Erin Go Bloody , livre ebook

Andrews UK - Dan Andriacco

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119 pages

English

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When Erin, Ohio native Jamie Ellicott returns home as best-selling author James Ivanhoe after a 13-year absence, it's like the return of the Prodigal Son. His ill and aging father welcomes him with open arms. Ivanhoe's two brothers, however, are less forgiving.The whole town gets drawn into the family drama when Ivanhoe seeks to march in the annual St. Patrick's Day parade under the banner of an anti-technology group called the Ned Ludd Society. That's a thumb in the collective eye of his siblings, who own a company that makes microcircuits.As a member of the parade committee, St. Benignus University communications director Jeff Cody has a stake in what soon becomes a heated national debate. But to his genius brother-in-law Sebastian McCabe, the contretemps becomes less important than investigating murder in the Ellicott family. Erin Go Bloody once again demonstrates the skill that caused best-selling novelist Bonnie MacBird to call Dan Andriacco "a master of mystery plotting."

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	04 septembre 2018
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781787050129
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Erin Go Bloody
A Sebastian McCabe - Jeff Cody Mystery
Dan Andriacco

First edition published in 2016 by
MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,
London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2016 Dan Andriacco
The right of Dan Andriacco to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect those of MX Publishing or Andrews UK Limited.
Cover design by Brian Belanger

This book is dedicated to
Steven Doyle, BSI
of Doyle’s Irish Pub

“Everything but the Grudges”
“I have the Irish Alzheimer’s,” Walter Ellicott declared. “I forget everything but the grudges.”
Later I would remember that comment because it was a kind of prologue to murder and suicide. Even at the time it struck me as out of character for a corporate legal eagle like Walter. And yet he was talking loud enough that I could hear him over the low mumble of the soft jazz band a few yards away.
I’m not above eavesdropping at a crowded cocktail reception, so I moved a little closer. Walter was conversing with the stylish and refined Lesley Saylor-Mackie, who was slightly older and grayer but could match him crease by crease in the spit-and-polish department. They both wore blue pinstripes, but hers were softened with a red silk scarf. She’s been known to wear dresses in off-hours, but apparently she considered this business, maybe even double business, given her two jobs.
“Of course he’s my brother,” Walter told her, “and blood is thicker than water and all that, so I guess I’m supposed to forgive him. But that’s not happening.” Walter stared down at his dark amber beverage, which I strongly suspected was not tea. His thick mustache appeared freshly trimmed. “When Jamie left town he gave the whole family one big digital salute. He didn’t even come home for Mom’s funeral. But now that Dad’s not doing well, he’s moved back. I think he just wants to make sure he’s in the will.”
Saylor-Mackie looked sympathetic. “And what does your father think?” I couldn’t tell whether she was really interested in this soap opera or just wanted to keep the conversational ball rolling.
“All is forgiven.” The expression on Walter’s face matched the bitterness in his voice.
As he paused to take a healthy slug of liquid refreshment, his eyes landed on me just behind Saylor-Mackie’s elbow. Hey, I didn’t hear a word about your family feud, Walter! Trying not to look like a deer caught in the headlights, I nodded as acquaintances do. He nodded back and I quickly moved on toward the closest of the four bars set up around the Weiss Gallery of Art.
Accessing the Cody memory banks, I mentally reviewed what I knew about the Ellicott clan: Walter’s father, Samson I. Ellicott, Jr., age seventy-six, had founded the company now known as Samson Microcircuits more than forty years ago. It’s very high-tech stuff, microcircuits and semiconductors and whatnot for the defense industry. I’d heard that Ellicott had largely withdrawn from the day-to-day management after the death of his wife, Gladys. Samson I. Ellicott III, familiarly known as “Trey,” now ran the company as president. Apparently he’d been doing a bang-up job, boosting revenues nicely after the Great Recession. Walter, just slightly older than me, was the corporation’s lead attorney. I’d been vaguely aware that there was also a sister, but I hadn’t known of a third brother. Unlike some people, I can’t keep up on all the local gossip. Erin is a small town, but it’s not St. Mary Mead.
Besides, I don’t normally socialize with the likes of the Ellicott family. What had brought me into Walter’s orbit that evening was a staff, faculty, and board soirée following the news conference announcing that St. Benignus College, where I slave away night and day as director of communications, would become St. Benignus University with the fall semester. Walter Ellicott was a long-time St. Benignus board member. We’d had enough interactions in that capacity to be on a first-name basis.
His conversation partner at the reception, Ms. Saylor-Mackie, is head of the history department at St. Benignus and mayor of Erin in her spare time - or maybe vice versa, depending on your viewpoint. Whether her larger ambitions involved city or college (make that university!) politics I hadn’t figured out yet. I usually call her Mayor or Professor, depending on the context.
“So what’s the difference between a college and a university?”
That’s the question Lynda had tossed me over dinner one night almost a year previously. She’d done some wordsmithing that day on a story about a state college no bigger than St. Benignus that branded itself a university in a bid to get more out-of-state and international students. If you’re married to a journalist, as I am, you have to expect a few questions from time to time. But I didn’t know how to answer that one. So I booted it the next day to my indispensable aide-de-camp, Aneliese “Popcorn” Pokorny. She poked around and found out that there is no hard-and-fast rule on that. And university sounds so much better. So why not rebrand?
It took me months to kick the idea up the food chain at work, fighting tooth and toenail for my brainstorm all the way. But after it had been high-fived by Father Joe Pirelli, our fearless leader, and the entire board of trustees, everybody else agreed that they’d always thought it was a swell move, and long overdue. Even Ralph Pendergast, our provost and academic vice president. You can say what you like about Ralph (as long as it’s bad), but he does have a head for marketing. Under his direction, we had recently added five graduate programs and online courses aimed at military personnel. That made a good rationale for the name change.
The announcement of our new name and status was a watershed for the institution and a triumph for Father Joe, a white-haired, grandfatherly figure who worked the room at the reception with a glass of red wine in his hand. He had been president of St. Benignus and the face of the school for decades. Watching him, I couldn’t help wondering whether he might decide to retire soon and spend more time on the golf course with his legacy firmly established.
But he wasn’t retired yet. I knew that because I spotted him talking to Ralph. That had to be work.
I bellied up to the bar right behind the gnomish Gene Pfannenstiel, head librarian of the Lee J. Bennish Memorial Library on campus and curator of its Woollcott Chalmers Sherlock Holmes Collection. Grace Pendergast, Ralph’s pleasant wife, was in the other line. We exchanged waves. If I were married to Ralph, I’d be getting ready to order myself a double of something alcoholic - and I don’t even drink adult beverages much.
Well, usually I don’t. Tonight I was not usual because Lynda was two months pregnant. Though not even showing yet in her standout red cocktail dress, she refused to indulge in her fondness for Kentucky bourbon while our first child was in utero . So I had to fill in.
“Have a drink for me, Jeff, will you?” she’d said in her throaty voice by way of sending me off to the bar.
“Uh, sure. I’ll grab a Hudy DeLight.”
“Make it a Manhattan.”
“But I don’t-”
“I know what I want, all right?”
Never argue with a pregnant woman, especially if she’s your wife.
The gallery was packed with fellow St. Benignus staffers, interspersed with a number of freeloading politicos whom Saylor-Mackie had insisted on inviting. I spotted Lynda’s pal, and mine, Sister Mary Margaret Malone craning her neck to chat with Lt. Ed Decker of Campus Security. An oak tree in a brown suit, Ed is two heads taller than Triple M - two big heads. Reporter Maggie Barton, who has been covering St. Benignus for the Erin Observer & News-Ledger since the Bronze Age, made it a trio.
On the way back to Lynda from the bar, I nodded at Dr. Dante Peter O’Neill, head of the art department at St. Benignus. As usual, he was dressed like a GQ model in horn-rimmed glasses. At six-five, four inches taller than me, he looked around the room like a cop afraid somebody was going to steal one of the gallery’s paintings. Spoiler alert: Nobody did. O’Neill should have relaxed and let Decker worry about the non-existent art thieves.
“Nice party,” O’Neill said.
“Everybody seems happy.” Except Walter Ellicott.
O’Neill and I had both been involved in planning the logistics for the reception, so this commentary was by way of patting ourselves on the back. Who else was going to do it?
When I got back to where I had started from, I found that in my absence my spouse had gathered family around her - my sister, Kate; my brother-in-law and best friend, Sebastian McCabe; and Popcorn, without whom I would get nothing done at work.
“Thank you, darling,” Lynda said when I handed her a Diet Coke, usually my drink of choice in its caffeine-free variety. Her curly, honey-blond hair was done up in a French braid, one of my favorite styles.
“Hey, did