Murder in Connemara

by Carlene O'Connor

  Mimi’s face turned so red it was almost purple. “I don’t have the faintest idea!” It came out as a yell, but soon was swallowed up by the noise of the city. Mimi picked up her pace, as if she was trying to outrun Tara’s questions.

  Tara was dying to ask Mimi about Veronica accusing her of stealing the Tara Brooch, and wasn’t it ironic that it’s what killed her in the end, but the guards hadn’t released that information to the public. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise Tara if John and Sheila had opened their mouths. Imagine, Mimi killing Veronica with the very brooch she was accused of stealing. That would definitely send a message. Just like the stones. They were key. Figuring out what the stones meant. Tara turned her attention back to details she could discuss. “Sheila Murphy said she saw Veronica on Friday afternoon—or early evening—and that Veronica seemed angry. Possibly even . . . drunk. Do you have any idea why that might be?”

  Mimi came to an abrupt stop. “Drunk?”

  “It’s possible she relapsed.”

  Mimi blinked rapidly. For a moment, she looked like a robot whose wiring had suddenly malfunctioned. “I think people often misunderstood Veronica. She was probably just busy, or heaven forbid she didn’t stop to listen to Sheila complain about her room again.” Mimi took a deep breath and began walking again. Tara had to jog to catch up.

  “Was something wrong with Sheila and John’s room?”

  “Absolutely nothing. Four-poster bed, a lounging sofa, windows overlooking the river and the mountains. They should be ashamed of themselves. Have you seen the rooms in that castle?”

  “Not yet.” But she was already imagining herself looking out at the river.

  “Exquisite. But did that stop the Murphys from complaining? No.” Mimi shook her head in disgust. “They’ve never seen a room so nice and they know it.”

  Tara tucked that tidbit away for later. “Then you’re not aware that Veronica was upset on Friday evening?”

  Mimi stopped again and fixed her eyes on Tara. “What are you doing?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You sound like a detective.”

  “I’m sorry. I know. I’m just horrified by what’s happened. I guess I’m trying to figure it out.”

  Mimi took Tara’s hands and squeezed them. Really, really, hard. “Put your energy into choosing the gifts.”

  “Of course.” One of the gifts might be for a killer.

  “Sheila and John Murphy are no experts on Veronica’s moods.”

  “But you are?”

  Mimi dropped Tara’s hands as they started their journey again, then kept her gaze on the water. Tara was relieved when they finally reached the salvage mill. “I love it already,” Mimi said as Tara opened the doors. “It’s massive.”

  “Yes,” Tara said. “And there’s an intimate seating arrangement in the middle of the room, and a lovely patio out back.” They were small touches, but Tara was proud of them nonetheless.

  Mimi clasped her hands as a broad smile transformed her face. “This will be the perfect place for her little group to get together, listen to her amends, and pay their respects.”

  Tara couldn’t agree more. She was dying to meet everyone in person. Especially after reading all of Veronica’s cryptic little notes. Speaking of notes . . . Tara had a feeling a lot of the answers could be found in Mimi Griffin’s notebooks. They seemed quite extensive. She wondered if there was any way to get a peek at them. Tara hoped to question her a little more after the tour. If anyone knew what Veronica’s additional notes meant, it would be Mimi Griffin. If Danny could read her mind he’d probably accuse her of being addicted to the drama. He’d tease her. And then he would lecture her. And then he would start laughing again. He was irritating like that. But still somewhat adorable. For someone so irritating.

  After the tour of the mill, where Mimi happily fondled the architectural wares, Mimi’s mobile phone dinged. “The driver is here,” she said. “At least this one is punctual.” She said her goodbyes and headed to the front of the mill where the luxury SUV was waiting. Andy might snooze on his time off, but he was Johnny-on-the-spot when called. Even after Veronica was gone. Maybe he should have been on her amends list. You could tell a lot about a person from the way they treated employees. Veronica probably hadn’t changed at all. And one of her guests knew it. Tara headed for the back patio, where she hoped she could clear her head.

  * * *

  She was nearly asleep in her patio chair when Danny O’Donnell appeared. “I’m off to Ballynahinch Castle,” he said. “Johnny left a fishing rod behind.”

  Tara scrambled to her feet. Yes! Now that she’d been offered a room she was anxious to pack a bag and check in. “I’ll join you. I just need to pop into my loft first and pack a bag.”

  “A bag?” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m just picking up a rod.”

  Did he think she was propositioning him? He should be so lucky. The worst bit is, he seemed poised to reject the phantom offer. “I’ve been offered a room at the castle. The job to source gifts for all the guests is still on.” She’d already checked in with Uncle Johnny and he agreed to watch Hound. Breanna had already picked up Savage.

  Danny shook his head with a wry smile. “I knew it. You want to be involved.”

  “I want to earn money. For myself, the shop, the mill.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “And since I have a room to relax in—might as well have dinner at the castle, don’t you think?” She’d seen photos of the dining room, complete with a carving station and waiters pouring champagne as guests looked out at the jaw-dropping scenery.

  Danny grinned, finally getting on board. “It would be rude not to.”

  * * *

  Tara couldn’t get over her room. It was just as Mimi described. Luxury. The view, the four-poster bed, the outdoor patio. The tiny bottles of shampoo, and conditioner, and lotion, and bath gel in the decadent bathroom were enough to make her swoon. Why did she have to be here under such sad circumstances? She wanted to lounge around all day in a bathrobe and read a good book, then go to dinner, then have a walk, then start the cycle all over again. It had been booked for Nancy Halligan, which made Tara feel guilty. What if Veronica had discovered something sinister or knew who might have harmed Nancy?

  It was possible, but not plausible. There hadn’t been much time. They’re all liars! I’m going to expose them all. It sounded less as if it had to with Nancy and more like one of her guests was upsetting Veronica personally. Even so . . . the two women were linked. In life, and now in death. Tara could see why someone would have it out for Veronica—but why Nancy? Then again, Tara didn’t know anything about her. She was going to have to do some research.

  Once she finished soaking up the room, she planted herself in the lobby. The leather sofas and crackling fireplaces were growing on her. Danny was out there somewhere in search of his fishing rod. Spare the rod, spoil the . . . fish? Sometimes odd things crept into her mind to keep her entertained. But soon she didn’t need it. A redheaded woman traipsed through the lobby with gear piled on her back. It only took a second for Tara to recognize her. Iona Kelly. The one Veronica had supposedly injured. The one Veronica had intended on spying on. On her heels, Mimi Griffin tried to keep pace, holding her notebook aloft.

  “But you were gone all day and we’re all supposed to be available for the guards,” Mimi called as she struggled to keep up with the woman.

  “I was on a day hike. I had me phone. Nature remedies everything. I’m hiking every day, if you want to join me.” Mimi, who had a bit extra around the middle, blushed. Iona started walking again, and that’s when Tara noticed the limp. She was favoring her right side. She was in shorts and hiking boots, and her left leg had a bandage around the knee. She looked in fantastic shape despite the injury. “We’re having dinner tonight in the castle, as a group. Will you be joining us?”

  Iona Kelly sighed, then shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Two hours. Don’t be late, Iona.”

  T
wo hours until dinner. They certainly were late diners. Would Tara be able to convince Danny to hang around for another two hours? And then what? Hide near their table and hope they heard something good? She watched as Iona disappeared down a hall. The castle did not have elevators, so it looked as if Iona had been given a room on the ground floor. Tara hesitated for a few seconds and then followed her.

  * * *

  Tara’s heart pounded. Iona was at the end of the hall. She’d already spotted Tara. She was a terrible stalker. Introduce yourself already before it’s too late and you’re officially a creeper.

  “Can I help you?” she called out as Tara was trying to figure out her next move. Tara smiled, hoping she looked completely innocent. “Are you Iona Kelly?”

  “Guilty,” Iona said.

  Tara had no choice but to approach. Up close, Iona’s pale face was friendly but guarded. “I’ve been dying to see the Connemara National Park. Is that where you went hiking?” Iona cocked her head. “Sorry. I overheard you speaking with Mimi Griffin.”

  “You’re part of our group? An American?”

  From her tone, that wasn’t a good thing. “No. I met Veronica the other day. It’s a long story. Such a terrible tragedy.” Iona chewed on her lip. “I’m Tara Meehan.” Iona nodded. She didn’t offer anything else or expound on her day of hiking. Tara really did want to see the Connemara National Park. “It must be hard to hike with an injury.” Tara held her breath. It could be considered a rude statement.

  “You just have to know how to work with it,” Iona said. “I took it easy.” She put the key in her door and opened it. “What’s the story?”

  “Veronica came into my shop the day before she was murdered and hired me to find amends gifts for everyone on her list. Including you.” Iona tossed her bag into the room, then turned as if waiting to hear more. “I work for a salvage company that sources architectural items.”

  “Is that what you’re really doing here?” Iona released the gear from her back.

  “No. I’m trying to find out who killed her.” There was something about this woman that made Tara think that blunt honesty would be the best policy. Iona gestured for Tara to enter the room. She stood awkwardly inside as Iona brought her gear into the room and began turning on lights.

  “Have you met everyone in the group?” Iona called out.

  Tara ventured into the main room. It was lovely. A four-poster bed, a small seating area, and windows looking out at the mountains and river. The color palette was creams and grays with touches of gold. Tara would call the room Sophisticated Antique. Perfect for a castle. She would have loved decorating it herself. “I’ve only met a few of Veronica’s guests so far.”

  Iona ran her hand through her hair. It was such a vibrant shade of red it was hard not to stare at it. “Do you think one of us killed her?”

  “I think it’s a good possibility.”

  “Me too.” Iona sunk onto the bed.

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “Help yourself to the minibar, it’s all on Veronica,” Iona said. She stood and stretched. “I’m going to hop in the shower.”

  Tara thought she’d feel awkward partaking of someone else’s minibar while they were in the shower, especially when it was being paid for by a dead woman, but a few sips into her sparkling water and she was feeling fine about it. A little something stronger was tempting, but just the fact that Veronica had arranged all of this as a celebration of being sober made her pause. Tara was grateful she could enjoy a few drinks without going overboard, but she could also leave them alone for a few days out of respect to Veronica’s memory. Besides, it would help her keep a clear head, which was always a good idea when there was a killer in the mix. Maybe even in the shower . . .

  Iona emerged dressed in sweatpants and a long woolly jumper, shaking her head out like a wet dog. Tara wanted to verify that she was still limping, but she didn’t want to seem as if she was staring at her just out of the shower, so she wasn’t able to tell. “There’s nothing like a hot shower after a long hike.” She headed for the minibar and mixed herself a drink, then plopped down across from Tara. “I met Veronica five years ago on a hike. I’m a member of TMHC.”

  “TMHC?”

  “The Mountain Hikers Club. Or as we like to say—THC with a mountain.” She stopped to laugh at her own joke.

  “I can’t picture Veronica O’Farrell on a hike.”

  Iona swung her leg, and grinned. “You’re not wrong there. She was on a photo shoot three years ago. Us hikers got in the middle of it.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “She was a holy terror when she was drinking.” Iona shivered.

  “She was drunk on a photo shoot?”

  Iona laughed. “It would only have been a story if she wasn’t drunk on a photo shoot. You’re lucky you didn’t know her back then.” Iona stopped the story, staring openly at Tara. “Where are you from?”

  “New York City.”

  “All that concrete. I could never.”

  Tara believed her. The woman looked like she belonged in nature. “But I’ve relocated to Galway. My mother is from here.”

  “I’m a Dublin girl, but I love hiking all of Ireland.”

  Most of the guests, Veronica included, were from the Dublin area. Why had Veronica chosen Connemara for the reunion? Perhaps she’d simply wanted a change of scenery. Still, it was like a piece of thread dangling from a tapestry and Tara didn’t like hanging threads. “I’m jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Iona swirled her drink as she waited for Tara to elaborate.

  “I walk a lot. But I’d love to go on longer hikes.”

  “You should. You’re in good shape.”

  “Thank you.”

  Iona clunked her drink on the table between them and leaned forward, her elbows planted on her thighs. “Listen. I forgave Veronica a long time ago. It was an accident.”

  “What happened?”

  Iona raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you knew.”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Just as Veronica’s photo shoot was wrapping up, she passed me, and stumbled. I was standing too close to the edge. I rolled down the hill—which is actually a mountain.”

  “Awful.”

  Iona shrugged. “I knew how to roll with it. But I still busted up my knee. Too many large, sharp rocks on the way down. But Veronica manned up. She’s been paying my rehab bills for the past three years. I didn’t expect anything more.”

  If Iona had any suspicion that Veronica brought her here to spy on her, she was doing a good job hiding it. Tara wondered just how much these rehab bills had added up to. Was Iona faking it? Tara had to be careful; she didn’t want to overstep. “How well do you know the other guests?”

  Iona finished her drink, set it on the coffee table, then stared at it as if she missed it. “Are you asking me who I think killed her?”

  “If you suspect someone, yes.”

  Iona nodded. “Have you met Cassidy Hughes?”

  “No.” But she’d read about her. The stunning young blonde.

  “Veronica’s niece.”

  Tara waited for Iona to say more. She did not. “Any particular reason why you suspect her?”

  Iona inched closer to Tara. “This stays between us.”

  “Absolutely.” Maybe.

  “I saw her and Veronica arguing Friday evening.”

  Bingo. Friday evening. She had Tara’s full attention now. “What did they say? Where were they?”

  A knock on the door interrupted them. “Room service,” Iona said, getting up to answer it. She opened the door and a young steward rolled in a gleaming silver cart covered with plates. Iona turned to Tara. “I’m sorry. I’d like to eat alone.” The steward nodded, then left. “I meant you,” Iona added when Tara didn’t make a move for the door. Why had she clammed up so suddenly?

  “I thought you were meeting them downstairs for dinner?”

  Iona waved the question away. “I lied. I’m starving, and not in the mood to be ar
ound those people.” She kept the door open and gestured for Tara to leave.

  “I did want to hear about the argument.” It wasn’t in Tara’s nature not to oblige with social cues, but she couldn’t leave it hanging.

  “Argument?”

  Tara had the feeling that Iona regretted mentioning it. And now she was trying to take it back. “Between Veronica and her niece.”

  Iona shrugged. “I’m sure it was nothing. Family squabbles.”

  “I see.” Tara had no choice but to leave. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Iona closed the door in Tara’s face. Despite the rude ending, it hadn’t been a waste. One, she’d learned Veronica and Cassidy had been arguing Friday night. And two . . . Tara stood for a second, replaying Iona’s walk to the door in her mind. Unless she was going crazy, when Iona answered the door for room service, there hadn’t been a whiff of a limp.

  Chapter 11

  A wild-eyed man shoved his way past Tara as she emerged from the hall. His blazing eyes locked with hers. He saluted, then winked as he headed for a stairwell. The scent of whiskey lingered in the air even after he’d disappeared.

  “Eddie Oh.” Tara whipped around to see Danny standing behind her. He pointed. “That was Eddie Oh.”

  “Oh,” Tara said, not intending the pun. “The ex-husband?”

  “What?” He sounded bewildered and exasperated. “No. The artist.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would you stop saying that?”

  “That was Veronica O’Farrell’s ex-husband.”

  “You’re joking me.”

  Tara shook her head. “The moment we met she shoved his portfolio at me.” Danny just looked at her. “I take it you’re a fan?”

  “His sculptures are groundbreaking,” Danny said, the excitement ringing through his voice. “Part innovation, part old-school recycling, part performance art.” Tara had never seen the fanboy side of Danny and she wasn’t sure she liked it. “I wonder which room he’s in.”