Chapter Three #2
An hour later, when I’ve had a shower and an ill-advised nap, I push open the door of the pub below, a piece of paper clenched in my hand. Casey sent me an email with all the details I’d need, but the address is confusingly simple.
Ciara Sheridan, Carrigwest
Helpful.
The pub itself is like something on a postcard.
Painted a deep red with a green sign reading Delaney’s over the entrance, it has barrels of wilted flowers outside and old-fashioned lampposts bracketing the door.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior, but, when they do, I find the place cozy but empty, except for Ronan, who stands behind the bar doing a stock check.
“How are you getting on?” he asks when he sees me. “Thirsty?”
“Parched. A Diet Coke if you have it.” I perch on one of the stools, feeling too warm in my fresh shirt. “Do you think you could help me with some directions?”
“I’ll do my best,” he says, passing me a small glass bottle followed by a card machine. “Researching your family, is it?”
“No. I’m looking for Ciara Sheridan’s place?”
The way his smile drops, you’d swear I added so I can egg it. The mood in the pub changes instantly, all of Ronan’s previous friendliness vanishing.
“I’m here to help with her father’s estate,” I continue after a lengthy silence. “She knows I’m coming.”
“Is that right?” he asks slowly. “But you don’t have her address.”
“I do, but it’s not…” I trail off as his eyes narrow. “She’s not responding to her emails,” I finish lamely.
“I can’t be giving out private information, now. We get all sorts around here, you understand?”
I don’t. But, knowing that’s probably as much as I’ll get out of the suddenly suspicious bartender, I drink the most awkward soda of my life and head back outside.
She’s got to live around here somewhere. Carrigwest takes up only a few miles and I’ve seen…five, maybe six houses so far? Granted, none is anywhere near as impressive as what Frank’s place is supposed to look like, but it shouldn’t be that hard to find if I drive around.
In the end, that’s exactly what I do. With the windows down, and my GPS on, I travel slowly through the one-street town and out the other side, moving through woodlands and back out to open fields.
The roads are narrower here and lined with gray stone walls, but besides a few tourist buses that I manage not to crash into, I meet little traffic on the way.
I also find nothing. Every side road I come across leads only to small bungalows or old cottages, and I’m weighing up the option of calling Casey and asking him why he hates me when I spy a man resting against a gate up ahead, a sheepdog sitting next to him.
When I slow down, he raises his walking stick in acknowledgment.
“Lost, are you?” He has to be nearing ninety but is steady on his feet as he shuffles over to me.
“Only by a lot,” I say as he nears. “I’m looking for Ciara Sheridan. Am I in the right area?”
“Ciara?” His smile falls momentarily, and with it my hope, before a sly look passes over his face. “Are you the new boyfriend, then?”
I don’t pause. I don’t even think. I’m tired and I’m hungry and I keep almost driving on the wrong side of the road. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I am.”
And I feel no guilt when he laughs, looking delighted.
“It’s about time you showed your face around here,” he says, pointing a gnarled finger back the way I came.
“You’re not far now, but I wouldn’t be starting from where we are if I were you.
I would have come from the main road, but I’ll see you right. ”
And he does, in his own way at least, directing me back to the woods I passed through earlier.
“If you hit the red house, you’ve gone too far. But if you see a horse, you haven’t gone far enough. You understand?”
Again, not really. But I smile anyway. He makes me repeat it back to him before he’s happy, and then he slaps the car roof and waves me goodbye.
But, while his instructions may be unorthodox, they also work, and fifteen minutes later I pull up to an unmarked dirt road surrounded by thick trees. I missed it completely when I passed earlier, but now that I know what I’m looking for, it seems obvious.
It isn’t until I turn in that I start to get nervous, anticipation making me slow to a crawl. Ever since Casey told me about the book, I’ve been so focused on getting here and meeting Ciara that I didn’t even consider the fact that I’d be seeing her house as well. Frank’s house.
The house.
Just the thought of it has me pulling over, and I get out and walk a few steps to shake off the excess energy.
I consider myself a grown man and I’m here to do an important job, but I think even Casey would understand my spark of excitement as I realize I’m about to see what so many of Frank’s readers dream of.
I mean, I’ve got to take some pictures. For Lizzie, at least. And my old college roommate who was as obsessed with the books as I was. Plus, a couple of my friends who—
Yeah. Screw it.
There’s a well-trodden path through the trees, and I head into the bright forest, thinking I can circle the place before introducing myself.
Turns out it’s the right move, and it isn’t long before I spy a break in the leaves, a glimpse of hazy sunlight on uncut grass.
I pick up my pace, taking out my phone, but I don’t make it another step.
At first I think I’ve slipped on some mud, and I fling my hands out to catch my balance, but when I place my foot forward it meets nothing but air.
It happens so fast that I don’t realize I’m falling until I stop, my phone still clutched in my hand and my ass firmly in the dirt, as I land at the bottom of what appears, at both first and second glance, to be a giant hole in the ground.