Irish Eyes (Callahan Garrity Series #8)by Kathy Hogan Trocheck
Ex-cop Callahan Garrity was more than happy to leave the Atlanta P.D. behind her to start her own business -- the House Mouse cleaning service -- and to indulge in a bit of freelance private investigation on the side. However, she owes too much to her former partner, Bucky Deavers, to refuse his request that she accompany him to the department's annual St.
Ex-cop Callahan Garrity was more than happy to leave the Atlanta P.D. behind her to start her own business -- the House Mouse cleaning service -- and to indulge in a bit of freelance private investigation on the side. However, she owes too much to her former partner, Bucky Deavers, to refuse his request that she accompany him to the department's annual St. Patrick's Day bash. But the celebrating ends abruptly -- and badly -- when Bucky is shot during an apparent liquor store robbery while they're on the way home.
Callahan is devastated -- and the talk that perhaps Bucky was "dirty" only intensifies her pain. Now, with the help of her feisty "Mice," she's determined to find the culprit and clear her friend's name, even if it means piercing the veil of secrecy surrounding an Irish fraternal police organization that might be brewing up something far more lethally potent than green beer.
Read an Excerpt
One of my clients, who has superb taste in these things (he's gay), gives me a bottle of Bushmills for Christmas every year, and every year I hoard it until the afternoon of St. Patrick's Day.
At six o'clock on the afternoon of the appointed day, I took the bottle down from its hiding place in the cupboard over the refrigerator. I set two Waterford tumblers square in the middle of the scarred oak kitchen table. I poured a fingerful of whiskey for Edna, my mother, who drinks hers neat, and one for myself, on the rocks with a little water. Solemnly, we clinked glasses.
"Selah!" said Edna.
"Back at ya," I said.
She dealt herself a hand of solitaire. I went to the kitchen counter and fiddled with the radio until I found WABE, the local National Public Radio affiliate. Usually, we listen to the news this time of day, but today I was hunting for the station's annual all-Irish program.
As soon as I sat down I had to jump back up and turn off the radio. They were playing "Danny Boy."
Edna gave me a quizzical look.
"Not that one," I said. "It's too early in the day. It always makes you cry."
She nodded thoughtfully. "You could be right. It's better to work up to all these things." She slapped a row of cards facedown on the table. "Although," she added, "all those lousy songs get to me."
"They remind you of Daddy?"
She sighed. "He sure loved St. Patrick's Day. Remember?"
"How could I forget? He used to make us dress all in green, head to toe. Then drag us over to Christ the King for Mass with the archbishop."
"You kids marched in that parade every year from the time you were babies,"Edna said. "One year one of the Meehans brought a goat cart into town. You remember that? We piled all you kids in a damn goat cart and your daddy walked on one side of you and Billy Meehan walked on the other side, both of them grinning like idiots, and that goat prancing down Pharr Road like some kind of fine Arabian stallion."
"I remember being in a cart," I said. "The goat had a little straw hat with an Irish flag sticking out of the top. And Daddy bought us hot chocolate because it was so cold that day. And Maureen threw up all over my green plaid skirt, the little snot."
"She always did have a weak stomach," Edna said, smiling. "Go ahead and turn the radio back on. Maybe they'll play ‘McNamara's Band.'"
But they were playing "Rose of Tralee," and Edna's eyes got suspiciously moist, so that she had to duck into the bathroom because, she claimed, she'd dribbled something down the front of her blouse. But she didn't come back for another five minutes, and when she did, she hadn't bothered to change her blouse, so I knew it was a ruse.
It started raining around six-thirty, softly at first. But soon rain started coming down in slashing gusts. I was standing at the back door, looking out at the lightning flashing and dancing on the horizon, when somebody banged at the front door.
Edna looked up from her cards. "Get that, would you?"
I almost didn't recognize our visitor, he was so changed from the last time I'd seen him.
Six-four, with dark hair slicked back from his forehead and a pair of stylish horned-rim glasses, he looked like a mutual-fund banker, not the slapdash cop I'd known for fifteen years or more.
Bucky Deavers pushed past me into the hallway. "Christ! It's coming down in buckets out there."
He stood there, dripping rain onto the floor, until I came to my senses and took his coat. Under the raincoat he wore a forest green blazer, pleated khaki slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a shamrock-print necktie. He had a sprig of heather pinned to his jacket lapel.
"Very nice," I said, motioning for him to turn around, which he did, ending with a little mock curtsy. "Is this another of your phases?"
"We're going to a party," he said, grinning.
"We? Who we?"
"We, as in you and me," he said.
The last party we'd been to together was a Halloween frolic at the Euclid Avenue Yacht Club, where he'd gone as Jackie Kennedy in drag.
"Where's your pink pillbox hat?" I asked.
"At the dry cleaner's," he said. "Blood spatters are hell to get out of pink. Come on, Garrity. Get going. We're late already."
"What kind of party?" I wanted to know.
"Whaddya mean, what kind of party? Did you just resign from the Irish race, Garrity? It's St. Patrick's Day."
"I know what day it is," I said. "And that's why I'm staying home, where it's safe. You know my policy about this, Bucky."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "St. Patrick's Day is amateur night. You wouldn't be caught dead in Buckhead, yada, yada, yada. But that's okay. We're not going anywhere near Buckhead. So get dressed, would you?"
I looked down at my blue jeans and my blue work shirt. "Supposing I were to go to this party with you. What's wrong with what I've got on?"
He shook his head sadly. "It's a party, for Christ's sake. You look like a refugee from a hippie commune. Come on, Garrity. You've got a pair of world-class gams under those jeans. Throw on a dress or skirt or something, would you? Something green, preferably."
I narrowed my eyes. "What's the deal here, Bucky? Since when do you care how I dress?"
He pushed me down the hall toward the kitchen. . .
Meet the Author
Mary Kay Andrews is the New York Times bestselling author of 24 novels, most recently The Weekenders, as well as 10 critically acclaimed mysteries. A former reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, she lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
- Atlanta, Georgia
- Date of Birth:
- July 27, 1954
- Place of Birth:
- Tampa, Florida
- B.A. in newspaper journalism, University of Georgia, 1976
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I always enjoy Mary Kay Andrews. Often I'll give a book 70 pages to decide if I want to read it, but not with this book. I was hooked from the beginning. I had it on my cell phone for convenience. Irish Eyes is one of those books I read every where, sitting in traffic, in the Dentist, getting my car inspected ( they were way to quick!). I didn't read it in a budget meeting because I was afraid of the 'laugh out loud' factor. This was a five star read esp,if one has prior LE experience and have lost co-workers.
The story plot was good but I can do without the vulgar language. I was disappointed in that aspect of the book.
I've read several of Andrews' books, loved them all. This one has a different flavor than the others, but still good. Held my interest
As with all books by this author, very enjoyable, fast moving, all and all, entertaining.
Sorry to see the Callahan Garrity Mystery series end (however, I jumped ahead and have two left to read --#5 Heart Trouble and #7 Midnight Clear). Irish Eyes was suspenseful and hard to put down as it continues to build during the entire book and keeps you guessing as who all is a part of the murder ring. As usual, Kathy Hogan Trocheck (Mary Kay Andrews) truly understands the south and knows Atlanta. It is always nice to catch up with the different spots in Atlanta, and visit the array of colorful, and humorous characters with lots of twists and turns. Without giving away the ending, was expecting something different; however, was an engaging mystery full of humor and southern sass. Highly recommend as Irish Eyes and Strange Brew were my favorites in the series. Looking forward to reading the ones I have missed. A big fan of Mary Kay, will continue to buy anything she writes as she never disappoints!
Great story about good friends who don't quit looking for the answer. Intrigue, suspense, multi-tier relationships. This story challenges the reader to stay focused trying to figure out what the back story is, how the many character relationships work, and whatntue friendship is about.
Former police officer Callahan Garrity owns and operates the successful cleaning service, The House Mouse. Callahan also is a licensed private investigator, who works an occasional case. On St. Patrick's Day, Callahan and her former police partner Bucky Deavers attend a party sponsored by the Shamrock Society, a fraternal organization of Irish-American police officers. However, Callahn finds little to entertain her and wants to leave. Bucky begrudgingly agrees to take her home. Bucky stops at a local liquor store, but an armed robber shoots him in the head before safely escaping the scene. The store clerk also vanishes. While Bucky struggles for life in a hospital, rumors surface that he is crooked and part of a series of ATM robberies. Callahan cannot believe that her ex-partner could ever do such horrible acts. She decides to clear his name and uncover the identities of the real perpetrators even though she places herself in danger from individuals desperate enough to kill so that they can keep their identities secret. Kathy Hogan Trochek can always be counted on to provide her audience with an absorbing and entertaining tale. IRISH EYES, the eighth Garrity Callahan novel is her best work in this strong series due to the powerful characterizations. The heroine's strength, near obsessive determination, and stubbornness feel believable yet stays within the persona of the previous seven stories. The mystery is fun and the ambiance of the South comes across throughout the tale. This original story line will leave fans anxiously anticipating Callahan's next exciting adventure. Ms. Trochek know how to keep each work in her ongoing series fresh and exciting. Harriet Klausner