“You can count me out,” Iona said. “I’ve never even heard of the song.”
“We need to call the guards,” Tara said. She wished she hadn’t touched it. Could they get fingerprints off it?
“Is this mine?” Mimi said, gravitating toward the wooden organizer.
“I meant to officially give them out,” Tara said. “But yes.” Tara pointed out the rest of the gifts; it was too late to put the genie back in the bottle, so she’d might as well get it over with.
“I love it,” Iona said, hoisting her walking stick. Andy and Bartley seemed touched by their gifts too.
“It can’t just be the music box that was messed with,” Eddie said. “Everyone examine your gift, take it apart, see if it contains any clues.” Eddie upended his whiskey barrel to see if there was anything inside. “I need to rip this open.”
“Please,” Tara said. “No one needs to rip anything open. I’m sure they’re all fine.”
“I don’t want that thing,” Elaine said, backing away from the music box. “It’s not fine.”
John walked around the diving helmet. “It’s creepy,” Sheila said.
This was a disaster. One by one the remaining guests examined their gifts as if they were ticking. Nothing else seemed to be altered, but a sense of unease remained, and all enthusiasm about the gifts evaporated. Disaster.
Uncle Johnny turned to Tara. “Were the crates sealed shut?”
“They were,” Tara said, with a nod to the pry bar. Then she wished she hadn’t pointed it out. All a killer would have to do is sneak up on someone from behind with a weapon like that . . .
“Someone could have pried it open and glued it shut again,” Danny said.
“Who all had access to this room?”
Danny glanced at Andy.
“It’s okay,” Andy said. “I helped him carry the crates in.”
“We didn’t linger though,” Danny said.
“I moved a few crates in,” Bartley said. “But you’re assuming the music box was tinkered with after it arrived here?”
“If it’s a message from the killer, I’m afraid so.”
“Here’s a version of the song.” Danny pressed play on his smartphone as the eerie little ballad sang out quite cheerfully.
“That’s creepy,” Cassidy said.
“I think it’s time for an official group meeting,” Elaine said. “Now.”
* * *
Bartley stood in the middle of the salvage mill, the group arranged on the sofas and chairs around him. Iona perched on the arm instead of a seat, Cassidy lounged with sunglasses on as if she were on a beach in Spain, Eddie paced alongside a wall of decorative door knockers, John and Sheila huddled on the sofa, clinging to each other, Mimi was already jotting notes in her notebook, perched on a fold-out chair, and Elaine was the only one looking somewhat relaxed, sitting back, her legs crossed, her hands folded over her knee. Andy was immersed in his mobile phone by the door, as if at-the-ready if anyone needed a ride. But when he lifted his eyes, they were rimmed in red. It was hard to imagine he had shed a tear over Veronica; it was more likely he was suffering a hangover. She hoped no one asked for a ride until he was in better shape.
Bartley grabbed the paper the amends were written on and cleared his throat.
“Wait,” Mimi said. “You can’t just grab my papers. I’m responsible for them.”
“This is taking too long,” Bartley said.
“I thought they were out of order. Have you been going through my things?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bartley said. “How and when would I have done that?”
“I swear someone has been pawing through them.” Mimi’s eyes darted around the room.
“Get on with it,” Cassidy said. His eyes flashed but he quickly bowed his head, and when he lifted them again the hint of aggression was well masked. “Veronica had prepared her amends. I don’t know if it’s appropriate to go through with them after everything that’s happened.” He scanned the room as if trying to detect a murderer amongst them.
“Always the loyal henchman,” Cassidy said. “I wonder why you didn’t share such concerns when my uncle was murdered.”
“Your uncle died of natural causes.” His anger was back twofold. When he didn’t begin to read from Veronica’s prepared sheets, Elaine was off the sofa and after three strides whipped them out of his hands.
“She was my best friend, I’ll do it.”
“If she was your best friend, why didn’t you go walking with her that morning?” The jab came from Eddie. His body had stopped pacing but his eyes had not. Whereas Andy looked as if he needed the hair of the dog, Eddie looked jittery and wound tight.
“Because she left me a nasty voicemail Friday,” Elaine said. “There. Are you happy?”
“What voicemail?” Tara asked.
Elaine sighed, and reached into her handbag. She brought out her mobile phone and pushed play. Veronica’s voice filled the mill:
“Is it you? Did you kill Nancy? Maybe you killed Terrance. Maybe you’ve been out to get me all this time. He didn’t love you. He loved me. Get over it.” She was drunk, that was obvious. Yelling, babbling, slurring. “One of you killed Nancy. Who is it? Who is it?” The message cut off.
“I was flabbergasted,” Elaine said. “A year of sobriety down the drain.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Bartley demanded.
“I told the guards. It’s all ridiculous anyway.”
A picture was emerging. Friday at Tara’s shop Veronica learned that Nancy was dead. By that evening, she’d relapsed. And convinced herself that Nancy was murdered. Or had someone else convinced her? Tara hated that she was the one who broke the news to Veronica.
“You’ve been hiding this from us,” Eddie said, pointing at Elaine. “What else are you hiding?”
Elaine calmly scanned him from head to toe. “I never knew what she saw in you.”
“How dare you.”
Elaine laughed. How had she developed that Teflon exterior? Tara wore her emotions way too close to her sleeve; she was fascinated by Elaine’s composure. Elaine turned back to the paper and started to read aloud. “ ‘Subtly announce that I won the Woman of the Year award and appear humble as I blush.’ ” She blinked in confusion, as did the rest of the room. Uncle Johnny was the first to throw his head back and laugh. At first the startled guests swiveled to gawp at him, and then Rose joined the laughter. Soon everyone was laughing.
“That’s so Veronica,” Mimi said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’ll miss that chutzpah.”
Elaine tried to shush the laughter, holding up the paper. “Hold for applause is underlined.” The laughter was back, this time a chorus that was infectious. Tara wasn’t quite sure when it turned to tears, but before she knew it, Elaine was sobbing.
“She didn’t invite me to go walking with her,” she gasped. “Or I would have.”
“Wait,” Tara said. “I thought you hadn’t arrived yet.”
Heads began swiveling again, looking at each other, then Tara as if she was the unwanted guest.
“I made arrangements at another hotel first,” Elaine said.
“Another castle,” Mimi said. It was obvious she disapproved.
“I didn’t trust what Veronica was up to,” Elaine admitted. “But I spoke with her that Friday and I was convinced she was truly making amends.”
Mimi began flipping through a notebook. “Then why were you not only at Ballynahinch Castle that Saturday, before checking in, but there so early?”
Elaine’s tears shut off like a faucet as she began to blink. “Pardon?”
“You were standing on the back patio at half five in the morning.”
Eddie edged forward, trying to peer over Mimi’s shoulders. “Are you spying on us?”
“I was hired to do a job. You should try it sometime.”
Was that who Veronica was referring to when she said Iona was being watched? Or had she asked every guest to spy on another? E
very second Tara was convinced that Veronica was on the up-and-up, something happened to make her doubt it.
“Veronica hired you to spy on us?” Eddie wouldn’t relent.
Mimi fussed with the corner of her notebook, bending it. She was probably one of those people who shredded cocktail napkins. “She simply wanted to know what everyone was up to. I’m sure it was just so she knew you had a good time.”
“Bullhorns,” Cassidy called from her lounge chair. “Spying is right.”
“I wasn’t up at half five, let alone at Ballynahinch Castle,” Elaine insisted. “You scratch that out.”
“Personally, I only want juicy gossip about me in that notebook,” Cassidy said. “I want people to gasp when they read it!”
“What else does your notebook say?” Eddie insisted. “Who else was up early the morning she died?”
Iona jumped off the arm of the chair. “I thought you were supposed to turn those notebooks over to the guards.”
John stood up, yanking Sheila with him. “Are you going to read Veronica’s amends or not?”
“I made a copy for the guards,” Mimi said. “They never said they had to have my originals.”
“Convenient,” Eddie said. “Who’s been spying on you?”
“For the last time, I’m not a spy.” Mimi gave a sly smile as if she wished she were.
“We’re leaving,” John said.
“We can’t,” Sheila said. She turned to Elaine. “Please. Read the amends.” Desperation rang from her voice. Where do you think she stashed it? What were they looking for? Was Sheila the person Tara saw running away from Veronica’s hotel room, draped in her clothing?
“What are you so worried about?” Cassidy said, peeling her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose to gaze at Eddie. The two shared a long look.
“Why are you always wearing sunglasses?” Iona said. “Even indoors.”
“Because I’m very sensitive to light,” Cassidy said.
“It’s Ireland,” Iona said. “I don’t buy that for a second.”
“I’m a recognizable figure,” Cassidy said. “You wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
“I think everyone should sit down,” Bartley said, glancing from Iona to Eddie, to John and Sheila. “Out of respect.”
“You’re standing as well,” Iona pointed out. “So are they.” Her hand swept the back where Johnny, Rose, Tara, and Andy stood. Tara couldn’t believe she was being publicly shamed for standing. By arguably the most athletic in the group. They were getting off topic.
“I think we should focus on the reason Veronica brought you together,” Tara said. “I saw her the day before she died. She was a total stranger, I grant that, but she shared her story with me. She seemed sincere in wanting to make amends. I think that’s worth listening to, don’t you?”
Slowly, heads turned, scanning first Tara and then each other.
When no one protested, Mimi jotted something down in her notebook, then waved to Elaine. “Go on, so.”
Elaine took her place once more in the center. “I’d better start over. I’ll paraphrase. Even after winning Woman of the Year—”
“Who awarded her dat?” Cassidy’s nostrils flared as she interrupted. Elaine looked at her sheet.
“It doesn’t say.”
“The city,” Mimi said, flipping through a notebook. “Some committee. Which she chairs.” Murmurs went through the group. Mimi shut the notebook. “I think it’s wonderful. “
“You would,” Cassidy said.
Mimi shook her finger at the young woman. “Doesn’t it feel better to be gracious? Her success doesn’t impede your own.”
Cassidy sprung from her chair and took off her sunglasses. “Woman of the Year. For what? Throwing poor people out of their homes?” She pointed to John and Sheila, who seemed to cower on the sofa. “Berating her niece in public? Accusing her assistant of being a thief? Castrating her ex-husband?” Her eyes flicked to Eddie.
“I assure you,” he said, “it’s all in working order.” He grinned at her.
Bartley cleared his throat. “Leave the past in the past. Veronica was attempting to make amends. And one of you was too heartless and cruel to give her that chance.” He bowed his head. “Evil.”
Sheila Murphy stood. John grabbed her hand as if to pull her down, but she yanked it away. “Evil is when you tell your landlady you’re pregnant, only for her to throw us out, and keep our deposit. I don’t care what the doctors say. I know she’s the reason I miscarried five years ago.” Gasps and murmurs went around the room. Mimi and Elaine hurried over and began rubbing her arm. So that’s why an ambulance was called, Tara thought. What a traumatic day that must have been for the young couple.
“You poor ting,” Mimi cooed as she continued to stroke Sheila’s arm.
Sheila pulled away. “It’s common. However . . . I’m convinced that stress played a role. And that stress was named Veronica.”
John buried his head in his hands. “Don’t talk about that in public.”
Despite her husband’s pleading, a look of determination was planted on Sheila’s face. “I’ve kept silent for the past five years. Does it look like it’s helped?” Tears streamed down her face. “I’ve never been able to get pregnant since.”
Tara’s heart squeezed. She knew the pain of losing a child. She struggled with herself not to compare, not to judge, just to listen. Pain was pain. And Sheila was right. Bottling things up could be destructive. Eat away at you. Cause you to misdirect the rage into something . . . evil. Was Sheila confessing? Was that why her husband was trying to quiet her down?
Uncle Johnny stepped up. His face looked pained as he tried to smile. “Who wants a nice cup of tea?”
“I need something stronger.” Cassidy dug in her purse. “Where is it?” Her voice raised to a shriek. Someone stole my prescription bottle!” She looked around expectantly, but was met with open stares.
“You should go for a hike,” Iona said. “Literally.”
“If we’re not going to read this, I’m going to sit down.” Elaine stalked over to a chair and slid into it.
Mimi stood, stormed over to Elaine and grabbed the sheet. “I’ll read it. I want to see if she’s apologized for accusing me of being a thief.”
Elaine suddenly sat up straight. “I remember that,” she said. “Wait. Wasn’t it her antique brooch she accused you of stealing?”
“The Tara Brooch,” Eddie said, outrage in his voice. “You’re the killer!”
A pink hue crawled up the side of Mimi’s face. She looked as if she wanted to turn back time and swallow her words. “I did not steal that brooch and I certainly am no killer.”
If Mimi was the one Tara saw fleeing Veronica’s room, then she was lying about not being a thief. Could she be lying about not being a killer, as well?
Cassidy snapped her fingers. “Elaine is right. It was the brooch.”
“The same brooch that was plunged through her heart,” Eddie said.
“That’s nothing to do with me!” Mimi said. “It was proven I never stole it in the first place. Remember?”
Elaine shook her head. “No.”
“She found it! In her garden, by her fountain. Why do you tink she’s making amends to me?”
“I didn’t think about it at all,” Elaine said.
“Typical,” Mimi said under her breath.
“Who’s to say you didn’t steal it and then put it back?” Cassidy posed. “Seeing as how you know exactly where she kept it.”
“I was her assistant,” Mimi said. “It was my job to know.”
“Enough!” Bartley raised his voice, startling all of them. “If you don’t want to hear her apologies, maybe you’d like to hear what she planned on compensating you with. Is that it?” He nodded to John and Sheila. “A flat for the young couple, an art gallery opening for Eddie, a rehab program for Cassidy—”
“I will not go to rehab!” Cassidy put her sunglasses back on. “Unless it’s attended by celebrities.”
“Who cares about a flat,” Sheila said. “Does it say anything about a letter?”
“A letter?” Tara asked.
Sheila nodded. “A recommendation letter. For adoption. She said she had connections.”
So that’s what they were looking for. Was there ever a recommendation letter? Tara approached Mimi and gently took the sheet out of her hands. She started to read out loud. “ ‘To my best friend, Lainey. I am sorry you lost the love of your life . . .’” Tara stopped as she stared at the page.
“Yes?” Elaine said. “Don’t stop now. What else?”
Tara couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The words floated in front of her.
To my best friend, Lainey. I’m sorry you lost the love of your life you ungrateful cow.
Chapter 23
Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she wrestled with the words in front of her. “Bartley was right. Let’s skip to the compensation.” It had all been a ruse. Veronica hadn’t come here to make amends. She’d come here to shame them once again. When had it happened? Veronica’s original words were scratched out, the new version written on top. This must have been around the same time Veronica left Tara the message about all of them betraying her. What had she found out? Was it possible someone else had written this? The killer?
Wait. The handwriting. Tara peered closer. She would need the book for comparison, but it did not look like the handwriting that was in Cassidy’s book. Forgiveness is a virtue. You have none . . .
“Is this Veronica’s handwriting?” Tara showed it to Mimi.
Mimi’s eyes widened as she took in the words. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
That meant someone else had written the words in the book. Someone else had handed out the books. The killer.
“What does it say?” Elaine persisted.
“Someone scratched out Veronica’s original apology,” Tara said.
“I just told you it’s Veronica’s handwriting,” Mimi said. “I have no doubt.” Before Tara could stop her, she snatched the papers out of her hand. “ ‘To my best friend Lainey, I’m sorry you lost your husband you ungrateful cow.’ ”
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