Drawn into a tight bundle of sadness, she sat at the edge of the pew, shaking off Eddie’s, or anyone’s, attempts to comfort her. Chin down, she bore her anguish with periods of whimpers broken by short pauses of shallow, desperate recovery breaths, before breaking into more wrenching sobs. I’d seen this before. Ona had just begun walking the path of grief, a journey burdened by the heavy load of denial, anger, bitter loss, and all the raw wounds of a mother who’d loved and lost.
She wept alone, she’d walk alone, and in the end, she would mourn alone. There was no avoiding it.
Without his mother to comfort, Eddie wavered: Which way to go, what to do? He fidgeted uncomfortably, turning around in the pew several times, his one good eye darting about like a loose pinball, blinking angry tears as he searched the crowd. For whom? I wondered.
He turned back around as Colm wrapped up the homily with one final platitude. “Our faith offers us hope. For as devastating as this loss is, we can take comfort in the fact that in the end, love conquers death.”
The woman next to me sighed and dabbed her eyes.
I bit my lip. “Love conquers death ”? Really? Just how’s that working for Ona? Love might sweeten life. But only justice avenges death.
On the way out, I got caught up in a black clump of perfume-infused mourners and emerged into the stark daylight breathless and a bit dizzy. A small number of press dotted the sidewalk, for a change keeping a respectful distance. Few in number now, but still an unwelcomed sight. IRISH GYPSY GIRL MUTILATED BY DEMON WORSHIPERS was too good of a story to let stand. Bloody occult killings made for titillating, juicy stuff. The Bone Gap gypsies had sizzled hot in the headlines for days, finally eclipsed by an even riper story: a familicide in a tiny rural town south of Nashville. The father blew the brains out of his wife and three kids before mouthing the barrel himself.
I cringed at reveling in another family’s misery, but such a horrific story would dominate the next edition of the papers and hopefully push us to the back page. Or at least someplace midcopy. We could use the reprieve.
* * *
They put Maura Keene’s casket in a grave next to her father’s. Our culture and faith taught that the body corrupts, but the soul is immortal, never ceasing to exist. Our loved ones are but resting, waiting for us, until we’re reunited again. Death does not mark the end.
The sun peaked in the midday sky as the first handfuls of dirt were thrown and condolences uttered. The shadow of her father’s tombstone crept over Maura’s open grave—the Shadow of Death.
It all seemed very final to me.
CHAPTER 10
Meg told me not to accept Riana’s invitation. I should have listened to her. But the opportunity to get this close to the Meaths, to Nevan’s sister, was too good to pass up. Anything to help the case.
So here I was, sitting in Riana’s mobile home, sipping wine from plastic cups with “my girls.” Riana’s phrase, not mine. She’d said it a dozen times so far: my girls this and my girls that. “I’ve sure missed my girls,” and—big hugs and gushes all around—“I’m so glad to be here with all my girls.”
The wine soured on my tongue. I’d ceased being one of Riana’s girls, one of the old gang, the night they held me down and shaved off my hair.
Had they completely forgotten?
At least Leena seemed to remember. A quick, painful glimpse at my hair sent her silently brooding over a fashion magazine. She gave the ads her full attention, not looking up again. Bogged down by guilt perhaps. Or regret. Her own auburn curls had been shaven off amidst recent chemo treatments. Easier, she’d confided, than constantly cleaning clumps of hair off the bathroom floor. The story had run through the grapevine: “So sad”; “Too young for breast cancer, poor thing”; “She’d had such beautiful hair.” Had she thought of me when the hairdresser ran the shears over her scalp? Karma bites.
Then there was Noreen, or Nora as we girls called her, who’d always been the nerd of the group. No more. She’d lost her glasses, dropped ten pounds, and learned to play up her assets, which generously bulged between her elbows as she leaned over the polished wood table. She’d married up, I learned (whispered in my ear from Riana), to a Pavee man from a clan down south, who made a fortune in the “insurance” business. Which in lay terms meant he purchased large policies on family members and collected big payouts when they kicked the bucket. Not illegal, yet not completely ethical, either. Anyway, it looked like Nora’s bustline had benefited from the family business.
Shy Shannon had folded herself neatly in a nearby chair. Close enough to hear our conversation, but still hovering on the peripheral edge. A glance her way would get you a quiet smile and perhaps a shrug, a nervous little giggle and a flash of a dimple, but rarely much else. She’d always been that way. A filler, of sorts, in the gap between Riana and the rest of us, a minion. There, but in the background, holding my feet as the others shaved my head. As if out of sight meant out of mind. Not for me, Shannon. Not for me.
By Traveller standards, Riana was the one who’d fared the best, as was fitting for the ringleader. She’d married Pete Riley, a big shot in the clan, even back in our day. A semifamous boxer, he’d travelled the country making a name for himself in the bare-knuckle fighting circuit. Word was that some bigwig coach from the WBA was courting him, and a major contract was in the works. Yes, Riana had done well for herself.
A lot better than if she’d married her first love—Dublin Costello.
Way back when, she’d been in love with Dub. Most Pavee girls were, or at least considered him quite the catch. Which is why it was such a shock when he set his sights on me, a stigmatized mixed girl from a family with few assets. Gramps, never one to miss a moneymaking opportunity, swooped in and took advantage of Dub’s interest by negotiating a profitable backroom deal that sealed my future as Mrs. Dublin Costello. I was expected to accept my fate. Arranged marriages were, and always had been, an acceptable, even cherished part of our culture.
What neither Gramps, nor anyone, had taken into consideration was the fact that I would refuse to marry Dub. I shocked the clan. Most of all, Riana. I’d turned down the man who’d scorned her. As if she didn’t hate me enough because Dublin had chosen me over her, I’d dared to reject him. All the more reason to condemn me, single me out, and teach me a lesson. What she never knew, what she would never know, was that shaving my head, which might, under normal circumstances, have been humiliating, was child’s play compared to what Dub Costello had done to me.
And here we were, a decade later. Pretending nothing had ever happened.
Kids and husbands and home decoration dominated our inane discussion for the first twenty minutes. More wine, a nibble of cheese here and there, and the discussion progressed to diet plans, and the latest fashion trends, parties and socials: How could so and so have worn the same dress to two events? What was she thinking? And did you know that Little Petey’s teachers think he’s gifted? Then a pouty face and a big sigh from Riana: Poor Ona. How can she bear losing a child? And my Nevan, my poor little heartbroken brother. Poor Nevan. Poor me. Me. Me. Me . . .
And then all eyes turned to me.
“You don’t honestly think Nevan could have killed Maura, do you?” Riana batted innocent lamb eyes my way. Finally the wolf in sheep’s clothing emerges.
“I can’t really discuss the case.”
“We won’t tell,” Nora promised. She leaned her ample bosom forward as she poured more wine into my cup.
“That’s right,” Riana said. “We’re all just friends here. Friends don’t keep secrets from one another, do they, Shannon?”
Shannon glanced sideways and grinned, noncommittal, but not objecting. Not out of sight, Shannon.
I took a gulp of wine. “Right now, we’re looking at everybody.” The “everybody” lingered as I batted my own eyelashes at the girls.
Leena looked up from the magazine. “But you can’t really think it’s one of us?”
I offered my best noncommittal little shru
g. “I just do what my boss tells me.”
“Settled law,” Riana sneered. I remember that sneer from our teen years. It still sent shivers up my spine. “I never would have guessed you for one of them.”
“I never would have guessed any of us to be where we are now.” I tipped my glass in her direction. “You, for example, Riana.”
“What about me?”
Time to pour it on. “Mrs. Pete Riley. He’s practically famous. And you have a brood of boys, too.” They had five boys, at last count. In fact, they’d parked another mobile home behind this one and connected them with a wooden breezeway. As a bonus, Kitty and Nevan lived right next door. Free babysitting, too. “Lucky you.”
She twirled a strand of blond hair, gloating, but tense, as if uncertain if this was a compliment. “I do feel very fortunate.”
Leena looked on longingly. Chemo must have killed her chances for a passel of noisy brats.
“Rory and I haven’t been able to have any children,” Nora whimpered. “We’ve tried everything.”
“Mission style.” Shannon blushed. “With a pillow under your hips so the spermies don’t have to swim too hard.”
“Tried that.”
“Honey,” someone said.
Leena’s brows crept up her bald head. “Eat it or smear it on each other’s bodies?”
Giggles.
Riana grinned wickedly. “Smear it, then eat it.”
More giggles and the tension evaporated as we unscrewed another bottle of wine.
I needed to ask questions, extract some useful information, but instead I’d just lost my questioning advantage to sticky-sex imagery.
I sipped my wine and glanced around the room. We were back to just a bunch of girls enjoying each other’s company and having a good time. Except Riana. Her laughter now felt forced, undercut by hatred, or something more. Fear? The bully afraid? That was a switch. What did she fear I’d bring out in the conversation now?
Riana suddenly stood and reached into one of the kitchen cabinets. “Shhh . . . my secret hiding spot.” She held up a joint.
Shannon’s reaction surprised me as she quickly rose to crank open a window, then joined us around the table. A closet pothead? She beamed expectantly at the group for approval. Enthusiastic nods ensued.
Except from me. “No thanks.” I was a cop. I couldn’t participate. Besides, pot wasn’t my thing. Just booze and illicit opiates, but only when I was alone.
Silence choked the room and I felt myself transported right back to the old days. Always the party pooper, I was. I went to take another sip. My cup was empty. No one offered me a refill.
“Uh-oh.” Riana dramatically placed her hand over her heart in mock concern. “We’re in trouble now, girls. Brynn the copper might arrest us.”
Shannon swallowed, looked like she might burst into tears. “I didn’t do nothing.”
I chuckled. “Relax. No one’s in trouble.”
Riana lowered her chin and looked up at me. “You mean, you’re not going to turn us in? Aren’t you the law? Isn’t this illegal?” She waved the joint in my face.
I bristled. “What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem, Brynn. You do.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“Seems to me that you can’t decide where your loyalties fall.”
“Loyalty? How about enough loyalty to want to find the sick bastard who butchered and killed one of the girls in the clan!”
Screw them. What was I thinking? I wasn’t going to get anything useful from these girls. I pushed back from the table and headed for the door, turned back at the last moment and leveled my gaze on Riana. “If you see Nevan, tell him I’m looking for him.”
CHAPTER 11
“I don’t have to talk to you. You’re not welcome here. Leave.” Ona’s angry face glared through the narrow opening of her door. Colm had said she was upset, so I’d waited a day before calling on her, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed answers.
“Maura’s autopsy showed a pregnancy,” I blurted before she could get the door shut.
She reacted as if I’d just slapped her, flinching, her eyes darting about nervously.
I pushed: “But you already knew about the baby, didn’t you?” She steadied her gaze on me. The darkness in her eyes sent shivers through me. “Let me come inside, Ona. So we can talk about this.” I was glad I’d caged Wilco back in the cruiser. Ona would be reluctant to let me in with a sixty-pound police dog at my side.
“No. I don’t want you in here.”
“Why? We’ve always been friendly.” I would have said, “We’d always been friends,” but that wasn’t quite true. Ona, at least fifteen years older than me, was closer in age to my mother than me. Widowed young, with two children, her life had been one struggle after another. Still, she carried an air of superiority about her. I’d always had the feeling she looked down on me for being only part Pavee and a child of an unwed mother. Like many in the clan, she’d labeled me as a half-breed. And now that I’d joined forces with settled people, and was a cop, I’d picked up another label: graansha. Outsider.
All that was fine. I could take it. But anger welled inside me as I thought of Gran and the hurt in her eyes as she talked about being shut out from Ona yesterday. I fought to temper it, keep it from interfering with the job before me. “You can’t deny the pregnancy, Ona. The medical examiner’s report proves it.”
Her gaze was defiant, but her lower lip quivered. Was it fear, like Colm thought, or something else?
“I don’t believe Nevan was the baby’s father. There was someone else, wasn’t there?” The irony wasn’t lost on me. This woman had spent a lifetime adhering to her strict moral ideals, working hard to instill those very morals in her children, probably using people like me as an example of how not to be, and then her own daughter, Maura, betrayed everything she’d worked so hard to cultivate.
Pride comes before the fall.
I pressed harder. I needed her to crack, open up, and give me information. “She got pregnant by a settled boy. And you knew—”
“No! My Maura wasn’t like that!” She tried to slam the door shut, but I’d anticipated that and had already stuck my foot against the jamb.
“Like what, Ona?” Like my mother?
Her eyes popped. Tears sprang along the edges. “Get off my property!”
I leaned forward. “Did Nevan know he wasn’t the baby’s father?”
A tremor rippled through her muscles. I saw it. Plain as day. The fear Colm referred to. What was it that had her so scared? “Ona, what is it you’re not telling me? Has someone threatened you?”
“Leave her alone.” The voice, angry and masculine, came from directly behind me. I startled. My foot drew back; the door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
I turned. “Eddie.” He stood not five feet from me, his hand gripping a leash. The Lurcher on the other end curled its lips and snarled. Inside my car, Wilco went nuts, barking and scratching at the window. I tensed, but kept my gaze steady on Eddie’s one good eye. The other was patched like a pirate’s. “How are you feeling, Eddie?”
“What do you think? I’m half blind now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not. You couldn’t care less. You’re out to get us like all the other damned coppers. Your own people. Everyone says you’re a traitor.”
“I’m doing my job, Eddie. Trying to bring Maura’s killer to justice. That’s what you want, right?”
“Leave Nevan alone. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Especially not Maura.”
“Did Nevan tell you about the baby?”
He turned away, walking toward the back of the house.
I followed. He went to the cages, unleashed the Lurcher, and guided it into one of the pens. I waited until the pen door was secured before stepping in closer. “Did Maura tell you that Nevan wasn’t the father?”
He whipped around. “Are you saying my sister was a limmer?”
No, I didn’t thi
nk she was a slut, but had she been in love with Hatch Anderson? Or had he taken advantage of her? From somewhere across the yard, I heard what sounded like a rooster crow. “What was that?”
Eddie’s eyes darted toward an old shed in the far corner of the yard. I headed that way. He trailed close behind. “You can’t just walk all over my yard without a warrant.”
I continued around to the back of the shed. A five-foot chain-link fence surrounded a stack of small cages. Most were filled with rabbits or hares. Probably for hare-coursing training for his dogs. But a couple cages contained roosters. “What a coincidence. We just busted a cockfight up at Jack’s. You know the place?”
“Yeah. I’ve been there. I don’t know about no cockfighting, though.”
“Oh, I see. You’re raising these two roosters for a special 4-H project, aren’t ya? Because I don’t see any hens. If you had hens, I might understand why you needed the males. But just two cockerels? Seems strange to me, Eddie.” Or maybe he did have hens at one time. Maybe he whacked off their heads and hung their bodies from trees. “One of the guys we busted seemed to know your buddy Nevan. You two into the cockfights? Is that how you turn an extra buck or two?”
His jaw jutted out. “You can’t prove nothin’.”
“What about Maura? Did she approve of Nevan’s extracurricular activities?”
Eddie busied himself scooping pellets into the rabbit cages.
I kept on him. “Maybe she was in on it. With a baby coming and all, she probably needed the extra cash.”
I knew from the journal entry that Ona was going to talk to Nevan to try to convince him to go through with the wedding in order to save Maura’s reputation. I didn’t know if that conversation had happened or not. I was about to ask, when my cell buzzed. I stepped aside and answered.
It was Pusser. “The remains are at the morgue. There wasn’t much to process at the scene. They’re working on getting the ATV out of the ravine now.”
My mouth went dry. “Good.”
“We’ve got a name on the license number. You won’t believe this.”
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