St. Patrick's Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page B

Dylan, and she’s got the leading female role.” Lucy paused. “She’s also Deirdre’s mother.”
    “Ah,” said Bill. “It’s all becoming clearer. She wants a baby-sitter for Deirdre.”
    “I think that might have something to do with it,” said Lucy. “But I don’t care. It’s going to be fun, being in the show with Rachel and Pam.” She didn’t add the fact that her involvement with the Malones gave her an inside track on the murder, knowing that Bill would hardly approve of her conducting her own investigation.
    Tom Silva and the crew had suddenly disappeared, and This Old House was replaced with a bank of phone operators and an ancient English actor pitching for donations to PBS. Bill flicked through the stations, looking for something else, and settled on a basketball game. “So what’s the play about?”
    “I’ve just started reading, but so far it’s about an Irishman, Finian, who steals a pot of gold from a leprechaun and brings it to America so he can plant it near Fort Knox so it will grow and make him rich. He has the idea that all that government gold in Fort Knox will somehow fertilize his stash. He thinks all Americans are rich, that gold somehow grows here.”
    “That’s news to me,” said Bill. “Have you noticed any gold growing in our garden?”
    “Not so far,” said Lucy, “but I live in hope. This house is so old, you’d think somebody sometime would have buried something valuable in the backyard. But all I ever find are bits of broken bottles and dishes. And bits of plastic toys, probably from our own kids.”
    “I know what you mean. Every time I rip out a wall in some old wreck, I’m hoping I’ll find a sock full of gold coins that somebody stashed there and forgot, but all I ever seem to find are mouse nests.”
    “Old Dan was a bit of a miser,” said Lucy, remembering how Dave Reilly had the same idea at the wake, when he tried to search the drawers and cabinets. “Maybe you’ll find something at the Bilge.”
    “Believe me, I’m keeping my eyes peeled.” He laughed. “Come to think of it, he was a bit like a leprechaun, wasn’t he? Kinda little and stooped and wrinkled, and smoking that pipe of his. Maybe he did have a pot of gold stashed there.”
    Zoe padded into the room in her bare feet and pajamas, to kiss her parents good night before going to bed. “It’s very difficult to take a leprechaun’s gold,” she said in a serious tone as she climbed onto her father’s lap.
    “And why is that?” he asked.
    “They always come up with a trick,” replied Zoe. “They make you look away or send you on an errand and promise to give it to you tomorrow. Something like that.”
    “But what if you trick the leprechaun?” Bill asked with a grin.
    “It’s very hard to trick a leprechaun. Almost impossible,” said Zoe, with the conviction of a true believer. “But if you do, you can be sure the leprechaun will get you back. People in America think leprechauns are fat, jolly, happy little men, but Deirdre says that’s wrong. They’re really mean and spiteful, not jolly at all.”
    “You’d better think twice about taking that gold,” Lucy told Bill. “If it does turn up, that is.”
    “Better leave it for the leprechaun,” said Zoe. “And you know what else Deirdre told me?”
    “Nope,” replied Bill.
    Zoe adopted a serious expression, as if about to impart some extremely valuable information. “Fairies aren’t nice, either.”
    “Tinkerbell is nice,” said Lucy.
    “Not really,” replied Zoe. “Remember how jealous she was of Wendy? Deirdre says that’s typical. They’re very vain and selfish little creatures.”
    “You’re shattering all my illusions,” complained Lucy. “Next thing you’ll be telling me there’s no Santa Claus.”
    “Mo-om,” said Zoe, making the word two syllables and rolling her eyes for good measure. “You and Dad are Santa Claus. Nobody believes in Santa Claus.”
    “Okay, what about the tooth fairy?