Declan's Cross

Granny had dug the purple suitcase out of the attic and presented it to her only granddaughter for her trip, telling her in no uncertain terms that every young woman should have her own suitcase. Not that Granny had ever done much traveling herself. Hence, the pristine condition of the fifteen-year-old suitcase.

“Do you have your passport?” she asked for at least the sixth time.

“Yes, Granny.” Julianne patted the tote bag—her own tote bag—that she planned to take on the plane. “It’s right in here.”

“You’re sure? Sometimes I think I’ve put something in my bag and discover later it’s still home on my dresser. I suppose that’s because I’m old.”

It wasn’t because she was old. Her grandmother had been forgetful for as long as Julianne could remember. “It could also be because you always have a million things going on. You’re not one to be idle.”

Granny seemed to like that. “You’ll send me a postcard from Ireland?”

Julianne smiled. “I’ll send one every day.”

“That’s too expensive. One will do. I don’t mind if you email me photos but I’d love to have a real postcard from Ireland.” She lowered her arms and frowned, her eyes a true blue, unlike Julianne’s gold-flecked hazel. “Do you have a plan for emergencies?”

“I do, Granny.”

It amounted to taking care not to max out her credit card and calling the Irish police if she had an accident or got into trouble, but Julianne didn’t tell her grandmother that. Granny was all about planning for disaster to strike. She’d already warned Julianne about dark fairies. “Not all fairies are good, you know.”

Her grandmother had been telling her as much since she was a tot, reading her bedtime stories about nasty pookas, scary banshees and mischievous leprechauns. Julianne wasn’t inclined to believe in fairies, good or bad. The prospect of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow or a shrieking banshee warning of imminent death didn’t faze her. She was a marine biologist, not a folklorist.

“Have you told Father Bracken you believe in fairies?”

Granny waved a slender hand. “He’d understand.”

Probably he would, if not just because he was Irish. Church attendance was up at St. Patrick’s since Father Bracken’s arrival in Rock Point. Parishioners insisted they wanted Father Callaghan to return from his yearlong sabbatical, but they were falling in love with their Irish priest. He’d helped Granny get past her anger at God for her husband’s death. Whatever spiritual guidance Finian Bracken had offered, Franny Maroney was back at church and not as depressed and irritable.

Julianne wondered if her crush on Father Bracken was a sin. She would have to find someone else to ask, that was for sure.

She gave her grandmother a quick hug. “You have fun while I’m off to Ireland, okay, Granny?”

“Don’t you worry about me. You just live your life and be happy. I’m fine here on my own.”

“I know you are.”

As Julianne started to grab her suitcase, her grandmother tucked a twenty-dollar bill in her hand. “Buy yourself a Guinness or two while you’re over there.”

Julianne beamed her a smile. “Thanks, Granny. You’re a love.”

“Ireland’s the best place to heal a broken heart.”

Franny Maroney had never stepped foot in her ancestral homeland, either, but Julianne appreciated the sentiment. Everyone in Rock Point knew she had a broken heart, because that’s what Andy Donovan was. A heartbreaker.

She carried her tote bag and suitcase—no wheels—outside and down the front walk to the street. Her brother would be here any minute. Ryan was thirty, the same age as Andy, four years older than she was, and tight with all the Donovans. More proof she’d been dumb to get involved with one of them.

But it wasn’t Ryan’s black truck that pulled in next to her. It was Andy’s rust-colored truck. He had the passenger window rolled down and patted the seat next to him. “Hop in, Jules. I’m driving you to the airport. Ryan can’t make it and I volunteered.”

It was a conspiracy. No doubt in Julianne’s mind, but she had no choice—which Andy would know. She needed to leave now in order to get to Logan Airport the requested three hours ahead of her flight’s departure time. She was following all the rules and guidelines. She’d provided the requested preflight boarding information, checked in online at the appropriate time and printed out her boarding pass. She had any liquids she wanted on board with her in a clear plastic bag. She’d read about what exercises to do on the plane and would fill her empty water bottle after she cleared security. Andy wouldn’t have bothered with any of it. He’d have said, “Use common sense,” and shown up at the airport in the nick of time.

Julianne shoved her suitcase behind the passenger seat and climbed in next to him. She wanted to think it was his rules-breaking nature that had nearly gotten him killed a few weeks ago, but it really wasn’t. He’d been blindsided, attacked by thugs. She’d found him unconscious, drowning in the harbor. As mad as she’d been at him, she’d done all she could to save him. She couldn’t let him just die.

The thugs had been related to one of Colin’s FBI cases.

Obviously he didn’t just work at a desk at FBI headquarters in Washington, as he’d tried to get everyone in Rock Point to believe.

Emma had been involved in the case, too.

Complicated, those two.

“All set?” Andy asked.

Julianne nodded. “Yes. Thanks.”

He had on a thick deep red flannel shirt over jeans. No coat, despite the November cold. She’d debated and debated until finally deciding to wear a long, shawl-like sweater that would keep her warm enough on the way to the airport and once in Ireland but wouldn’t be too bulky and awkward on the plane. She’d packed layers in her suitcase to accommodate whatever conditions she was likely to encounter once she arrived in Declan’s Cross.

She adjusted her sweater. She still had her hair in a ponytail. Back when he’d noticed such things, Andy had told her he’d liked her hair that way. She put that thought right out of her mind and gave him a calm, neutral smile. As if he were a cabdriver. “Did you get out to check your traps this morning?”

“Nope. Not back on the water yet after my mishap. Couple more days.”

His “mishap.” Only a Donovan would regard attempted murder as a mishap. Julianne angled him a look. “You’re following doctor’s orders, aren’t you?”

“More or less.”

“What’s the ‘less’?”

He grinned over at her. “Beer.”

She didn’t know if he was kidding. “If you’re not back on the water yet, is it too much for you to drive me to the airport?”

“Driving to Boston is different from hauling lobster traps, and I wouldn’t be doing it if it was too much.”

Julianne looked out her window without responding. They hadn’t parted as friends when they’d broken up over Columbus Day weekend. She hadn’t, anyway. She’d parted angry, hurt, wanting to smother him in his sleep. No high road for her. As much as anything, it was his obliviousness to her feelings that had gotten to her. He’d been so matter-of-fact in dumping her. “Hey, Jules, we’ve had a good run, but you need to focus on your thesis and finish up your degree. I’m just distracting you.”

He didn’t get it that she’d actually fallen in love with him, never mind that she’d told him so. Another dumb move on her part.

When he’d been attacked by those thugs, she’d wondered if on some level she’d helped make it happen. If all that negative energy she’d lasered at him in her mind had put him in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It wasn’t healthy, that kind of thinking. It wasn’t a sin, though, was it? She hadn’t told Father Bracken because she knew, deep down, that she hadn’t wanted Andy hurt. Not really.

No. She really had wanted him hurt. Or thought she had.

“What’s on your mind, Jules?”

“My trip. I’m excited.” It wasn’t an outright lie since for most of the past few days, since she’d first considered an early trip to Ireland, it was all she’d thought about. “Do you want to go to Ireland someday?”

“I guess. I don’t know. Maybe I could pick up an Irish accent. That could be good. You should hear my mother go on about Finian’s Irish accent.”

“Granny, too. She loves it. You call Father Bracken by his first name? I can’t. It feels... I don’t know. Too familiar.”