Page 33 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

“Let me look.”

“Brad? You looked into that development thing they got going in Ballybeg?”

“I did.” He was quiet again.

“Brad?”

“It’s almost a done deal.”

“What?” I sat up.

“Yeah,” he said apologetically. I’d told him how I thought a project like that would ruin what made Ballybeg, well, Ballybeg. “Who’s running the show?”

“In Cork, there is a development company called Irish Dreams. CEO is an Eoghan O’Farrell, and the guy who’s running this particular project is his nephew, Cillian.” I heard his keyboard then. “The hotel development company, though, is owned by fellow Charleston citizen Gilbert Hampton.”

“Big Gil?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Yeah,” Brad agreed.

“So, it’s a done deal.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” Brad repeated.

Gilbert “Big Gil” Hampton was precisely what his nickname suggested—a larger-than-life personality with a wallet to match. He owned three private jets, two ranches, and a yacht he once namedThe Second Wife, where he took all his four wives for their honeymoon. Subtle as a chainsaw, the man was.

I knew Big Gil well, as he was an old friend of the Caldwell family. Although he was from Charleston, he spent plenty of time in Texas. He dabbled in oil, ranching,andhotel development, focusing on golf resorts.

Not only that, he and my Daddy had been playing golf since before I was born. When I’d won the PGA, he’d been one of the first people to shake my hand at the afterparty. He was the kind of guy who never let you forget he was in the room, and as far as I could tell, he loved three things more than anything else: money, golf, and the sound of his voice, and in that order.

If Big Gil found out that I was in Ballybeg and wanted him off this project, that would make him dig in further, and my father would insist that I was thinking with my heart and not my head, which I’d often been accused of doing.

I knew Dee was hoping the County Clare council would reject the development project, but if Big Gil was involved, I knew he’d already bought those votes even before he’d filed a single piece of paperwork. That was how he operated, and that was how he ensured he never lost a single deal.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and stared out the window for a long time, feeling frustrated and helpless.

How would I tell this to Dee? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I knew she’d have to find out sooner than later. I decided that, for now, I wouldn’t tell her anything. I’d reach out to Big Gil and see if I could maneuver his attention away from Ballybeg somehow.

CHAPTER12

Dee

Connor Kelly came into the pub an hour before opening time, his mailbag slung across his chest.

“Mornin’, Dee.”

“You’re not getting a pint, Connor. It’s too feckin’ early, and you’re working.”

“Not here for that, love.” He was being pleasant and careful, not a barb in sight. Oh, I knew what this was about. My heart sank to my boots. There was only one reason Connor would show up inside and not just leave the mail in the box. He was delivering registered mail from the County Clare Council addressed to Deirdre Gallagher, Ballybeg. Because, of course, it would come to me.

After all, I was theeejitwho started the petition in the first place. I’d gone door to door, rain or shine, getting every last signature from the citizens of Ballybeg to protest the resort development. I was the one who stood up at the town meeting and convinced everyone it was worth fighting for. I’d dragged every farmer, shopkeeper, and granny with a working pen into this, and now I was the one left holding the bag—literally.

---