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

by Zara Keane

  “So Marcus knew Ward pretty well?”

  Günter shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I didn’t get the impression they were close friends, but they didn’t dislike each other.”

  Interesting. I filed this information away for further consideration. “Thanks, Günter. I can arrange a moment to speak with Marcus tomorrow when I’m working at the hotel, but I’d appreciate it if you’d have a talk with him as well. His English isn’t great, and I don’t speak a word of German.”

  “No problem. I’ll give him a call and arrange to meet him and Sven for a drink.” At my wary look, he smiled and added, “Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet. They won’t know I’m asking questions on your behalf.”

  “Thank you. Give me a call if you discover anything useful.”

  “I’ll do that, Maggie.”

  Paul and Melanie would be furious if they knew I was digging for info about a case they weren’t paying me to investigate, but I didn’t care. As long as I delivered the goods before St. Patrick’s Day, they shouldn’t care what questions I asked. Besides, the beauty center was an area I hadn’t yet worked, and it would give me the chance to ask the employees for more info about the hotel spook.

  Feeling more cheerful than I had in over twenty-four hours, I locked up the Movie Theater Café and went home to plot my next move.

  10

  The next morning, my cunning plan to inveigle my way into a shift at the beauty center was torpedoed the moment I set foot inside the hotel.

  A flustered Melanie met me in the lobby. She grabbed my arm and hauled me into the office. “Thank goodness you’re here, Maggie. In addition to that fool of a chef getting arrested, we had another haunting last night, and two guests left as a result.”

  I frowned. “What did this ‘haunting’ involve?”

  “The guests I mentioned were staying in one of our deluxe suites on the third floor. The fourth floor to you, I suppose. Don’t Americans call the ground floor the first floor?” Melanie continued without waiting for me to respond. “Anyway, while the guests were in the hot tub drinking champagne, an eerie wailing came from the direction of their room.”

  “Eerie wailing? Like a banshee?”

  Melanie nodded vigorously. “Exactly like a banshee.”

  “What happened next?” I demanded. “I need every detail.”

  “The man got out of the hot tub and went to investigate. The wailing stopped the instant he opened the bathroom door, but their stuff had been ransacked, and clothes lay everywhere.” Melanie’s hand fluttered to her throat. “They packed up and left immediately.”

  “So basically someone made wailing noises in their room while they were in the hot tub and threw their stuff around?”

  “Yes.”

  I mulled over this information for a moment. “Do you have security cameras in the hotel?”

  “Of course we do.” Melanie looked indignant. “But we don’t have them in the guests’ rooms. That would be a gross invasion of privacy.”

  “I mean in the hallway,” I said with ill-disguised impatience.

  “We’re not completely stupid,” Melanie snapped. “Looking at the surveillance tape was the first thing we did. All we saw was what we expected to see: a maid delivering room service to another room, and one of our security guards doing his rounds. No one went into or left that suite at the time the guests claim they heard wailing.”

  “With the right technical knowledge, it’s possible to doctor surveillance footage so that only an expert could notice. Have you considered that possibility?”

  Her tight expression turned rigid. “Our tech guy was one of the first employees to quit when this ghost nonsense started. There’s no one left with the know-how to check if someone tampered with the footage.”

  “Lenny Logan is a whiz with computers and other tech equipment. I could ask him to take a look and give his opinion.”

  Melanie sneered. “I hardly think we need to involve a Logan in this affair. Carl being arrested is enough bad publicity for one week, not to mention the fact that we’re now reliant on a skeleton kitchen staff. Between a ghost and a murderous cook, guests are canceling in droves.”

  “Carl hasn’t been convicted of any crime,” I said through gritted teeth. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

  “Carl Logan’s knife was found at the scene of the crime. A knife that we gave him.” Melanie pursed her lips and her sour expression reminded me of her late mother—and that wasn’t a compliment. “I don’t like the hotel being dragged into this sordid business.”

  “Unless you can think of an alternative, Lenny is the only person on Whisper Island with the technical knowledge to recognize a cleverly doctored surveillance tape.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stood my ground. “We both agree that someone is deliberately scaring away your guests and employees. Taking the supernatural out of the equation, we can assume whoever is behind the ‘hauntings’ is very much alive. And the living aren’t invisible. Someone had to have entered that room and thrown the guests’ belongings all over the place. And if they aren’t on the surveillance tape, it points to something being wrong with the tape.”

  “Fine.” A weary look crept over Melanie’s face, erasing some of her hauteur. “Ask Logan if he’ll take a look at the footage. We also have recordings saved from the other incidents.”

  “He’ll need to be paid, of course,” I said firmly. “I think five hundred is fair for an evening’s work.”

  Her eyes snapped. “Are you trying to bankrupt us?”

  “I’m trying to negotiate fair recompense for my friend. If you don’t want him to look at the tapes, you can always get someone to come over from the mainland. But trust me, they’ll charge a lot more than five hundred, and I’m willing to bet they won’t be half as good as Lenny.”

  Melanie sighed. “Three hundred for his time looking through all the tapes, and an extra two hundred if he finds something useful.”

  I stretched out my hand. “Deal.”

  She brushed invisible lint from the front of her pantsuit, a sure sign that our meeting was at an end. “Given that we’re terribly short-staffed in the kitchen, I’d like you to help out there again today.”

  My heart sank. So much for getting a chance to talk to Marcus about Eddie Ward. “I’d planned to talk to the beauty center staff.”

  Melanie’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Do you suspect one of them of being responsible for the hauntings?”

  “I have no idea who’s behind the ghost,” I said quickly, not wanting to get the beauty center staff into trouble. “I didn’t have a chance to talk to them yesterday.”

  She practically vibrated with impatience. “You can work at the beauty center tomorrow. Right now, we need your help preparing breakfast.”

  “How am I supposed to get a feel for the hotel and its employees if I don’t move around?” I demanded. “The whole point of me being here is to investigate your so-called spook, and I have less than a week to get the job done.”

  Melanie pointedly checked her watch. “You can ‘move around’ tomorrow. Unless we get the breakfast buffet ready, we’ll have even fewer guests left at the hotel, and the whole point of you investigating will have been for nothing.”

  I swallowed a sigh. It looked like my double-duty questioning would have to wait.

  When six o’clock finally rolled around and my shift ended, I dragged myself home and changed into my running gear. I’d arranged to meet my cousin and her mother for an evening jog. Bran, recognizing my running attire and knowing this meant an outing for him, barked excitedly and performed a little dance and tail waggling routine in front of the door. I checked the cats’ food and water containers, and laced up my running shoes.

  “Come on,” I said, clipping Bran’s lead to his collar. “I’ll let you put me through my paces.”

  With an enthusiastic bark, Bran shot out the cottage door, dragging me in his wake.

  “Slow down,” I yelled, tugging on the lead. “You’ll wear me out be
fore we ever start our warmup.”

  The dog paid me no heed. I was obliged to run to keep up. When we reached the gates of Shamrock Cottages, Bran slowed to a trot, allowing me to catch my breath. Julie and Philomena had parked beside the entrance. Both wore their running gear and eyed Bran with a mixture of amusement and trepidation.

  “Last time we brought him with us,” Julie said, “it was more like a sprint than a jog.”

  “I’ll take him off the lead and let him run ahead if he gets to be too much.” I turned to my aunt and grinned. “Looking good, Philomena. I like the new running pants.”

  My aunt wore hot pink running tights and an equally tight purple long-sleeved running top. They emphasized her curves and showed how much weight she’d shed since she’d started training with Julie and me. She beamed at the compliment. “Thanks. John loves my new look.”

  “Uncle John is a smart man.”

  We set off down a winding path that led to one of our usual running routes, and we were soon jogging at a steady pace. As I’d anticipated, Bran was too impatient to wait for us, so I let him have his freedom.

  “How’s the job at the hotel going?” Philomena said in short gasps. “What are you doing, anyway?”

  “I’m what they call a floater. I go wherever they’re short-staffed.” This, at least, was true, and didn’t require me to lie to cover my true reason for being at the hotel.

  “Have you seen the hotel ghost yet?” Julie asked. “Sven and Marcus’s description of it was vivid.”

  I laughed. “No. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “It’s all nonsense,” Philomena huffed. “If the hotel guests and employees are stupid enough to believe in ghosts, good riddance to them.”

  “I doubt the Greers agree,” I said dryly. “They’re worried about their bottom line.”

  My aunt snorted. “They’re worried about not having the cash to build that awful new extension.”

  This was news to me. “Are they expanding the hotel again?”

  “Oh, yes. And the news caused quite a stir. They’ve only just managed to get the planning permission approved after it was blocked.”

  “Who blocked it and why?”

  “The Whisper Island Folklore and Heritage Society. Paul is determined to build an extension over some land at the back of the hotel. It’ll be roughly the same size as the spa area only on the other side of the hotel.”

  “What’s the society’s objection?”

  “The land he wants to build on has a fairy tree and an archaeological site on it.”

  A memory stirred. “Wait a sec. I remember climbing that tree. A hawthorn, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. The heritage society members are very upset over the idea of the tree being bulldozed. They managed to delay planning permission by arguing that the stones surrounding the tree are of historical significance, but the courts decided otherwise.”

  “So they have a known grudge against the Greers?”

  “Yes,” Philomena said, “but I can’t see any of them messing around with clanking chains and banshees. They take themselves very seriously.”

  “But one of them could hold a grudge strong enough to persuade them to terrorize the hotel’s inhabitants?” We’d slowed to a walk by now and were catching our breath.

  “I suppose so.” Philomena didn’t look convinced. “But knowing the personalities involved, I can’t see it. They’d be the sort to stage a sitting protest the day the bulldozers were due to arrive. Maybe hold up placards outside the hotel entrance and cause a scene. I can’t imagine them resorting to organized terror.”

  “Where would I find the Folklore and Heritage Society?”

  “They’re one of the clubs that still meet at the library instead of the Movie Theater Café, so you probably haven’t come across them before. Sheila Dunphy is their president. You might have served her in the café. An old lady who always wears her long, white hair in two plaits?”

  An image formed in my head. “Yes. I’m sure I’ve seen her drinking tea with the Spinsters.”

  Philomena raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s not referring to me, Mum,” Julie joked. “The Spinsters are Miss Flynn and Miss Murphy. They practically live at the Movie Theater Café.”

  I laughed. “Along with the Two Gerries, they keep the place afloat.”

  My aunt eyed me with a sly grin. “You say you’ve been employed at the hotel because they’re short-staffed. Are you sure there’s not another reason, Maggie?”

  I schooled my face into a neutral expression. “Why would there be? I need the cash, and they need my help.”

  “Hmm…” My aunt didn’t look convinced. “I’d have thought you had enough to do looking into this new murder case without running after ghosts.”

  “I didn’t say I was doing either.”

  “And I didn’t come down in the last shower, missy. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And don’t drag my Julie into any of this nonsense. It might be dangerous.”

  Julie flashed me a grin. “Don’t worry, Mum. My main concern at the moment is not dying during the Runathon.”

  “I’m not saying I’m helping the Greers with the ghost business, but I do have a favor to ask,” I said to my aunt. “Would you mind looking up the fairy tree and the history of the land Paul wants to build on? There might be some info at the library.”

  Philomena cast me a knowing look. “So you want to put your librarian aunt to work digging for information, but you won’t admit to working for the Greers?”

  “I can’t admit to anything. If I was working for them, I’d have been asked to keep it confidential.”

  “All right. I’ll have a look and see what I can find. Will you be working at the café during tomorrow night’s Knitting Club meeting?”

  I grinned, recalling that more gossip was exchanged during those meetings than knitting tips. “Yes.”

  “I’ll give you whatever I’ve managed to find at the meeting.”

  “Thanks, Philomena. I appreciate it.”

  After our run, my aunt and cousin drove back to Smuggler’s Cove, and Bran and I returned to Shamrock Cottages. “I’m having a bath,” I told the dog on our way up the drive, “and I’m going all out. Bubbles galore, a good book, and a glass of red wine.”

  When we reached my cottage, Mack’s car was parked outside. Mack leaned against the hood, a frown etched onto his forehead. Meanwhile, Lenny sat on my doorstep, chewing his nails. They both appeared to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. My heart sank. So much for my relaxing evening. “Hey, guys. You two look like the apocalypse just hit. What happened?”

  Lenny leaped to his feet. “You’ve got to help me, Maggie. Granddad’s been charged with being an accessory to murder.”

  11

  “Come into the cottage and I’ll fix you a drink. I have a bottle of red wine, or I can make you a cocktail. I stocked up on ingredients for Brandy Alexanders.”

  Lenny’s face brightened. “I’d love a Brandy Alexander.”

  “I’m driving,” Mack said, but without real conviction.

  “If you don’t mind sharing with the cats, you guys are welcome to sleep in my spare room tonight.”

  I led them into the house and locked up for the night. Then I fetched the bottles of brandy and crème de cacao I’d purchased during yesterday’s shopping trip and fixed three generous glasses of Brandy Alexander. When I served Lenny his cocktail, his stiff posture in the armchair was in sharp contrast to his usual lazy sprawl. I claimed the seat opposite Lenny, while Mack took the sofa.

  I took a sip from my glass—tonight wasn’t the night for toasts and pleasantries—and got straight to the point. “What evidence does Reynolds have to connect your grandfather with the crime?”

  Lenny glowered into his cocktail glass. “Apparently, Ward’s body tested positive for alcohol, and a bottle of my grandfather’s poitín was found under the passenger seat of the postal van.”

  “Half the island has a bottle of your grand
dad’s poteen rolling around somewhere.”

  Mack’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, but this particular bottle contained an extra ingredient.”

  “Cyanide,” I guessed instantly.

  “How did you know that?” Lenny demanded. “Did Reynolds tell you?”

  “Put it this way,” I prevaricated. “Reynolds is unlikely to confide in me about anything at the moment. He’s annoyed I didn’t tip him off about Ward getting your sister pregnant.”

  “Well, you’re right about the poison. According to Reynolds, the bottle of poitín was laced with a blood pressure medication that was found in my grandfather’s bathroom. This particular medication contains a form of cyanide.”

  I contemplated this new information. “Man, this talk of poisons makes me feel like a character in an Agatha Christie novel. Did Reynolds tell you the cause of death?” The policeman had already shared the answer with me, but I needed to know what he’d told Lenny.

  “Cyanide poisoning.”

  I whistled. “There must have been a lot of that stuff in the poteen for it to kill a man. I guess your granddad’s medicine doesn’t contain a strong dose.”

  “Here’s where the story gets weird.” Lenny’s frown deepened. “Granddad swears he’s never seen the medicine before. He takes blood pressure tablets, but those don’t contain cyanide.”

  “What substance did the police find in his bathroom?”

  “Sodium nitroprusside.” Mack sat back on the sofa and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “It’s usually used during surgeries or medical emergencies. We have it at the pharmacy, and the Whisper Island Medical Centre also has it in stock.”

  “So it’s not a medication Lenny’s grandfather would have had easy access to?”

  “No.” Mack looked troubled and shot a glance at Lenny before continuing. “But he was at the medical center for an appointment last week when I made the weekly delivery of medications from the pharmacy.”

  “And the medications you delivered included sodium nitroprusside,” I guessed.