Murder in Connemara

by Carlene O'Connor

  Bartley? What was he doing on the ship? Tara averted her gaze as she tried to make sense of it. Andy edged closer.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Don’t look.” Andy started to turn his head. She grabbed his arm. “I said don’t look.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think Bartley is on the ship.”

  To Andy’s credit, he did not turn his head. His face registered the same shock she felt. “What are you thinking?”

  “Do you know if one of the guests bought flowers for my opening?”

  “Bartley did,” Andy said. “I picked them up myself.”

  Why would he take it upon himself to get her flowers? And then not sign the card? She turned this over in her mind. “Did you deliver them to my shop?”

  “I left them at the door.” He cocked his head. “Is it important?”

  “I don’t know.” Why was she thinking about the flowers? Because something—someone—made Mimi think there was something at the bottom of the vase. And the only thing Tara could think that would fit in a vase that would cause Mimi to go mental—was her new diamond watch. She glanced at her phone. The signal was gone.

  “I wouldn’t expect much use of it with the storm coming in,” Andy said.

  “I know.” She hoped it was nothing. “We need to get ahold of Sergeant Gable.”

  “Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “If Bartley sent me those flowers . . . It’s probably nothing.” But it could be something. Tara felt unsettled. All the pieces were not in place. She knew it.

  Andy frowned. “We can see if any phones on the island are working.”

  “What about the music box?” Tara asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Uncle Johnny said you picked up the items from the Clifden antique shop and dropped them off to the mill.”

  “I did. Bartley asked me to.”

  Bartley again. “Did you pick them up directly from the shop?”

  Andy rubbed his chin. “Just outside the shop. Bartley was waiting on the footpath.” Because the items had left the shop way before that? Leaving Bartley enough time to have the music box doctored? “You’re starting to worry me. Do you think Bartley is the real culprit?”

  “Why else would he be following us?”

  “Listen.” Andy leaned close. “We have an advantage.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I know this island like the back of my hand. I doubt that’s the case with Bartley. As soon as we get off the ship, take my arm. We’re going to run.”

  “Okay.” Her stomach roiled. At this point she didn’t know if was from the ship, or fear, or both. Andy maneuvered them to the front of the ship. “He’s in the back. We’ll get a good head start.”

  The ferry finally docked, and when Tara disembarked, she was nearly knocked down by a gust of wind. Andy grabbed her, his strong arms kept her upright. “This way.” He took the lead at a fast clip, and she followed. She briefly noted the rolling hills, and stone, and water, as they hurried toward their destination. She could see where Nancy was coming from: Despite the turbulent weather, Tara could imagine the slower pace of the island was comforting. They kept up their pace along the road until Andy turned off and headed toward a detached stone cottage. It was white with blue trim, and an old stone wall delineated a path to the entrance.

  A hand-painted sign read: WELCOME INN. Tara threw a look behind her. Nothing was visible in the thick rain. The door opened before they could knock, and Alexis stood, her red hair blown back by the wind. “Hurry,” she said ushering them inside.

  “We might have trouble following us,” Andy said. The wind howled and rattled the windows. “Lock all the doors.”

  “What’s going on?” Alexis slid the deadbolt across the door, and checked the other locks.

  “We think we’re being followed,” Tara said. “I hope we aren’t putting you in danger.”

  “I don’t have any mobile signal,” Alexis said. “But the doors are locked.”

  “I’ll keep watch,” Andy said, taking off his cap.

  “The kettle is on, who wants tea?” They both did. “Sit, and relax.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” Tara said.

  “Why would Bartley be after us?” Andy said. “The killer has been caught.”

  Maybe Tara was being paranoid. Maybe he had other reasons for being on Inishbofin. “I don’t know.”

  Andy removed a poker from near the fireplace. “This should do.”

  Alexis’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Whatever I have to.”

  They sat. Waiting. Watching the door. No one came. Tara finally allowed herself to relax.

  “How many rooms does the cottage have?” Tara asked when they were settled with their tea and biscuits.

  “Three,” Alexis said. “My room and two doubles. Nancy had a double to herself.”

  “Do you get many guests?”

  “Enough to get by. There are three hotels on the island, but some tourists prefer the cottage experience.”

  “I don’t blame them.”

  Alexis’s smile quickly faded. “I’m afraid Nancy’s death may be the end of my run.”

  “But she wasn’t even here when . . .” Tara left it hanging.

  Alexis crossed herself. “Thank goodness. But the locals do talk. And with her things still here . . .” She shivered. “I’ll just be glad to have them gone. Nip of whiskey?” Alexis asked Tara.

  “No, thank you.” She was exhausted, and it was only now that she realized she’d probably be the one sleeping in Nancy’s room, since she was here to gather her things. There was something a bit eerie about it. But weariness won over, as did a clawing feeling that she wanted to be alone. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to turn in.”

  Andy remained staring into the fire, gripping the poker. “Sleep well.”

  “I hate to think of you standing guard all night.”

  Andy grinned. “I’m used to it. Besides, I’m just going to wait until my mobile has a signal and then call the guards.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alexis showed Tara to a small room in the back of the cottage. It barely fit the two double beds, but it was quaint, with a dresser, and windows.

  Alexis pointed to them. “You wouldn’t know it, but there’s a view of the hills and ocean.” Wouldn’t know it was right. The rain was relentless and thick, while the wind continued to howl. “Her things are all here.” Alexis pointed to a large ottoman in the corner, piled with items. After showing Tara the restroom, towels, and even providing her with a nightdress, Alexis left her alone. Tara approached the ottoman and stared down at the items. A hairbrush. A necklace with a peace symbol. A few blouses, and a skirt. She didn’t see a prescription bottle for Savage. Maybe Alexis had put it somewhere else. Tara picked up the hairbrush, and just held it for a minute. It was hard to believe that objects outlasted people. There was something haunting about it. Without thinking she slipped her hands into the pockets of the coat Andy had given her. Something round and hard was in the left pocket. She pulled it out.

  A coin. Or should she say a sobriety chip. Like the one Veronica had been flipping around.

  Tara felt a wave of dizziness hit. She sank down on the bed, wondering what that was all about. Was this Andy’s chip? Alexis offered Tara a nip of whiskey. But she didn’t offer it to Andy. Why not? Wasn’t he a big drinker? She could still feel the movement of the ferry even though she was sitting down. Why did she think Andy was a big drinker? Had she ever seen him drink?

  No. But she’d once seen him with red eyes. Assumed he was hungover. And the other valets laughed at how he was sleeping it off in his vehicle—his alibi . . .

  She didn’t know where she was going with this. She was tired. She stumbled to the restroom down the hall and changed into the nightdress, used the toothbrush and paste from her handbag, and splashed cold water on her face. When she was finished, she felt it again, t
he movement of the ferry, and she had to hold on to the sink to keep her upright. She waited for it to pass, then padded down the hall toward her room. A crammed bookshelf on the way caught her attention. Family pictures in frames dotted the top. In one, Tara could make out an older man standing at a quarry. Tara picked it up. Why did this seem familiar? Was this one of the marble quarries?

  She began to hunt through the books, hoping to find something to read before bed. She stopped cold at the second shelf.

  Places to See in Ireland Before You Die. She stopped and held her breath. Just down the hall was the sitting room. She could hear Alexis and Andy speaking, their voices a whisper, the crackling of the fire obscuring their words. Heart thudding in her chest, Tara picked up the book and opened it. The owner had written his name.

  Martin Bixby. A memory rose before her. Bartley’s voice. Speaking to Veronica. Martin Bixby, your previous driver.

  Mimi. What was it she said about Veronica? She drove her previous driver to an early grave.

  The suicide notice in Mimi’s notebook. The rest of the article ripped out.

  Andy. What did he say about his father? That he loved that book. Andy said that was the reason Veronica had chosen the book. She saw Andy with it. But what if she didn’t? When she saw it in the shop she called it morbid. There was no recognition there . . .

  What was Andy’s last name? Tara leaned down to get a better look at the pictures. Many of them featured a boy and a girl smiling with grandparents. Tara’s stomach clenched, and she had to stop what she was doing as the pain gripped her. A loose photograph of the boy and girl was wedged into one of the frames. She turned it over.

  Alexis and Andy.

  Behind the largest frame was a mass card. She picked it up with shaking hands.

  In loving memory of Martin Bixby.

  He died two years ago. The date matched the article in Mimi’s notebook. The suicide.

  Veronica’s driver. Drove him to an early grave.

  Tara hurried to her room and dug through her handbag for her smartphone. No signal. The storm had made sure of that. Her stomach clenched again.

  Had her tea been poisoned?

  How could they think they’d get away with it? Danny knew where she was, and that she was with Andy. The guards had already brought Eddie and Cassidy in for questioning. Was Andy trying to make sure that Tara didn’t suspect him? What had she said that might have worried him?

  He overheard her talk to Danny about the sofa. How it didn’t fit. It was shortly after that that she received the call from Alexis. His sister. On the ferry he seemed eager for her to accuse Bartley. It was only his word that Bartley picked up the items from the antique dealer. And that the flowers came from Bartley. It was Andy who resembled Eddie. Andy who could have pretended to be Eddie when he took the music box into the shop to have it doctored. Bartley wasn’t on the ship to come after Tara. He was there because he was suspicious of Andy.

  Alexis told her that Nancy had been a regular. Everyone on the island knew her. That’s how the two of them found out about Veronica’s plans. Her big amends. And their father, the man Veronica drove to suicide after forty years—wasn’t on the amends list. Was that why they decided to take matters into their own hands? Did they suggest Nancy convince Veronica to do the amends here, where they could dream up the perfect revenge plot?

  Tara hurried back to the room and sat on the bed. Something was wrong with her. She felt sluggish. Had she been poisoned, or given sleeping pills, or was she just paranoid? Did she stay the night, pretend everything was okay? Try to sneak out in the middle of a storm? Where was Bartley now?

  That tweed cap. Eddie had a similar one. What if it was Eddie asleep in Andy’s vehicle? Andy could have picked him up at a bar that night. Sauced. Slipped him a few sleeping pills. Arranged him in the driver’s seat. Alibi sorted. Where had Eddie woken up? He would have said something if he’d woken up in the car. Did Andy move him after returning from Clifden Castle? And how did Andy get there?

  Questions. Always more questions. But one thing was for sure. Andy was friendly with all the valets. He could have easily taken another car to the castle. Tara wanted to lie down and just sleep. Just sleep. She bit the side of her cheek. Focus.

  Alexis said there were three hotels on the island. They were walking distance to the ferry; one of them must be close by. But first, she needed to make herself throw up, something she loathed the very idea of. There was no choice, she couldn’t take the chance that she’d die in her sleep. The Boffin Coffin. She tried to tiptoe as she made it to the bathroom again. Just as she shut the door, she heard creaking in the hallway.

  “Are you okay?” Alexis’s voice filtered through.

  “A bit seasick,” Tara called back, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking.

  “Oh no. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry I’m occupying the restroom.”

  “Don’t worry about that, luv. Feel free to check the cupboard for anything that might help.”

  “Thank you.” I bet. Tara steeled herself, looked into the mirror, and did something she hadn’t done in many, many months. She called on her mam for help.

  Chapter 34

  Tara felt better after expelling her stomach, and drinking water from the sink. She exited the bathroom to find Alexis standing in front of her with a glass of milk. Tara let out a yelp.

  “So sorry,” Alexis said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Alexis held out the milk. “This will help.”

  Tara’s hands shook as she took it. “Thank you.” She slipped back to her bedroom and shut the door before Alexis could watch her drink it. She set it on the bedside table and wished she could take it with her as evidence. She pressed herself against the door until she heard Alexis walk away. With no visible lock on the door, Tara pulled a chair up to it and wedged it underneath the knob, her heart thudding so loud in her chest she feared they would be able to hear it. Working as quietly as she possibly could, she put her clothes back on and clutched her keys in her hand, each key poking out between the knuckles like she’d done in her early days in New York City, feeling at least she had some protection if attacked. No matter what, she would not fall asleep. She pulled the second chair in the room near the window, and examined the window’s mechanism. Opening it would definitely make noise, but she could see how the window latched, and that if need be, there would be room for her to crawl out, and jump. If anyone came in, she’d hear the chair turn over, climb out the window, and run.

  Thinking through the case helped keep her wide awake, as well as listening to every creak and groan, a difficult task given that the rain and wind had kept up their unrelenting campaign. Her mind kept returning to the day she met Veronica.

  Eddie’s portfolio. In it he was wearing that tweed cap. Then Andy comes in wearing the same cap. Even Tara mistook them. When Andy first came into her store, she thought it was him on the portfolio Veronica insisted she take. Veronica of course laughed at the very idea that Andy and Eddie looked alike, but from a distance they did. Up close it was obvious Eddie was older. But from a distance . . . It must have been Eddie sleeping it off in Andy’s car. And Andy who came in to doctor the music box, but was mistaken for Eddie. The clerk must not have looked very carefully. Tara’s thoughts returned to the first time she met Andy. He rushed in to use the restroom. He knew exactly where the restroom was. Tara didn’t think anything of it at the time. After all, it was a small shop. But Andy knew where the restroom was because he’d been there before. To drop off the book. When Curly and Moe were up on the ladder.

  Tara remembered commenting on Andy when he came out of the restroom. Comparing him to Eddie’s portfolio picture.

  You think Eddie looks like my driver?

  Bartley pointed out the cap. That it was also the “uniform” of Martin Bixby. Veronica went on about uniforms, the necessity of keeping the working class apart from the rich.

  Uniforms .
. .

  Tracksuits. Oh God. He dressed Nancy Halligan and Veronica in uniforms. The marble stones represented his father’s work in the quarry. After Martin spent most of his life working in a quarry, he went to work as Veronica’s driver. And then he took his own life. Andy and Alexis blamed Veronica for it. Andy took his father’s old job, probably to investigate her. Cassidy was right. Andy did steal her sleeping pills. And her marble stones. To knock Eddie out and create his airtight alibi. It must have felt like a touching tribute to his father, placing the stones on Veronica’s face. Not Nancy’s.

  Why had he killed Nancy? She must have figured out who he was. The sobriety chip. Did Andy meet Nancy in AA? Imagine Andy’s reaction to learning that Veronica was going to make amends. But it was too late for his father—a man Veronica seemed to barely remember.

  What else had Veronica said about Martin?

  His poor bladder condition.

  The bathroom routine. Veronica wasn’t testing Tara by having Andy come in and ask to use the restroom. Andy was testing Veronica. Because of what she’d done to his father. How she treated him. What she drove him to.

  It had only been Andy’s word that Eddie and Cassidy were kissing and went up to her room. Somehow, Andy had convinced Veronica to go to Clifden Castle early. He must have had access to another vehicle.

  Had this entire amends scheme been his idea? From the stone cottage sale to the article on Renewals?

  She could no longer hear Andy and Alexis talking.

  They were going to come for her. To see if she drank the milk.

  She was going to have to go soon, no matter what the storm was doing. Please, Mam. Please help.