Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5
talking.”
    “In that case, I need to borrow you for a couple of hours.”
    He gestured toward the stack of papers. “Much as I’d love to escape this freezing office, can’t it wait, sir? I’m way behind on admin.”
    The super’s smile widened to Cheshire cat proportions. “No, lad, it can’t wait. I have a job for you.”
    Seán sighed and pushed his chair back from the desk. “Does this involve John-Joe Fitzgerald and an air rifle?”
    The older man laughed. “No. It involves Helen Havelin and a stalker.”
    “A stalker?” Seán frowned. “Who’d she piss off this time?”
    It was the super’s turn to frown. “I don’t think Ms. Havelin is in the habit of pissing people off.”
    Seán begged to differ but opted to keep his trap shut. This toeing-the-line business was a bitch. Facing Helen Havelin wasn’t on his bucket list, especially not with a pounding headache, but he had his Dublin transfer to consider. He toyed with his cup. “At least the coffee is portable.”
    “Indeed it is.” The super grabbed Seán’s hat and scarf from the stand by the door and tossed them on the desk. “Come on, lad. Let’s go.”

Chapter Six
    CLIO FOUND THE AQUAMANILE in the last moving box.
    She knelt on the plush carpet, staring at the copper piece in her hand. It was smaller than she’d expected and heavier than it appeared. The delicate face was exquisite, each detail lovingly carved. The copper was polished to a fine shine. The aquamanile was over eight hundred years old, yet the expression on the leopard’s face was so lifelike, it could have been made yesterday.
    Clio placed it on the ground with trembling hands.
A quarter of a million euros.
That amount of money could buy a person freedom.
    “Are you finished unpacking?” Helen appeared in the doorway, making Clio jump. She’d changed into a figure-hugging dress and strappy sandals. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her makeup was flawless. She could pass for Clio’s sister. Helen claimed her youthful looks were thanks to good genes. Clio suspected they were thanks to good docs.
    “Yeah, I’m finished.” Clio pushed herself to her feet and positioned the aquamanile on the mantelpiece. “This was the last box.”
    Helen clucked her disapproval. “Not there, Cliona. Put it on the display table by the window.”
    Walking toward the table was akin to wading through seawater. Clio’s limbs didn’t seem to work as they should, and her hands refused to stop trembling.
    Her mother didn’t notice.
    But when had Helen ever noticed when Clio was upset? She’d spent her childhood trying to connect with her mother, desperate for her attention and approval. It wasn’t until she fell pregnant with Tammy that the full force of her mother’s attention was turned on her—and that was with anything but approval.
    Helen stood before the window, stroking the leopard aquamanile, a rare expression of contentment across her face. “A lovely piece,” she said. “As soon as I saw it, I had to own it.”
    Clio tasted the bitter dregs of resentment. When had Helen last touched her in affection? Or Tammy? Never.
    Guilt gnawed at her insides. Okay, her mother might be a pain at times, but she didn’t deserve to be robbed. Not of the two thousand euros Clio had taken from the safe, and certainly not of something this valuable. She’d phone Ray and tell him they were still waiting for the rest of Helen’s belongings to be delivered to Clonmore House. Anything to stall him and buy time for Emma to dig up info that Clio could use against him.
    She bit back a scream of frustration. What demon had possessed her to take justice into her own hands? Why hadn’t she done what everyone else had advised, namely let it go? She caught sight of the photo of a two-year-old Tammy perched on the mantelpiece, all chubby cheeks and sweet-faced innocence.
    Her heart swelled. She hadn’t let it go because she’d wanted to keep her daughter safe.
    She took and

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