Liar's Moon

by Kate Sweeney

  It was nearly four when she got to Darwin’s. She noticed Corky sitting at a table by the window and stopped for a moment. He looked lost in thought as he stared at his pint of Guinness. At this point, she was glad she did not possess the ability to read minds without physical contact. Although, right now, her left palm itched incessantly while she watched the pensive look on her friend’s face.

  For another moment, Grayson regarded this quirky Irishman, who quickly had become a good friend. She smiled remembering how they first met, when Corky realized Grayson was indeed the true descendant of the Tuatha De Danann—the one who would protect the power and magic of the ancient ones. It was too fantastic to Grayson, but to Corky, it was real, almost a religion to him. He believed every word and never denounced the possibility of even the most outrageous ideas. He was a true believer, and Grayson often wondered why the gods and goddesses did not choose Corky for this. But that is not the way of it, she thought. Her mother, Maeve, and her wife, Vic, fulfilling their destiny on this earth, gave their lives so Grayson could be at this point.

  She looked down at the three rings on her finger. Again, she remembered her time in that ancient dwelling where she saw Vic and Maeve. Though only in spirit, they helped her see exactly what her destiny was. She saw all the women throughout time who lived and died to bring all of this to fruition—to fulfill the prophecy of the residual moon and reveal Grayson as the true descendant. So many had to die, she thought, still looking at the rings. They will not have died in vain, she promised them. Taking a deep breath to hold back the tears, she looked up to see Corky waving to her. His big Irish smile and green eyes sparkling, he held up his pint glass.

  Grayson laughed and walked into the restaurant. “Couldn’t wait for me?” she asked as the server came to their table. “I’ll have the same.”

  “The thirst got me,” Corky said.

  “I can imagine,” Grayson said. “No Caitlin?”

  Corky shook his head. “She had to get back to work.”

  Grayson noticed his smile. “I take it, it went well?”

  “Yes. She’s a grand gal. And seeing someone.” He took a long drink of dark beer.

  Grayson’s smile quickly faded. “Shit.”

  “Over here we say shite,” Corky mumbled into his glass. “But it means the same.”

  “Well, she’s not married. Is she engaged to this guy?”

  “No.”

  “So she’s only dating, so don’t give up.”

  Corky laughed. “This is the first time I’ve seen her in years. We had a nice chat, and it was very friendly as if we had seen each other every day. She’s a good friend.”

  Grayson snorted. “I saw the way she hugged you, pal.”

  “Who’s hugging who?” Neala said, walking up to the table. Corky and Grayson stood and pulled out her chair. “Well, thank you.”

  “Corky saw an old girlfriend earlier. And they had a nice chat.”

  “That’s wonderful, Corky. Who is it?”

  “Caitlin Delaney.”

  “The reporter from the Times?” Neala asked.

  Grayson saw the look of concern on Neala’s face. So did Corky. “Yeah, what’s wrong?”

  Neala put the napkin in the lap. “She was at the museum last week asking questions. She’s doing a series of articles about the Book of Kells, and supposedly she wanted to interview someone at the museum. It would figure this would happen now.”

  “We can’t catch a break with this.” Grayson picked up a menu. “So much for staying out of the limelight.”

  “It would appear there’s no way around it. I talked to one of the directors, and he’s steering her away from the recent activity and keeping her in the archives. So he gave the interview, then sent her to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells. We hope this will keep her busy for a while, at least until things quiet down at the museum.”

  “If that ever happens,” Corky interjected.

  “Do you feel like talking about Kathleen?” Grayson asked; she reached over and placed her left hand on Neala’s arm.

  “Sure,” she said with a smile. “It’s such a sad thing.”

  “I understand you had a visitor today.”

  Neala impatiently waved her hand in the air. “Oh, that inspector is tenacious.”

  “Ya had to figure she would come and see ya,” Corky said.

  “I know. She talked with Michael first. Then asked me about the files. I don’t know why.”

  “I think Megan was trying to figure out why Kathleen was all the way over in our neck of the woods.”

  “Megan?” Corky asked with a sly grin. Neala raised an eyebrow, as well.

  Grayson glared at Corky. “Shut up.”

  “Can you think of what she was doing out there?” Corky asked.

  “I don’t know why she would come to see you, Grayson. I really don’t. I talked to Michael, who didn’t know where she was going.” Neala stared at her water glass. “I just don’t know what it was or why Phelan killed her.”

  “What makes you think she came to see me?” Grayson asked.

  Neala hesitated. “Well, I don’t know, really.” She shrugged and drank her water. “It had to be something.” Neala went on, “I know Phelan is crazy, but I can’t imagine he would want to bring attention to this.”

  Grayson noticed Corky was silent during this. He was looking across the room at the bar. Grayson watched his intent stare when suddenly he bolted up and walked over to the bar.

  “What is he doing?” Neala asked as they watched him.

  “I have no idea,” Grayson said. “He can’t be that thirsty.”

  She and Neala laughed as they watched Corky talk to the bartender. He then took some money out of his pocket and handed it to him. With his back to her, Grayson couldn’t see what Corky picked up.

  “What the hell…” Grayson whispered; she and Neala watched him walk back to the table holding what Grayson thought looked like a hunk of concrete.

  “I think I have an answer to one of our problems.” Corky placed the triangular jagged stone on the table. He looked from Grayson to Neala, whose frown turned to a smile.

  “Corky, that will not work.”

  “What?” Grayson said. Then it dawned on her.

  “It looks like the stone,” Corky argued as he examined it. “The bartender said his grandfather found it while plowing the fields. It looks ancient.”

  “And he was so attached to it,” Grayson said dryly. “How much for his loss?”

  “Thirty euros, shut up,” Corky said without looking at her.

  “But there are no markings of the Ogham alphabet.” Neala picked up the stone. “Though it does seem to weigh the same.”

  “Neala, you must have photos of it,” Grayson said. “Can it be altered?”

  “Sure it can,” Corky said. He sounded so enthusiastic, Grayson laughed. “Let’s get it back to the museum. We can look at the photos and make the Ogham etchings on the stone.”

  “You know someone will notice it’s not an ancient piece of archaeology, that we got this off the bar at a restaurant.”

  “Don’t be a dud, Grayson,” Corky said.

  “This is the craziest—” Grayson stopped and shook her head. “What am I saying?”

  Corky laughed and pulled Neala out of her chair. She grabbed her glass of Guinness and took a huge gulp. “I thought we were going to eat.”

  “This will never work,” Grayson said, and Corky pulled her along, as well.

  Chapter 16

  Megan pulled in front of the bed and breakfast and parked. She noticed some townspeople gathering outside the pub a few stores down. “Good place to start,” she said and locked the car.

  “Good afternoon,” she said with a smile.

  Two men standing near the door nodded and tipped their caps. “Good day,” one said. “Are ya lost?”

  Megan raised an eyebrow. “No. I do have a few questions if you don’t mind.” She showed her badge. Both men peered down at her ID, then exchange
d glances. “I’m a bit thirsty. Would you like to join me?”

  “Well, now, Inspector. Maybe for one.”

  When she walked in ahead of them, a few patrons turned but said nothing. She walked up to the bar as the young man behind it smiled and wiped off the area in front of her. “Good day, miss. What’ll it be? It’s not often we get such a pretty face here,” he said with a wink.

  “Thank you. I’ll have a Guinness, and please buy these two gentlemen a drink.” Megan looked at the two others at the end of the bar. “I’d like to buy you a drink, too.”

  “Very good,” he said and stuck out his hand. “Denis Reed.”

  “Megan Gaffney.” She shook his hand. “Inspector Megan Gaffney.”

  Denis’s smile turned to a frown as he looked at the two men. “One pint comin’ right up.”

  Megan watched as Denis poured the thick stout for her and the whiskey for the men. She could see him gauging his comments.

  “So,” he finally said. “What brings you to Dungarin?”

  “Murder,” she said, taking a drink.

  One man choked on his whiskey.

  Denis laughed nervously. “Well, then. Um…”

  “How well do you know Grayson MacCarthaigh?” She looked around the bar.

  The man on the far end slowly pushed his drink away from him. He put on his cap. “I’ll be goin’ now, Denis.”

  Megan watched him as he walked around the bar. “I’m sorry, sir. Did I say something?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, miss.”

  “Do you know Grayson?”

  “I do. And I knew her mother and father. And old Deirdre.”

  “How well—?”

  “And I don’t talk about my friends in a pub. Good day, Inspector.” He tipped his cap and walked out.

  Megan turned back to the bar and drank her Guinness.

  “What are ya after?” another man asked.

  Megan heard the harshness in her voice. She recognized this man as Liam O’Toole, one of the men who found Kathleen’s body. He owned the bed and breakfast with his wife.

  “Just gathering information, Mr. O’Toole, nothing more. How well do you know Grayson MacCarthaigh?”

  “Not very well. She left Ireland with her parents when she was a young girl.”

  “Did you know her parents?”

  “I did. They were fine people, as were her grandparents. Deirdre had a way about her with the village folk.”

  “What kind of way?” Megan asked.

  Liam glanced at Denis and shrugged. “Just a way of kindness.”

  Megan knew that was not all; she could tell by the dismissive tone in Liam’s voice. He quickly put on his cap. “It was a horrible thing what happened to that girl.”

  “And to Maeve MacCarthaigh,” Megan interjected softly.

  “Yes,” he said. He looked at Megan then. “They’ve been in this village for generations. They’ve helped many a farmer and villager. They are…” He stopped.

  “They are what, Mr. O’Toole?” Megan asked.

  “They just are,” he said in a low confident voice that Megan thought had a hint of challenge in it. “It’s just the way of it. Good day to you, Inspector.”

  When Liam walked out, so did the other patrons, each of them leaving their drinks untouched.

  “Well, I certainly know how to clear a room.”

  Denis chuckled and cleared the bar. “It’s nothing personal, Inspector. The Grayson-MacCarthaigh family is much respected here. The villagers tend to be very protective, that’s all.”

  “Why should they feel protective?”

  Denis shrugged and tossed the towel over his shoulder. He then poured himself a stout and leaned against the bar. “You’re not from around here, are ya? You have the tone of a Dubliner about ya.”

  “Very good. I am from Dublin, though I don’t know what difference it makes. I understand loyalty, Mr. Reed.”

  “Denis, please. And it’s more than loyalty.” He looked around the pub. “My grandfather started this place. My uncle and father then took it over. Now it’s my turn. We tend to keep things in the family in Dungarin.” He took a long drink of the black beer and continued, “Now I’m too young to remember Deirdre and only have a vague recollection of Maeve and Grayson. But my Aunt Rose, she knows the entire family.”

  “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

  “I doubt it,” Denis said, finishing his beer. He laughed then. “I’m sure she will. Aunt Rose loves to talk. Her name is Rose Barry. She lives on the edge of Dungarin. Ya can’t miss it. Big red front door.”

  “Thank you, Denis.” Megan reached into her pocket.

  Denis held up his hand. “I’ve got this. You can get the next one.”

  Megan walked to the other end of Dungarin. It did not go unnoticed that everyone she came across had the same look: You’re a stranger here.

  Now more than ever, Megan wanted to know why this village protected the Grayson-MacCarthaigh clan so much. She saw the house Denis described at the edge of the village. As she approached the door, she saw a woman standing in the road about a hundred or so meters away. Megan took in her appearance as best she could: tall, long dark hair, Irish sweater, wool slacks. This woman was standing there, seemingly watching Megan.

  Megan looked away when she gently knocked at the door. When she looked back, the woman had disappeared. Megan searched the countryside as the door opened.

  “Can I help ya?” An old woman with a skeptical eye peered at Megan.

  “Rose Barry?”

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Inspector Megan Gaffney, from Dublin. I’d like to ask you a few questions—”

  “About?”

  Megan slightly cleared her throat. “Grayson MacCarthaigh.”

  Rose Barry raised an eyebrow, still giving Megan a cautious once-over. But she stepped back, allowing Megan to enter her home. She followed Rose to the living room where Rose offered her a chair.

  “I just put the pot on to boil. We’ll have tea in a minute.”

  Megan sat down. “Thank you.”

  “Now what is it you want to know about Grayson?”

  “Anything you can tell me. I’ll be honest. I’m investigating the death of a young woman. She was found the other day by some villagers. That coupled with Maeve MacCarthaigh’s death a couple of months ago had Dublin thinking they might be related.”

  Rose sat back and nodded. “I’ve known Grayson all her life. Her mother was my best friend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Again, Rose nodded. “I knew Deirdre very well. She was a grand woman. Are you thinking Grayson killed this woman or her own mother?”

  Megan frowned deeply. “No, I’m not. However, we can’t deny the similarities in their deaths. This latest victim was killed in the same fashion. It appears to be an animal of some sort. Forensics seems to think perhaps a wolf or rabid dog. They’re not quite sure. As you can imagine, Mrs. Barry—”

  “Rose, please.”

  “Thank you. As you can imagine, Rose, it’s hard to believe a wolf in Ireland.”

  “True. What does Grayson have to do with it? I mean, other than Maeve was killed this way.”

  “I’m just gathering as much information as I can. I’m trying to figure this out before anything else happens.”

  “It could possibly be a rabid dog, and wolves are not that unheard of. You’ve got something else on your mind.”

  Megan regarded this old woman. What she liked was that Rose Barry looked her right in the eye when she spoke. “What was Grayson like as a child?”

  Rose smiled then and rocked in her chair. When the whistle started on the tea kettle, Megan rose. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said, clearly surprised. “The teapot is on the table. Cups in the cupboard.”

  Megan smiled as she found what she needed in the kitchen.

  “And there’s some bread on the table, along with the jam, if ya have a mind for it.”

  After pr
eparing the tea, Megan placed a few pieces of soda bread along with the jam on a plate.

  “Thank you,” Rose said again as Megan poured the tea.

  “Not at all. I have ulterior motives.”

  Rose let out a genuine laugh before sipping her tea. “Yes, Grayson as a child. She was an adorable child. Coal black hair, blue eyes, and a smile that lit up a room. Oh, she had the devil in her, as well. But she was a happy child.”

  “Liam O’Toole said her grandmother, Deirdre, had a way with the villagers. Can you elaborate?”

  “Deirdre was a kind and generous woman who loved this village, as did the generations before her. Oh, she had her moments.” She laughed and sipped her tea. “One day, I remember as if it were yesterday. Maeve and I were playing out in the field. Well, we got too close to the woods. Deirdre had told us to stay away, but ya know how children are, they don’t listen.”

  Megan heard the wistful tone as Rose continued. “So there we were laughing and chasing each other in the woods. And all of the sudden, there she was.”

  “Deirdre?”

  “Yes. Oh, how angry she was. It was Samhain, you understand and…”

  “Samhain?”

  Rose blinked, apparently realizing what she had said. “Yes, the harvest festival, ushering in the winter months. The dark half.”

  “Oh, yes. I have a friend who is into all that.”

  “All that?” Rose said with a laugh and set her teacup down. “Ya don’t believe in ‘all that’?”

  “I’m a grown woman. I understand the ways of the old…” She felt her face get red hot. “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know. The old ways and old beliefs have faded much. But if your friend is into it, as you say, then perhaps all is not lost.”

  “You really believe all that? The festivals, the rituals.”

  “I do. Why not?”

  “I don’t know, really. I never thought about it. It’s not something we’re taught in schools.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Megan heard a bit of sadness in Rose’s voice. “What do you believe? I mean about all that. Did the Graysons believe in it?” She felt she was close to something here. “Liam said she helped the farmers and the villagers. How?”