From the look he was giving her, it wasn’t working anyway. “What do you mean, Eddie Oh knows?”
“He was drunk last night. He babbled on about it. He had the order wrong—the colors—but he knew marbles had been placed over her eyes, mouth, and heart.”
“Who did he hear it from?”
“Not me. I assure you.”
“Yet you’re just telling me about this now?”
“It just happened, I haven’t had the chance.” And look at the reaction when I do call you. She kept that part to herself. She was already on thin ice.
“Security cameras? Alarm?”
“Not yet.” He was right. She could hardly claim to be worried about a threat if she didn’t have basic protections set up. “I’ll see to it today.” He headed toward the door with the box. “I didn’t want this, you know.” She wished she didn’t care, wished Grace’s words hadn’t affected her, but she loathed the thought that people in this city might think she was to blame for these murders. She wanted to go about her business, open her shop, stroll along Galway Bay with Hound. Wasn’t she doing her duty as a human being by honoring the wishes of a dying woman even if it was inconvenient? Even if it damaged her reputation?
Sergeant Gable didn’t answer her. He must not have heard her. If she told herself often enough she might start to believe it. He did at least commit to checking into the purchase of the brooches, so that was progress.
She stopped him just as he was about to exit the shop. “I heard you searched Veronica’s room at the Ballynahinch Hotel.”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Did you know Eddie has an adjoining room?” Two could play the game of ignoring each other’s questions. He arched his eyebrow then shifted his gaze. She took that as a no.
“Was there writing on the mirror in her hotel bathroom?”
Gable slammed the box down. “Pardon?” Tara filled him in on the recent events. He began to pace. Maybe now he would take her seriously.
“Stay away from the suspects for now. I need to have a think on this.” Gable picked up the box and once more headed for the door.
“What about Nancy Halligan?”
“What about her?”
“Is her case now considered a murder?”
Gable shifted uncomfortably. “We turned over a few stones, but the state pathologist was firm. She died of heat complications.”
“She wore the same tracksuit as Veronica. She had no water, no personal belongings.”
“It’s possible someone discovered the body before you, and took those items.”
“Or it’s possible someone lured her out there and left her in a vulnerable state.”
“Similar tracksuits aren’t going to reopen a case.” He tipped his hat and headed for the exit.
“Iona Kelly has been accused by Eddie of faking her injury. He’s also suggested Cassidy Hughes is a pill-popper. Cassidy also once accused Veronica of murdering her late uncle—Terrance Hughes. Mimi Griffin has kept meticulous notebooks working for Veronica the last twenty years, Sheila and John Murphy were evicted—”
He groaned. “What are you doing?”
“I’m telling you things you probably don’t know. Precisely because I’ve been in the thick of things. Do you want to catch a killer or not?”
He lifted the box. “I’m going to follow up on these. You concentrate on opening your wee shop, and if you were smart you’d simply give the money back for the job and stay away from that lot.” He gave her a nod and was out the door. After he left, Tara couldn’t concentrate on a thing. Gable told her to stay away from the suspects. Was that an actual order? He couldn’t prevent her from doing her job. But her job didn’t require her to interact with them. In fact, once she bought the gifts for the seven, she was done. She could, and would walk away. The sooner she bought them the better. She would go to the antique store in Clifden. But first she needed guidance. Even if it was of the unconventional kind.
Chapter 21
Rose promptly answered Tara’s knock on the door. “Don’t let your light shine,” she blurted out as she stared at Tara.
Dark clouds overhead capped Rose’s cryptic warning. “What does that mean?”
Rose shook her head. “I wish I knew. It’s meant for you.”
“Well, it better not be about my grand opening, because that’s happening.”
Rose scrunched her face. “When?”
“If I get the permit in time, the opening is three days from now. And in the meantime, I have to hit up a thrift store in Clifden.”
Rose nodded. “Is this about the seven guests of Veronica O’Farrell?”
Tara stepped forward. “Yes. Did you get a premonition?”
“No.” Rose lifted her mobile phone. “I got a text message from Johnny.”
Tara laughed. It felt good. “Do you want to come? It’s a bit of a drive, but the scenery is stunning.”
“No. But come in,” Rose said, gesturing to the caravan. “I’d better read your cards first.”
“Just a quick read,” Tara said. Rose’s caravan was small but neat. The only decorations were an African violet by the kitchen sink area. They sat in the built-in two-seater next to it. Rose carefully lifted her cards out of a silk scarf and handed them to Tara to shuffle and divide into three piles. Rose liked doing Celtic Cross readings, but they could take a long time.
“How about just a past, present, future read?”
Rose turned over three cards, one at a time, and studied them. “An opportunity. A reversal. And a hidden meaning.” Her head popped up. “Family,” she said. “I see family involvement.”
“I wonder if the antique shop is the opportunity, or the grand opening?” Tara mused. “The seven could be a family of sorts. Or Cassidy Hughes. Or Eddie.”
“I need to see more.” Rose flipped out another card. The tip of her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth. “I see activity around your shop.”
“That sounds like good news. Maybe my permit will come today.”
Rose laid out yet another card. “There’s something in front of you. Some kind of understanding. You just haven’t figured it out. You’re struggling to figure it out.” Tara didn’t move, or blink, or scratch her head. Was this about the marble stones? Rose leaned in. “You know, don’t you? What the cards are telling you?”
“Not exactly.”
“You know enough.”
“Is it a warning?”
“A caution. Go forward. But be careful.”
“Thank you.” It didn’t quite help, but it was nice of Rose to try. She stood up. “Thanks for trying.”
Rose smiled. “That’ll be forty euro.”
* * *
A few minutes into the antique shop and Tara found a music box. It had dark wood and elegant carvings on the lid. When she lifted it, a jaunty reel began to play.
“ ‘Cooley’s Reel,’ ” the clerk said. “She’s a beauty.”
“She is.” This was the perfect gift for Elaine. “Do you happen to have an antique diving helmet?”
The clerk tipped his head up. “Not in the shop. But I know a fella. I can make a call.”
“I’d be very interested.” Tara continued through the shop while the clerk made a phone call. Minutes later he called out to her.
“I can get you an antique diving helmet It’s in good shape, but it’s quite dear.”
“I have room in my budget.” Excitement thrummed through her. Two gifts down.
The clerk nodded. “Before you leave make sure to jot down your digits. I’ll give you a bell when the helmet arrives.”
Tara nodded, then headed for the back of the store where vintage dresses hung on a clothes rack. Was Cassidy too young to appreciate vintage? It was hip in New York, but perhaps not here. Clothing was always a risky purchase, especially if you didn’t have a person’s exact measurements. On the counter near the dresses, Tara spied an emerald and diamond tiara. The jewels were costume, of course, but Tara thought it was perfect for
Cassidy. She would go with her gut and get it. Two down—three if the diving helmet came through. Next, she saw a wooden chest of small drawers, like something an old-fashioned chemist or apothecary would use. Perfect for Mimi. It was related to organization, but not a notebook. She was on a roll. Eddie and Iona were the only two left. A walking staff would be perfect for Iona, and she just happened to be standing in front of a nice bin of them. And she was just about to give up on Eddie for the day when she saw an old whiskey barrel in the corner. As long as she could arrange shipping to wherever Eddie wanted it delivered, it made a nice little table. She headed for the counter. “If you can arrange for shipment to my salvage mill in Galway, including the diving helmet, I’m going to buy a nice little haul.”
The clerk flashed a wide grin. “Let’s get you sorted.”
* * *
“How went the hunt?”
Tara stood in the doorway of Uncle Johnny’s office. He was somewhere behind the mound of papers and books cluttering his desk, steam from a mug of tea rising above it, as if there were a little village nestled in there, townsfolk warming themselves by a fire.
“Mission accomplished. The antique store in Clifden will be delivering the items here in a few days, and all our guests will gather to receive them.” At which time Veronica’s amends would be read. Then Tara would be able to walk away and focus on her shop.
“The shop already called. Said Veronica’s driver will drop off the items,” Uncle Johnny said. “I’ll be sure to be here to receive them.”
“Typical,” Tara said. Now that Veronica was gone, she’d noticed Bartley was making sure to keep Andy busy. “But thank you. I appreciate the help.”
“And I appreciate the business,” Johnny said. “Just make sure nobody ends up dead.” He grinned. “At least not until after I collect the rent for the space.”
She shook her head. “Too soon.”
He laughed, then shrugged. The group was probably going stir-crazy at the castle, as gorgeous as it was. “I’ll spread the news and let you know soon when the group is going to arrive.”
“You’re family,” Johnny said with a wave of his hand. “It’s going to cost you.” She started to leave. “Hang on.” Uncle Johnny tossed her an envelope. It was from the city. It was also open.
“Is it?”
He grinned. “Your shop can open in five days.”
Her grand opening would have to be slightly delayed. But it was thrilling news. “Do you always open my mail?”
“Only when I’m over there fixing French doors and putting up security cameras.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But seriously. Don’t open my mail.”
“Should I take back the locks and the cameras?”
“No.”
“Then I’d leave it at a thank-you if I were you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
But seriously, never open my mail again. This time she kept it to herself, and went to frame her business permit.
* * *
The guests entered the mill, excitement obvious in their voices as they took in the cavernous space filled with treasures. The gifts had arrived from the antique shop in Clifden that morning, packed in crates and waiting to be opened. Tara was eager to hand them out. She even purchased a new satchel for Bartley, and a cap for Andy. But first, everyone wanted to have a nose around the mill, and Tara couldn’t blame them. It was fascinating to see all of them in a new environment.
“Don’t hover over them,” Johnny said, sneaking up on her. She let out a little yelp. He laughed. “The gifts are in the storeroom; why don’t you get those ready while they shop?”
“They’re not shopping, they’re browsing.”
“Today’s browser is tomorrow’s buyer.” Johnny wagged his finger at her. “Don’t forget that when in you’re in your own shop.”
“Touché.” She did need to pull her acquisitions out of the crates, make sure they were presentable.
“I’ll keep an eye on this lot,” Uncle Johnny said. “Let you know if any one of them do anything killer-like.”
Tara laughed. Then, in a rare display of public affection, she kissed Uncle Johnny on the cheek before heading into the storage room where packed crates awaited her. She grabbed a pry bar and opened the first crate. The items were packed in straw. She brushed it out of the way and lifted out the tiara. She wished she knew its history; the stories embedded in the costume jewels. Who had worn it and where and when? What drama had they witnessed? What lavish events had they attended? Next, she took out the music box and set it aside. She’d wind it in a minute to make sure it played. The whiskey barrel was already set up in the middle of the loft where the guests would gather, along with Mimi’s organizing drawers. Iona’s walking stick leaned against the wall. It was dark wood and the top had a gorgeous crown carved into it. Iona could call herself the queen of The Mountain Hikers Club.
Tara turned to the next crate, wedged it open, and lifted out the antique diving helmet. It was gorgeous. A nice bronze one, and heavy to boot. The clerk had been right, the price was a little dear, but this was for two of them, not just one. Would Veronica announce their new flat in her amends speech? Mimi Griffin, who had the amends list in her possession, would be reading it soon, and Tara was eager to hear them.
Tara turned to the old music box and cranked it. But instead of the smooth rendition of “Cooley’s Reel” that she’d heard in the store, the notes began to clink out in a disjointed manner. Just her luck—the Frankenstein of music boxes. Maybe it just needed to warm up. She continued to crank it and although it definitely wasn’t “Cooley’s Reel,” it began to play a distinct melody. Tara didn’t recognize the tune. She kept cranking it, not caring what the tune was, hoping the music box would soon smooth out. She got so lost in what she was doing, it took a while to realize she was being watched. She turned to find several folks in the doorway. Uncle Johnny, Danny, Rose, Andy. And the rest were heading toward the storage room like she was the Pied Piper. She stopped cranking.
“Keep playing,” Danny said. “I’ve almost got it.”
“ ‘The Old Woman from Wexford,’ ” Johnny said.
“I was just trying to get it to smooth out,” Tara said. “It sounds a bit off-key.”
Danny stepped forward and peered at the mechanisms. “That’s because someone doctored it to play the song.”
“Do you all know it?” she asked, feeling left out. Heads began to nod.
“It’s a famous Irish ballad,” Andy said. “ ‘The Old Woman from Wexford.’ ”
So they’d said. They were making her anxious. “How does it go?” Tara waited for one of them to start belting it out. Instead, they began to exchange glances. The rest of the guests had caught up by now, and every one of them had some version of a horrified expression on his or her face. She stared at them as they stared at the music box. Tara realized she was back to cranking it. She stopped. She was missing something. Had they never heard a music box before? “What?”
“That song is what,” Elaine said. “Is it some kind of joke?”
No, it’s your gift. Or at least it was. “It’s supposed to play ‘Cooley’s Reel.’ It didn’t sound like this in the shop. I don’t know what this song is.” She took in their faces again. “But you guys obviously recognize it.”
“You could say that again,” Danny said.
“What? You’re scaring me.” And they were. The vibes were definitely bad in here, and this time she didn’t need Rose to tell her. “What’s with the song?”
“There are many variations,” Uncle Johnny said.
“It’s about a woman who tries to murder her blind husband,” Rose blurted out.
“So she can be with her lover,” Elaine added.
Iona stepped up. “But he tricks her.”
“Tricks her,” Tara repeated.
Cassidy pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “And just as the old woman goes to pu
sh her poor husband into the sea, he steps aside, and she tumbles to her death instead.”
Chapter 22
They all stared at the music box as if it were deadly in and of itself. “I had no idea,” Tara said. “I swear it played ‘Cooley’s Reel’ in the antique shop.”
“It’s a message from the killer,” Cassidy said.
Like the books, and the box of brand-new Tara Brooches. This killer loved sending messages.
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Elaine said. “Someone is messing with us.” Heads swiveled as they all accused each other with their eyes.
“Uncle Terry fits the description of the husband in the song,” Cassidy said. “I told you Veronica murdered him.”
“Terrance wasn’t blind,” Elaine said.
“It’s a metaphor,” Cassidy snipped.
“That’s nonsense,” Elaine said. “Veronica didn’t murder Terrance. If I thought she did—believe me, I wouldn’t have rested until she was brought to justice.” Her face flushed, and in that second, Tara saw the history. Elaine had indeed once been in love with Terrance. “He had a heart attack, and we all know how much he loved going to the chipper.”
“A song about a wife who tries to murder her husband?” Cassidy stomped her foot, which until then Tara only thought was an expression, apart from toddlers. “Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence!”
“We know all about your accusations,” Mimi said, turning to Cassidy. “Which is why we’re all shocked Veronica invited you here in the first place. How do we know you didn’t tinker with that music box?”
“So I could out myself as a killer?” Cassidy said. “Don’t be daft.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Elaine said. “In the song the woman tries to murder her husband but fails.” She shuddered. “And believe me, Terrance is no longer alive.”
“He definitely is not,” Cassidy said, with a nearly identical shudder.
“Maybe the killer couldn’t find an exact song, but it has to be a message,” Eddie said.
Cassidy turned on him. “A message. A living husband. Like you.”
“We have to stop being so literal,” Eddie said.
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