Rain on the Dead by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online

Peter and his wife, on the condition that they gave a home to his widowed sister, Margaret Flynn, known to the family as Aunt Meg.”
    “Some people have all the luck,” Doyle said.
    “Especially when Tod and Kelly were released from the Maze and he was able to offer them a home.”
    “To work on the farm?”
    “Some of the time. It’s also the address of a security firm. Obviously, it didn’t take them long to get down to business.”
    “So you think Nantucket was part of their agenda?”
    “I don’t know.” Roper was frowning, manipulating his control. “Not good,” he said. “That was unfortunate. There’s a daughter, Hannah, who was eighteen in June. Four years ago, on a trip to Belfast, she lost her parents to a car bomb. She was badly injured and in hospital for months. Her father died intestate.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “No will. She inherited everything, but as she was only fourteen, the court appointed Tod and Aunt Meg as joint guardians.”
    “Well, as I wouldn’t trust that Provo bastard an inch, I’m happy the aunt’s around to keep an eye on him,” Doyle said.
    “There’s some personal stuff here on her Facebook page,” Roper said. “Good news. She must be a real hotshot on the piano. She’s just been accepted as a student at the Royal College of Music.”
    “Sounds like you’re taking a personal interest.”
    Roper switched off most of the screens, leaving only one, the emergency cover. “Enough already. I could do with a steam, shower, and shave and fresh apparel, then I’ll doze until our lord and master appears.” He was very cheerful. “Can you assist me, Sergeant?”
    “That’s what I’m here for, Major,” Doyle told him, and followed as Roper switched on his wheelchair and led the way out.
    —
    And in Ireland, high on a hill that loomed above Drumgoole Place, Hannah Flynn reined in a mare named Fancy as she saw the Land Rover approaching the house in the far distance. It was raininglightly, evening drawing in, and she wore an Australian drover’s coat, a broad-brimmed hat pulled down over auburn hair that framed a calm and serious face. She spoke into a cell phone.
    “They’re here, Aunt Meg.”
    Margaret Flynn took the call in the kitchen. At seventy-six, she was a handsome woman still, in jerkin and riding breeches, hair white, face tanned. There was still a hint of the actress she had been in her youth.
    “Wonderful, but when your uncle Tod called from Dublin Airport, he said they wanted to change as soon as possible.”
    “More cloak and dagger again,” Hannah said. “When are they going to learn that the IRA is past its prime and nobody wants to know anymore?”
    “Of course, love, Tod and Kelly know that. It’s just security work they do these days. Anyway, I’ve given the stable hands the night off, so you get here when you can. We’ll have dinner a little later.”
    There had long been a dark suspicion that the car bomb which had killed Hannah’s parents and injured her so badly had been meant for Tod. Perhaps someone was settling an old score? Hannah frequently remembered that possibility with some bitterness.
    She sat there for a moment longer, stroking and patting the mare. “That’s men for you, Fancy, still playing games in the schoolyard and then never seeming to learn that sometimes people get hurt.” She shook her head. “Security, my arse,” and she rode away.
    —
    Tod and Kelly showered in the wet room on the ground floor of Drumgoole Place, then set about shaving their beards, which tookquite some time. After that, they sat side by side and Meg cut their hair in turn.
    “Will ye watch what you’re doing, woman?” Tod said.
    She cuffed him. “You’re in good hands. I learned everything there is to know about hairdressing in my theater days. I’ll see to the cuts first, then use the right solvents to treat the color.”
    Hannah moved in from the corridor, limping, a walking stick in her right hand. “What a couple of