The Mystery of the Claddagh Rings Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Mystery of the Claddagh Rings

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Praise for Kallie Lane

  “Kallie Lane writes smart, sharp, fast, and funny. RECKLESS ABANDON takes you on an emotional, sexy, action-packed ride that lingers long after the last page!”

  ~Roxanne St. Claire, NYTimes Bestselling Author

  ~*~

  “This book [RECKLESS ABANDON] was one that I couldn’t put down, from start to finish, and thoroughly enjoyed it. This will for sure be going on my keeper shelf and I can’t wait to check out the rest of the sexy crew and their ladies.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  ~*~

  “DEADLY ABANDON will keep you on the edge of your seat...gasping out loud...with characters you want to see survive and have a happy ever after. I love a good romantic suspense and Deadly Abandon did not disappoint. Kallie Lane is an author I will look forward to reading more of in the future.”

  ~Sizzling Hot Book Reviews

  ~*~

  “Wow—[DARK ABANDON is] fully packed with suspense, intriguing characters, and hot and sexy chemistry. I would recommend this to anyone who loves a romance story filled with suspense and a great storyline.”

  ~Romance Writers Reviews

  ~*~

  “Awesome Romantic Suspense...DARK ABANDON is an action packed thrill ride of hotness!”

  ~Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews

  The Mystery

  of the

  Claddagh Rings

  by

  Kallie Lane

  Twelve Brides of Christmas Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Mystery of the Claddagh Rings

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Kathryn Donaldson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-526-5

  Twelve Brides of Christmas Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To those who serve and protect.

  Acknowledgments

  THE MYSTERY OF THE CLADDAGH RINGS is also a part of the Claddagh Connection series.

  To Marge Brownie, my fabulous tour guide of all things Boston and Nantucket Sound. To Coreene Callahan, my amazing critique partner and sounding board. To my editor, Lori Graham...I think of Lori as my Super Genie...she consistently raises the bar, goes the extra mile, and encourages me to do the same. To everyone else at The Wild Rose Press—from cover artists, to marketing, to scheduling, and beyond—who put so much time and effort into publishing my books. Thank you all. Any mistakes are entirely my own.

  To Chris and Dave, my family. I love you always.

  ~*~

  Author’s Note

  When I was invited to write this story for a Christmas anthology, I wasn’t quite sure how it would go. The format is shorter than I’m used to, which required a little more planning to create a romantic, suspenseful ambience. I hope you enjoy reading THE MYSTERY OF THE CLADDAGH RINGS as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Prologue

  Fiona Murphy stood on the steps of the stone cottage, gazing down the hill toward the Boston harbor. Moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the solitude around her. Winter’s bite was out in full force tonight, sending people into the Faneuil Hall Marketplace to finish their Christmas shopping, not braving the outdoors in the chilly harbor district. Tree limbs groaned, swaying in the wind. Snow crunched underfoot as she descended the stairs to follow the path around back of the house to the parking lot.

  It’s beautiful. The perfect setting for my restaurant.

  She patted the deed inside her pocket, still trying to absorb her good fortune. Her financial backer had come through with the money, and the cottage was hers. Another three or four months of renovating and hiring the right staff and she would open the doors to Irlandais, the classiest eatery to hit Boston. Not too classy, mind you, at least not where pricing was concerned. No, Fin planned to create a bistro atmosphere, a touch of old Europe everyone could enjoy, where only the food quality and ambiance exceeded expectations, and not the cost of a meal. All those years in culinary school and working in the finest restaurants across Europe had given her the confidence and ability she needed to finally accomplish her dream.

  The ground beneath her boots was slick with ice. She trudged along, guessing only the minimum amount of snow removal had been done, just enough to allow real estate agents to show the property. Lucky for her, the weather had taken an ugly turn for the worst last week. She’d been the first to bid on the house, her offer immediately accepted by the previous owner, who was anxious to retire to Florida.

  Fin ran numbers through her head as she turned the corner of the cottage, braving a fresh gust of wind. She kept herself warm by imagining tables on the lawns in summertime. The solarium extension she’d designed would bring the view of outdoors inside in inclement weather. The antique brass lamps she’d purchased in Holland would add to the decor.

  Fin had saved almost every penny she’d earned over the last several years, the vision of having her own restaurant taking precedence over everything else in her life. At last, she was back in Boston and things would fall into place.

  Her thoughts stopped dead when a man stepped out of the trees edging the drive. He stood between her and her car. His face was in shadow, the hood of his jacket hiding his features. Big and menacing, he pulled a handgun from a pocket, pointing it at her.

  “Give me your jewellery!”

  Fin’s heart stopped beating for an instant before tripping double-time. Her gaze searched the woods around the parking lot. She didn’t see anyone else, but that didn’t mean he was alone. She stared, frozen in place. Guessed he was in his early twenties, although it was hard to tell. Baggy jeans slid off his hips, showing the waistband of his undershorts. Crude tattoos on the knuckles of his gun hand said he’d spent time in jail.

  He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Pay attention, lady. Hand over the bling and you can walk away.”

  Paralyzing fear threatened to shut her down completely. Fin stripped off her gloves while she still could, tugging the rings off her fingers. She pulled diamond studs from her earlobes. Unclasped the gold chain she wore around her neck. Then she placed everything in his free hand, her own trembling so badly she couldn’t control it.

  “Yo! You fucking with me, bitch?” He tossed what she’d given him into the snow, grabbed her by the front of her coat. She saw him clearly now. A teardrop was inked beneath an eye, a jagged scar running along one side of his face from cheekbone to jaw. “Hand them over, or I’ll blow your brains out and find them myself!”

  “H-han
d what over?” Her voice shook as badly as the rest of her. She fought for control, knowing she had to convince him she didn’t have whatever it was he wanted. She unzipped her purse, pulling out her wallet. “I’ve given you everything, except for my money and credit cards. Here, that’s all I’ve got.”

  “Shit, lady, now you’re really pissing me off!” He waved his weapon in her face, angling it sideways.

  She mouthed a silent prayer, and a miracle happened. A car roared up the drive. Her attacker sprinted for the trees. The vehicle screeched to a halt beside her.

  Her financial backer angled out from behind the wheel. “Who the hell was that?”

  “I d-don’t know.” God, she had to pull herself together or he would think her a complete fool. “The idiot tried to r-rob me.”

  He touched her elbow. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Fin breathed deep, settling her nerves. This was their night to celebrate the new restaurant and partnership. She refused to let some fool with a gun ruin it for them. “I’ll follow you to the club so we can have that drink.”

  “Fin, maybe you should contact the police first.”

  “And tell them what?” No, she wanted to forget the whole thing. She scooped up her jewellery, money, and credit cards instead. “The guy is long gone. Besides, nothing was stolen.”

  “Still, you should report it.”

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s toast our new venture first, and then I’ll speak to the cops.”

  He studied her for a moment, clearly not happy with her decision. But, he didn’t push it. “Deal, but make sure you stop by the station on your way home tonight.

  Chapter One

  Fin drove through the gates of her former home, still a bit rattled after the attempted robbery last night. The cops had taken her statement, but didn’t hold out much hope they would find the creep who had attacked her. Apparently, he was either new to the area or just passing through, and not someone they recognized. She’d bought pepper spray after leaving the police station. If some nut job ever approached her again, she would defend herself. That was her right. She pushed the incident out of her mind, determined to focus on the upcoming visit with her mother instead.

  The Cape Cod mansion looked the same as she remembered. Overlooking Nantucket Sound, it stood alongside the shore, within walking distance from the Kennedy’s Hyannis Port Compound.

  Taking a breath, she stared at the rambling white cottage with the gray shutters and roof, its four brick chimneys standing like sentinels. She remembered seals sunning themselves on the beaches here, watching horseshoe crabs scuttle, and searching for sand dollars and starfish as a child. Carefree moments meant to be cherished, the uglier ones left in the past. Today was her first visit back since leaving for college ten years ago, preferring her little townhouse in Boston to the hoopla surrounding her celebrity mother.

  But family was family, and sometimes sacrifices had to be made. The famous—although infamous might be a better word—movie star and singer, Poppy, aka her mother, needed her help. Fin had no idea why.

  Like Madonna and Cher, Poppy didn’t have a last name. What she did have was the ability to whip her fans into a frenzy through abhorrent behaviour, her stints in rehab, and a string of exes almost half her age. Fin had never understood why her mother needed bad press to keep her career alive. Not when she had incredible Oscar and Grammy winning talent.

  Poppy was on top of the world on a good day. On a bad day…well, Fin didn’t like to think about those. Too many childhood memories steeped in nightmarish scenes of booze, drugs, and abusive men. Which was the reason Fin cancelled her ski trip to Whistler. Poppy was back in residence for the holidays and hadn’t come alone. Soon-to-be-husband number five stood waiting in the wings for a Christmas wedding. The knowledge weighed heavy on Fin’s heart.

  She braked to a stop in the driveway and hopped out of her SUV. Enjoying a quiet moment before facing her mother, she inhaled the ocean’s scent and watched gunmetal waves roll into shore. A dusting of snow covered sand dunes and sea grass, beach heather poking through the drifts. Frozen sunflowers and blue hyacinths drooped along white picket fences lining the drive. They looked forlorn and yet beautiful, very much like Poppy herself.

  Fin heard a door open and close behind her. She turned to see a man walking down the steps. Hands deep in his pockets, she thought it amazing he didn’t keel over in the biting wind without a jacket. But no, he obviously had enough meat on his bones not to notice the chill. She eyed him, curious about her future stepfather.

  He was a man any red-blooded woman would notice in a crowd—well over six-feet tall with an athletic build. Eyes as green as the hills of Ireland offset hard, striking features. She guessed his age to be late twenties to early thirties. For heaven’s sake, her mother had really done it this time. Talk about robbing the cradle.

  His gaze took her in from head to toe, the sardonic tilt of his mouth speaking volumes. He’d been expecting a younger version of her mother. Instead, he got tattered jeans and a windblown mane of sable hair—not tight, leather pants and blond, rasta braids extending to her butt. Even her cornflower blue eyes were different than her mother’s mysterious brown ones. Poppy was also tall and curvy whereas Fin was shorter and what she liked to call streamlined, although some would argue she was built like a boy.

  “You’re on private property.” Her future daddy’s words held bite, his muscled arms crossing an impressive chest in order to intimidate. “If you’re hoping for Poppy’s autograph, contact her publicist and maybe he’ll send you one. Now leave before I call the cops.”

  Fin laughed. Just couldn’t help herself. This one’s a real winner. “Hmm, not even married yet and you’re already barking orders.” She locked the CR-V, and taking a step forward, got in his face. “Get out of my way.”

  “Damn. I hate dealing with stalkers before my morning coffee.” In a quick move, he had her plastered against him, her hands pinned behind her back. Not exactly the way a man should greet his future stepdaughter, considering it felt more like an embrace. “I thought I made it clear. Poppy wants to be left alone.”

  “I can see you’re a little slow on the uptake, so I’ll try again.” Fin stood tall, tipping her head back to glare at him. He smelled of woodsy shower gel and looked even better close up, the stubble on his jaw as dark as his short-cropped hair. Then again, Mom had always been selective about packaging. Too bad she never saw the worms rotting inside her eye candy. “Take your paws off me before I knee your balls clear through the top of your head.”

  He chuckled, his grip tightening around her. “Honey, you’d need a stepladder to do that.”

  “Fiona?” Poppy ran down the stairs in a silver hip-length sweater and yoga pants, her beaded rasta braids clinking together. She batted the hulk out of the way and wrapped her in a familiar cloud of perfume. “Ohmigod! I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  “It’s me, Mom,” Fin said, hugging her back.

  Her mother grabbed her hand and started dragging her to the house. “Call me Poppy remember? God forbid anyone finds out I have a child your age.”

  A familiar reminder, one Fin had been hearing since high school. She stopped the forward momentum, gesturing to the man breathing down the back of her neck. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your fiancé?”

  “What?” Poppy turned, her eyes questioning. “Oh, him. He’s not my fiancé, darling. Say hello to Ryan O’Shea, our temporary property manager while Holmsby recuperates from gallbladder surgery.”

  “Ma’am.” Fin thought him too arrogant to be a property manager. “If you’ll hand me the keys, I’ll grab your luggage from the car.”

  Sure, don’t bother apologizing for being a macho jerk. She pulled the key ring from her pocket. “You can put the bags in the guesthouse.”

  “Seriously, Fiona?” A hand fisted at her waist, her mother’s mouth formed a pout. “There’s so much going on this week you should
stay in the main house with the rest of us.”

  Uh-huh. Fin guessed “going on” meant party central with hoards of guests from the glossy tabloid world. So not her thing. “Thanks, but I need the quiet.”

  “You always did.” Poppy shook her head, opening the door to the foyer. The oak-panelled walls and wood-beamed, white ceiling hadn’t changed. Polished wood floors and thick scatter rugs were also the same. The long bank of windows on the far side of the room provided a sweeping view of the ocean. A fireplace large enough to roast a small deer crackled center stage between the windows. A massive spruce tree decorated with lights and Christmas decorations stood in a corner, holly and tree boughs winding the staircase banister. They moved into the vast white living room, pale-yellow and blue accents in the pillows, vases and flower arrangements.

  “Paul, where are you? Come say hello to Fiona.”

  A guy sauntered down the long hallway from the kitchen. He was bare-chested with his jeans unsnapped, tattooed sleeves running down both arms, and what looked like a Bloody Mary in his hand at nine o’clock in the morning. A rat’s nest of tangled brown hair hung past his shoulders, sleep creases lining his face. Not a morning person on his best day, Fin decided. He flopped on a couch, dangling a leg over an armrest. “Yo.”

  Obviously a man of few words, Fin recognized him from a hard rock group of the nineties, famous for trashing hotel rooms, nailing groupies, and bashing reporters. No doubt he’d blown through his own millions and needed Poppy’s money to keep him in style. Another loser in a long line of them. God, would her mother never learn?

  “Let’s go to my room,” Poppy said, no doubt realizing her knuckle dragger had limited social skills. “We can talk there.”

  Fin climbed the stairs to the elegant corner suite. The sitting room decorated in pale-blue and pink chintz sofas and chairs, airy antique end tables, and lamps complimenting the white trim surrounding two walls of windows. White carpeting on gleaming hardwood floors continued into the bedroom, an old-fashioned Amish quilt on the bed matching cornices over more windowpanes. Fin loved the way sunlight and ocean views filtered into the rooms. Even the hot tub in the bathroom overlooked the beach. She also hoped the glass was one-way. Paparazzi would have a field day if any gained access to the property or glided by on the water, although Nantucket Sound was too rough this time of year for boat traffic.