Saving Sharkey

Nisbet

Chapter 1

Fore!

A wayward soccer ball missed Charlie McNair’s head by less than an inch. My unsympathetic bout of laughter caused me to spill an easy volley into the net.

That soccer ball saved your arse, Charlie, I yelled. That was match point.

Where the hell did it come from? Charlie grabbed the soccer ball and punted it high into the air, the way he would have for his former rugby team, Boroughmuir in Edinburgh.

Not seeing anyone anxious to retrieve the missing soccer ball, we turned back to our tennis match. It was my serve and I closed out the match in the next two points.

As we sauntered up the green in West Seattle, the owner of the soccer ball strolled toward us. He had thick brown hair and was closer to Charlie’s stature of five feet nine than mine of six feet two. He was a youthful looking man who, by my estimate, fell somewhere between Charlie in his sixties, and me in my late forties. I had noticed over the years, that age difference matters less and less in friendship, particularly for someone as youthful and energetic as Charlie McNair who seemed to defy the concept of aging and always provided me with tough competition on the tennis court.

Nice punt, the fellow greeted Charlie with a compliment. I thought it might bring rain.

Charlie smiled. Not too hard to do around here. Name’s Charlie McNair. The big fellow here is Malcolm MacGregor.

Nice to meet you both. Name’s Edward Sharkey. My mother calls me Edward. Friends call me Eddie. Or Sharkey. Unless I am vastly mistaken, you both hail from Scotland.

Aye, that we do, I said. And you must be from Ireland . . . with some time spent in Scotland?

Excellent ear. The gleam in his green eyes indicated that he was duly impressed. So, do you play football or as the Americans like to call it, soccer?

Aye, Charlie said. We both played for many years—when we weren’t playing rugby, that is.

What Charlie is trying to say, is that, as all Scottish school boys do, we grew up playing soccer. And when we became too old to play rugby, we returned to the sport.

Sharkey grinned as he looked from one of us to the other. It sounds like we have a lot to talk about. Can I buy you a beer?

We were about to head up the hill to imbibe. Care to join us? asked Charlie.

I’ve a better idea. My house is down the road a wee bit and I have a bar that doesn’t get nearly enough attention.

It appears that we’re neighbors. Charlie lives across the street and I live a couple houses down. Lead the way.

We strolled along Pleasant Beach Drive past my house and turned into the driveway on the water side of the street. The gates were open and I was quick to glean how expansive the property was. The house was far less modest and far more dramatic than I had realized in passing.

First things first, Sharkey said, motioning for us to follow his lead. I’ll give you the grand tour later. The bar is this way.

Charlie and I followed him through the huge sky-lit hallway into a bar that would have done any bar on Rose Street proud. Before we could comment, Sharkey told us it had been shipped from Dublin when his favorite pub closed.

So, what’s your poison? I have Guinness, Smithwick’s, and Belhaven on tap and just about everything else—that’s worth having—in a bottle.

In other words, none of the light stuff, Charlie said.

Or the American brands, I added.

So, we’re all beer snobs, Sharkey said. Excellent. He made his way behind the bar and we realized that he had neither been boasting nor exaggerating, rather simply stating the facts. All he needed to do was obtain a proper license and hang a sign and he could compete with any pub this side of the Atlantic.

Charlie and I were not easily impressed, having been in most pubs in the world—or would have liked to have been—but we were momentarily rendered speechless. Once recovered, we responded, Belhaven.

Charlie glanced over at me. He knew me too well. And, being a private detective, little slipped by him without notice. And notice he did, that Belhaven had recently become my beer of choice. The fact that it was also the favorite of Charlie’s daughter’s was not a coincidence.

I certainly was not a man to have my tastes swayed by anyone, even Jenny McNair. However, having recently watched her as her face lit up upon a first sip, or seen her eyes close when she savored the refreshing liquid as it slid down her throat, I had betrayed my usual standbys and indulged. I was yet to return to my old favorites. Perhaps it had been time for a change. Or perhaps, it was simply that my first sip always seemed to evoke images of Jenny.

Once Charlie and I each had a Belhaven in hand and Sharkey had his Guinness, we raised our pints. Cheers, we chorused.

So, Charlie said, Judging from your home, my guess is that you’re E. Sharkey of E. Sharkey Architecture and Engineering who designed half of Seattle.

Sharkey smiled. Well, I didn’t arrive on the shores of Seattle until after the world fair, so I can’t claim to have inspired the Space Needle or the Monorail, but I have designed several things you might recognize.

Such as the airport, baseball stadium, Tacoma Dome . . . ? Charlie asked.

Sharkey chuckled. I have been fortunate to attract big projects that have paid handsomely, as you can see by this property. Let me give you the tour, at least the living area. Then you can tell me about yourselves and your rugby days.

He guided us out of the large room that was dedicated to housing the bar, and into the dining room with its high ceiling and modern glass table and sleek chairs. It was large enough to seat eighteen and had the same view as my home did of Puget Sound and the Vashon-bound ferry. The difference was that his dining and living rooms were several times the size of mine and far more dramatic as they were cantilevered over the water. Only an engineer would dare to create something that unusual, I decided. The enormous floor to ceiling windows revealed a private dock below with a large motor launch and a smaller ski boat.

He led us across the corridor to an office that might have been situated in a downtown high-rise, with its plush leather furniture, built-in shelves, large drawing table, and oversized windows. With that view of the Sound and Vashon Island, it was a miracle he completed any work.

We sipped our beer as we gazed out at the view that seemed more striking than mine. It must have been the proximity to the water and knowing we were hanging in mid air.

Now your stories, Sharkey encouraged.

I smiled. I’ll fill you in on Charlie. Formally a top-notch detective with the police, he’s now a well-known private investigator as well as an instructor at the University.

Well-known? Sharkey asked, his eyebrows arched.

Aye, I said. He’s been known to crack some cases the police deemed closed and unsolvable.

With my daughter’s assistance, Charlie added.

Ah, your daughter works with you?

When I manage to successfully twist her arm, Charlie said.

And he used to play stand-off for Boroughmuir School in Edinburgh and was selected for Scottish Schoolboys. He was a great goal kicker and still holds the school record for most points.

Very impressive, Sharkey said.

And, he plays jazz trumpet in a Dixieland band, is twice divorced with four children and let’s not forget the group of besotted maidens on his trail.

I don’t know where you dug up all that, Malcolm. You were still in nappies when I played rugby and you leave the pub after one set when I play my horn.

Slight exaggeration regarding the nappies. As far as your trumpet playing is concerned, I’m trying to preserve my hearing a wee bit longer.

Fair enough. My turn now, Charlie said, grinning with way too much pleasure. Malcolm was teaching at the Heriot-Watt University and discovered some real-life applications for high frequency sonic energy. He patented his discovery and as a result, no longer has to work.

It’s not a bad way to live, is it now? Sharkey said, confirming my suspicions that his circumstances were similar.

But he chooses to work, Charlie said. Now whether it’s for the love of teaching or the young lovelies who attend his classes, I’m not certain.

Both, I would wager, Sharkey offered.

And if they did wager, they would both lose. Charlie of all people knew better.

What subject? Sharkey asked.

Physics, I answered.

Most popular professor on campus—and it’s not only because of his good looks, Charlie said, laughing at the roll of my eyes. And when he’s not teaching or keeping an eye on his money or traveling the world, he works with me—on occasion, Charlie said.

More arm twisting?

Or an especially intriguing case.

Aye. I don’t work with Charlie often, but his charming self does manage to lure me into his cases more frequently than I would like, I said. But if the truth be told, all he had to do was mention that Jenny was involved and I would be there. I never discussed Jenny with Charlie, but I suspected he knew how I felt. Particularly now that she was divorced from her husband, Joe Campbell.

And let’s not forget the most important part of Malcolm MacGregor’s story, Charlie continued. He is also a Scottish rugby internationalist with twelve caps. Usual position—number eight. He would have had more caps but for a career-ending knee injury.

Sharkey raised his glass in my honor. Definitely impressive. I thought the name sounded familiar. I must have seen you play at some point. You were moving pretty well out there on the tennis court today. Your injury must have healed.

It doesn’t bother me much anymore. What about you? Rugby player at one time? In Scotland?

I’m actually from Donegal but my father moved us to Scotland when I was eleven. He managed a pub. He laughed. Thus my love of pubs and the desire to turn my home into one. But, my claim to fame was playing for Scottish Schoolboys in soccer.

No rugby? Charlie asked.

That came later. I had moved back to Dublin and was running on the track when a fellow came over to me and asked if I played rugby. He persuaded me to come to a Clontarf practice. Next thing I knew I was on the wing in a junior side against Belvedere. So I started my rugby career late. When I moved to London to study structural engineering, I played for London Irish. Once here in the states, I helped found the West Seattle Rugby Club. I played until I was in my early forties. Now I stick to soccer and a bit of Gaelic football. Keeps me in shape.

You decided to study architecture as well? I asked.

That I did. I couldn’t do everything I wanted with my engineering degree so I studied architecture when I arrived here. Another pint? he asked.

Charlie and I followed him back to the bar where he refilled our glasses. We strolled past his gallery of photographs, mostly soccer and rugby, stopping to enjoy the one of him on the wing for Scottish Schoolboys.

Ah, that was the match against Ireland which we won four-nil.

And this one? I asked. You’re playing rugby for Clontarf. He was very young but his smile was recognizable.

Aye, my first rugby game.

You scored a try your first rugby game? Charlie noted.

Aye, I did.

We moved on to a blow up of a rugby game. London-Irish took Blackheath twenty-seven to five.

Was that the winning try, I asked, nodding toward the photograph of him crossing the goal line.

It was that. He sipped his beer and grinned.

And this photo? Charlie asked, gazing at a picture of Sharkey in sweats, holding a rugby ball.

He chuckled. Taken right after I thwarted a band of thieves who were attempting to steal from the cash register of my local pub.

Why the rugby ball? I asked.

My only weapon.

And this one? I asked, staring at a photograph of Sharkey standing in the middle of a platform, surrounded by a group of people.

Enough of my accomplishments, he said with feigned modesty.

It couldn’t have been a soccer or rugby victory, Charlie commented.

Oh, very well, Sharkey said, staring so hard at the photograph I thought for a moment he might disappear back in time. Fiji. Twelve years ago. I was on holiday when I managed to meet up with a group of Fijian rugby players. They invited me to their village which was at best, primitive. We arrived just before a tropical storm hit. I gathered everyone around and together we built a large platform to hold several families. The water rose to just below the platform. Everyone managed to stay dry and safe and even cook on the platform for the four days we lived on it.

And you emerged a hero.

How would you be knowing that? He chuckled as he led us into the kitchen which was state of the art with restaurant quality stainless steel fixtures gleaming at us.

A very nice kitchen for a bachelor, Charlie noted.

Well, I do have a live-in girlfriend. And a housekeeper.

An attractive woman in her thirties by my estimate, entered the kitchen as though on cue. Dressed in simple cotton slacks and top, I assumed she was the live-in girlfriend.

I apologize for dirty dishes, Mr. Eddie. I run errand. It take long. I take care of now.

So I was wrong. The housekeeper? Live-in too? Her accent was thick but I could not place it.

No problem, Sarai. Whenever you have a chance.

Thank you, sir. Between her name and her accent, I determined that she was from Thailand.

Sharkey sighed. Please, Sarai. You needn’t address me as sir. Sharkey or Eddie is fine.

Yes, sir. She smiled for the first time, revealing how lovely she was. Sorry. Eddie. I fear Miss Aileen not approve of leaving dishes longer.

Miss Aileen? The live-in girlfriend?

I felt as if we were in a play when once again, the woman of mention, entered the room on cue. She too was slim but muscular and could not yet be in her thirties. She swept into the room with a command as only the lady of the house could enjoy. Her jet black hair was loose over her shoulders and her soccer shorts showed off long legs while her snug jersey accentuated her generous breasts.

I forgot you had a game this afternoon, Aileen. Let me introduce you. Malcolm MacGregor and Charlie McNair, Aileen Shannon.

She reached out and shook our extended hands, then turned to Sharkey. I see youse have been into the booze already, she said in a strong Belfast accent. It was subtle, but I detected a look of disapproval directed at Sarai. I wasn’t the only one to notice. Charlie raised an eyebrow as he met my amused look.

Aileen mumbled under her breath, You still haven’t taken care of the linens I asked you to change this morning, Sarai.

I most sorry, Miss Aileen, but I have— Her eyes darkened as she searched for the correct word—business take care of.

Aileen raised a knowing eyebrow as she bent down to tie her shoelaces. And I’m sure I know what business that is.

Sarai winced and turned back to the comfort of the sink.

Enough, Aileen. Sharkey stepped between the two women. If you’re so insistent that Sarai finish her chores, leave her to them.

Dismissing Sharkey’s anger with a frown, she stood up and turned to Charlie and me. Are youse over on holiday then?

No, we live down the lane, I answered.

Charlie’s eyes had returned to the long legs.

And I’m sure Eddie is trying to recruit you for the Westside Wanderers, isn’t he now?

I was just getting to that, Sharkey confessed, leaning down to kiss the cheek Aileen offered as she gathered up her gear.

I’m away. Hope to see youse again. With a quick return peck to Sharkey’s cheek, she was off.

That’s the live-in girlfriend? Charlie asked. If it’s not a rude question, how old is she?

Sharkey smiled and guided us back toward the bar. Not rude at all. Quite flattering actually. Twenty eight, I believe. As I get older, I seem to find them younger! She was working at the pub when I met her but is studying at the University now. Wants to get a teaching credential. He chuckled. Now that I’m supporting her.

At the sound of a yelp, we stopped and looked toward the side yard off the kitchen. Two barks and another yelp had Sharkey cracking open the back door. Quiet down, you scoundrels.

I glanced out at the odd collection of dogs. If I had thought Sharkey would have dogs, I was certain they would be matching purebreds.

Not mine, he said, as though he heard my query. I inherited them. Shall we? he asked, closing the door and heading for the bar.

Is she gone? A rather striking redhead who appeared to be only slightly younger than the girlfriend appeared with a scowl on her face.

Yes, dear. Aileen has left the building, she has.

But she’ll be back, the woman released a groan of displeasure, snatching a wine glass from the shelf over the bar and filling it with a rather sweet White Zinfandel. As if noticing us for the first time, she forced her scowl into a charmingly fake smile and said, You must be friends of my father’s.

Sharkey jumped in with the proper introductions and an explanation of how and when we had met. My daughter Maureen Currie, gentlemen, who is on occasion, happily married. And when she’s not, she opts to bunk at the old homestead.

Maureen’s scowl, which was aimed at her father now, had reappeared. Returning her attention to us, she asked, Has he recruited you for the Westside Wanderers yet? I wondered if she knew how much she sounded like the dreaded potential step-mother.

Her cell phone rang and she snatched it from her pocket, but after seeing who it was, stuffed it back.

Andy? Sharkey asked.

Maureen nodded. Eighth call. Eighth sniveling apology, I’m sure.

Still not ready to forgive him and go running home to the love of your life?

Her sour expression caused me to rethink the attractive face that I had noticed when she’d first made an appearance. But a moment later, she smiled, and I realized that yes, she was definitely a very pretty girl. And a vulnerable one.

Now, why would I go running home when I can torment him for a little while longer? And when I can stay here and spend the night with your delightful girlfriend?

After checking Charlie’s and my glasses and noting that they were still sufficiently full, Sharkey refilled his own. I think it’s time I changed the locks on this house, he said to Maureen, the gleam in his eyes betraying his words.

And miss the chance to spend quality time with your daughter? She threw her arms around him for a quick hug.

Maureen? An unfamiliar female voice echoed in the massive entryway.

Sharkey groaned. Definitely time to change those locks. Or train those bloody dogs I inherited to do something useful, like guard the property.

In the bar, Mother.

Sharkey glared at his daughter and nodded toward the high-pitched voice. You might ask before you invite my ex-wife to my home.

What fun would that be? Maureen asked, wrinkling her nose and grinning at her father. Then she frowned. And I didn’t invite her.

Even better. She invited herself, Sharkey snarled. Hello, Moira, he said when the only woman we’d seen tonight anywhere near his age, entered the room.

Although she made a valiant effort to look younger, I was certain she was in her fifties. She was extremely attractive, slender with long shapely legs that were accentuated by the stylish heels she wore. Quite a contrast from the current love interest who was athletic, muscular, borderline voluptuous, and very nearly jailbait.

Eddie, Moira acknowledged her ex, flipping her curly red hair that I suspected had dulled with age, that is if it had at one time resembled her daughter’s. I saw your car, Maureen. She faced her daughter now. Stopped to see if you’re okay. Have you and Andy had another tiff?

Why must you always assume that the only reason I visit my father is to escape my husband?

Silence from both parents was answer enough.

Well, it’s not! she protested, slipping her arm around her father’s waist.

So, you’re not staying here?

Actually I am, but just so Dad and I can spend some quality time.

How do you stand it with that tramp of his living here?

That’s enough, Moira! Sharkey jumped in.

When I glanced at Charlie, I knew his curiosity was outweighing his discomfort at being present for a family squabble.

Maureen, please escort your mother to the door. Gentlemen, he said, turning to us. If my ex-wife were going to stay a minute longer—which she isn’t—I would bother to introduce you.

As daughter maneuvered mother, I glanced down at my watch. Charlie might be comfortable facing family dynamics such as these with which he was far more familiar than I, but I was not. Eddie, I’m afraid I have to get going. What about you Charlie? Don’t you have a gig tonight?

Tomorrow night, but I do have some work to finish up.

Where do you play? asked Sharkey.

At the Shamrock and Thistle.

I know it well. Perhaps Aileen and I will drop over one evening.

Excellent, Charlie said. Great meeting you, Eddie.

You can’t leave quite yet. You haven’t heard my pitch about playing in the over-forty soccer league, have you now? I sponsor a team called the Westside Wanderers. Might you have any interest?

Well, I am on the north side of sixty and may not be of much use, Charlie admitted, but I could use some controlled exercise. What do you think, Malcolm?

With my teaching and traveling, I can’t promise to make all the games, but if that isn’t a problem, it does sound as if it might be enjoyable. Should be entertaining, if nothing else.

She’s gone, Maureen said, rejoining us. Sorry about that.

Not a problem. I can almost tolerate being in the same room with your mother as long as it’s for under three minutes.

Maureen groaned. So, I’ve rethought things. I think I’ll head out myself.

Home?

I suppose Andy has done enough groveling for one fight.

A loud whine and a bark echoed as if in agreement.

Speaking of which, since you’re leaving, take those hounds with you!

You know Andy is allergic.

Sounds like sweet revenge, Sharkey murmured, his grin confirming the sincerity of his comment.

Maureen’s eyebrow rose as if she were considering subjecting her not-so-popular husband to the fur of three dogs. Besides, only two are mine. The ugly one is Declan’s.

Well, then call your brother and tell him to take them. All of them!

Maureen sidled up to her dad and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. Have you forgotten that Susan despises dogs? I don’t know why Declan even considered bringing it home just because he found it wandering the street outside the restaurant. Besides, you know perfectly well you love them.

I’m sure I do.

She gave Sharkey another quick squeeze, grinned at us flirtatiously and said, Nice meeting you both. I’m sure I’ll see you again.

Lovely meeting you, Charlie said.

I concurred as the mischievous maiden sauntered out of the room.

Sharkey shook his head as he watched his daughter’s exit. Where were we? Ah, yes, so if you’re the sort to jump right in, we have a game Saturday.

Charlie shrugged and I nodded. It had been a while, but maybe it was time to get back into the sport. There was a lot to be said for the camaraderie that came with playing on a team.

Ah, ‘tis settled then! Sharkey said, raising his near-empty third pint. Leave me your email addresses and I shall get you the time and directions and information on how to get your licenses.

Charlie and I handed Sharkey our business cards and said our good-byes to an unexpected, interesting, and for the most part, enjoyable afternoon.

Once outside I stopped walking and looked over at Charlie as he came up short beside me. All I can say is, I certainly hope that mismatched collection of dogs is male.

He laughed. Aye, I ken what you mean, laddie.

We walked in silence, stopping just across from Charlie’s house which was diagonally across from my own. You’re exceedingly quiet, Charlie. For you anyway.

Och, aye. Just me wee brain attempting to think.

About?

Just had a bad feeling is all. That something isn’t quite right there. Or possibly that something is not going to be right.

And here all these years, I thought it was Jenny’s intuition you relied upon.

Aye, hers is much keener than mine. This is more of a precognition. Not senility setting in, as you would be inclined to believe.

I laughed, but the truth was, I didn’t doubt his precognition or whatever he chose to call it, for a moment. I too had a very strong hunch that in the very near future Edward Sharkey was going to need saving. From the women in his life if nothing else.

Chapter 2

I saw little of Charlie the remainder of the week. The cause was the usual. I was consumed with preparation for a lecture at the University in Bellingham which fell on the Thursday, and Charlie had his own classes to teach and a stubborn high-profile insurance fraud case he was working on. However, by Saturday, we both had managed to obtain licenses in order to join Sharkey’s Westside Wanderers. The three of us met at Sharkey’s humble abode and rode to the field in his Lincoln Navigator.

When we arrived, the Wanderers were milling about on the field, casually passing the ball back and forth while chatting. There was little attempt to warm up or to actually get organized. Sharkey threw a couple of jerseys to me and Charlie. Charlie’s was the number one goalie’s black jersey. Mine was black and white with the number five on it.

How did he know, Malcolm? Charlie asked.

Didn’t one of us mention in conversation about your trial for the Hearts as goalkeeper?

Must have been you, when I wasn’t paying attention.

Must have been me when you were admiring the girlfriend’s legs.

Charlie’s grin was sheepish. He always was one to appreciate beautiful legs on a woman.

What position do you prefer to play, Malcolm? Sharkey asked me.

Anywhere in midfield, I replied and set off for a warm-up jog around the field.

By the time I returned from running a lap and observing the opposition’s drills and warm-up exercises, Sharkey had our team gathered together in a semi circle. He introduced Charlie and me. We received an unusually enthusiastic welcome which I soon realized was due to the fact that, even with our participation, we were down one player.

No wonder you put a full court press on us to join, Eddie.

"Don’t worry, the others will straggle in. Hung over, most likely, but they’ll be here. We’ll have