The Cork Contingency Read Online Free Page B

cement, feeling the trickle of water seeping though her jacket and skirt. “Wear burgundy heels,” Margaret parroted her sister’s words, un-strapping and pulling the shoes from her feet. “Ha!” She tossed them into the nearby trash bin, wiped her hands together, and turned back toward the car.
     
     
     
     

4
     
    “Yer bag…” he paused and stared hard at Margaret. “Yer bag is in the back of the car.” He shuffled toward her and narrowed his eyes. “It’s like a doppelganger came and snatched yer body.” he whispered, holding the keys out to her.
    Margaret snatched the keys from his hand. “I am not a ghost. My heel caught and, oh never mind. Wait here. I’ll get you a tip.” She opened the trunk, grabbed her purse, and dug through to find a loose euro. Margaret turned back. Where did he go? She shook her head. “Doppelganger! I don’t look that bad.” She plopped into the driver’s seat and ignored her frizzy-haired reflection in the rear view mirror. Turning on the heat, she pulled out onto the road.
    The stale smell of cigarettes blew from the air vents.
    She flipped it back off. A long stretch gave her time to acclimate to driving on the opposite side.
    The red bicycle lane along the left side of the road helped, too.
    Margaret reached into her purse for the print-out directions to the Blarney B and B inn, just in case. The rouge square at the top of the page claimed the drive took twenty minutes.
    Precipitation drizzled from the sky.
    Margaret squinted at the road signs, pushed the wipers to high, and slowed the vehicle down, searching for a green sign that said “Blarney.”
    A loud horn sounded from behind.
    Margaret glanced into the rearview mirror at the truck barreling down on her. Her heart twisted as she stomped the accelerator to the floor. Get yourself to Blarney, and then worry about the directions.
    The windshield wiper struggled to keep up with a sudden downpour.
    Cars kept speeding past, honking and swerving.
    “Apparently the speed limit in Cork is a suggestion,” Margaret said out loud, uncaring that she was talking to herself again. She pushed the little car up to speed. She drove into Cork and took note of a laundromat, some small restaurants, and interesting looking shops.
    The rain decided to lighten up, as did the traffic.
    Did I just make a wrong turn? That last street looked exactly like the one before. Haven’t I seen that rock wall next to the pink house before?
    Each row of houses boasted a fenced yard, a cement walkway to the road, and a strip of green lawn. The buildings pressed against each other as if they’d been constructed in one long line.
    Margaret looped around the block to get going the right direction on the one way. She turned down an unmarked lane. “This can’t be right, either.” She slowed the car in search of a shoulder to pull into.
    The country lane didn’t even have a line down the center. A mass of green bushes started at the edge of the pavement and went on for miles.
    Margaret pressed the emergency flashers and glanced into the rearview mirror. Good, no cars. She shoved the shifter into park and let the car idle while she searched for her position on the map.
    Even with all the wrong turns, this country lane looked to be the right one.
    She fought to refold the map, each time rumpling the paper a bit more. “Just fold!” She crumpled the paper into a rectangle shaped mass and shoved it back into the glove compartment. A sinking feeling gnawed at her nerves as she shifted back into drive and drove the car further down the barren lane.
    Black and white cows waved their tails and munched the tall green grass in the fields. Bushes, trees, and grass . Bushes, trees, and grass. Miles and miles of bushes, trees, and grass.
    The car popped out onto a larger road and she breathed a sigh of relief. The rain turned to a light mist and she spotted the sign announcing the Blarney B and B ahead.
    The dashboard clock showed that forty minutes had