by Nancy Warren
“You mean they broke up? Really? Then why is he down here telling everyone they were going to get married?”
“I can’t tell you that, but I advise you not to trust him. Please don’t give him anything that belonged to Brenda.”
Naturally, I was pretty stunned by this news. “Who should I give the books to?” That sounded inane. I tried again. “Do you know who her beneficiary is?”
“The truth is, I’m not sure she left a will. She was young, you see.” Her voice wobbled, and her grief traveled across the miles. “Likely, she thought she had lots of time.”
I thanked her and ended the call. I paced up and down the aisles between the bookshelves. No doubt it would look to an outsider like I was trying to find a particular volume, but really, I was thinking.
About lies and liars. About revenge. Treasures, whether magical moonstones or rundown Georgian houses.
I now knew that Dylan could have left any time on the day of Brenda’s murder or probably days before. He didn’t have a job.
It seemed he also didn’t have a fiancée.
And now, I wondered why Dylan McAuliffe had come to Ballydehag at all.
I went back over the facts and timelines as I knew them on the night that Brenda had died. The trouble was, I had various people’s stories, but I didn’t know which ones were true.
Dylan had lied about when he’d arrived, if Jack was to be believed—and he’d been poking around the O’Donnell house, if Biddy O’Donnell was to be believed. The trouble was, if there were ever two more unreliable witnesses than Jack Buckley and Biddy O’Donnell, I didn’t know who they were.
I decided to pay Jack a visit. He worked on cars, and I had no idea when my little runabout had last been serviced. I didn’t think I’d be biking any time soon. Not only was I pretty shaken up still, but my poor two-wheeler was banged up. I needed to get her to a bike shop and make sure she was sound before I headed out on the road again.
I decided I’d do the same for the car. Jack worked as a mechanic at Ballydehag Motors. I could take the car in and talk to Jack while he worked on her. It seemed like a brilliant plan, and so I wasted no time.
I found Ballydehag Motors without too much trouble. But from there, my plan went sadly awry when I saw the Garda vehicle parked in a visitor’s bay. I pulled into the customer parking area and got out of the car.
Three car bays were open, and in the middle one, I saw Jack standing in oil-stained, blue coveralls with a hard expression on his face. In front of him were Sergeant Kelly and DI Murphy. It didn’t look like a social call.
I probably should have gone back to my car and driven home, but I walked closer. Jack was facing me, and the other two had their backs to me. He glanced my way and then did a double take. The other two turned to look over their shoulders. Only Jack looked pleased to see me. Not pleased so much as desperate.
He said, “Quinn. They’re arresting me for murder. But I didn’t do it. Help me.” There was a harsh note of appeal in his tone. I thought how this wasn’t the first time he’d appealed to a woman to get him out of a jam. Sergeant Kelly finished reading him his rights and then handcuffed him and led him toward the police cruiser. DI Murphy hung back and said to me, “I’m surprised to see you here.”
I gestured at my car, glad I’d come here with an excuse. “I came to get the engine looked at. It’s making a funny noise.”
He looked at me as though I was the one making a funny noise. “I suggest you find another mechanic.”
“I thought he had an alibi for Brenda’s murder?”
DI Murphy gazed toward the cruiser where his sergeant had his hand on Jack’s head and was pushing him into the backseat. “It was a lie. Archie was covering up for him. After I’ve dealt with this idjit, I’ll be back to have a word with young Archie.”
Ouch. Lying to the police was never a smart idea.
And yet, I couldn’t prove it, but I suspected they had arrested the wrong man.
I had a problem, though. If I wanted to save Jack, I would have to trap someone else.
Chapter 16
I hated what I was about to do. My only consolation was that I would see justice served. But then the police did that all day long, and at least they got paid for it. And got treated with a lot more respect than I did.
I returned to my cottage, and on the way, to my horror, the engine started making a funny noise. “And that,” I said aloud, “is called being hoist with your own petard.”
I managed to get the car home only to find Lochlan Balfour waiting for me outside the front door of my cottage. I knew from experience that doors and locks had no meaning to a vampire, so I appreciated the courtesy with which he’d waited outside for me. He was touching the edge of one of the beautiful, red roses that climbed all over the front of my cottage. I pulled the car up and got out, and he said, “I’m so glad the old crone didn’t destroy your roses.”
“Well, I think she did and then put them back again.” But, like him, I was happy to see the roses looking undisturbed in spite of being surrounded and choked by thorny branches. And the scent was divine.
I unlocked the door and said, “Will you come in?”
He nodded and followed me inside. “Is there something wrong with your car? Your engine’s making a funny noise.”
I let out a despairing sigh. “It is. And the mechanic just got arrested.”
I found it wasn’t easy to surprise a vampire. Only by a fractional raising of one eyebrow did he show any surprise. “Jack, I assume.”
“Yep.”
He stared at my face for a slightly uncomfortable extra moment and then said, “And you don’t think he killed Brenda O’Donnell.”
Even more uncomfortably, he’d accurately read my thoughts. “I don’t. But how to prove it?”
I explained that Archie’s alibi for Jack hadn’t held up.
And while I didn’t believe Jack had killed Brenda, I had an uncomfortable suspicion about who did.
“When I was getting a lift from Drew Milsom, he mentioned that Brenda uttered two words on the way to the hospital. The last thing she said was,”—I paused and let the drama build—“our father.”
He looked as though he were waiting for more. I said, “That’s it. Our father. Drew assumed that she was asking for last rites.”
“And you don’t think that’s what she meant?”
“She seemed so modern. I felt that she was uncomfortable with the whole idea of a wake. That maybe she wasn’t as traditional as her father.”
“You’d be surprised how traditional people become on the brink of their deaths,” Lochlan informed me. “The most hardened atheist will shout ‘Help me, God’ at their last.”
I had an idea. Probably crazy, but something I wanted to pursue. “I’m going to do a spot of breaking and entering,” I said.
“Do you want some help?”
I paused. I did and I didn’t. I was hoping to rouse Biddy O’Donnell, and I wasn’t certain she’d appear if a vampire was with me. I said, “I need to do the first part by myself. Can I call you later?”
“Always.”
“Why are you here?” I doubted this was a social call.
“I got the results you asked for, the coroner’s report.”
“And?”
“Brenda O’Donnell died because of the blow from that candlestick. It had been wiped clean of fingerprints. Not much of a surprise. However, you might find some of the fingerprint results curious.”
“I’m listening.” More than listening, I was hanging on his every word.
He wasn’t reading from a report. He’d clearly memorized it. “In the master bedroom where Brenda died, they’ve identified prints from Brenda, her father, you, Archie, Karen Tate, Doctor Milsom and the women who laid Billy O’Donnell out for his burial.”
“Sure, that all makes sense.”
“They also found prints from Jack Buckley. Because he’d been convicted of a crime, his prints were in the database.”
“That
’s why Jack got arrested. It must be. They found the prints and focused on him.”
“He’s a plausible suspect. Though the evidence against him is entirely circumstantial.”
I nodded. “It’s almost too neat, isn’t it? He supposedly harbors a grudge against Brenda; she comes back to town, won’t talk to him, so he kills her.”
“It’s an effective story, though, you have to admit.”
“I don’t know. He came to see me.”
Lochlan had been relaxed. Now he stood upright and threatening. “That murderous swine came to see you? When? Where?”
“In my shop. During open hours of business.”
“I don’t like it. You should have called me.”
I liked that my new neighbor was so protective of me, but he was going a bit far. “He wasn’t threatening. He came to tell me he’s in a twelve-step program and he wanted to make amends.”
Lochlan made a sound of disbelief. Like coughing without opening his lips. “Easy enough to spin a tale once Brenda O’Donnell was dead. She could hardly dispute with him, could she?”
“No. But he told me he’d been to see Billy before he died. He described finding Billy in his bedroom reading a book. He said Brenda’s father accepted his apology for his past behavior. If it’s true, that would explain his fingerprints being in that room.”
“If it’s true.” Lochlan did not sound convinced.
“Well, if we want to talk about spinning tales, what about Dylan? He said he was her fiancé. He said he’d only driven down that day because he’d been tied up at work, but in fact, he got fired, so he had nothing but time. Why didn’t he come to her father’s wake?”
“I feel certain you’re going to tell me.”
I was. I’d been relishing this bit of news. “Because Brenda had broken up with him.”
Lochlan didn’t respond dramatically, but I’d caught his interest.
“He arrived earlier than he said the day she was killed. He tried to talk to her, she blew him off. Maybe she told Archie to go for dinner so she could have it out with Dylan once and for all.”
“And he killed her.” He thought about that. “It’s possible. But if that was true, why show up later and pretend he’d only just arrived?”
“He’s a lawyer, remember. Maybe he was trying to establish his innocence. Arriving when the police were crawling all over the house. Putting on a show of grief. Rushing off to the hospital.” I sighed, recalling Dylan’s reaction that night. “Or his grief was genuine.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her,” Lochlan reminded me.
I waited until well after dark to go to the O’Donnell place. I wore jeans and a black sweater. I didn’t go as far as putting on a balaclava or darkening my face, but I kept my outfit as drab as possible, hoping to avoid notice in a town where pretty much everyone’s hobby seemed to be spying on their neighbors.
I parked a block away, thinking if anyone was listening intently, the sound of my faulty engine would give me away. Still, when I got out of the car, it was quiet. Not even a dog barked. I walked as though I had every right to be on that street. Brenda’s car was still parked out front, but the white van had gone. I felt a jolt of momentary anger. Had someone stolen the dead woman’s stuff? Then common sense suggested it had been a rental that needed to be returned. I wondered who’d taken on that job.
Opening a locked door is not a very difficult spell, but one I’ve tried not to use too often. However, tonight I felt no qualms about my unauthorized entry into an empty house. I was fairly certain that both Billy O’Donnell and Brenda O’Donnell would welcome my attempts to solve Brenda’s murder.
I walked in, and knowing I would meet the heaviness, I tried to welcome it. I stood still for probably two minutes, just listening. I heard nothing. Even worse, I sensed nothing.
I made a quick tour through the downstairs rooms, but everything looked exactly as it had been the night Brenda was murdered, except that the furniture and boxes had been unloaded from the rental van and brought back in. The items Brenda had intended to keep were now stacked in the front room.
With a sinking feeling, I made my way up the stairs. When the house was full of people, I hadn’t noticed that the stairs creaked, but by myself, the sound of the creaking stair treads was eerily reminiscent of horror movies that had terrified me when I was young. Worse, I wouldn’t be shocked to discover this was a haunted house. I already knew it. And I was dumb enough to come inside all by myself late at night.
When I got to the top of the stairs, I didn’t hear movement so much as sense a presence. “Biddy O’Donnell? I need to talk to you.”
There was a sound of muttering and what might have been a curse, and then, before she appeared, I smelled the body odor and old earth that I associated with her. And she came out of the master bedroom, her scraggy, old familiar following behind.
“What do you want?” They both glared at me. She sounded very suspicious, as though I was up to no good.
She was the one who was up to no good, and I knew it. “Where did you hide it?”
Those crafty old eyes were visible even in the darkness. “Where did I hide what?”
“The papers. Whatever legal papers you found that you’ve hidden away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To cause chaos. To buy you some time while you figure out how to make this house yours. Am I right?”
She cackled. Cackled like a crazy old witch in a cheesy horror film. “The property’s mine. I already told you that.”
“No. The property was yours. Hundreds of years ago. And now you are causing trouble for a lot of people.” I was going to suggest to her that she might have also been partly responsible for a death, but I didn’t think that would bother her. It seemed she’d been responsible for several deaths back in her time.
Self-interest drove Biddy O’Donnell. If she could be cunning, perhaps I could be cunning too. I said, “If there is no will, then a lot of very officious people will keep walking through this house. Police and lawyers and judges.” I emphasized the word judges because I suspected the last time she’d met a judge, the result had been a noose around her neck. As I had hoped, she flinched at that word.
“And if I happened to see such a document? Why would I give it to you?”
“Because the more quickly we can solve the murder of the woman who died here, the sooner I can help you secure this property for yourself.”
Her gaze sharpened at that. “You’d do that?”
“I could think about it.” It was a lie, but in the big picture, maybe using a lie to get at the truth was worth it.
She stared at me, and those small, black eyes narrowed. “Very well. But if this is a trick, remember, you know what I’m capable of.”
“Oh yes. Are you going to wrap my cottage with tree boughs again and squeeze me to death this time?”
She looked secretly amused. “No. I have something far better in mind.”
I didn’t mean to be sidetracked, but I couldn’t help myself. “Why did you do that? If you wanted my help? Why did you try to kill me?”
She made a sound like “pshaw.” “You were never in any danger. I was merely making sure I still had the gift.”
Some gift.
“Anyway, I put everything back better than I found it. The roses have an extra bloom on them now, and the dingy plaster’s scrubbed up as good as new.”
She was right. I thought the scent of the roses was sweeter too, but I wouldn’t give her any compliments. The last thing I wanted was her meddling any more in my cottage.
Biddy O’Donnell disappeared. I didn’t turn on a light because I didn’t want neighbors to suspect there was someone inside. I now regretted coming so late. After a couple of nerve-stretching minutes, she returned holding a leather folder and handed it to me.
I hated going back into that bathroom where Biddy had frightened me, not once but twice. However, it was the only room I could think of that I could shut myself in and turn on t
he electric light without alerting nosy neighbors that there was someone in the house. There was no window in the bathroom.
So I took the leather folder into the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the light. I kept my gaze studiously away from the mirror, but I knew Biddy was there watching me. The folder contained the deed to the house and, as I had hoped, the last will and testament of Billy O’Donnell. Once again, my training in a law office came in handy, and I rapidly got to the important part of the will. And discovered I’d been right. And how I wished I hadn’t been.
I said, “I need to take this away with me.”
Her voice came from the mirror. “But you’ll not trick me? And you’ll make sure I get what I want?”
“As far as I’m able.” I tapped the will in the palm of my hand. “Biddy.” I wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “Biddy, that skinny, red-haired woman you said you saw in this house. When was that?”
Again she looked at me rather vaguely. I had to remember that someone who had been in the ground for hundreds of years probably didn’t have the most accurate sense of time. I tried again. “Was it after you frightened me in the bathroom? After you wrote that message telling me to go away?”
She nodded. “It was.”
The thing with Biddy O’Donnell was, I wasn’t entirely sure when to believe her. She seemed to think truth was flexible and she could bend it to suit her convenience.
Still, I had another stop to make.
I went back to my car and called Karen Tate. “I know it’s short notice and kind of late,” I said. “But there’s something important I need to ask you.”
She seemed surprised but willing. “I live in the flat above the shop. Come around back, and I’ll let you in.”
My heart felt heavy as I rapped on her door. Karen looked surprised to see me on her doorstep at nine o’clock at night, but otherwise blameless. She opened the door wide and stepped back, gesturing to her clothing. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t dress for you. This is what I wear when I’m lounging around watching the telly.” I completely understood, as I wore the same kinds of things in the evening. She had on soft, gray sweatpants and a striped T-shirt. Her feet were bare. “Come in.”