The Postman Always Dies Twice (Movie Club Mysteries, Book 2): An Irish Cozy Mystery

by Zara Keane

  I moved to the next point that was troubling me. “Why did he leave his van in the middle of the road? It makes no sense. I can understand him leaving the lights on if he’d pulled over and didn’t want anyone to run into him, but abandoning the van just around a bend is weird.”

  “Ah, Maggie. You’re looking for intrigue where there is none. Why can’t you accept that the man took his own life? Sergeant Reynolds said Ward left a note.”

  “Did he strike you as depressed when he was flirting with me earlier? Did he seem in any way out of character?”

  “No, but maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” He sounded doubtful. “Some people hide their feelings well.”

  We drove through the gates of Shamrock Cottages. Lenny came to a halt outside my cottage and killed the engine. His eyebrows were drawn close together, and he appeared to be lost in thought.

  I reached across the gearbox and squeezed his hand. “Are you going to call your sister tonight?”

  He shook his head. “Tomorrow. I’ll let her sleep. Insofar as any new mother can sleep.”

  “Was she still in love with Ward?”

  Lenny shrugged. “Hard to tell. She says she hates him. Even if that’s true, he was still the father of her child.”

  I opened the passenger door and climbed out. “Thanks for the ride. Say hi to your grandfather for me.”

  My friend forced a smile. “Will do. Talk tomorrow, Maggie.”

  I watched him drive away. When the van lights disappeared into the distance, I pulled my key from my purse and stepped toward my cottage. And froze. In the corner of my eye, an anomaly snagged my attention. I turned to my left and surveyed the semicircle of neatly spaced cottages, finally settling my attention on Number Four. I blinked slowly. Was it my imagination, or was the cottage’s front door ajar? Apart from me in Number Eight and Reynolds in Number Seven, the cottages were empty.

  Before prudency could conquer curiosity, I strode across the courtyard to Number Four. Sure enough, the front door was slightly open. I swallowed past my trepidation. “Hello?” I called. “Is anyone there?”

  The only response was deafening silence.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and groped for the light switch I knew would be just inside the door—all the cottages in the complex had a layout identical to mine. Light flooded the hallway. I searched each room, but they were empty. Finally, I stepped into the kitchen. The back door was wide open, and the automatic floodlights illuminated the small backyard. My heart in my throat, I went out onto the deck and scanned my surroundings. The only movement was the trees swaying in the wind. I gave a last look around the yard and went back inside the cottage.

  After I’d made sure that every door and window was closed, I left Number Four and headed back to my own cottage. Maybe the wind had blown open the doors. All the same, I’d let the rental company know tomorrow.

  I unlocked my front door and stepped inside to the welcoming warmth of my new home. Bran raced to greet me. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” I reached down to pet the dog. Although Noreen’s determination to saddle me with a pet hadn’t thrilled me at the time, tonight I was grateful not to be alone. I suspected I’d relent to Bran’s inevitable whining and let him sleep at the foot of my bed.

  Shivering, I stripped off my wet jacket. Time for a bath and a mug of hot chocolate to warm me up, followed by bed. I had a sinking feeling that my dreams would be haunted by the memory of Ward’s crumpled body, and of cottage doors open when they should be locked.

  5

  As I’d feared, I slept badly. The storm raged all night and contributed to my tossing and turning. In the morning, I dragged myself to the police station and went through the motions of giving the reserve policeman my statement. The man was alone at the station—the storm had kept Reynolds and the emergency services busy all night, dealing with fallen trees and car accidents. When I’d offered to give him the photos, he’d appeared flustered. In the end, I forwarded them to Reynolds’s phone and left for my shift at the café.

  The next seven hours passed in a blur of coffee cups and trays of scones. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of the Whisper Island Hotel at four o’clock, I was tired enough to fall asleep on the massage table. I found a free spot beside my cousin’s car, unbuckled my seat belt, and stretched my neck from side to side. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d treated myself to some pampering. On my honeymoon, probably.

  When I got out of the Ford, Julie’s eyes stood out on stalks. “Where on earth did you get that car?” Her eyes widened further when she registered the sticker I had yet to remove from the back windshield. “You went to Zippy Motors?”

  “They’re cheap, and I figure I can bully Jack Logan into replacing the car if it conks out on me.”

  My cousin blew out her cheeks. “What was wrong with the place you visited on the mainland? Kerrigan’s Motors has an excellent reputation.”

  “They have prices to match their reputation,” I said dryly. “Frankly, Zippy’s sad and sorry fleet is all I can afford at the moment.”

  We crossed the gravel courtyard and went through the revolving door to the lobby. Although I’d been to the hotel a couple of times during a recent murder investigation, this was the first time that could be classified as a visit. The Whisper Island Hotel aspired to old-school elegance and had the five-star price tag to prove it. Located in an impressive nineteenth-century building, the hotel consisted of four floors over a basement. In addition to ornamental gardens, the hotel grounds boasted a lake, as well as access to a golf course that it shared with the Whisper Island Golf Club.

  Inside, marble flooring stretched all the way to a winding staircase, whose cream-carpeted steps led to the guest rooms upstairs. The reception desk was polished mahogany with brass edgings. Except for the blond girl at reception, the place was deserted. Not surprising at this time of year, but probably not good news for the hotel’s owners.

  Julie strode up to the counter. “Hey, Lisa. We have aromatherapy massages booked for four.”

  Lisa’s pink manicured nails clicked over the keyboard. “That’s right,” she said in a clipped English accent. “You’re with Sven, and your cousin’s with Marcus. Have you been to our spa and beauty center before?”

  Julie and I shook our heads.

  “I’ll show you the way.” The receptionist stood and led us out of the lobby and down a corridor to the right of the reception desk. “The spa is located in the east wing of the hotel, next to the swimming pool.” Lisa’s heels clicked over the marble floor. Despite her good looks and polished appearance, the receptionist’s rigid posture and minimal facial expressions reminded me of the android in one of my favorite space opera novels.

  As we followed Lisa, the tantalizing aroma of essential oils wafted down the hallway to greet us. The tension in my shoulders eased a fraction, and my breathing deepened.

  Lisa ushered us into an elegant waiting room and gestured to a table topped with a porcelain teapot and matching cups and saucers. She gave us a tight smile, making me wonder how far up her behind she’d shoved the proverbial poker. “Marcus and Sven will be with you shortly,” she said. “Help yourselves to some Ayurvedic tea while you wait.”

  “Talk about uptight,” I said after Lisa had left. “She needs a massage more than we do.”

  Julie laughed. “Lisa’s not a bad sort. She’s taking my beginner’s Irish class on Tuesday evenings, so I’ve gotten to know her a bit.” My cousin poured us each a cup of the warm amber liquid and handed me one. “This place is fancier than I expected.”

  “Haven’t you been inside the hotel before?”

  “Only to the restaurant. One of Lenny’s brothers is the head chef, and he gave Lenny a gift certificate last Christmas.”

  I cast my mind back to long-ago summers. “The brother with all the tattoos, right? Lenny said he worked at the hotel.”

  Julie blushed to the roots of her auburn hair. “Carl, yes.”

  “Hey, I saw that blush.
Didn’t you have a crush on Carl when we were teenagers?”

  “Yes, but he never noticed I was alive.” My cousin sat beside me on the low sofa and cradled her teacup. “Not much has changed.”

  “If I recall correctly, Carl went through women like most people go through hot dinners. I don’t think you’re missing much.”

  I took a sip of my tea. Not bad, even if I didn’t like fancy brews. I’d barely had the chance to take three sips when two men strode through the door that separated the waiting area from the treatment rooms beyond. The first was tall and movie-star handsome. He treated us to a wide smile that revealed very white teeth. For an instant, an image of Eddie Ward’s slick smile flashed through my mind, and my mood took a nosedive.

  “I’m Marcus,” the tall man said in halting English, extending a hand to me. “I’ll be your massage therapist today.”

  When he held my hand a fraction of a second too long, the resemblance to the dead postman intensified. I looked longingly past Marcus to the dapper little man who was currently pumping Julie’s hand and introducing himself as Sven. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with a charmer today, especially one who reminded me of last night’s traumatic events.

  Julie glanced my way, and I forced a smile for her benefit. “Trust you to get the hot one,” she whispered as Marcus and Sven led us down a narrow hallway.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you can have him,” I whispered back.

  The men stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. Marcus opened the door to reveal a large room that was delicately scented with lavender and orange blossom. I exhaled in relief when I saw the two massage tables, side by side. With Julie lying next to me, deflecting Marcus’s charm offensive would be easier.

  Julie and I undressed in the changing cubicle and returned to the massage therapists dressed in towels that felt far too short. I tugged at the hem of my towel, wishing it revealed less thigh. My cousin appeared to be unfazed at exposing so much flesh to two strange men. She jumped up on her massage table and lay on her stomach, an expectant smile on her face.

  Shooting Marcus a wary glance, I followed suit.

  Before the massage began, Julie and I chose the scent combination we wanted, and we both opted for a lavender and orange blossom blend.

  “A good choice,” Sven said. “We use only organic beauty products here, and that includes our essential oils. I’ll only work at beauty centers that use natural products made from ethically obtained ingredients.”

  I tried to relax on the massage table, but failed. My reservations about the situation dimmed the instant Marcus began massaging my tense shoulders. “Mmm,” I moaned, surrendering to the moment. Marcus might be a flirt, but the guy knew his stuff when it came to massage.

  As he worked on my tight muscles, the sweet scent of the massage oil relaxed me. By the time Marcus had worked his magic on my shoulders and upper back, I was warming to him.

  Sven proved to be the chattier of the two men and the one with superior English. He regaled us with entertaining stories from his time working at an upscale ski resort in his native Sweden.

  “Where are you from?” Julie asked Marcus when there was a lull in the conversation.

  “Germany,” he replied in his heavy accent, and applied massage oil to my lower back. “I moved to Ireland three years ago, and I work here since two years.”

  “Do you have much to do this time of year?” I asked. “The hotel looks pretty empty.”

  “Not so much,” Marcus replied. “More in summer. Like the hotel, the beauty center has a skeleton staff during the low season. But Sven and I, we are here year-round.”

  “This time of year is tough for businesses all over the island,” Julie said. “Maggie’s looking for part-time work, but it’ll be hard.”

  “You want work?” Sven asked, his voice curious. “Maybe not so hard to arrange. The hotel has staffing problems at the moment. You should ask at reception if there’s a vacancy.”

  “Really?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the curiosity out of my voice. The hotel manager and I had history, and not of the good kind. While I didn’t wish Paul Greer ill, the fact that he had difficulties keeping staff didn’t come as a surprise. Any employee who had to deal with Paul’s wife, Melanie, had my sympathies.

  “There’s been strange…happenings,” Marcus said, laboring over the last word. “People are quitting because they’re afraid of the ghost.”

  “Ghost?” I jerked my head up and stared at him. “Like a banshee?”

  Marcus shook his head. “More like a poltergeist.”

  “People are freaked out,” Sven supplied in an excited voice. “They’re saying the west wing of the hotel is haunted. Guests are leaving and staff members are quitting. You should find it no problem to get a job here.”

  I shared an amused glance with Julie. “A job at a haunted hotel run by my ex-boyfriend? What an enticing prospect.”

  “You know Mr. Greer?” It was Marcus’s turn to be curious.

  Yeah, I thought, in the biblical sense. Out loud, I said, “I used to know him, but that was a long time ago.”

  This was being economical with the truth. Our paths had crossed more than once a few weeks ago when I’d been investigating Paul’s mother-in-law’s murder. Since the murderer’s arrest, I’d managed to avoid Paul and his odious wife, Melanie, and I got the impression they weren’t too eager to hang out with me, especially after Melanie had confided in me about her unhappy marriage. From her attitude since that day, I suspected she regretted blurting out her grievances to me.

  “What, exactly, does this poltergeist do?” I asked as Marcus applied pressure to my thighs.

  “Moving stuff around. Wailing. Clanking chains. Opening drawers,” Sven replied. “Typical horror movie stuff, only without the gore.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Surely people don’t believe a ghost is doing all that? It’s got to be a disgruntled member of staff, right?”

  “I thought this,” Marcus said, moving to my calves, “but then it happened during a staff meeting. Everyone was in the ballroom.”

  “Everyone? Are you sure? Even the cleaning staff?”

  “Everyone,” Sven assured me. “Mr. Greer was in the middle of his speech when a strange sound started, like a woman wailing through the walls. And then a picture fell off the wall with a crash. We all freaked out. Three of the maids quit on the spot.”

  Julie’s amused glance met mine. “Paul won’t like that,” she said, “nor Queen Melanie—she might be expected to clean a room all by herself.”

  No, the Greers wouldn’t be happy, and neither would the silent partner they were keen to appease. I settled my head on my arms while Marcus applied pressure to my reflex zones. The rest of the hour passed quickly. All too soon, Julie and I were dressed and retracing our steps to the hotel lobby.

  “You’re not seriously considering asking for work here?” Julie asked.

  “If there’s a vacancy that doesn’t involve scrubbing toilets, I’d consider it.”

  “Working for Melanie would be a nightmare. Surely you’re not that desperate for money.”

  “Not yet, but I will be if I don’t find a way to bring in some extra cash. I can’t let Noreen invent work for me. Besides, I like to keep busy. I got so desperate one evening that I borrowed wool and knitting needles from Noreen and watched an instructional video on the internet.”

  Julie laughed. “How did that work out?”

  “About as well as can be expected from someone with two left hands. I knit the arm of a sweater around myself.”

  My cousin cracked up laughing. “Oh, Maggie. I’m going to miss you when you go back to the States.”

  “About that…” I hesitated, unsure whether to give voice to plans that were, at best, a quarter formed. “Don’t tell Philomena or Noreen, but I’m considering extending the lease on the cottage and staying on Whisper Island over the summer.”

  My cousin’s face lit up with delight. “That’s wonderful. We’d love
to have you stay longer.”

  “Nothing’s certain yet,” I cautioned. “I haven’t even spoken to the rental company about my lease. And it all depends on me finding work.” I’d been toying with the idea of staying for the summer since the day I’d moved into the cottage. It would be lovely to see the Whisper Island I remembered from childhood summers: lush green fields, warm sun, and the town alive with tourists. And it wasn’t as if I had anything to look forward to at home.

  “I guess it’s not as if you have a job waiting for you in San Francisco.” Julie’s words echoed my thoughts.

  “Exactly. I’m not even sure what I want to do when I go back. If…when…I return, I’ll have to start my life from scratch.” I slowed when we reached the reception desk. “I’m going to ask about job vacancies.”

  “You’re looking for a job at the hotel?” The familiar female voice made me spin on my heels. Melanie Greer, my childhood nemesis, stood before me.

  I stifled a groan. “Yeah,” I said breezily. “Just a few hours work each week.”

  My stomach clenched in anticipation of a snide remark, but none came. Instead, Melanie’s brow creased in thought. “It might just work,” she murmured before noticing Julie’s and my baffled expressions. “Do you have a moment, Maggie? Paul and I have a proposition for you. And it might be the answer to both our problems.”

  6

  After saying goodbye to Julie, I followed Melanie past the robotic Lisa and into the manager’s office. Although Melanie and I had reached a tentative truce when I’d been investigating her mother’s murder, I was wary of the woman. However, her obvious desperation to talk to me intrigued me almost as much as Sven and Marcus’s ghost story, and I had a hunch they were connected.

  When Melanie led me into the office, Paul was seated behind his desk, looking dapper as always in a designer suit. He wore his fair hair slicked back and his face clean-shaven. At the moment, he was frowning at his computer screen. He glanced up, and his jaw dropped when he saw me. “Maggie? What are you doing here?”