by Zara Keane
My aunt returned to the counter and packed the muffins I’d brought out from the kitchen into two large plastic containers. “Can you do me a favor and drop these off at the school on your way home?”
“Su—ure.” Another sneeze sliced the word in two. Yeah, I needed sleep, with or without a cat-infested bed.
“I’ll put some of my chicken broth into a container for you, and you can warm it up at home.” Noreen grabbed a soup container from beneath the counter. “You need feeding.”
The last thing I felt like was food. “There’s really no need—“
“There’s every need. You have to be fit for the dance on Saturday.”
I slow-blinked. “Dance?” I croaked. “What dance?”
“The annual Valentine’s Day dance at the town hall.” Noreen beamed at me. “Paddy Driscoll is looking forward to taking you for a spin.”
“Somehow, I highly doubt your grumpy neighbor wants me anywhere near him. He’s still sore about the dog getting in with his sheep.”
“Sure, Bran’s wouldn’t hurt a fly. The sheep came to no harm.” Noreen waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Paddy’s not a people person. He’ll get used to you after a while.”
My lips twitched. “After I’ve lived on the island for twenty-five years?”
My aunt’s expression grew smug. “See? I knew you’d decide to stay.”
“Hey, I didn’t say that. I’ve agreed to stay until the end of May, and then I’ll reassess the situation.”
Noreen headed for the kitchen. “Once you settle into your new home,” she said over her shoulder, “you’ll never want to leave. Sure, those new holiday cottages are gorgeous.”
As a Thank You to me for solving the murder case, Noreen and several other islanders had pooled their resources and paid the rent on a holiday home for a couple of months. The cottage was currently undergoing renovations, but I’d be able to move in by the end of the February.
“We’ll see,” I said in a noncommittal tone. I was tempted to extend my stay on Whisper Island until the end of the summer, but I wanted to wait and see how I felt closer to the time. My gut told me to stay, but after the emotional roller coaster of my separation, I didn’t trust my instincts to make the right decision.
Noreen returned with a container filled with chicken soup. She sealed the lids of muffin boxes, and handed me the pile of containers. “I’ll send Julie a text to meet you outside the school in ten minutes. Sound good?”
I checked my watch. One fifty-five. A little early for my appointment with Jennifer Pearce, but her office was on the way to the elementary school. “Can you tell Julie I’ll be there in thirty minutes? I have an errand to run first.”
“Sure.” My aunt pulled out her phone and typed a message to my cousin.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing your car again?” I asked. “I feel bad about constantly leaving your carless.”
Noreen glanced up. “Not at all. I can get a lift home with someone when I close the café. But if you’re staying on the island, you’ll need a set of wheels under you. Try Kerrigan Motors on the mainland. They have an excellent reputation for used cars.”
“Wait…what about the knitting club meeting? I’m supposed to serve tonight.” As a way to supplement her income, my aunt allowed various island clubs and special interest societies to use the café in the evenings. In return, the clubs agreed to buy food and drink from the café.
“Don’t worry about it. Philomena and I will manage just fine. Go home and get some sleep.”
“Okay. Will do.” I waved goodbye to my aunt and the café customers, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
A gale force wind nearly blew me off my feet. I struggled to the car with my load and piled the boxes neatly onto the floor of the passenger side and locked the car. I’d leave the car here and walk the short distance to Jennifer Pearce’s office.
Nesbitt and Son Solicitors was located on Lynott Lane, a side street off Greer Street, the main thoroughfare through Smuggler’s Cove. It took me five minutes to walk from the car to the corner of the Lynott Lane.
When I turned into the lane, I froze in my tracks. A crowd had gathered in front of Jennifer’s office building. Everyone gawked at the police car that was parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, blue lights flashing. Sean Clough, the editor of the Whisper Island Gazette and next-door neighbor to Nesbitt and Son, nodded a greeting before returning his attention to the unfolding spectacle.
Before I could marshal my thoughts, the door to the lawyers’ practice swung open and Garda Sergeant O’Shea led Jennifer Pearce down the steps to the waiting police vehicle. As always, Jennifer was impeccably groomed in a sleek pencil skirt, blazer, and shirt, but the stray wisps of dark hair escaping from her elaborate up-do betrayed a chink in her armor. From the police sergeant’s body language and the lawyer’s chalky complexion, I knew this wasn’t a matter of Jennifer being asked to represent one of her clients during a police interrogation.
A moment later, Aaron Nesbitt, Jennifer’s boss, erupted out of the building, his cheeks blazing red. “This is utterly outrageous. Jennifer would never—“
His coworker’s warning look silenced the older lawyer, and Aaron Nesbitt’s words stuttered to a halt.
The newspaper editor peppered Sergeant O’Shea with questions, but his efforts were rewarded with a brusque, “No comment”.
Before she got into the police car, Jennifer’s gaze moved in my direction. My eyes met hers, and I read fear and desperation in their depths. She gave a slight shake of her head. I got the message: say nothing and wait.
Ignoring the newspaper editor’s barrage of follow-up questions, O’Shea closed the back door behind Jennifer, slid behind the wheel, and took off.
I stared at the space where the police car had been long after they’d left. Whatever Jennifer had wanted me to be discreet about, I had the feeling the cat was well and truly out of the bag.
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Also by Zara Keane
MOVIE CLUB MYSTERIES—Cozy Mystery
Dial P For Poison
The Postman Always Dies Twice
How to Murder a Millionaire
BALLYBEG SERIES—Contemporary Romance
Love and Shenanigans
Love and Blarney
Love and Leprechauns
Love and Mistletoe
Love and Shamrocks
BALLYBEG BAD BOYS—Romantic Suspense
Her Treasure Hunter Ex
The Rock Star’s Secret Baby
The Navy SEAL’s Holiday Fling
Bodyguard by Day, Ex-Husband by Night
The Navy SEAL’s Accidental Wife
DUBLIN MAFIA—Romantic Suspense
Final Target
Kiss Shot
Bullet Point (2017)
About Zara Keane
USA Today bestselling author Zara Keane grew up in Dublin, Ireland, but spent her summers in a small town very similar to the fictitious Whisper Island and Ballybeg.
She currently lives in Switzerland with her family. When she’s not writing or wrestling small people, she drinks far too much coffee, and tries—with occasional success—to resist the siren call of Swiss chocolate.
Zara has an active reader group, The Ballybeg Belles, where she chats, shares snippets of upcoming stories, and hosts members-only giveaways. She hopes to join you for a virtual pint very soon!
zarakeane.com
THE POSTMAN ALWAYS DIES TWICE
Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Tanner
Published 2017 by Beaverstone Press GmbH (LLC)
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, place
s, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental
EBOOK ISBN: 978-3-906245-46-1
PRINT ISBN: 978-3-906245-49-2