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The sound of her pounding metal was stronger on his eardrums than usual because of his fatigue, but it stopped as she and her workers all halted what they were doing upon seeing him. They had a cup of coffee as the rain blew in and traded their favorite stories about the woman they both loved to pieces: Ellie. Laughterwasthe best kind of medicine, and he realized he hadn’t done much of it lately, no surprise.
After that, he knocked on Sophie’s shed and waited to be admitted. Since her work was glass, she’d put up a sign about not barging in, something the Irish did frequently, being they were against door knocking and all. He still hadn’t gotten used to it. She showed him the orange glass she’d just blown into a flower while they conversed about everything that had happened since Taylor had arrived in Caisleán.
As he left, he remarked how upbeat everyone’s spirits were now that Liam was coming home. The sheep incident had been devastating enough, but to have one of their own taken away unlawfully and held in an undisclosed location was terrifying.
Veritas was right. Anyone could be next, and Linc knew it could be someone else from Caisleán. He made a call to Wilt to reassure himself everything was locked down security wise, then headed into town.
When he arrived at the pub, he sat beside Donal, who was already doing his part to raise spirits with the men of the town. Linc checked his phone—even though he’d already made sure it was turned on to receive calls—and pocketed it with growing worry. Was he crazy for thinking the lawyers should already have news?
When the five o’clock regulars poured in at the end of the day, Carrick strode over to him alongside Declan, Jamie, and Keegan. Linc sensed the change in the air and stood as the entire pub went silent.
“What’s the status on Liam’s release?” Carrick demanded. “Shouldn’t he have been out by now?”
Linc gestured to Brady to give the new arrivals a round on him before saying, “Maybe Malcolm is drawing it out to fuck with us.”
“Well, it’s working,” Declan responded, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Come on now,” Linc said, clapping Keegan on the back as Brady brought the drinks. “Let’s take our comfort the Irish way. We should hear from the lawyers soon.”
Only Donal was the one whose phone rang over an hour later. “It’s Ghislaine,” he announced, smiling—and then immediately went white as he listened.
Everyone set their drinks down and leaned forward as Linc’s gut trembled. The bad news was evident. Only how bad?
“Brady!” shouted Donal, who pocketed his phone. “Turn on the national news.”
They all turned toward the TV in the corner as the screen came on. Liam’s picture flashed onscreen, along with the header:Authorities Keeping O’Hanlon in Custody after Determining Veritas Copycat in Waterford.
“No,” he heard a chorus of male voices utter in sharp tones.
“That’s ballocks!” Declan cried out. “It’s Veritas’ work. Plain as day.”
“They can’t distinguish their arse from their face,” Keegan nearly shouted. “It’s just like Mary Kincaid getting away with hurting and killing my sheep. They’ll get away with everything. Even murder, I’ll bet.”
Linc glanced over at Donal. They shared a long look and rose, clapping backs in comfort as they made their way out of the stunned pub and into the parking lot. The wind was harsh in the darkness, the light rain like cold needles on exposed skin.
“The lawyers didn’t know about this development,” Linc began, “or they would have called me. Malcolm and his friends went straight to the news outlets.”
“It’s outrageous!” Donal fumed. “How can anyone with half a brain claim Veritas didn’t do it?”
“This isn’t about the truth,” Linc gritted out. “We both know that. Even if Veritas does another mural, they’ll still brand it a copycat.”
“But Veritas is claiming it himself!” Donal spat on the ground. “It’s ballocks, it is. Dammit, the man posted photos of himself painting the mural last night in Waterford. On his own social media channels! Disguised, sure, but it was him doing the work, plain as day.”
“We’re in the scary age of fake news,” Linc concluded. “I imagine this will light even more of a fire under Taylor and our Merriam helpers, especially Arthur Hale. As an honest-to-goodness journalist, he must be off to high heaven.”
Donal hung his head. “First the sheep thing and then Liam being taken. Now this. Linc, some days I don’t know what’s happening in the world. Before I could say it was happening in some other place—not in Caisleán—but that’s not true anymore. It’s happening here, and to good people, people I care about. What are we going to do?”
He shook his head and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t know at the moment, and that’s hard to say out loud.”
The wind whipped around them as silence reigned. They were both men of action, men who always knew what to do.
Until now.
“I need to go home to Bets,” Linc said, his heart filling with pain. “She’s going to be inconsolable.”
“You give her my best. I’ll talk to Ghislaine. She’s a pit bull about things like this. I’ll bet she’ll be up all night contacting people and getting the word out. It’s how she releases her outrage.”
Outrage, yes, but how did one release heartbreak?
