the door, where Peggy was now chatting with an aunt and uncle. Frank Grogan stood as Megan approached, and held out his arms. She dutifully went into them for a kiss and hug.

Deirdre Grogan reached out for a hug, too. She was a small, feminine woman who always seemed on the verge of an important revelation. Once her hair had been the copper of Casey’s, but in the last few years it had mellowed—with a little help—to the color of champagne. Both Deirdre and her husband were casually dressed, but her designer sweater was hand knit, and his sports coat had been tailored by Brooks Brothers.

The Grogans were less colorful than some of the family, but they were kind and decent people. Deirdre devoted every spare minute to the West Side Catholic Center, and Frank, whose business success was legendary, was a soft touch for any family member who needed a reference or a loan. They had always regarded the Donaghue girls as the daughters they’d never had. Throughout Peggy’s childhood they had acted as surrogate parents when they could, making sure she lacked nothing. They had tried to do the same for the older and fiercely proud Megan and Casey, without much success.

“Peggy was just telling us about her job,” Deirdre said.

Megan was aware that Peggy’s job was a sore spot. The Grogans were wealthy enough to easily put Peggy through college and had tried repeatedly. But Peggy had turned down the bulk of their generosity, diplomatically allowing them to pay for her textbooks but nothing more. Whatever her job didn’t take care of, a generous academic scholarship did.

“The staff has been great about instructing me whenever they have the time,” Peggy said. “I’ve learned to do some simple procedures, and one of the physicians makes a point of letting me ask questions while he works if there’s nothing else I have to do.”

“You have great references for medical school,” Frank said. “And with your grades, you’ll be able to go anywhere you want. You know we plan to help you.”

“We’re investing Peggy’s share of the saloon profits for med school,” Megan said firmly. “We have been for a while.”

Peggy spoke up. “Since everyone’s pockets are overflowing, why don’t you team up and send me to Aspen for a couple of months? A little skiing, a little Colorado sun, and I might not bother with med school.”

“Why don’t we just buy you skis when you graduate?” Deirdre said.

Everyone laughed, and the tension eased.

Megan started back toward the kitchen, but halfway there, she was surprised to discover that her uncle had followed her.

“Megan.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and didn’t remove it, even when she stopped. Instead, he propelled her to a relatively quiet corner. “I have to talk to you.”

“Look, we can talk about med school once it’s a reality,” she began. “She hasn’t even made her final selection yet.”

“It’s not about Peggy, honey.”

The “honey” threw her. Frank, unlike Dennis, was careful with endearments and emotions.

He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d said. He pushed a hand through his thinning hair, the way he did whenever he was uncomfortable. His oversize Adam’s apple bobbed as he cleared his throat. “Look, I had a visitor this morning. I thought you might want to know….”

She saw that one of them had to get straight to the point. “Who?”

“A man named Niccolo Andreani.”

Her mental gears ground to a halt, and she took a moment to answer. “Nick came to your house?”