By Glenys O'Connell @GlenysOConnell
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While living in Ireland I took a course to qualify as a
private investigator – my, what I won’t do for my art <g>! Anyhow, this
was research for a completely different book idea. But I noticed that there
didn’t seem to be a single woman PI in the country, and not really an awful lot
of police women, either.
So I got to wondering, like you do: how would a woman make a
living at private investigation if so many doors were closed to here?
And Ciara Somers, Heroine of Winters & Somers, was born!
Ciara actually wanted to be a policewoman, but her interfering
– and very rich – grandparents “protected’ her from such an unseemly life by
whispering in other influential ears.
After her first few jobs, mostly helping old ladies find
their cats, Ciara finally finds her niche – she takes commissions to test the seduction
temptability quotient of other women’s boyfriends/fiancés/husbands to reassure
their suspicious or insecure women. That is, she goes out and tempts the guys
to see if they’ll stray – then scarpers before they take her up on the offer!
It works well until she makes a horrible mistake and runs afoul
of sexy New York Homicide cop Jonathon Winters – who’s also a bestselling, sexy
author of wild romance novels (but don’t ever tease him about that!). Winters is
in Ireland on sabbatical to write his latest novel, but it seems he left his
Muse at home. Until he clashes with Ciara, Then he decides to show her how to
run a proper detective agency.
At least she restrains herself from biting him – although
biting in some form sounds like a fun thing to do with the delicious Det.
Winters.
Throw into the mix a diamond thief, a whacky grannie, two
rich and misunderstood grandparents, an eccentric landlady, a pregnant friend,
a pampered MG sports car, and a Guinness drinking dog and you have a plot which
allowed me to put Irish dialogue, humor and characters to hilarious use.
Winters & Somers is one of my favourite books!
Here’s an excerpt:
“Myself, I think I rather fancy
the little vintage MG – the red one over there.”
It happened every time. Guys got a look at the sports car, and this
drooling expression came over their faces. She wished she could have the same
effect.
“Jeez, that’s just gorgeous,” Winters said, drawn towards the car as if
on an invisible string, “Such a fabulous restoration job, too.”
“Yes, it is." She enjoyed the
expression on his face as she slipped behind the wheel. The powerful engine
purred to life at the touch of the key, and Cíara gave Winters a gracious
little wave as she shot off down the driveway, spurting gravel all over his
shoes.
She might have won that round, but Winters was a cop and a writer,
which meant that he knew a thing or two about persistence. He had something he
wanted to discuss with her, and he was damned if he was going to let her get
away with swanning off like this. And he’d really like to know how she came by
that fancy car….
It took a few minutes, but she finally became suspicious of the
headlights that followed steadily behind her. Slowing down a little to get a
better view of the vehicle behind, she swore loudly and long, words that would
have had Grannie Somers washing her mouth out with soap and water, and
Grandmother Henley in a dead swoon on her polished oak floors.
She didn’t stop, though. She assumed Winters was still staying in the
swanky Dublin hotel where she’d taken those ill-fated photographs, so he did
have to return to the city, Maybe he’d get bored of following her once they got
into the traffic.
But it was a forlorn hope. When she finally found a parking spot on
Grosvenor Square, he pulled up right alongside her, boxing her in. “I’d love to
come in for a coffee, but I don’t want to block the street and parking’s bad,”
he told her as if she’d actually invited
him. Then he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from one of his immaculate
dinner jacket pockets, ”I found this on your desk at the office, and thought it
was really serendipity. I’m looking for a place to stay when I’m working here,
and you’re looking for a flat mate. Perfect, eh?”
Cíara nearly choked on the words that struggled to climb out of her throat.
When she was finally able to put them in order, she croaked “You’ve got to be
joking? This stupidity is why you followed me home?”
“Partly. Partly I wanted to see you safe back. It’s not good for a woman
to be out late and alone, especially in a vehicle like that. It’s not exactly
invisible, is it?”
Speaking slowly, as if to a young child, she said “I am a big girl. I can
stay out late if I want, and I can handle any Neanderthals with the wrong idea.
Including you! Now, stay out of my way, out of my flat – and preferably, out of
my life!”
“I wonder if your good buddy Frank O’Keefe will see it that way?”
Jonathon said casually.
“What? Are you still on about…I thought we had a deal….”
“So did I. A partnership.”
“But now you want my flat. You want to take over my life….” She knew she
was squawking, but couldn't help herself.
“Nonsense. The partnership is good for both of us. And as for the flat,
I’m looking for someplace for a few nights a week. I don’t care for living in
hotels. And I need to spend time at the cottage in Dunmore East, as well – so
you’ll hardly know I’m there!”
She slumped back in her seat. She knew when she was outgunned, but did he
have to make it all sound so reasonable? Slowly she got out of the car, locked
it, and walked, shoulders slumped, towards her own front door. He fell into
step beside her, slipping an arm around her. “You must find it chilly, wearing
so little in this breeze,” he excused himself. She didn’t even have the energy
to shrug him off. From her grandmother on the phone first thing, then Winters’
rearranging her office and making her impossible bets, Mary Margaret's
lunchtime revelations, Harry’s behavior, the dinner party, and Wallace – now
this! Her day had been a total washout. Besides, his arm was warm….then she had an awful thought.
“You’re not wanting to come in now and look around, are you?”
“Nah, I’ll give you time to get your underwear off the shower rail.
Tomorrow morning, early – before office hours.”
He watched her climb the stone steps and insert the key into the huge
door. She felt his eyes on her and grinned as she remembered the short skirt
would give him quite an eyeful as she reached the top of the tall steps. She
gave a little provocative hip wiggle before slipping inside the house, and had
to admit, against her better judgment, that his presence did feel safe. Not
that she had ever felt under threat, coming home alone late at night. At least
not that she would admit to, anyway. After
all, if you start to feel like a victim, you are a victim, her martial arts instructor had
told the class. And no granddaughter of Grannie Somers would ever be a victim.
