by Judi Curtin
‘It’s not obvious at all,’ said Kate, who loves a good argument. ‘Maybe Daisy’s dad was cleared. Maybe he was released from prison, and her mum got better and they went off to America to live with Daisy, and the three of them lived happily ever after.’
I shook my head. ‘I wish I could believe that, but I can’t. It’s been years and years and years. Daisy loved Seacove as much as you and I do. If her dad’s name had been cleared, I know she would have come back at some stage. She’d have found a way to come home.’
‘But––’
I didn’t let her finish. ‘Can’t you see, Kate? When I read that diary, I felt like Daisy was talking to me. I felt like she was sending me a message from the past.’
‘And her message is?’ asked Kate, looking at me like I was an idiot.
Now I felt embarrassed. ‘I know it sounds totally weird,’ I said. ‘But I can’t help that. I just think that we should try to discover what really happened. I think we should find out more about the crime.’
‘The Case of the Stolen Chalice,’ said Kate, giggling. ‘Sounds like a Famous Five book.’
I ignored her. ‘I wonder if we could find a way to prove that Daisy’s dad was innocent. Then we should track Daisy down and let her know – if she’s still alive, that is.’
Kate didn’t look convinced. ‘There are two kind of big ‘ifs’ in that sentence, you know, Eva,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But shouldn’t we try anyway, for Daisy’s sake?’
Now Kate was serious. She reached over and took my hand. ‘Eva, there’s one important thing you’re not considering, isn’t there?’
‘What?’
She spoke slowly and carefully, like she was afraid of offending me.
‘Maybe Daisy’s dad really was guilty. Maybe he did break into that church. Maybe he did steal the chalice. Maybe justice was done – only not in the way Daisy was hoping.’
I shook my head. ‘No way,’ I said. ‘Daisy’s dad would never have done a thing like that.’
‘And you know that how?’
‘Because Daisy said he was innocent.’
‘She would say that, wouldn’t she?’ Kate squeezed my hand tightly. ‘He was her dad,’ she whispered. ‘She loved him. She wanted to believe the best of him – but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he was innocent.’
I didn’t like what she was saying. ‘But––’ I began, before she interrupted me. ‘Even axe-murderers probably hug their kids at night, and tell them bedtime stories. I bet lifelong criminals have kids who believe they’ve never done a single bad thing in their lives. Love makes people do funny things.’
‘So now you’re an expert on love?’ I said crossly.
‘Actually I am,’ she said. ‘When my dad left, I was really, really angry, but I never stopped loving him, not even for one second. Abandoning me was a bad thing to do, and it messed up my life for years, but when Dad came back, I forgave him. That’s what love does to a person.’
I gave her a quick hug. ‘I’m really glad your dad came back,’ I said. ‘But this is different, isn’t it?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. Maybe Daisy’s dad really was a bad person, but because she loved him, she couldn’t face up to it. She couldn’t deal with the truth.’
I sighed. ‘What you say makes sense,’ I said. ‘But let’s not give up so quickly. How about we do a bit of research and see what we come up with?’
‘You’re going to do this whether I agree or not aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, already planning my next move.
She jumped up. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Count me in. Time for the Kate and Eva Cold-Case Detective Agency to set up for business.’
Chapter Eight
Even though she’s really nice, I can never manage to forget how much Kate’s granny, Martha, scared me when I met her first. Because of this, when we got to Kate’s place, I was really glad to see that Martha was in a good mood.
‘We need to ask you something,’ I said.
‘About Daisy Lavelle,’ finished Kate.
‘I’d dearly like to help you two girls,’ said Martha. ‘But I told you already – I barely remember that girl and her family. What I remember most is the bad feeling they inspired after they left. For years afterwards, people spoke about them with a sense of horror, almost as if all three of them had been evil.’
‘That’s totally mean,’ said Kate.
Martha sighed. ‘I agree with you,’ she said. ‘But those were different times, harder times. The war hadn’t been over for long, remember.’
‘Is that the Second World War?’ I asked. ‘We read about that in school. But I thought Ireland wasn’t involved.’
Martha laughed. ‘That’s the trouble with history books,’ she said. ‘They only tell you half of the truth. Ireland might not have been directly involved, but if your nearest neighbour is at war, you can be sure that’s going to have a big effect on you. Many Irish people went away to fight and there were great hardships here too, you know. People became even more suspicious and intolerant than before.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling stupid.
‘Anyway,’ said Kate, changing the subject. ‘Let’s get back to Daisy. Can you think of anyone else who might have known her, Martha? Did she have any cousins or aunties or uncles around here or anything?’
Martha shook her head. ‘As far as I know, Daisy Lavelle didn’t have any family besides her mum and dad. After they left Seacove, the cottage was empty for years and years. It always struck me as a sad place. I was glad when it was finally sold when I was a teenager.’
‘What about friends?’ I asked. ‘Daisy writes a lot about a girl called Rose.’
Now Martha smiled. ‘That would have to be Rose Madigan from the Coast Road. She was a lovely girl.’
‘And is she …?’ began Kate.
‘Oh, she’s alive and well,’ said Martha. ‘She lives in the nursing home on the hill overlooking the bay.’
‘OMG,’ I said. ‘Do you think she might talk to us?’
Martha didn’t answer. She suddenly got up and walked towards the kitchen.
‘What’s going on?’ I whispered to Kate. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘I’m not deaf, young lady,’ called Martha from the kitchen. ‘And nothing is wrong. I’m just doing a bit of baking. If you bring Rose a box of my famous chocolate buns she’ll welcome you with open arms and tell you anything at all you need to know.’
An hour later, Kate and I were waiting in a little sitting room in the nursing home. On Kate’s knees was a tin of still-warm chocolate buns. In the pocket of my hoodie I had Daisy’s diary and the Lavelle family photo that Zoe had copied on her computer.
I couldn’t help feeling nervous.
‘You’re sure Martha rang and told Rose about us?’ I said.
‘Yes, I’m sure. She told her that we found the photograph and the diary. She told her we want to talk about Daisy, and Rose is fine with that. Now stop worrying, Eva. Martha said that Rose gets tired easily, so we need to concentrate, and not waste time.’
Just then the door opened and a nurse wheeled an old lady into the room. ‘These are the two girls who have come to see you, Mrs Madigan,’ he said.
The old lady in the wheelchair smiled at us with a sweet, wrinkled old face. She leaned over and took both of our hands tightly in her skinny ones. It was like being held by a scraggly old chicken, but I didn’t like to pull away. The nurse put the brake on the wheelchair and walked towards the door.
‘I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, but ring the bell if you want me before that,’ he said.
When he was gone, we all looked at each other for a minute. Then I pulled the photo from my pocket and held it towards Rose. She let go of our hands, took the photo and looked at it for a long time. I was beginning to wonder if she’d fallen asleep or died or something when I noticed tears streaming down her face. I scrabbled in my pockets until I found a clean(ish) tissue and handed it to R
ose.
‘We’re so sorry,’ said Kate.
‘We didn’t mean to upset you,’ I said.
Rose wiped her eyes and gave us a watery smile. ‘That’s all right, girls. A little cry now and then does no harm to anyone. It was just a bit strange, seeing those dear faces again after such a long time.’
‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘What happened to Daisy and her mum and dad in the end?’
Rose’s smile faded. ‘It was a terrible, terrible sad business,’ she said.
I thought she was going to cry again, and I looked desperately at Kate.
Was this whole thing a really bad idea?
Were we upsetting this poor old lady for nothing?
‘We know some stuff,’ said Kate gently. ‘We know about the court case. We know that Daisy’s dad went to jail.’
Then I couldn’t resist any more.
‘Did he really do it? Did Daisy’s dad really steal that chalice?’
It was a long time before Rose answered. ‘Mr Lavelle was a lovely man. He was handsome and good and kind. Daisy always protested his innocence, and I believed her, but in later years ………’
‘In later years what?’ I prompted her.
‘In later years I wasn’t so sure any more. Daisy and I were only children when it all happened. We were mostly kept in the dark. Mr Lavelle was convicted, so I suppose there must have been evidence against him.’ She gave a big, quivery sigh. ‘I’m simply not sure any more. I’m not sure of anything any more.’
For a minute no one said anything, and it was totally embarrassing. Then Rose gave a small smile.
‘Daisy was the best friend I ever had,’ she said. ‘She was a sweet girl. After her daddy was sent to jail my parents told me I couldn’t see her any more.’
‘But that’s so unfair,’ I said. ‘You and Daisy hadn’t done anything wrong.’
‘Daisy and I thought it was unfair too,’ said Rose. ‘That’s why I ignored my parents’ instructions.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Kate.
Rose smiled a dreamy smile. ‘Late at night, Daisy used to sneak out of her house and come over to my place. When I heard her special whistle outside, I crept from my bed, and out the back door. We went for long moonlit walks together. We spent many hours together like this.’
Kate and I grinned at each other. That’s exactly what we had done the year before.
‘They were sad times,’ said Rose. ‘But they were special too. It felt like it was just Daisy and me against the rest of the world. But before long, things changed again …’
‘We know that Daisy went to America in 1947,’ said Kate. ‘But what happened after that? Did she ever come back here? Did her mum get better? Did her dad get out of jail?’
‘Poor Mrs Lavelle was not a strong woman,’ said Rose. ‘When her husband was sent to jail, she fell to pieces. She ended up in the mental home – not a very nice place to be in those days I’m afraid.’
‘And how long did she have to stay there?’ I asked.
‘After Daisy left for America, my mother visited Mrs Lavelle a few times,’ said Rose. ‘But then one day she was told that Mrs Lavelle had been transferred to a locked ward, and wasn’t allowed visitors.’
‘But that’s totally cruel,’ I said. ‘The poor woman.’
‘A year later,’ continued Rose, ‘word came that Mrs Lavelle had died. Two years after that, Mr Lavelle died in prison.’
‘OMG,’ I whispered. ‘That’s awful. Poor Daisy.’
‘But what exactly happened to Mr and Mrs Lavelle?’ asked Kate. ‘How did they both just die?’
Rose sighed. ‘Who knows? Maybe after all that had happened, they simply lost the will to live. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. You see, no one ever talked openly about the Lavelles. It was almost as if they were a guilty secret we weren’t allowed to think about. It was almost as if they were a bad dream that was best forgotten.’
‘And Daisy?’ I asked.
‘She was a dear girl and I missed her terribly,’ said Rose. ‘In those days, America might as well have been on another planet.’
For a second I could see past the wrinkled old lady, to the sad young girl Rose had once been.
What must have it been like for her to have her friend leave so suddenly like that?
How awful must it have been not to be able to talk about her?
‘Daisy and I wrote to each other at first,’ said Rose. ‘She told me all about her new life in America. It seemed exciting – but always tinged with sadness. I could tell that she was very lonely. Her great-aunt meant well, but she didn’t understand young girls. She thought that Daisy should just move on and forget all about her old life.’
‘She was expected to act like none of it ever happened?’ said Kate angrily. ‘She was expected to forget her mum, and her dad, and you and Seacove? How could she possibly do that?’
Rose sighed. ‘It sounds harsh, I know. Anyway, after her daddy died, Daisy stopped writing. I waited and waited, but there was no word from her. My letters came back to me unopened. I don’t know what happened to my friend, or where she went.’
I could feel tears coming to my eyes, but they embarrassed me. I’d never met Daisy or her mum and dad. Why did I care so much about what had happened to them?
Then I saw that Kate’s eyes were damp too, and that made me feel a small bit better.
While I was struggling to think of something to say, the nurse came back into the room.
‘All happy here?’ he said brightly, not seeming to notice that the three of us were holding soggy tissues and had blotchy faces and red eyes.
‘Never better,’ I said, trying to smile.
Then I remembered the diary. I took it from my pocket.
‘Daisy’s diary,’ said Rose, recognising it immediately. She stroked the leather cover with shaky fingers. ‘That diary was so precious to her.’
I held it towards her. I really didn’t want to part with it, but Rose had more right to it than I did.
‘If you like you can …’ I began, but Rose cut me off.
‘No thank you, dear’ she said. ‘I don’t need Daisy’s diary. Memories are enough for me.’
I felt relieved as I put the diary back in my pocket.
Then Kate remembered the tin on her knee.
‘Chocolate buns,’ she said. ‘Martha made them specially for you.’
‘Martha’s famous chocolate buns,’ said Rose. ‘One of life’s little pleasures.’
When we left, Rose was eating a chocolate bun, and gazing at the photo of her old friend. She was smiling, and that made me feel a small bit better. This was turning out to be a very sad story, and I was glad that giving Rose the photo of her old friend had helped a bit.
Neither Kate nor I spoke a word all the way home.
Chapter Nine
Next morning I called over for Kate. ‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘Zoe’s making a cake.’
‘What’s the occasion?’ I asked.
‘There isn’t one. Zoe just likes making cakes.’
She looked around her and then whispered. ‘Zoe makes the most amazing cakes ever, but I can’t let Martha hear me saying that. She might be jealous.’
‘But Martha makes great cakes too. Her chocolate buns are almost famous.’
‘I know,’ whispered Kate. ‘Martha’s cakes are delicious, but Zoe’s are a step beyond that. They’re totally delicious, and they look amazing too. Zoe’s cakes look like they belong in a really fancy bakery in Paris or somewhere.’
By then we were in the kitchen. Zoe poured us each a big glass of home-made lemonade and then went back to decorating her cake. She rolled out some pale green icing and then used a cutter to make heaps of tiny green leaf shapes. She used little dabs of icing to stick these onto the top of a perfectly smooth round cake.
‘That is totally amazing, Zoe,’ I said. ‘Kate’s right, you’re a genius cake-maker.’
‘Thanks,’ said Zoe. ‘But enough about cakes, already. Kate told me wh
at happened yesterday. I think that has to be the saddest story I’ve ever heard.’
‘It’s definitely the saddest story I’ve ever heard,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about poor Daisy. How could so many bad things happen to one person? It just doesn’t seem fair.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ asked Zoe.
‘Do?’ I asked. ‘What can we do? We can’t change the fact that Daisy’s dad went to jail, or the fact that her mother was sent to hospital just because she was sad. We can’t change the fact that both her parents died. And anyway, maybe none of it matters. For all we know, Daisy could be dead by now too.’
‘Put that stuff aside for a moment,’ said Zoe. ‘Do you believe that Daisy’s dad was innocent?’
‘Kate asked me the exact same thing yesterday,’ I said. ‘Are you two part of a big anti-Mr Lavelle conspiracy?’
Kate and Zoe grinned at each other. ‘We just want to know the truth,’ said Kate.
‘The truth is always good,’ said Zoe, giving her a big, soppy smile.
It was totally cute seeing Kate and Zoe get on so well, but I just rolled my eyes and pretended to be grossed-out.
‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about that very question, and I remembered something I read the other day.’
I pulled Daisy’s diary from my pocket. I flicked through the pages until I found the one I wanted.
‘Daisy wrote this months before the whole affair of the chalice happened,’ I said, as I began to read aloud.
Dear Diary,
Daddy was late for supper tonight. He’d gone to the market to buy feed for the chickens and on the way home he realized that Jack Murphy had given him sixpence too much in his change. So he cycled two miles to Murphy’s farm to give it back. Daddy was drenched wet when he got home. He only laughed when Mammy made a fuss, and said he’d catch a deathly cold. ‘Honesty will keep me warm,’ he said, and even Mammy had to laugh then.
I closed the diary. ‘Does that sound like a man who would steal anything?’ I asked.