The crowd applauded and soon they moved into the gift shop. Tara quickly spotted the same marble stones that she’d seen on Veronica. The purchase price for five stones would have been around forty euro. Easy enough to pay that in cash and it would have been the smart thing to do. The guards must have checked it out already. Had they shown photos of all the suspects to the gift-shop employees? Danny snuck up behind her. “What are we really doing here?”
She sighed. “I can’t tell you everything, but I was curious about something, and I have part of an answer.”
“A woman of mystery,” he said. Danny could be sarcastic, even caustic at times, but he was a kind, smart man. He knew Tara would tell him if she could.
“Indeed.” They shared a rare public kiss, nothing that would draw any alarm from passersby.
As they were leaving, she caught a glimpse of a book parked near the register. Places to See in Ireland Before You Die. She stopped in her tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Danny followed her gaze. “That book is certainly making the rounds.”
There was already another customer in the middle of a transaction. “Is that your book?” Tara said lightly, hoping the employee was able to multitask. The twentysomething lad looked up at her, then back at his customer and finished the transaction.
“I’m waiting for the owner to come back for it,” he said with a grin. “See if I can get a date.”
“Oh?”
“She’s me future wife.”
“Like the niece of an heiress would want you,” another clerk joked. The lad shot him a look.
Cassidy Hughes.
“The plot thickens,” Danny said.
“Indeed.” Tara was slightly stunned. Cassidy Hughes had been in the gift shop, where she’d left her copy of the book. Had she also bought marble stones? Two black ones, a red one, and a green one? “I know her,” Tara said. “I bet she bought out the store . . .” The clerk didn’t reply. “I’m staying at the same hotel.” Tara hoisted the book. “I can give this back to her.”
The clerk shook his head, but the manager intervened. “We’d appreciate it.” He put the book in a store gift bag and handed it to her.
Tara flipped through the book on her way out. A note written on the title page caught her eye: Forgiveness is a virtue. You have none.
A note in the book! The note was printed in black ink, and block letters. When everyone gathered on the grounds of the castle, they swore up and down there were no markings in the books. Of course. Why should they tell Tara anything? She wasn’t a detective. She was going to have to report this to the guards. Would they think she was being nosy? Whether they did or not, she couldn’t worry about it. This was bigger than her. This was about justice for Veronica. She placed the book back in the bag, wondering if anyone else had notes written in theirs. Who was she kidding? They probably all had notes. Maybe they were all waiting for someone else to come forward and admit they had a note and that the note hadn’t been so nice. It brought back the question—was it Veronica who dropped the books off to everyone, or someone else?
Would the guards be able to verify whether or not this was Veronica’s handwriting? If it wasn’t hers—it was the killer’s. It looked as if someone was trying to write in a very plain way. An effort to disguise his or her handwriting? Tara needed a sample of Veronica’s handwriting.
“I don’t know about you, but I want a pint,” Danny said.
“Lead the way.” A pint sounded good. She’d had her day of abstinence, and hopefully that would be enough to honor Veronica’s memory. She wasn’t eager to go back to the castle; she needed to mull over her next steps. As they rolled into town, they caught sight of the mountains covered in a layer of shimmering mist. Joy surged through Tara. How was it Yeats described Connemara? The savage heart of beauty. Tara concurred.
Like homing pigeons, they returned to the pub they’d visited earlier in Clifden. “Look who’s here.” Tara followed Danny’s gaze. Eddie was planted on a stool, and from the way he was rocking himself, he’d been there a while.
Here we go again.
Tara was torn. She’d really wanted a break from it all. But when people were oiled up, that’s when sometimes they let things spill. And, given that Eddie Oh was oiled up in the early afternoon, she had a feeling he had things to spill. They’d probably drown in it.
“Let’s find somewhere else,” Danny said. Apparently, he was in no mood for a swim.
Tara was debating how to break it to Danny that she wanted to stay when Eddie did it for her. “Hey!” Eddie had spotted them and was off his stool, stumbling toward them. “Hey, Miss America.”
Danny leaned in. “Thought that was my special line for ya.”
“Not my fault,” she whispered back. Danny was staring at her hand. She was wondering why when she remembered she was carrying the gift bag from Connemara Marble Visitor Centre.
“It’s true,” Eddie said, swaying, and trying to point at her bag. “Someone put marble stones on her face?”
“What?” Danny said.
His outburst startled Tara. She shushed him. Eddie grabbed her shoulders, nearly shaking her. “I need to know.”
“Hands off.” Danny stepped in, forcing Eddie to drop his hands. Danny leaned in. “What’s he on about. Marble stones on her face?”
How did Eddie find out? It wasn’t her. She hadn’t said a word to anyone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tara lied. She’d promised she wouldn’t say a word. The guards were going to have to know about this too. Eddie stepped back and gave Danny the once-over. Then his gaze slid to Tara as a lascivious grin took over his face. “You two are knocking boots,” he said, laughing delightedly. “Good on you, lads.”
“Enough,” Tara said as Eddie stumbled in front of them and leaned against the wall, blocking their exit. He started to bang his head against it.
“I loved her. I loved her.”
She sighed. He’d be of no use to them in this shape. “Why don’t you let us take you back to the castle.”
“Great,” Danny muttered under his breath.
“Castle!” he said, throwing up his hands. “She put us up in a castle. Because that’s who Veronica was. Who did this. Who?” He whirled on Tara as if expecting her to provide the answer.
“It’s painful to lose someone you love. Especially if you screwed up.” Tara wasn’t proud of herself, antagonizing a drunk man who seemed to be grieving, but she had to know—if he wasn’t the killer—how did he know she had the marble stones on her? Were Sheila and John blabbing?
He glared at her. “Screwed up. Me?”
“Never mind.” Her tone very much conveyed there was something to mind.
“Not a chance. What do you mean?”
“I didn’t mean.” She hesitated. “I heard you cheated on her. I’m not judging.”
He leaned in with a look that could only be interpreted as menacing. “Cheated on whom?”
“Veronica,” Tara said. She wanted to move back, away from his breath, but held her ground.
“Me? Cheat on her?” To her surprise, he stepped back and howled with laughter. It took him a moment to stop and compose himself. His face then morphed into one of sadness. “She cheated on me. That’s why we divorced.” He whirled around, and stumbled out onto the sidewalk. Tara and Danny followed.
“Is that why she wanted to make amends?” she said. “Because she cheated on you?”
He shrugged, then began lurching up the footpath. “Doubt it. She was a sexually free woman. No apologies necessary.”
“You just said you divorced her over it.”
He waved his hand. “That was my problem. I was too weak to take it. So jealous.” He stopped, balled his hand into a fist and banged his forehead. “I should have let her be free. Like a little randy bird.”
Danny cleared his throat, struggling not to laugh. “Then why was she making amends?”
“My career,” he said. “After I left her . . . she sabotaged it.” He
tottered up to the window of a shop selling touristy trinkets, and stared at them through the glass.
“We should get you back to the castle,” Danny said, taking his arm. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Eddie brightened. “We could go fishing!”
“Sure!” Danny said. He threw a look to Tara and shook his head. The three of them managed to get to Danny’s truck with Eddie wobbling between them. Tara wished Andy was here to take her home; she hated the thought of being squeezed in with drunk Eddie.
“I want to know about the marble,” he said once they started driving. “Black for the heart was it? Green for the eyes? Red mouth?”
He didn’t have it quite right. Or he was pretending not to have it quite right. Given his state of intoxication, Tara had to lean toward the former. But the fact that he knew was startling. John and Sheila. They had to be running their big mouths. Or just Sheila. Was that why John was telling her to keep her mouth shut? “I’m afraid I’m not involved in that aspect of the case.”
Danny gave her the side-eye; he was going to grill her about the marble stones the minute he got the chance. Especially since she’d been so inquisitive about them at the factory. She would have to tell Danny and pray he’d keep his mouth shut. Trying to keep a secret was a losing battle.
“It’s some kind of code. Message,” Eddie rambled. He snapped his fingers. “That assistant. That woman. Mimi.”
“Mimi Griffin?” Tara couldn’t help but engage.
“Dat’s the one.” Eddie’s head bobbed up and down. “She’s the type who speaks in codes. Bet she has it written down in one of those notebooks of hers.”
It was an interesting observation, even for a man as trashed as Eddie. “It’s really not a good idea to point fingers,” Tara said. Danny gave her another furtive glance, and when he looked away there was a definite smirk on his face. Yes, she was being a bit of a hypocrite. But there was no danger of her confronting any of the guests about her suspicions. Eddie, on the other hand, was a walking stick of dynamite.
“I’ll show you. The answer has to be in those notebooks of hers. Just wait until I get me hands on them.”
“That would be a big mistake,” Tara said. “The guards are watching all of you.”
He mumbled something to himself, then put his head back on the seat. Seconds later he was snoring.
“Marble stones on her?” Danny asked.
Tara sighed. “What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this truck.”
* * *
Andy was in his usual smoking spot, to the side of the castle. He offered to help maneuver Eddie to his room. Between himself and Danny, they managed to stumble him along through the lobby, although he drew quite the attention as guests were congregating for dinner. Eddie was half awake and his mouth was running. As they passed a hotel employee, Tara caught the tail end of his conversation.
“The guards are finished with the room. Her solicitor has been given permission to retrieve the rest of her personal things. It’s slated for a full cleaning tomorrow morning.”
Veronica’s room . . .
“Sheila and John Murphy,” Eddie yelled out ahead. Tara glanced up to see the bewildered expression on Sheila’s face, but John appeared disgusted with Eddie’s intoxication. He made a face, but kept walking. Eddie whirled on them, and pointed. “I was there when they got their eviction notice. The missus was hauled away in an ambulance.”
“Sheila was hauled away in an ambulance?” Tara asked.
“Dat’s what I said,” Eddie replied.
The pair stopped walking. Sheila let out a cry. They turned around to face Eddie. “Shut your mouth,” John said, stepping in front of his wife.
“He’s drunk,” Andy said, holding out his hand.
“I don’t care,” John Murphy said, squaring off. “If he doesn’t shut it, I’ll shut it for him.”
“No,” Danny said. “You won’t.” All three men tensed, as they regarded each other.
“Don’t,” Sheila said, coming up behind John. “For me.”
John glared at Eddie, who surprisingly kept his mouth shut, his chin lowering. John allowed Sheila to drag him away. “What floor is he on?” Tara asked.
“Tree,” Johnny said.
Top floor. Great. Danny and Andy groaned in unison as they headed for the stairs.
Ambulance? Sheila? Was there any truth to that? Tara felt a presence behind her and swiveled her head. There stood Mimi Griffin and Elaine Burke, hands over their mouths like a pair of horrified bookends as Eddie stopped at the bottom of the stairs and started mumbling again.
“He’s had a bit too much,” Tara explained.
“A bit? I can smell the alcohol coming off him,” Mimi said, her head shaking with disapproval.
“And don’t trust Cassidy, that little pill-popper,” Eddie said. “She accused my Roni of killing Terrance just so she could have the family fortune.” For the love of God, get him up to his room. They managed to coax him up a few steps, which didn’t stop his mouth from running. “Not to mention that man-hating hiker. She’s faking that injury!”
Finally, they made progress up and away. Tara didn’t want to be with Eddie anymore, especially taking the stairs up to the third floor, but she also didn’t want to miss a word. “Nancy. Why did she have to die?” Eddie’s head lolled over to Andy as the two men struggled to keep Eddie marching on.
“She was a good woman, wasn’t she?”
“I’m sure she was,” Andy said.
“You know she was!” Eddie said as if Andy had started a fight with him.
“Of course,” Andy said. “Of course she was.”
Eddie calmed down. “She didn’t deserve to die.” His head bobbed back, snoring away.
“I didn’t realize Eddie knew Nancy,” Tara said. She was going to have to ask him about her when he was sober.
“I think he’s been in and out of the rooms,” Andy said.
The rooms. He meant AA. “Oh.” Tara’s heart squeezed with compassion. Eddie knew he had a drinking problem. Veronica, and her sponsor Nancy, had probably tried to help him. Now both of these women who may have championed him into sobriety were gone. She hoped when this was over, Eddie would go back to those rooms and get sober. Surprisingly, Eddie seemed to run out of steam. He fell quiet and they climbed to the third floor with only the sounds of labored breathing. When they reached the door to his room it took several attempts to find his card key. It was tucked into the back pocket of his trousers. When it became apparent that Eddie was in no shape to do it himself, Danny was forced to fetch them.
“You owe me one,” Danny said, handing her the keys. “Or twelve.”
As soon as they opened the door, Andy saluted. “I’ll leave you here.”
“Thank you,” Danny said.
“Yes, thank you,” Tara said.
Andy nodded, and made his exit. Together, they moved in and deposited Eddie on the bed. “Roni. Roni.”
“Go to sleep,” Tara said.
He lifted his head and stared at the adjoining door. “That was her room.”
Startled, Tara stared at the door. It was unlocked and standing open. The other door was shut. But that didn’t mean it was locked. And Eddie had just admitted (intentionally or not) that even though he hadn’t officially checked in until after Veronica’s death, he was definitely here. Otherwise how could he possibly know it was Veronica’s room? And if it was . . . how could Tara not go in?
Chapter 19
Tara approached the door on tiptoe, as if that made any sense at all.
“Hey,” Danny said, making her jump. “Whatcha doing?”
Tara stopped and pointed to the door. “Did you hear him? It could lead to Veronica’s room.”
“I heard.” Danny stared at the door. “You can’t go in there.”
“I overheard housekeeping downstairs. The guards are finished with it. Bartley will be collecting her things.”
“What’s your plan here?”
Handwriting sample? Tara
shrugged. “Just have a quick look.”
“That doesn’t sound prudent.”
“Prudent? Since when do you think things like that, let alone say them?”
“If you’re going to have a quick look, you should at least wear a pair of gloves.”
“Good point.” She continued to stare at the door. “It might be locked.” She held up a finger, then hurried to the bathroom and came out with a hand towel. Tara wrapped the towel around the handle and pushed. The door opened. Danny and Tara exchanged a look. “Gloves?” Danny asked.
Tara lifted the towel. “If I have to touch anything I’ll use this.”
“Be quick.”
“You’re not coming?”
Danny shook his head. “I’ll wait in the hall. If anyone comes, I’ll whistle.”
“Didn’t know you could whistle.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He glanced at Eddie, still snoring. “Hurry up.”
“Sure.” He didn’t want to be in Veronica’s hotel room. Morbid, Tara imagined Veronica saying in her ear, along with a laugh. She was losing it. Danny tucked into the hall as Tara stepped into the room.
A Chanel luggage bag lay open on a bench at the foot of the four-poster bed. A few gowns hung in the closet. At the base at least a dozen heels were standing in a row, including a pair covered in gold jewels. Tara had no idea what she was doing here. She peeked into the wastebasket by the desk. Empty. There was no handbag; Tara assumed the guards had it. She glanced at the notepad and pen by the telephone. Nothing was written on it, not even an imprint of a previous note she could suss out by shading over it with pencil. Veronica hadn’t been a note-taker, she’d been a finger-snapper.
She glanced at the adjoining door, still ajar. Had Veronica requested that Eddie’s room adjoin hers? She must have. With such easy access to her room, if Eddie was the killer, wouldn’t he have found a subtler way of doing it? Then again, subtle didn’t seem his style. As an artist he was experimental to say the least. And on that early morning she was killed, Eddie hadn’t checked into the hotel yet. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t here . . .
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