Chapter 9
Tara was walking around the front of the grounds, wondering if she could just plant herself in the lobby of the hotel without arousing suspicion, when a black SUV eased up the drive and parked to the side. Andy emerged as the valet hurried up to park it. His hat looked even more smooshed than it did the other day. Was he sleeping in the vehicle? Tara planted herself in his path, and at first he didn’t even look up. “Hello.”
He finally saw her. He frowned. “I know you.” He was having trouble placing her.
“You came into my shop and used the restroom the other day.”
He snapped his fingers. “Was that only yesterday?”
“I’m afraid so. Terrible, terrible news.”
“How did you find out?” He removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and stuck one in his mouth without lighting it.
She hesitated. She didn’t want to go into her friendship with Breanna or any of the other reasons the guards thought of her when they discovered Veronica’s body. She was here to get information, not give it. “It’s kind of a long story.”
Andy took off his hat and slapped it against his leg, then brought it up and tried plumping it up with his hands. “Aren’t they all?”
“I would say so.”
“It’s a terrible, terrible shock.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth. “I don’t suppose you smoke?”
“No.”
“I’ll wait then.” He stuck it back in the pack.
“Thank you.” He was used to pleasing others. “Did you drive Ms. O’Farrell to the Clifden Castle that Friday morning?” Sergeant Gable had already told her that Andy had told him he did not. But Tara wanted to hear it for herself. People lied to the guards all the time, especially during murder investigations.
He looked up at her, bleary-eyed. “Me?”
“You are her driver.”
“Right, right.” He shook his head. “After we left your shop, we had a few more stops, then arrived here. She gave me the rest of the night off. I was supposed to drive her to the castle at nine in the mornin’ sharp.”
That gelled with what Sergeant Gable said, that they were all to meet at the grounds by half past nine. “Do you think she walked from here to the castle?”
“Not a chance. That’s quite a walk, even if you are in it for the power.”
“The power?”
He pumped his arms. “Power walking.”
“Oh. Was she in the habit of power walking?” She was dressed in a track suit. Had he seen her that morning? Is that why he mentioned power walking? She hoped the guards hadn’t allowed anyone else to see the body.
“I’m only messing. I don’t know how she slipped past me. I was in the SUV early meself. With the newspaper and coffee. I was parked out front. But I suppose she could have slipped by me. She must have.”
“Could another in the group have driven her?” Sheila and John Murphy?
“Anything is possible.” He sighed. “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t have asked me. It’s what I’m here for.”
“Maybe she wanted you to have your rest.”
“Not to be rude, but it never struck me she’d be concerned about such a ting.”
He was right. She wouldn’t. What had she been up to that she didn’t want even her driver to know about? “Did you see any taxis pull in, or other cars go out?”
“No. But I wasn’t always watching. I had me alarm set on my phone for eight. If she left before then I was probably snoozing in the SUV.” He gestured toward the parking lot where a couple of valets were directing guests where to park. “You can ask them. They saw me.”
Had Veronica asked the concierge to call her a taxi? Tara wondered if the front desk would be willing to speak with her. Probably not. Hopefully the guards were on it. “Remember the portfolio she brought me yesterday of the artist?”
“Eddie Oh?”
Tara nodded. “I didn’t realize he’s her ex-husband.”
“I’ve heard the rumors. Never met the man meself.”
This was news. “Isn’t he here?”
“Never even bothered to show up. I’d say he’ll regret it.” He placed his cap back on his head. “I heard a few tongues wagging that they thought the two of them were rekindling their relationship. Looks like he’ll be in for a shock.” He started walking. “Unless he’s the one who killed her,” he said, lighting his cigarette as he walked away.
“Do you have any reason to think he did?” she called after him. He either didn’t hear her, or ignored her.
Tara planted herself in the lobby, and wandered in and out of a few of the cozy sitting rooms adorned with fat leather sofas and crackling fires, but if any of the folks she encountered were Veronica’s guests, she had no way of knowing. They’d all agreed to spend four hours here, and the time had passed. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t a detective, and it had been awkward questioning Sheila and John, and even Andy. They didn’t have to answer her questions. She needed to step away. The guards would find the murderer, and now that the client was deceased, and payment had never been exchanged, she could assume she was no longer going to be sourcing gifts for the guests. This had been a waste of time. She headed outside to wait for Danny and Uncle Johnny.
* * *
Danny and Johnny chattered about fly-fishing the entire drive back to Galway city. At least it hadn’t been a waste for them. They didn’t catch anything, yet still seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Tara felt drained. Despite her decision to clear her mind of all this murder business, her mind kept circling back to it anyway. Veronica had risen early, and made her way to the castle without using her driver. What about Bartley? Where was he? She should have asked Andy. Bartley seemed to know everything Veronica did. An image of Veronica entering the ruins of the manor house materialized before Tara. Then what? Gable posited that her killer had snuck up from behind and plunged the brooch into her heart. Did he have evidence to support this? Did Veronica even know who her killer was? Or had someone entered with her? Someone she trusted. Had Veronica dropped the brooch at the hotel the night before? Or was she wearing the brooch that morning? On a track suit? Once again, Tara highly doubted it.
If Veronica had gone to Clifden Castle alone—how had someone gotten that close without Veronica turning around? Was she listening to music and had earbuds in? Veronica didn’t look like the earbud type of woman. The guards would check all of this out, ask all the questions she was asking, and find the answers. She had a life and a shop to open. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Uncle Johnny said as they neared Galway city. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“I met a few of the guests,” Tara said. “Including the young couple who found her. But they didn’t say much.”
“What’s the end goal here?” Danny asked.
“There isn’t one,” Tara said. “I’m going to stay out of it.”
“I think that’s for the best,” Uncle Johnny said.
“Agree,” Danny chimed in. “But it was nice to do some fly-fishing.” When Johnny pulled up to the mill, Danny immediately headed for his truck.
“You’re not staying?” She hoped she didn’t sound desperate.
“Can’t,” he said. “Things to do.” He tossed the fishing poles in the cab of his truck.
“You didn’t catch anything,” she observed. It wasn’t like he had fish to clean.
“You’re a cruel woman, Miss America,” he said, then drove off as she laughed.
She nearly collided with Uncle Johnny when she turned around. “What’s the story with you and Romeo?”
She sighed. “I haven’t a clue.”
Johnny squinted. “Maybe Rose could read your cards.”
She shivered. That was the last thing she needed. “Maybe.” She headed up to the flat, where she crashed on the sofa and fell asleep in front of the telly.
Monday, she woke refreshed, and determined to get back into the groove. She walked along the bay with Hound and Savage, checked her mail (with finge
rs crossed) for her permit (nada), checked in on the store, sent a few emails, stopped into her favorite pub for lunch, and when that was done curled up on the patio of the salvage mill with a good book. She was in bed early and back at the shop first thing Tuesday morning. There was something comforting about settling into a routine. The shop would be good for her. As an interior designer she was used to being on the go, always entering someone else’s home. It would be nice to have her own for a change. So why was she so antsy? That worried her. A shop was a commitment. Would she grow bored of it? Nonsense. She was antsy because they weren’t open yet. Once the shop was filled with customers, it would be a different story.
She’d been there two hours when a rap came at her front door. She opened it to find a short, fifty-something round woman in a light blue pantsuit, a cream blouse, and matching blue heels. Her tight blond curls were pulled back in a clip that reminded Tara of ones she’d worn as a teenager. Her makeup had been liberally applied.
“I’m sorry, I’m not open for another week,” Tara said as déjà vu washed over her.
The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Mimi Griffin, personal assistant to Veronica O’Farrell.” She blinked rapidly and squeezed Tara’s hand hard before dropping it. “Was her personal assistant. Or still am. Even though she’s no longer here.” Her cheeks flushed pink.
“Yes. I’m so sorry.” Now she recognized her. In the photo she’d been wearing a lavender suit. This was the assistant Veronica had accused of stealing. She seemed sweet. It was hard to picture this woman with sticky fingers.
“May I come in?” Mimi hoisted her cream-colored handbag and moved past Tara without waiting for the answer. She entered the space with an approving glance, then plunked her handbag down on the counter before diving into it and removing a notebook. “I know this may seem odd, but I worked as Veronica’s assistant for over twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, don’t you know, and now we’re all supposed to wait around for the guards to question us, and I had prepared to work all week, and I just can’t sit back with me feet propped up and a straw in me mouth when someone among us killed Ms. O’Farrell and dat’s when I thought, you know what, I’m still being paid to work, and I’m going to work. Now.” She opened her notebook, flipped past several filled pages, ran her finger down the last page. “Here. It says that Friday she was coming into your shop to see if she could book it for her amends, and she hired you to source items for her guests. Is that correct?”
Tara stared at her for a moment. She reminded Tara of herself, with all her notebooks and zest for work. “Yes. I’m assuming you spoke with her after?”
“I was her right arm.” She offered a little smile.
“Would you like tea or coffee?” Tara asked. The shop didn’t have a kitchen, but Tara had set up a small table for both a kettle and coffee. There were some little luxuries one could not live without.
“No, thank you.” She gazed at the kettle.
“Please,” Tara said. “Let me make you a cup.”
“Just a small one, please.” Tara switched the kettle on, and prepared a cup of tea. Then she pulled out a box of digestives as Mimi continued to chatter. Digestives. The most unappetizing name for cookies Tara had ever heard. One of those little cultural differences that made Tara smile. Sometimes they called them biscuits, which was slightly better. She arranged the cookies on a plate and set them on the counter. The only seats were on the back patio, but a cold wind was whipping through. If Mimi minded having her tea and cookies while standing, she gave no indication of it. “I’d like to say I knew Roni better than most. And I’d like you to continue the job she hired you for.”
Tara had just poured the water into her cup and nearly scalded herself. “Pardon?”
“I’m in charge of the budget, so you don’t have to worry about being paid. Have you decided on your fee?”
Tara set milk and sugar on the counter and gestured for Mimi to make up her tea. Tara sipped hers as she watched, then shoved a cookie into her mouth, mostly to give her time to answer. “I worked up a proposal.” She hesitated. “It feels awkward to be billing Veronica’s estate.”
“Veronica would be thrilled you’re going to finish the job.” Mimi handed Tara a card. “Email me the invoice and I’ll cut you a check straightaway.”
This was it. Once Tara took that check, she’d be tied to this group until they left. She hesitated. The architectural salvage business was fickle. Starting your own business was a risk. Most small business owners needed enough to keep afloat for at least a year before seeing a profit. Tara couldn’t afford to turn down this job. “I’ll email it as soon as we’re finished.”
Mimi nodded, then held her cup of tea and saucer, took a sip, and set them back on the counter. “What were you doing at the castle on Saturday?”
The question took Tara by surprise and she started coughing. Mimi stepped up and pounded her on the back. She had strength in her round body. “Sorry,” Tara finally said. “I guess I was just curious. I’d like to get to know the guests so I can pick out the right items.”
“I think I have a solution. We have an open room at the Ballynahinch Castle. It was supposed to be for Veronica’s sponsor but she never showed up. If she had—maybe Veronica would still be alive.”
“Oh?” Tara stepped forward. Did Mimi know that Nancy Halligan was dead? “Why do you say that?”
Mimi blinked. “I don’t know. I guess it sounds silly. But something set Veronica off Friday evening, and my guess is that it had something to do with that woman not showing up.”
It sounded as if Veronica did not tell anyone the news about Nancy’s death. Why not? it also meant that Bartley and Andy followed her lead—or her order—not to mention it. Most people were compelled to share such news. Mimi claimed she was Veronica’s right arm. There had to be something to this. “I am afraid I have bad news where Nancy Halligan is concerned. I assumed you knew.”
Mimi began to blink rapidly. “Knew what?”
“She passed away about a week ago.”
Mimi gasped. “How do you know?”
Tara had hoped she wouldn’t ask. “It’s an odd coincidence but . . . I found her. In Connemara last Saturday near the remains of an old stone house. The pathologist said she died of a heart attack brought on by the heat.”
Mimi placed her hand on her heart. “That heat was deadly. I knew it. I can’t believe it.” She began to pace. “Do you think Roni heard the news? Was that why she was so upset Friday evening?”
“I’m afraid I was the one to break the news.”
Mimi kept her hand over her heart. “And here I was thinking what a selfish woman Nancy Halligan was. How could I?”
“You didn’t know.” Tara moved closer. “You’ve mentioned several times how upset Veronica was on Friday. Can you tell me what you observed?”
Mimi packed her notebooks and turned to Tara. “I don’t know yet if we will be reading her will, or her wishes—even I don’t know what they are, I’m waiting to see what Bartley, her solicitor, has to say—but I thought it would be fitting if we still gathered here to receive her last words, and gifts to the chosen seven. How long will it take you to find the gifts?”
Had she not heard Tara’s question, or was she avoiding it? “How long are you here?”
Mimi cast her gaze downward. “Seven days.” She was clasping the handle of her handbag so tight Tara could see the tension in her knuckles.
Seven people, seven days. “I need at least a day or two to meet everyone, and then another two days to find the right items.” There were several estate sales coming up that would be perfect, and she’d read that Clifden had an array of shops including an antique shop.
“Perfect,” Mimi said. “We’ll give out the amends gifts six days from now. And will you take Nancy’s room?”
“Yes. I will take the room.” Mimi was avoiding the question about Friday night. Tara was a stranger. She needed to get closer to all of the guests. Maybe then they’d talk to her. Besides, Ball
ynahinch Castle was something out of a dream. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to accommodate the shop for the amends, given that I’m waiting for a permit to officially open. I told Veronica all of this on Friday.”
“I see. Veronica did not indicate to me that you turned her down. That meant she still intended on getting her way.”
“I suggested she use our larger salvage mill by the bay. Perhaps you would like to see it.”
“I have the time,” Mimi said, looking relieved to be moving on. “Shall we have a look now?”
Chapter 10
On the walk to the mill, they passed Andy snoozing in the car at the curb. Mimi snorted. “Veronica drove her previous driver to an early grave. Pun intended. This new one is always asleep at the wheel. But he’s young. Veronica always likes her men young.”
“Like Eddie O’Farrell?”
“How do you know about Eddie?”
“She brought me his portfolio.”
Mimi made a tsk-tsk sound. “Heart of gold, dat woman. Always looking after strays.”
Strays. That was a telling description of Eddie. Then again, heart of gold wasn’t an accurate description of Veronica. “Wasn’t she making amends because she didn’t have a heart of gold?” Didn’t she accuse you of stealing the very brooch that was used to murder her?
“That was in the past. She was a changed woman. Tis a pity she didn’t live long enough to prove it.” Mimi took in the crowds as they crossed over toward the Spanish Arch, then made a right at the river to the promenade. “I must say I prefer Dublin,” she said, holding her purse close as if a college student, street performer, or tourist were keen to snatch it away.
“I love it here, but I’m eager to explore more of Ireland,” Tara said. It was true. Although now that she had decided to open her shop, she’d be doing less traveling than if she were sourcing items for the mill. They walked a bit before Tara directed the conversation back to the case. “Do you know everyone on Veronica’s amends list?”
“Of course. I helped her put together the list. Although I tried to talk her out of putting me on it.”
From the look on Mimi’s face Tara guessed she didn’t try very hard. Tara very much doubted that Mimi had seen Veronica’s notes after each guest’s name. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm her?”
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