by Zara Keane
“I haven’t found Theresa’s handbag yet, so I don’t know. I’ll ask Sile to look for the letter. She’s going to search Theresa’s caravan later today, ostensibly to find an address book for friends or relatives to contact.” Liam looked up from his notebook and caught my eye. “Can you tell me exactly what the letter contained?”
“Nothing nice. I might have the word order wrong, but it was something like, ‘Ticktock, Theresa. You have forty-eight hours left to live.”’
“Nasty.” Liam narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you take it to the station instead of returning it to her?”
“I didn’t feel it was my call to make. She hadn’t hired me to investigate. I wasn’t supposed to still have the letter, let alone read it. I tried to persuade her to talk to you, but she wasn’t interested. She didn’t seem to take the threat seriously.”
He frowned. “Then why did Theresa want to hire you?”
“Revenge, I think. She wanted me to find out who was sending the letters so she could confront them on her own.”
“Not smart.”
“That’s what I said, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Liam read over his notes before posing his next question. “Can you describe the letter? What sort of paper was it written on? Was it typed or handwritten?”
“The envelope bore a Galway postmark,” I said, replaying the details of yesterday’s encounter with Theresa like a film reel. “It was stamped on Wednesday. I’m not great at estimating Irish paper sizes, but both the letter and the envelope were probably C5. The paper quality was the sort you can pick up in any supermarket, or from the cheaper end of a stationery store’s selection. It was neither handwritten nor typed. The sender went the stereotypical route of gluing letters cut out of a magazine. Apart from the message itself, the whole thing seemed too amateurish to take seriously.”
“But you did take it seriously?”
“Of course. Regardless of how Theresa felt, no one should get away with threatening a person’s life.”
Liam took a sip of coffee and drew his brows together in thought. “Was the letter an incentive for her to spend the weekend away from Whisper Island? Frankly, I was surprised to see Theresa with the extras.”
“Lenny thinks Theresa was more scared than she cared to admit.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not so sure. The vibe I got from her was rage. She was angry that someone kept sending her threatening letters, and she wanted them to stop. However, I never got the impression that she felt intimidated. On the contrary, she was free with her threats of what she’d do to the letter writer if she ever found him or her.”
“Theresa liked to talk big,” Liam said. “Do we know if she followed through, though?”
“You’ll need to talk to Theresa’s assistant. I think she’s a local girl, but I’m not sure. Magnum and the other food truckers would also be worth talking to. I spoke to Magnum briefly last night, and I’d discussed Theresa with Sammy when I returned her letter yesterday morning. It seems Theresa wasn’t popular among the food-trucking community.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I saw her in action with Lenny during rehearsals.”
“Theresa was an awful woman, but would someone really hold such a grudge against her that they’d trail her out to Dolphin Island and kill her? It all seems so far-fetched.”
“I’m hoping we’re jumping to conclusions, Maggie. Maybe Theresa’s death was due to a heart attack.”
“Maybe.” I snuck a glance at him across the table. He looked as unconvinced by this prospect as I was. “But I get the impression you’re already treating her death as suspicious, even if you can’t officially say so.”
“Exactly.”
“Was she poisoned?” I asked. “Her symptoms just before her death would fit. Did you notice a funny smell from her? The best description I can think of is rotten parsnips.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I’ve asked the pathologist to look for poisonous substances in Theresa’s system. Right after we got you to bed last night, I even asked the head of the catering staff not to wash plates and glasses until we know more, but I was already too late.”
“With the number of people on the set, it probably wouldn’t have been possible to test every plate and glass.”
“Yeah, but I had to try.”
“Speaking of poison, I overheard Judd having a fight yesterday outside the Poison Garden.”
Liam jerked to attention, instantly on the alert. “Who with, and what about?”
“With Merry, the assistant dance choreographer. I’m hazy on what it was about, but I have my suspicions. Judd was upset with Merry for not keeping quiet about an unspecified topic for seven more days. Lenny told me Judd owes a lot of money to people who aren’t a regular bank if you know what I mean. I wondered if that had something to do with the fight.”
“I’ll look into it. Thanks for the info.” He wrote a few lines in his notebook. “To sum up, we have a series of suspicious incidents on the film set, plus a collection of threatening letters addressed to the dead woman. Does this mean the cases are connected? Or are they merely connected by coincidence?”
“I know what you’re going to say. You don’t trust coincidences. But they can happen.”
“Yeah, but they don’t make solving this case any easier. If Theresa was poisoned, this is a murder inquiry, and I need to conduct it as such until I get confirmation that she died of natural causes.”
I drained my coffee cup and reached for the pot for a refill. “What does your gut tell you? Do you think Theresa’s death is linked to the incidents on set?”
He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “My gut’s not telling me anything just yet.”
“I get it.” I sat back in my chair and sighed. “It’s all so confusing. These pain tablets have me addled, and I can’t think straight.”
Liam gave me a delicious slow-burn smile that made my insides melt. “Seems to me you’re thinking just fine.”
“Thanks, but I know I’m not. I hate this sensation of brain fog. I’m sure if I was able to think clearly, I’d see whatever it is that I’m missing. Because I know there’s something. I kept trying to make the pieces fit as I was drifting off to sleep last night, and one was out of reach.”
“This isn’t necessarily what you’re missing, but there is something you should know.” Liam shifted position in his seat, and a flush stained his cheeks. “Theresa’s death isn’t the only reason I insisted on staying overnight on Dolphin Island.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No? You stayed to protect your one true love, aka me?”
He laughed. “That too. Listen, Maggie, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. Yes, Hannah got the part in the film, but I could’ve let Melanie escort her and Caoimhe, and we could’ve gone on our trip.”
My stomach performed a flip and roll. “So why didn’t you?”
“I got a tipoff from HQ in Dublin that a jewel smuggler is suspected of working on Con’s film shoot.”
“A jewel smuggler?” I burst out laughing. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am. That’s why I was keen to use Hannah’s role as an excuse for me to get onto the movie set.”
“Why would you want your daughter anywhere near a potential jewel smuggling racket?”
He had the good grace to look abashed. “They’re not dangerous, Maggie. Just devious. They run a small operation, which is presumably why they’ve been able to fly under the radar for so long. Jewels are somehow moving between Europe and the U.S. and not getting caught by customs.”
I toyed with the rim of my orange juice glass. I mulled over the implications of adding a jewel smuggler to the already confusing mix of mayhem that was happening on Dolphin Island this weekend. “What value are we talking about?”
“Somewhere in the region of half a million dollars’ worth over the last eighteen months. Not chump change, but also not a sum that indicates a gang is at work.”
I w
histled. “Still a tidy sum. This movie is getting more dramatic by the second. How does your jewel smuggler tie in with the saboteur and Theresa’s death?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t make much progress yesterday. Then Theresa collapsed, and everything got turned on its head.”
“Can I help? I can ask questions about Theresa at the same time I’m asking about the accidents on set.” He opened his mouth to protest, but I plowed on. “Don’t say no, Liam. After all, Theresa’s death isn’t an official murder inquiry. With two of us asking questions—three if we include Lenny—we’ll cover more ground faster.”
He leaned back in his chair and considered my proposal. I read the warring emotions that flitted across his face. He wanted to protect me, but he was aware he was a one-man show until or unless Theresa’s death turned out to be murder. “Okay, but on the condition that you don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
I held out my hand. “Deal.”
Instead of shaking it, Liam dropped a kiss on my wrist, sending a frisson of awareness skittering over my skin. “I’m serious, Maggie. You have a tendency to get yourself into madcap situations. You’re pretty good at getting yourself back out, but you usually have two working hands to help you.”
“I promise. I’m too tired to fend off crazed lunatics.”
“Okay,” Liam said. “So, how should we do this?”
“You use your role as policeman randomly caught up in a tragic death and ask questions in a semi-official capacity. Lenny and I will split the rest of the cast and crew between us. We won’t be able to talk to everyone, but we can chat with enough people to get an idea of who we need to focus on.”
Liam nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.”
“Also, I’ll go back to the Poison Garden and make a note of the plants. They all have labels, thank goodness. If it turns out Theresa was poisoned, her killer didn’t need to look far to find a toxic substance.”
“Smart.” Liam reached across the table and laid a reassuring hand on my arm. “We’ll figure this out, Maggie. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold. We have a cagey movie director to corner.”
22
After breakfast, I took a luxuriously long shower. While I washed and dressed, Liam cleared our plates. We’d arranged to meet downstairs in the library at ten, and my long shower didn’t leave me much time to play around with. After a good sleep and a hearty breakfast, getting dressed was less cumbersome than it’d been yesterday. My wrist still hurt, but it was improving every day. Once I was clean and clothed, I swallowed a painkiller and made my way down the winding tower stairs to the library.
Liam and Con were already there when I arrived, ensconced in high-backed armchairs. Liam held a coffee cup while Con clutched a whiskey glass. The director had aged ten years overnight. He looked haggard and unshaven. “Morning, Maggie. Come and take a seat.” He gestured to the sofa next to Liam’s armchair. “Can I offer either of you a whiskey?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks, but I’d love a coffee.”
“No whiskey for me either,” Liam said. “I’m on duty, even without my uniform.”
Con flinched at this reference to Liam’s profession. “I can’t believe this happened. I never thought someone would die on one of my sets.”
“But you thought something would happen?” Liam pressed, not missing a trick.
“Yeah. That’s why I hired Maggie.”
Not that my presence on the set had prevented Gretchen’s fall or Theresa’s death. The words hung in the air, silent but acknowledged.
After the director handed me my coffee, he refilled his whiskey glass from the decanter on the library desk. He slumped back into his armchair, nursing his glass. “She must’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with her. Did she have allergies?” The man oozed desperation, seeking reassurances we couldn’t provide.
“We’ll know more after the autopsy,” Liam said. “It’s scheduled for this afternoon.”
“Autopsy?” Con’s voice was hoarse, and his hands shook around his whiskey glass. I wondered how many whiskies he’d drunk this morning. “Don’t be ridiculous. The woman died of a heart attack. Or maybe she choked on her food. Was she chewing gum while dancing? It must have been some kind of accident. Or an illness.”
Liam and I let the director babble on in this fashion for a couple of minutes. Eventually, the man ran out of steam and returned to brooding over his whiskey.
“An autopsy is standard procedure in the case of an unexplained death.” Liam’s voice was quiet but firm.
Con ran an unsteady hand through his hair, disarranging his silver locks. “I’m telling you, the woman died of a heart attack.”
“She was pretty young for a heart attack,” I pointed out. “She can’t have been older than late forties.”
“Heart attacks can happen at any age,” the man insisted. “My uncle dropped dead at thirty-seven. One minute, he was tap-dancing on stage. The next, he was toes up.”
Liam shifted position on the sofa and clicked his pen. “Heart attack or not, we need to talk about the accidents that have occurred during your film shoot.”
Con blinked for a moment, unseeing. His eyes eventually came into focus on Liam. “I told you all about those last night.”
“You gave me a very abridged version of events,” Liam corrected. “Maggie filled me in over breakfast on what she knows, but I still have questions.”
The director rubbed his eyes. “Fire away, but make it quick. I’m due back on set in fifteen minutes.”
From the hard set of his jaw, Liam was struggling to keep his cool with Con. “Why didn’t you inform the police the moment you suspected you had a saboteur on the set?” he demanded.
Con groaned. “We’ve been over this already. I didn’t want the press getting wind of the accidents.”
“They might’ve heard rumors from a cast or crew member,” I interjected. “People on this set love to gossip.”
“Yes, but if I called in the cops, then everyone would know I was taking the accidents seriously. I didn’t want trouble from my backers. And as for the insurance company…” The director let his words trail off and drowned his sorrows with a slug of whiskey.
“If you thought people were in danger, you should’ve called the police.” Liam brimmed with disapproval. “Hiring a one-handed private eye isn’t good enough.”
“Hey,” I waved my good hand. “I’m sitting right here. You do have a point, though. I told Con I wasn’t muscle for hire.”
“I didn’t think anyone would get hurt.” Con’s voice devolved into a whine. “Until this weekend, no one had. And we don’t know that the death had anything to do with the trouble on the set. It might be a separate issue. Or, like I’ve been saying all along, the woman died of a heart attack.”
“It’s too late to worry about unwanted publicity now,” I said. “Theresa’s death will be all over the papers.”
“Her accidental death,” Con insisted. “It had nothing to do with our movie.”
“Given the way she died, I’d have thought an illness would be the first option to occur to you.” Liam’s voice was deceptively smooth, but I recognized the glint of a bloodhound on the hunt in his eyes. “Yet when you arrived on the scene, the first thing you asked was if she’d had an accident.”
“Well, of course I thought of an accident. With all the funny business we’ve had on set over the last few weeks, I was concerned. But obviously, this woman’s death has nothing to do with my movie.”
“Obviously.” Liam’s sarcasm didn’t appear to register on Con. My boyfriend tapped his pen against his notebook. “For a man who was worried enough to hire a private investigator, you seem mighty sure that Theresa’s death had nothing to do with your saboteur.”
“Alleged saboteur,” Con said quickly. “Maggie wasn’t able to prove anything.”
“Dude, please. I wasn’t able to narrow down a suspect, but I told you Gretchen’s fall was no accident.”
The director rocked back and forth
in his chair. “I can’t have the media learn of foul play on my set.”
I exchanged an exasperated look with Liam. “I understand you have a lot riding on this movie’s success, Con, but one woman is injured, and another is dead. We need to know if the incidents are linked.”
“The woman who died—what was her name again?”
“Theresa Crawley,” Liam supplied.
“Theresa was an extra, only here for the weekend. Even if we have a saboteur on the set, why would they kill an extra?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Liam said. “As for Theresa not being part of the permanent cast, maybe the saboteur’s goal is to shut down the shoot. If that’s the case, who they hurt is irrelevant.”
I shivered at this thought.
Con knocked back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another. “If Theresa’s death wasn’t an accident or a bad heart, what was the murder weapon?”
I glanced at Liam, who gave me a barely perceptible nod. “What about poisoning?” I suggested. “Her symptoms just before her collapse would fit with that.”
Con’s jaw dropped. “Poison? I’m shooting a romantic comedy, not an Agatha Christie rip-off.”
“Depending on the poison used, symptoms appear quickly. If the poison had been in one of the last shots Theresa drank before she assembled for the dance, the timing would be right for several possible poisons.”
The director scoffed. “That’s crazy talk. Coco barely adds alcohol to her shots, never mind poison.”
“Anyone could’ve tampered with the drinks,” I said. “There was a crowd present, and people were busy admiring one another’s costumes. The shots were quick to drink. I can’t say how many Theresa had for sure.”
“Who was with her in the marquee?” Liam asked. “Did you notice?”
A frisson of fear snaked down my spine. “Theresa arrived at the same time as my sister and Judd and then attached herself to them.”