Top O' the Mournin' Page 0,1

Our driver steadied his horse as she chafed against her traces. "She's frishky today. To your left is the Shelbourne Hotel." He guided us past the elegant redbrick building where our tour group was scheduled to spend its first night in Ireland. "Built in 1824. They sherve a brilliant afternoon tea in the Lord Mayor's Lounge at half-three."

The wrought-iron railings and flower-glutted window boxes reminded me of the quaint little hotel where Jack and I had honeymooned so many years ago, and, recalling our wedding night, I smiled. Poor Jack. He'd possessed the extraordinary good looks of a Greek god but the brain chemistry of a Greek goddess. And it had taken me only two years to figure it out. Am I a quick study or what? I hoped he'd found happiness with his partner, living in upstate New York, laying kitchen tile, but that didn't seem the kind of existence that would make him happy. Jack was happiest when he was onstage, sporting layers of pancake makeup and eyeliner. But he was probably happier now than when he'd been married to me. And so was I. Mostly because I didn't have to share my underwear anymore.

As we rounded the north corner of St. Stephen's Green, I sat back in my seat, soaking up the Dublin atmosphere. The hordes of people. The crush of traffic. The blare of horns. The stench of diesel fumes.

"Do you smell that?" Nana asked suddenly.

"Diesel. Must be the fuel of choice over here."

"That's not it. Smells more like"--she inhaled deeply--"alcohol." She plucked her guidebook out of her Golden Irish Vacations tour bag and flipped through the pages. "I remember readin' there's a Guinness brewery nearby, and they give away free samples at the Hopstore."

"But Guinness is dark beer. You don't like dark beer. You don't like beer, period."

"I know, dear, but I like free samples. Look here, the Guinness brewery is number seventeen on the map. Maybe our driver could drop us off if we pass by. Should we ask?"

I gave her one of my patented "It can't hurt" shrugs and leaned forward, tapping the driver on his back. "Excuse me. If we pass the Guinness brewery, could you--"

In the next instant he slumped forward and landed on the floor of the carriage with a thump.

Nana gasped. "You didn't need to push him, Emily. A polite tap would a worked."

"I didn't push him! Oh, my God. What's wrong with him? Is he dead? He can't be dead. This can't be happening again!" I'd discovered those three dead bodies on the last tour we'd taken. If it happened on this trip, too, I'd be labeled a jinx and could probably kiss my tour escort job good-bye.

We popped out of our seats for a better look. "Does he look dead to you?" I asked.

"All's I can tell from this angle is that he's bald."

"I'll check his pulse."

"No!" yelled Nana. "Grab the reins!"

My gaze fell on the leather straps that were slithering out of the driver's hand. I lunged across the back of the seat, arm extended, but they disappeared over the dashboard before I could seize them. I looked at Nana. Nana looked at me.

"Uh-oh," I said. The carriage swayed suddenly, then lurched forward as Nell discovered her head. With no driver to guide her, she broke away from her traditional route, jumped the curb, and shot down the sidewalk at a full gallop. BUMPITY-BUMP. BUMPITY-BUMP. Nana tumbled back into her seat. I clutched the driver's seat for support. Pedestrians leaped out of the way at our approach. Into bushes. Onto the hoods of parked cars. People gawked. People pointed. I saw a group of Japanese tourists crowding the sidewalk ahead of us. "Get out of the way!" I screamed, flailing my arms. "Move!"

I heard excited chatter and a symphonic click of camera shutters as we screeched around them on two wheels and swerved onto the main walkway of St. Stephen's Green.

"Do somethin'!" Nana bellowed at me.

"Like what?"

"Make the horse stop!"

"That wasn't part of my training!" On the other hand, if the horse were choking, drowning, or needed CPR, I'd be your girl.

"Cowboys did it in the old movies all the time!" Nana yelled. "Jump on her back and grab her reins. I'd do it myself if I wasn't wearin' my good panty hose."

I knew nothing about horses. I was from Iowa. I knew about seed corn, which wasn't really helpful in this situation. I did have an idea though. "HELP!" I cried. "Somebody help us!"

The park