by Zara Keane
“Yeah.” He scrunched up his forehead. “Acting furtive for sure. I put it down to the outfit. I figured she’d been sleeping with someone she shouldn’t and had to make a run for it when his wife came home.”
“Or she’d just witnessed a murder,” I suggested, “and was fleeing in terror.”
“Or she’d just committed a murder,” Reynolds countered, “and was making her getaway.”
“Surely a woman who’d just killed a man wouldn’t make a getaway half naked,” I said. “Wouldn’t she have gotten dressed first?”
“Did you see any discarded women’s clothing in the house or barn?” Reynolds asked.
I shook my head. “You?”
“No.” He sighed. “I don’t like this. We have to find that woman. Can you give us an exact description, Lenny? Age? Build? Height?”
“Hard to tell height with her crouched so low. As for age…” Lenny considered the point. “I dunno. Forties? Older than us at any rate. Her hair was the sort of blond that reminds me of my sister’s dolls. It was…bouffant? I dunno how to describe it. I’m not an expert on hairstyles.”
I flipped through my mental photo book of hairstyles. “Big? Do you mean like a beehive? Or an Eighties backcombed look?”
“I’m not sure. It looked kind of weird, but then the outfit wasn’t exactly what I usually see people wearing on Whisper Island, so I just put it down to her being eccentric.”
Reynolds rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. I’ll need you to give me a formal statement, Lenny. Maggie, thanks for your time.”
“You can’t just dismiss me like that,” I said in tones of outrage. “Not when things are getting interesting. If I hadn’t asked Lenny to meet me at the station, you’d never have heard about this half-naked woman running around the fields.”
One corner of his mouth curved. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I’m in charge of investigating crimes on Whisper Island.”
I began to protest, but he cut me off.
“Go back to the café, Maggie. Maybe your P.I. business will turn up an interesting case for you to work on.”
I glared at him, but I knew when I was beaten. “Okay. Please let me know if you discover anything relevant to Paddy Driscoll’s missing sheep.”
Reynolds’s expression darkened. “After I take Lenny’s statement, I intend to pay Paddy a visit.”
Poor old Paddy. Even though I was irritated by the man’s impatience for progress on an impossible case, I didn’t envy him that interview with Sergeant Reynolds. “Be nice. I don’t think he had anything to do with the murder.”
“Thank you for sharing your opinion with me. Now go and let me do my job.”
I turned on my heel and stomped out of the police station. I walked back to the café in a state of frustrated preoccupation, weaving through the crowds of people. This time of year, Smuggler’s Cove was alive with tourists. They poured out of every store, café, and business, including my bank.
I bit back a sigh. Jimmy’s murder was a million times more interesting than Paddy’s missing sheep, but however much I wanted to be involved in the murder inquiry, my bank balance demanded that I concentrated on paying cases. All the same, I’d use tonight’s dinner to pump the Huffingtons for info on Jimmy. Outside the café, I flexed my shoulders. Time to serve scones and field questions about my latest dead body.
DESPITE MY BEST INTENTIONS, I barely made it to the Whisper Island Hotel on time that evening. My shift at the café had been busy, leaving me with no spare moments to devote to the Case of the Missing Sheep, and the few tidbits I’d gleaned from customers at the café weren’t sufficient to justify my expenses. Juggling shifts at the café and a new case was no easy feat, but I wasn’t in a financial position to scale back on the work for my aunt.
When I pulled into the Whisper Island Hotel’s parking lot, I snagged the last available spot. I rummaged through my purse and found my phone. I’d told Paddy I’d call him with an update, and I’d follow through, even though I had nothing of substance to report.
“Hey,” I said when he answered. “I’m calling to check in with you as promised. I’m going to need a few more days before I can type up my initial report.”
Total baloney. At this rate, my report would consist of one sentence.
“I’ll pay your fee until the end of next week,” Paddy muttered. “If you’ve made no progress by then, we’ll call it quits.”
“That sounds like a plan.” And way more reasonable than I’d expected him to be after last night’s rant.
“I might have overreacted last night,” Paddy said, unconsciously echoing my thoughts. “Sorry about that. I get emotional when it comes to Nancy.”
This was an understatement, but I let it slide. “Don’t worry about it. I get that it’s a difficult topic for you.”
His only response was a grunt. “I heard you found Jimmy Wright’s body.”
“Yes.” I paused for a beat, and my naturally suspicious nature kicked in. “I’d just found him when you called.”
“I guess we might never know the truth now.”
Paddy’s tone was morose and defeatist and hammered home to me how much discovering the sheep’s fate meant to him. However absurd I found his obsession, I had to respect his dedication to finding out the truth. However, I couldn’t help wondering how much Paddy knew about Jimmy’s death. Was the timing of his call yesterday a coincidence? He was aware I intended to talk to Jimmy, and he could have guessed I’d do it when my shift at the café ended.
I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. Time to wrap this up. “Let’s wait and see what I uncover over the next few days. The right question could jog someone’s memory.”
“Okay,” Paddy said. “I’ll let you get going to that fancy dinner of yours.”
“How did you—?” The pieces clicked into place. “Noreen mentioned it to you.”
“She did. I never had time for Jimmy Wright, but I’d like to get a look at his rich aunt.” He chuckled. “Helen went to school with my father. He said she was quite a looker.”
“You might be in luck. If I know Noreen, she’ll do her best to persuade the Huffingtons to come to tomorrow night’s Movie Club meeting.”
“Yeah. She probably will. I’ll see you then.”
“Bye, Paddy.”
I slipped my phone back into my purse. After a quick makeup check in the rear view mirror, I got out of the car and smoothed the bodice of my royal blue strapless midi dress. I’d paired the dress with nude strappy sandals, and kept my jewelry to the silver loops my mother had given me for Christmas, and a simple Irish triskelion pendant that I’d won at a pub quiz a few weeks ago. No doubt I’d pale in comparison to the Huffington family’s finery, but I wouldn’t disgrace my grandmother’s memory in front of her oldest friend.
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Somehow, I’d steer the conversation toward Jimmy Wright’s murder. An elderly aunt wasn’t likely to know much about how her nephew met a sticky end, but it was worth a shot.
5
IN STARK CONTRAST to earlier in the year, business at the Whisper Island Hotel was booming. The tourist season was in full swing, and the lobby teemed with guests. I cut a path across the slick marble floor and almost crashed into Melanie Greer, de facto hotel manager, and my teenage nemesis.
Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Maggie? What are you doing here?”
“That’s a lovely way to greet a restaurant guest,” I said smoothly. “I have a dinner date with your mysterious silent partner.”
At the mention of Huff Huffington, Melanie’s tanned face paled. “You know Huff?”
“Not yet. His mother was my grandmother’s best friend. They’ve invited my family and me to join them for dinner.”
“So that’s why I saw Julie and Philomena going into the restaurant,” she mused. “I thought it was out of their price range.”
“Tactful as ever,” I said dryly. “Now if you’d let me past…”
She placed a tentative hand on
my arm, halting my progress. “If you could put in a good word for Paul and me, we’d be very grateful. As you know, things have been…difficult…over the last year.”
“If the topic comes up, which I doubt, I’ll put in a good word for you,” I said pointedly. While I didn’t intend to blab about Paul’s embezzlement now that he’d reimbursed the hotel for the money he’d stolen, I wasn’t prepared to lie about his stellar management skills.
Melanie bit her lip and inclined her neck in acknowledgment. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Leaving her with a worried expression on her expertly made-up face, I hurried into the restaurant.
A waiter hailed me the instant I walked into the room. He looked me up and down and gave a low whistle. “Hello, Maggie. Long time, no see. You look good out of your maid’s uniform.”
“No one looks good in that uniform. How are you doing, Piotr?” I smiled warmly at the tall Polish waiter with the basketball player’s build. I didn’t know him well, but we’d crossed paths during my undercover investigation at the hotel earlier this year.
“I’m pretty good, thanks.” He grinned. “It’s not so quiet as when you worked here.”
“I can see that.” Like the lobby, the restaurant was packed.
Piotr glanced at the computerized register. “You’re here to join the Huffington party with your aunts and cousin?”
“That’s correct.”
He motioned for me to follow him. “Come on. I’ll show you to the table.”
On our way through the packed restaurant, I spotted Noreen, sitting at a table near a window and waving madly at me. Philomena and Julie sat beside her, both in more formal attire than I was used to seeing them in beyond our Movie Club nights. As I’d suspected, all of our finery paled in comparison to the designer dresses worn by the other women at the table. My gaze swept over our hosts, taking in an elderly woman who must be Helen Huffington, two younger women, two men in their thirties, and a large man at the head of the table who had to be the infamous Huff Huffington.
Noreen stood and hauled me to the only free seat at the table, beside a handsome young man of around thirty. “Everyone, this is my other niece, Margaret.”
Margaret? No one had ever called me that, not even my mother. I sat down and exchanged a quizzical look with Julie, who shot me a commiserating expression from the other side of the table.
Helen Huffington was a tiny, bird-like woman in her eighties. She smiled warmly at me from her end of the table. “It’s lovely to meet you. You’re the spitting image of May.” At my blank expression, she laughed. “That’s what I used to call your grandmother when we were in school. She hated the name, Peggy.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, too, Mrs. Huffington. I enjoy reading the old movie magazines you sent my grandmother. My aunts kept her collection.”
Helen clapped her hands together as though I’d just completed a performance she’d found pleasing. “How delightful. I like knowing those magazines are being enjoyed by a new generation. Living so far apart, and with little time to write long letters, exchanging magazines was our way of keeping in touch over the years. And please, call me Helen, dear. Mrs. Huffington sounds stuffy.”
“Helen, then.” The name felt strange on my tongue. With her carefully styled snowy-white hair and expensive but tasteful jewelry, Helen looked as regal as the Dowager Countess in Downton Abbey.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of my family.” Helen turned to the man seated to her left. “This is my grandson, Rosie, and his wife, Candace.”
Rosie, presumably Ambrose J. Huffington IV, winced, and his scowl didn’t enhance his homely looks. “Amb, Grandmother. I prefer to go by Amb.”
A guffaw of laughter drew my attention to the head of the table. I needed no introduction to know who this was. Ambrose J. “Huff” Huffington III was a large man in every sense of the word. He wasn’t fat, but he was well padded, and he had the look of a college athlete gone to seed. Huff had a magnetic presence that, while not charming, made him the central focus of the table, even while his mother had taken the reins on the introductions. I took an instant dislike to the guy.
“Amb?” he sneered. “What sort of a name is that? I’ve called you Rosie since you were in diapers, and Rosie you’ll stay.”
A flush crept over his son’s face, right up to his receding hairline. Amb opened his mouth as if to speak, but his wife laid a hand on his arm.
“I believe Margaret is our new neighbor, honey. She’s one of the permanent residents at the complex.” Candace gave me a brittle smile that wasn’t reflected in her iron-gray eyes. “Such quaint little houses. Where do you put all your stuff?”
“Oh, you know. Shoeboxes under my bed,” I said breezily, ignoring my aunt’s warning look. “So you’re the family who’s rented the other houses at Shamrock Cottages until the end of the month?”
“That’s right. Candy and Rosie are in Number One, and I’m staying in Number Two.” The guy beside me smiled, displaying even, pearly white teeth. “I’m Doug, the black sheep of the family.”
His laugh implied that he was anything but. Doug was good-looking in a clean-cut frat boy kind of way with a wide jaw, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes. His confident appraisal of me sent a warning prickle down my spine. I couldn’t put my finger on why—maybe it was the frat boy look—but Doug Huffington reminded me of my ex.
I snuck a glance across the table. My cousin bit her lip but failed to control her heaving shoulders. Her mother, Philomena, gave me a grin and a conspiratorial wink. I bit back a groan. My aunts would never stop trying to matchmake me with every single man who crossed our paths.
“And last but not least,” Helen said, “my son, Huff, and his wife, Brandi.”
“That’s Brandi with an ‘i’,” Doug whispered, leaning closer to me than I cared for. “The ‘i’ is very important.”
I focused on Doug’s father. Huff Huffington gave me a cursory once-over and scowled as though I hadn’t passed muster. His wife barely glanced my way and didn’t deign to acknowledge me. She couldn’t have been older than her mid-twenties. Younger than Julie and me at any rate. Her blond hair had been teased into a style that would have made Dolly Parton proud, and her enormous breasts didn’t fit her petite frame. Still, there was no denying the expensive cut of her dress, and I’d bet the diamonds on the elaborate choker around her neck were the real deal.
Once the introductions were over, I waited for the menus to appear, but none did. In response to my raised eyebrow, my cousin whispered, “Huff’s already ordered.”
I blinked. Hey, I wasn’t that late. “But I haven’t had a chance to look at a menu.”
“Dad likes to order for everyone,” Doug explained in a breezy voice, once again leaning into my space in a presumptuous fashion. “If we don’t want to eat what Huff likes, tough luck.”
Wow. Even my former mother-in-law hadn’t been that domineering.
By the time the first course arrived, I deeply regretted giving in to my aunt’s pressure to attend this dinner. The food was good, even if Huff’s menu choices were on the conservative side, but it irked me that he dominated the conversation. On the couple of occasions that Noreen attempted to get a word in edgewise, the man talked over her. We were treated to a list of all his family members’ failings, complaints about the service at the hotel, and a list of reasons why the Irish were backward and lazy.
The only person who appeared to have any influence over Huff was his mother, but Helen seemed content to play with her food and listen to her son drone on about people we didn’t know and insult each of his relatives in turn.
I swallowed a bite of my steak and pounced on the next conversational lull before Huff could start again. “I found a dead body yesterday.”
All eyes at the table were drawn to me, some curious, and others aghast. I took a sip of my wine and weighed my next words with care. I had no idea how well Helen had known her nephew. She didn’t give the impression of a woman in mourning, but I didn’t want
to be insensitive. “I understand you knew the deceased.”
Helen coughed into her napkin. Huff turned puce. An ominous silence fell over the table.
“Maggie says he was murdered,” Julie piped up. “She’s always finding dead bodies.”
“Not always,” I amended, “but I have found the occasional corpse during my time on Whisper Island.”
“That sounds fascinating,” Helen said, recovering her composure. “Noreen tells me you’re a private investigator.”
“That’s correct, although my job had little to do with me finding Jimmy Wright’s body.”
Noreen gave me a swift kick under the table. I ignored her and kept my attention on Helen. Her face remained a perfect blank. “Tell me about this missing sheep, dear. Your aunt mentioned the case. A farmer looking for a sheep after twenty years sounds just like the Whisper Island I remember.”
I swallowed a sigh but obliged her with a brief overview of the case. As soon as I got to the part about going to Jimmy’s farm to question him, Huff’s booming voice drowned me out.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining about that cottage. The listing said it sleeps up to four people. That’s plenty big for you, Candace, and the kid. Aren’t they plenty big, Maggie? You live in one, don’t you?”
It was the first time this evening that Huff had engaged me in conversation. I doubted the timing was a coincidence. “They’re fine for one or two people. More would be a squash, but they’re designed for holidaymakers, not permanent residents. My neighbor and I are the exceptions.”
“I don’t see why Hailey couldn’t join us for dinner tonight,” Amb muttered. “She likes steak.”
“Once she’s out of diapers, she’s welcome to join us,” Huff said. “Until then, she stays with a sitter.”
Candace reared up in indignation. “Hailey is almost six years old. She’s been potty trained for years.”
“Then why did she pee her pants the last time she visited me?” Hailey’s less-than-adoring grandfather demanded. “All I did was ask her to clear her playthings off the lawn.”