“I will.” I nod, reaching out and stroking the soft velvet. Flipping it open, I stare at the plain silver ring. It’s exactly as I’ve pictured it over the years. It’s perfect. Well. Almost perfect.
Finishing my tea, I allow Aunt Niamh to feed me, chatting about family matters. She’s not as miserable as I remember. Perhaps that was merely the effect of my mammy on her. She made everyone feel wretched.
Leaving Aunt Niamh’s semi-detached, the ring safely in my pocket, I walk into a family-owned jewelry store I’m familiar with. I don’t trust American jewelers with this ring. I want an Irishman.
The jeweler examines the Claddagh ring in silence. I need to know if he can make it shiny.
“We can polish it up for ye, son,” the man assures me, gesturing to the display case beneath his hands. “But are ye sure ye don’t want one of these?”
I glance down at them. They’re Claddagh rings, but they’re sparkly. The heart in most of them is a different kind of jewel. But that’s not Mellie, not at all. It would also change the ring too much.
“Could ye put some small sparkly diamonds in the crown?” I ask, gesturing to my grandmammy’s ring.
The jeweler starts in surprise, tilting the ring, and looking at it from a number of different angles.
“We could,” he says at last, naming his price.
“Ye have it done in four days, and I’ll pay ye double,” I tell him gruffly as he rushes to agree to my suggestion.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MELLIE
Niall is out of town for a week. Errands. I suppose Seamus or Sean Fitzpatrick needed him to do something. He didn’t say where he was going. He never does, and I don’t ask.
He has been gone for five days when there’s a knock on the door. Peering through the peephole, I start in surprise at the two police officers standing on the other side of it. Warily, I open the door to them but don’t invite them in. Niall wouldn’t like it if I invited cops into his home.
“Can I help you, officers?” I ask, hoping they’re not here to drag me down to the station again. One shifts uneasily while the other runs his hand through his hair.
“Can we come inside, Ms. Rogan?” he asks at last, but I shake my head.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I reply. “My boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”
The uneasy cop shifts again while the other one sighs.
“Ms. Rogan,” he fixes me with a sympathetic look, “I’m afraid we’re here to inform you that Hart Remington was killed in an automobile accident this morning.”
I blink in surprise, feeling numb. Oh my god. Is that true?
“Hart’s dead?”
They both nod, the talker reaching out to awkwardly pat my shoulder.
“Is there perhaps someone you would like to call? To come and sit with you?” he suggests. I stare at him, uncomprehending. “We can wait with you until they arrive. You’ve had a bit of a shock. You shouldn’t be alone.”
I shrug his hand off my shoulder. Alone is exactly what I want to be.
“Thank you for letting me know.” I offer them a tight smile. “But I think I can manage.”
I go back into the apartment, shutting the door tightly behind myself and sinking to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
I’m not sure how long I stay there, but I finally get up to get my phone, dialing Tiggy.
“Mellie! What can I help you with?”
“Come to mine,” I breathe down the phone, rattling off the address. “Dress for dancing.”
“Mellie… what?” she asks, but I’m already ringing off, calling Fiona and Lauren to give them the same instructions.