Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [69]
“I don’t believe it,” Sara said, “no more than I believe Paquette would renovate the house without Spalding’s approval and permission.”
“You’re suggesting Spalding made advance arrangements with the estate agent.”
Sara nodded. “Of one sort or another. I’ll know more in the morning. I’ve asked the French to search for any travel bookings Spalding may have made under his alias prior to Paquette’s arrival in Paris.”
Fitzmaurice gave her an appraising glance. “If he came to Ireland at some earlier time, your theory may well prove to be correct. What put you onto the idea?”
“For over thirty years Spalding lived his life as an established, well-regarded, wealthy man,” Sara replied. “Surely he would want to replicate that lifestyle under a new identity.”
“Why did he choose Dún Laoghaire?”
“The answer to that question was buried in the case material the Canadian authorities sent you. Among Spalding’s property the Canadian Customs and Revenue Agency seized for tax evasion were two boats, an offshore sport-fishing boat and a sailboat.”
Fitzmaurice’s eyes widened. “Dún Laoghaire is a boat lover’s paradise.”
“Exactly. Spalding wants to live on the seashore in an English-speaking country where he can fit in, indulge in his hobbies, and travel around Europe as he wishes.”
“Are you quite sure you’re not an FBI profiler?” Fitzmaurice asked as he pulled into a campus parking lot.
“Quite sure,” Sara answered with a laugh.
They’d arrived early, Fitzmaurice explained as they crossed the campus to O’Reilly Hall, so they could spot Paquette and sit as close to her as possible. The university consisted of modern buildings surrounded by well-kept grounds with walking paths that led to classrooms, faculty office buildings, and common areas. At an ornamental lake near O’Reilly Hall a small group of well-dressed people had already started to gather, but Paquette was not among them.
The doors to the hall were opened for the audience, and Sara and Fitzmaurice took programs from ushers as they walked in. The writer being honored, Brendan Coughlan, was an Irish emigrant to Canada who’d written a number of contemporary novels set in Nova Scotia. According to the program notes Coughlan had been born and raised in County Clare, and his novels captured the essence of Irish characters living in a foreign land yet still haunted by the bloody history and partition of their native country.
Paquette showed up accompanied by an older man and a middle-aged couple. In contrast to their quite fashionable clothes Paquette wore a designer dress that broke at her knees and had a revealing bodice. She wore diamond stud earrings and her hair was done up in a French twist that accentuated her long neck. She had an oval, pretty face with high cheekbones, and a petite figure with a tiny waist.
“She enjoys being flamboyant, doesn’t she?” Sara said.
“It is attire perhaps more appropriate to a gala opening at the Abbey Theater,” Fitzmaurice replied.
With Fitzmaurice at her side Sara followed Paquette into the hall, listening in on her conversation, which consisted of small talk about the beautifully decorated Georgian terrace house she’d visited while interviewing a Canadian celebrity, and the wonderful, perfectly presented dinner she’d been served at a restaurant owned by a young chef who immigrated to Dublin from Vancouver.
They sat behind Paquette in the packed auditorium and eavesdropped as she described to her companions her recent meeting with the evening’s honoree, Brendan Coughlan. Paquette babbled on until the lights dimmed and the event began.
After some short introductory remarks by a faculty member, who praised Coughlan as a unique voice in Irish literature, the writer took center stage to rousing applause and spoke at length about his childhood and youth in County Clare, and how he’d found the magic and beauty of Ireland mirrored along the rocky coast of Nova Scotia, where the pure, deep sounds of Eire could still be heard among the many voices, memories, and dreams that had blossomed there.
He finished with