“When a woman is hot she is hot no matter her age,” Danny said with a straight face while his foot nudged hers under the table.
Eddie frowned, then laughed and lifted his pint, staring at it as if surprised to find it drained.
“You mentioned something about Cassidy and pills,” Tara said, hoping to bring this table back to order.
Elaine arched an eyebrow in disapproval, then smoothed her hand across the table. “I’ll say no more.”
Danny turned the attention back to Eddie. “Are you working on any art projects at the moment?”
“Nothing the world will get to see,” Eddie said. “Veronica was my muse.” It was the utterings of a man drunk on Guinness and nostalgia. Even so, there was something scripted about it. Danny might be fooled, but Tara didn’t believe his act for a second. Nothing the world would get to see ... What did that mean? The marbles that covered Veronica flashed in her mind yet again. She had been posed. Decorated. If Eddie was the killer, was that his calling card? Did he turn her into a sculpture?
“He’ll create until he dies,” Lainey said. “He did not choose to be an artist, he is an artist, it’s a part of him like blood, and breathing.” Eddie lifted his head for a second as if her words were the sun and he was basking in it. Then he swiped his empty pint glass and clumsily stumbled up from the table and toward the bar. Handsome and brooding and a whole world of trouble. Some women couldn’t get enough of that. Tara glanced at Danny.
“We’d better be going.” Tara pushed back her chair and stood. If Eddie had murdered Veronica, then staged her like one of his sculptures, she couldn’t sit this close to him. She felt a clawing need to flee.
“Really?” Danny said.
“I’m not feeling well. I need to go.”
“We should be off too,” Elaine said, glancing at Eddie, who had elbowed his way to the front of the bar. “Luckily that SUV can fit the entire group.”
“Looks like he’s staying,” Tara said, pointing at Eddie. “But I really have to go.” She headed for the door.
“Where’s the fire?” Eddie had snuck up from behind her. He lurched and knocked over a chair.
“Steady now,” the publican yelled out. A book fell out of Eddie’s pocket and thudded to the floor. Tara bent down to retrieve it. Places to See in Ireland Before You Die. She gasped and dropped it again.
Eddie swiped it up and glared. “What on earth is the matter with ya?”
“That book. Where did you get it?”
“We all have one,” Lainey said, as she and Danny caught up. “From Veronica.” The publican, a tall man with an impressive glare, showed up behind them.
“Why don’t you move this outside. Our musicians deserve a bit of respect.”
Danny helped hustle them out the door. Outside, the wind was biting, but Tara could hardly feel it. The book was from Veronica? Veronica acted like she’d never seen the book. Called it morbid. Had that been some kind of game?
Elaine stepped up to Tara, who was trying not to hyperventilate. “Why do you look as if you’ve seen a ghost?”
Tara swallowed. “Someone left a copy of that book for me in the shop.”
Elaine arched an eyebrow. “Must have been her then.” She let out a soft laugh. “I guess we weren’t so special after all.”
“She acted as if she’d never seen the book before,” Tara said. “She called it morbid.”
“Roni liked games,” Elaine said. “I guess even sobriety hadn’t changed that.”
Tara leaned forward. “How do you know it was from Veronica? Was there a note from her? Did she tell you she sent it?”
For a moment, Eddie and Elaine froze. Elaine shook her head. “I don’t think so. Come to think of it, mine was sitting at me front door. But I’d just received the invitation from Veronica. So I assumed . . .” She looked to Eddie. He took a few staggering steps.
“What?”
“Where did you find your book?” Elaine asked.
“My book?”
Elaine grabbed the book from his hands and shoved it in his face. “This one.”
He took a step back and nearly fell. Danny held him up. “From Roni,” he said, waving his hand.
“We’ll ask him when he’s sober,” Tara said. “We also have to talk to the others.”
“I don’t like this development,” Elaine said.
Neither did Tara. An SUV slid up to the pub and Andy stepped out. “Are we ready to go home?”
“You waited for us?” Tara said.
He smiled. “It’s a lot livelier around here than back at the castle.”
Eddie pointed to Andy’s cap. “It’s Bixby’s cap,” he said. “He’s wearing Bixby’s cap.”
“For heaven’s sake, just get in,” Elaine said, shoving Eddie in the back.
“What are you saying about the book?” Eddie said, refusing to get in the vehicle. He pointed at Tara. “What is she saying about the book?”
“She’s saying it might not have been Roni who left us that book,” Elaine said before Tara could answer. “Now get in.”
Eddie crawled into the very back and the rest of them filed in after. Andy pulled away from the curb, his eyes watching the drama in the rearview mirror.
“If Roni didn’t leave us da book, den who did?” Eddie mumbled. “Who left us the book?” A moment of awkward silence filled the space.
“The killer,” Elaine said at last. Her voice was soft but clear. “She’s saying it could have been left by the killer.”
Chapter 14
The next morning, Elaine helped gather all the guests onto a private spot on the grounds of the castle. Nearby the river gurgled. There was a bite to the air, and the wind whipped around them as the threat of rain hung overhead. Many showed up with their books, all with similar stories of finding it in their path and assuming it was from Veronica. “I assure you,” Bartley said, his tall frame looming over them, “if Veronica was behind that book I would have been the one distributing it. I did not.”
“She could have asked someone else,” Eddie scoffed. Tara wondered if there was a history between those two, or was Eddie just surly with everyone? Temperamental artist? “Did you get a book?”
Bartley folded his arms. “No, sir. I did not.”
“Who else doesn’t have a book?” Mimi said. “He could be the killer.”
“Are you calling me a killer, madam?” Bartley’s voice remained professional. “I’ve worked for the O’Farrell family for forty years. I assure you if I was a murderer, I wouldn’t have waited this long.”
Tara thought he had a good point. On the other hand, didn’t everyone have a breaking point? Just like alcoholics needed to reach bottom before getting help? Maybe it took him forty years to reach his. Or maybe he felt left out. He wasn’t on Veronica’s amends list. Tara found it hard to believe that he’d been treated well the past forty years.
“You’re always around her,” Cassidy said. “How could she have snuck out that morning without your knowledge?”
Tara was surprised to hear Cassidy ask the very question she’d been dying to. She held her breath as she waited for Bartley to answer.
“She didn’t alert me or her driver,” Bartley said. “I was her employee, not her servant.”
“She called you her butler,” Cassidy said.
“She had a robust sense of humor,” Bartley answered without a hint of humor.
“Where were you when she was killed?” Cassidy continued.
“In my room. Having a well-needed rest. Where were you? That is, if you can remember.”
“Why wouldn’t I remember?” Cassidy put her hands on her shapely hips.
“It can be hard to recall things through a fog,” Bartley said.
“I could very well inherit the estate,” Cassidy said. “My first order of business will be cutting the dead weight from the staff.”
“I could have retired years ago,” Bartley said. “I’m only here out of loyalty.”
“Enough,” Mimi Griffin said. �
��There’s no need for squabbling.”
“I agree,” Iona said. She lifted her book. “This sounds like a threat. How do we know one of us isn’t next?”
“I want to go home,” Sheila said.
“So do I,” John added. “Is it legal for them to keep us here? Will they arrest us if we try to leave?”
“We’re all suspects,” Tara said. “I can’t speak for the legalities, but I don’t think it will look good if you leave.”
“Who cares what looks good,” Sheila said. “One of you is a killer.”
“We’ll be safer if we stick together,” Mimi said. “Don’t go anywhere alone, and if someone tries to get you alone, report it immediately.”
“Spy on each other?” Iona said. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“Of course not.” Tara replied. “Look out for each other. We aren’t safe until we know who did this.”
“What’s this we business?” John interjected. He glared at Tara. “You don’t have to stay at this castle surrounded by a killer.”
“Yet she chooses to,” Iona said. “Maybe she’s the killer.”
The group turned as one to wait for Tara to defend herself. The weight of everyone’s gaze was visceral. “I was hired to do a job.” There was a mob mentality at work here and she didn’t like it.
“What was the job exactly?” John asked.
“It involved doing something nice for all of you.” In New York Tara had been in high demand as a designer. She’d reached the fortunate position where she could choose the places she wanted to design, and was always welcomed with open arms. It was jarring to be treated as an outsider, let alone a killer.
“I think Iona might be on to something,” Sheila said, turning on Tara and pointing. “She’s the one who posted the murder weapon hours before poor Veronica was found dead.” Sheila brought up her phone and showed them the tweet. #Killerbrooch. Tara had since taken it down, so Sheila must have done a screen capture. Why would she do that?
A gasp ran through the patio as one by one the guests looked at her. “Total coincidence,” Tara said. She pointed at Bartley. “Ask him.” Bartley looked at his shoes. Apparently, he didn’t want to back her up. Was he just trying to throw suspicion off himself? “Where’s Andy?” Tara asked. “He was there too.” She looked around, but the young driver wasn’t in sight.
“I don’t understand,” Elaine said. “Why did you do something so vulgar?” She stared at Tara.
“I posted that before she died,” Tara said. “She encouraged me to take a picture of her brooch. It was a piece of art.”
“Hardly a piece of art,” Eddie said, as if the comment was an insult to his work. He glanced at Cassidy. “Where’s your copy of the book?”
“I didn’t bring that stupid book with me,” Cassidy said, crossing her arms. “Why do I need to visit me own country for, like?”
“Because it’s filled with magic and wonder?” Iona said, a lecturing tone obvious in her voice.
“Traipsing around in the muck and the rain?” Cassidy shook her head. “Pop culture is more my ting.”
“Did anyone’s book come with writing, or something slipped inside . . . anything?” Tara asked. One by one they looked at each other and shook their heads. A few rifled through their books. All books had been delivered to either their home or place of work, not mailed. “We’re going to have to tell the guards.” She took a breath. “In the meantime, I’d like to write down where everyone received the book, and anything else they can remember.”
“Does that include me?”
The smell of cigarette smoke hit Tara. She turned to find Andy, who had just exited through the patio doors. “Did you get a book too?”
He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled it out.
“Where did you find it?” Mimi asked before Tara could.
“On the passenger seat of me car. I thought maybe someone else left it behind.”
Why hadn’t he mentioned it earlier? Tara flashed back to Veronica being in her store. By the time Veronica noticed her book, Andy had already exited. She was going to have to be careful, it was so easy to suspect everyone else, and she didn’t like it when it was being done to her.
“What does any of this mean?” Sheila asked. John put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“It means the killer is playing a game,” Mimi said. “And Veronica may have been the first on his or her list. But what if she’s not the last?”
Chapter 15
Tara was eager to return to her loft the following day. She needed a sense of assurance that only the comfort of home could bring. This business with the travel books had unnerved her. It suggested a far more sinister plot. For some reason an impulsive kill was less threatening. A regular human being overwhelmed in the moment. After all, the brooch wasn’t a weapon the killer had brought to the scene . . .
An enigma for sure. Why draw up an elaborate plan of revenge, yet leave the murder weapon to a whim? Veronica had mentioned how the Tara Brooch was always slipping off. And it appeared she was in quite the state Friday night. Had it slipped off in the castle or on the grounds? Did the murderer change his or her mind about the weapon after discovering the brooch? Or was the book from Veronica, was all of this her premeditated plot, and was the murder still an impulsive act? These were all the questions that had kept Tara up the night before. She hoped if she went back to her loft, and her bed, she could get some much needed sleep. She was also eager to get some of her thoughts down on paper, get back to her comfort zone of creating.
The minute she entered her loft, Tara felt herself relax. People often had the impression that interior design was superfluous. Nice for those who could afford it, but at the end of the day of little importance. But now, walking into her home, her safe place, she was reminded that her work was about so much more than that. It was about lowering stress, feeling cradled at home. Wherever home was. And one didn’t have to spend a ton of money to do it. A bit of paint, de-cluttering, and a mason jar of wildflowers could do the trick.
Tara still needed to add original pieces of artwork to her loft, which brought her mind back to Eddie. After Danny had made such a fuss over him, she’d looked through the catalogue Veronica had left with her, and there was something compelling about his sculptures. She could see having a piece of his work in her loft if she could afford it. She wanted to be extra careful with her savings, and she’d spent a good bit of it on the shop. But he didn’t know she couldn’t afford it. It might be a good way to get closer to him. Enough worrying about it while standing still, she needed her morning walk with the dogs. Breanna had been stopping by the mill to take care of them, along with Uncle Johnny, but Tara knew neither of them were early risers. She left a note on the door of the mill just in case they stopped by, dressed, and headed for the door with Hound and Savage at her heels. She gave Hound a pat on the head, thrilled as ever for her enthusiastic walking buddy. Savage was too low to the ground to pet, nor did she seem to want to do anything but explore. Hound only protested the walk if it was raining too hard, and today was only a light mist. Tara welcomed it, as if the rain might wash away some of her worries, bring everything back to a clean slate. Hound kept pace beside her, sniffing everything in sight as Savage double-timed it to keep up, her tiny body vibrating with excitement. They walked until Tara felt the clouds from her mind clear, and her heart pump with blood. Back home she showered, dressed, and headed down to the mill. Johnny was in his office drinking a large mug of tea, feet up on his desk. Nice life.
“How ya,” he called when she stepped in the doorway. He lifted his feet off and plopped them on the floor. “Get this. They did it for a tenner.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “Who did what for a tenner?”
“The lads who installed your chandelier. They forgot to lock the doors when they were working in the shop. A boy came in with a gift. Said it was for you. Left it on the counter. Gave them a tenner.”
A tenner. Ten euro. To l
eave the book. Some gift. Tara picked a pile of books off one of his chairs, set them on the ground and sat across from him. She was never going to get Johnny to be organized, his mess was his comfort zone. “When you say boy?”
Johnny shook his head. “A grown lad.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense. Who was it?”
“They were up on a ladder and said they didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Nothing? Approximate age? Was he wearing a cap?”
“One of them said he was wearing a cap, the other said he wasn’t, and the two of them went back and forth until I needed me headache tablets.”
Typical. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I can’t believe I’m embroiled in another murder inquiry. If only I hadn’t taken a selfie with that brooch.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “The Tara Brooch you’re on about, is it?”
“Indeed.” Killer brooch.
“It’s too bad. What a find that would have been.”
She nearly laughed. Johnny meant no harm. He was too eager for antiques to think through his statement. “I think it’s probably a little more too bad that it was used to stab someone through the heart.”
“Well, there’s dat.” He waved his hand as if to shoo the thought away.
“Do you have much knowledge about marble?” She couldn’t help but be haunted by the marble stones placed over Veronica’s face. “I’m thinking of getting a few pieces for the shop.” She felt guilty lying, but she’d promised the guards to keep the marble stones under wrap.
Johnny nodded. “Tourists eat it up, but the Connemara Marble Visitor Centre has the market on dat.”
“Really?”
“Yes, besides bigger orders that the quarry gets in, they make trinkets for tourists and sell it at the visitor center.”
“What kind of marble?”
“Mostly a green marble rare to these parts. But all kinds. Red, black, white.”
“Sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll have to pay them a visit.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “It’s your shop you should be visiting first, and no more of this Sherlocking.”
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