by Zara Keane
Her eyes were haunted and bloodshot from tears, shed and unshed. “If I have even a hint of a clue, I’ll tell Seán Mackey.”
“That’s my girl.” With a final bittersweet kiss, he released her. “I guess this is good-bye.”
“I prefer slán go fóill,” she said, blinking through her tears.
He swallowed past the painful lump in his throat. “Good-bye for now it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
FIONA WAS IN FULL OUTRAGED MODE. “This is madness. How can you throw away a perfectly good man because you’re afraid of screwing up a second relationship? For heaven’s sake, we all screw up multiple relationships before we find The One. Even then, some of us screw that up as well. Look at me and Gavin.”
Olivia stopped kneading dough and faced her friend. “You and Gavin weren’t the chief suspects in a murder case.”
“But you didn’t do it. The police have to know that.”
She shook a ridiculous amount of flour on the kitchen counter and attacked the dough. “I don’t know what they know, Fee, but that’s not the point. It’s not that I’m afraid of another relationship. One crappy marriage has left me with scars, true, but I still believe in happiness, and I know I’ll find it someday. And I hope the person I find it with will be Jonas. But the timing is all types of wrong. We both have baggage, and now there’s this investigation hanging over us…” She swallowed hard. “The best thing I can do for both our sakes is to keep my distance.”
Fiona threw her arms up in exasperation. “You’re determined to play the martyr, aren’t you? We all have baggage, Liv. You have baggage. Show me someone pushing thirty who doesn’t have baggage, and I’ll show you the really screwed-up person in the room. Jonas has a kid. Check. Jonas has an ex who may or may not show up at some point and cause trouble. Check. His mother holds you responsible for his brother’s death. Check. But if he’s willing to give it a go despite all that plus take on all your baggage, surely you can do the same for him? I know you love him.”
Olivia wiped flour from her brow and washed her hands in the kitchen sink. “Yes, I love him. And I know he feels something for me, but I don’t know if it’s love.” Her voice caught. “He never mentioned love, not even after we slept together.”
Fiona’s face crinkled in amusement. “Hate to bring it up, but your Morning After was rather dramatic. I doubt whispering sweet nothings were at the forefront of his mind.”
“Point taken,” Olivia said, wiping her hands dry. “But I know I’ve made the right decision. Jonas and I have no future together.”
Fiona raised a pierced eyebrow. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Do you want a list of reasons why the timing is craptastic?”
Her friend crossed her arms. “Go on then.”
Olivia tossed the towel on the counter. “First, his mother hates me for what happened to Bry. I know Jonas says it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t imagine Nuala will ever accept that.”
“So what if she doesn’t?” Fiona scoffed. “You want to be with Jonas, not her. Most in-law situations have their tensions. Just be true to yourself and live life to the full. Jonas’s parents will either accept you, or they won’t. Frankly, they’re Jonas’s problem, not yours.”
“Secondly, Jonas has Luca, and I have the promise I made to offer my brothers a home. We both have responsibilities to other people.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’re brilliant with Luca, and he obviously adores you. I don’t see him being an obstacle. As for your brothers, they turned down your offer. I don’t think they’ll change their minds. Let it go, Liv.”
“Whatever about Kyle, I was certain Ronan would jump at the chance to escape Mum.”
Fiona shook her head. “I don’t know about that. Ronan’s angst seems standard teenage fodder. I doubt it would be any different if he lived with you.”
“But I’d have them in a routine. I’d make sure they ate healthily, did their homework, and went to bed at a decent hour.”
Fiona grimaced. “Sounds like Teenage Me’s idea of hell.”
Olivia blinked. “I’d have loved more stability growing up.”
Fiona grinned. “Are you certain?”
“I…well…” Olivia broke off, flummoxed, and pinched the skin above her nose. “If business in the café continues to decline, offering a home to the boys might be a moot point.”
Fiona’s brow creased in concern. “Are things that bad?”
“Not quite, but they will be unless trade picks up. Business stress is yet another reason that it’s crappy timing for me to start a relationship with Jonas, not to mention the oh-so-small matter of us being the prime suspects in a murder enquiry.”
Fiona paused. “That part is unfortunate, I’ll admit.”
Olivia exhaled sharply. “It’s a bit more than ‘unfortunate.’ It’s a flipping disaster. Every time we’re seen together in public, speculation increases. The best thing I can do for all of us is keep my distance.”
“What about Luca? Are you going to ignore him, too?”
“Don’t be daft. He’s a child. I’d never snub him.” Actually, she missed the little guy terribly. After a thorny start, they’d grown fond of one another.
“Why don’t you offer to look after him for an afternoon?” Fiona persisted. “After all, you’ve built up a relationship with the kid. Seems cruel to cut contact with him when he’s gotten used to having you around.”
“I have no intention of cutting contact with him. I’m not heartless. Actually, I was going to offer to take him to play in the woods.”
Fiona gave a sly grin. “An excellent idea.”
“You’re a relentless matchmaker,” Olivia said dryly. She slid the loaves of bread into the oven and set the timer. Her first port of call in her quest to do a bit of private sleuthing was her parent’s house. The very notion of facing her mother filled her with dread. She removed her apron and smoothed down her hair. “Right. I’m off to see Mum. Walk out with me?”
In the main room of the café, Jill was sipping a latte and flicking through a glossy magazine.
“Hey,” Fiona said, “did you get that job you interviewed for in Dublin?”
A wide smile spread across Jill’s face. “Yes. I start the first week of August.”
“Congratulations. You’ll be working at the Sports Day next Saturday?”
Jill laughed. “For my sins. Will you be there?”
“Alas, yes.” Fiona made a gagging motion. “Bridie is on the organizing committee, and I’ve been roped into serving drinks.”
“In that case, I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Will you be okay on your own until I get back?” Olivia asked.
“Sure,” Jill said. “Take your time. It’s not like we’re rushed off our feet with customers these days.”
No, they weren’t. The initial macabre curiosity after the murder had waned, and many of the café’s regular customers were staying away. All the more reason to get to the bottom of the mystery. She couldn’t afford for the business to go belly-up, especially with Jill departing for her new job in Dublin in a few weeks.
Outside the café, she pulled her car keys from her handbag. “If I don’t see you before Saturday, have a good week.”
“Thanks. You too.” Fiona gave her a bear hug. “Take good care of yourself. Please think about what I said.”
“I will.”
Her friend strode off in the direction of the Book Mark, and Olivia climbed into her car. A quick check in the rearview mirror told her that her makeup was perfect. She added an extra layer of lipstick just in case. Spending an hour or two in her mother’s company was her idea of hell, but she needed to find out what Victoria knew. If the police weren’t going to find Aidan’s killer, she would. Olivia gunned the engine.
***
Victoria flicked ash into an overflowing ashtray and took a sip from her wine glass. “I don’t know why you keep going on about it. Aidan didn’t confide in me.”
Olivia wrinkled her nose with distaste. She despised cigarettes and disapproved of anyone drinking alcohol this early on a weekday. A lifetime of dealing with her parents had given her a healthy disdain for all forms of substance abuse. She was aware of her hypocrisy in this regard. She was allergic to people passing judgment on her, yet she had no problem judging her parents.
“Mum,” she continued calmly, “I was just asking if you knew anyone other than us with a particular grudge against Aidan. Maybe Dad knows something. He was friends with Aidan for decades, after all, and he might have been more privy to his business dealings than I was.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. She took another drag on her cigarette. “Leave your dad out of this. Isn’t it bad enough he’s lost his livelihood?”
“Has he started looking for another job?” asked Olivia. The question was perfunctory. She knew her father had neither the gumption nor the professional reputation to find another position.
“He’s been to the job center,” said Victoria with a sniff, “but they have nothing suitable to offer.”
“What do they have that would be unsuitable?”
“Don’t be cheeky. You know very well your dad can’t turn his hand to manual labor, especially not at his age.”
Olivia winced at the notion. She’d seen Dad wield a hammer. The results weren’t pretty. “Fine. I know it’s hard to find a job these days. Is he eligible for unemployment benefits?”
“For goodness sake. Stop with the questions. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” Victoria sloshed another dollop of wine into her glass, not bothering to offer any to Olivia. “Besides, once you come into your money, we’ll be fine.”
Olivia’s heart lurched against her ribs. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? You’ll help us out, surely.”
Oh, feck. She should have anticipated this. “No, Mum. I have no intention of giving you any money.”
Victoria’s expression turned glacial. “What about your brothers? Do you want them to be homeless? Patricia is threatening to throw us out of the house.”
“Cut the dramatics. If I can afford a place large enough, I’m happy to offer them a home. Supporting you and dad is out of the question. And as I’m hardly in a position to take over Aidan’s law practice, I can’t exactly offer Dad a job.” She gave a sly grin. “Now if either one of you are interested in helping out at the café, I’ll see what I can arrange.”
Victoria’s face went pale then red with rage. “You’d have me work as a waitress?”
“No. I was thinking of someone to help kitchen staff. If that goes well, we could see about you working out front.”
“I’d be nothing more than a kitchen skivvy?” Victoria’s lower lip quivered. “Surely you owe me better than that.”
“I don’t owe you anything, Mother,” Olivia replied coldly. “Whatever you think I’m inheriting from Aidan, I can guarantee you it won’t be as much as you expect. He took a hit when the shopping center plan imploded, remember? Besides, he kept most of his money tied up and under his mother’s name, hence Patricia inheriting your IOU. Frankly, I’d have been better off financially if he’d lived long enough to divorce me. He was prepared to make me a settlement, which included money from his mother.”
Victoria blanched. “How much?”
“It’s a moot point now, isn’t it?” Olivia shrugged. “The sum he suggested was in the region of a half a million euros. A large chunk of that would have been his mother’s contribution, so I know I’ll be entitled to far less now.”
She watched the wheels in her mother’s head turn. Victoria was an odd bird. At times, she wore her emotions like a vibrant dress. At others, she was utterly inscrutable.
“What about life insurance?” Victoria demanded. “Surely he had a policy?”
“Why would he? We didn’t own property with a mortgage attached, and we had no children. There was no reason for Aidan to take out life insurance.” Olivia stood to leave. “Frankly, I can’t see how any of this concerns you.”
Victoria’s hands began to shake. “I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice brittle. “You’re telling me you’re worse off with him dead than alive?”
“That’s about the size of it.” Olivia grabbed her jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and slipped it on. “Unfortunately for me, Aidan never got round to sending a copy of the proposed settlement to my solicitor. As far as the police are concerned, they only have my word for it that any such settlement was in the offing. I can only hope they find some record of it on his computer or among his files.”
Victoria made an odd choking sound.
Olivia ignored it and moved toward the door. “Give my regards to Dad and the boys. If you or Dad can think of anyone who might have borne a grudge against Aidan, please tell me. Better still, tell the police.”
With trembling hands, Victoria reached for her cigarette packet. She shook one free and lit up. “If I were you,” she said between drags, “I’d keep my nose well out of it. Leave the investigation to the police.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
THE ANNUAL BALLYBEG SPORTS DAY was a disgrace to sporting events nationwide. With the notable exception of a few hardened runners and ardent swimmers, the people of the town equated sport with an alcohol-fueled three-legged race along the beach. Food and nonalcoholic beverages were provided for children, pets, and—presumably—homicide detectives.
Jonas scowled across the sand at Detective Inspector Connelly and his lackeys. “Do they seriously think they’re going solve Aidan Gant’s murder at this shindig?”
“Wait for it,” Gavin said. “All will be revealed during the three-legged race.”
Jonas surveyed the beach. “We’re screwed, mate. We’re not drunk enough to win this thing. No surprise John-Joe Fitzgerald and Buck MacCarthy win every year.”
His friend snapped the pull top off his can and squinted at their competitors. “Sure we’ll be grand once we have another beer.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m staying sober. I have to collect Luca later.”
“Looks like he’s getting on great with Olivia.” Gavin nodded to the cake stand where Luca was gorging on cream cake and Wiggly Poo was scarfing doggie treats.
“Yeah, he misses her. I don’t think he’s as fond of his new babysitter.”
“Nor are you, I’d imagine,” Gavin said with a sly grin.
Jonas ignored him and picked his way across the sand to his son.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, yourself.” He tweaked the little boy’s nose, making him squeal.
A string of customers were keeping Olivia busy. She looked elegant in an old-fashioned tea dress. The rosy tinge to her cheeks when she caught sight of him sent his heart rate soaring.
Luca tugged at his sleeve. “I wanna do the men’s three-legged race with Wiggly Poo.”
“No can do, kiddo. Dogs aren’t allowed.”
“That’s discrimination.” The boy crossed his arms over his skinny chest. “Wiggly Poo should be allowed to take part if he wants to.”
Jonas eyed the curly-furred canine, currently hacking up an unidentifiable substance. “I don’t see Wiggly Poo submitting to having his legs bound.”
“Aw. It’s not fair.”
“Welcome to real life, mate.” He flipped open his wallet and pulled out a tenner. “This should keep you and the mutt fed and watered for a while. Stay with Fiona and Olivia. I’ll be back to collect you right after we finish.”
Brian Glenn, the young policeman from the local station, was organizing the three-legged race. “Come on, lads,” he bellowed into the megaphone. “Take your places at the starting line.”
“Five months spent training for this farce”—Jonas bent down to help Gavin with their bindings—“and you’re too drunk to run.”
“All part of the fun,” his friend slurred. “Sure look at John-Joe and Buck. They can never see straight, yet they always win.”
“As I recall, Buck
only has one eye.”
“Maybe that’s our problem. We need three eyes to win a three-legged race.”
“Up with you.” Jonas hauled his friend to his feet, and they staggered to the starting line.
Suddenly Gavin clutched his arm. “Jaysus. Please tell me it’s the beer. Is John-Joe Fitzgerald wearing a thong?”
Sure enough, John-Joe Fitzgerald, Ballybeg’s resident Elvis impersonator, was naked save a very small, very tight pair of leopard-print swimming trunks. “I’m doing the swimming competition after this race,” he called, catching sight of their horrified expressions. “No time to change between events.”
“I need eye bleach,” Jonas muttered. “I did not know it was possible to have an arse that hairy.”
“On your marks, get set, and…go.” Brian Glenn blew his whistle, and they were off.
The first few meters passed in a blur of flying sand and sweaty men. Jonas and Gavin had sufficient practice to maintain a decent and synchronized pace…until disaster struck.
“Woof!” Wiggly Poo darted into the throng and hurled himself at his master.
Gavin staggered backward, dragging Jonas down with him. “Go away, you daft dog.”
The labradoodle, deciding his master was in imminent danger, pawed their leg binding with intent and whimpered.
“It’s fine, Wiggly Poo,” Jonas said through a mouthful of sand. “Leave it alone.”
The dog threw his head back a let out an unholy howl. Within seconds, other dogs in the vicinity took Wiggly Poo’s hint. The cacophony that followed would shatter glass.
“Would someone shut that hound up?” yelled an elderly man with a cane. “I can’t hear the race commentary.”
Jonas looked at Gavin. “Race commentary? What are we? Greyhounds?”
Fiona appeared above them, hands on hips. “No. You’re two overgrown eejits running a race usually reserved for children. I hate to break it to you, lads, but in addition to causing total mayhem, you came dead last.”
“John-Joe and Buck won again?” asked Jonas.
Fiona grinned. “Yup.”