A Stewed Observation

by Karen C. Whalen

  Nolan examined each of their faces in a slow, deliberate manner and settled on Bruce’s. “And it just so happens that you, a relative of the chemist, should show up at the castle and have a hand in Mr. O’Doherty’s death.”

  “What are you saying? That Ryan did something to the old man’s pills? Mixed up his drugs?” Bruce spoke in rapid fire. “And that I’m involved somehow?”

  Nolan stared hard at Bruce, as if waiting for him to say more.

  Cheryl stood up with such force she knocked her chair over. “Are you accusing my husband of something?”

  Bruce’s hand shot out to steady his wife. “Cheryl, it’s all right.” He pivoted in his seat to look straight at the Chief Superintendent. “Do you have any other questions?”

  Nolan didn’t answer and turned his attention to Griffin instead. “Mr. O’Doherty, I have a search warrant for the premises, including the guest rooms.” An expression fluttered across Griffin’s face that was hard to identify. A second later the look was gone. He inclined his head and followed Nolan out of the room. Watching their backs, Jane wondered if it was a look of fear or something else. He’d been confident that nothing was wrong, that his uncle had died of natural causes, and perhaps that look showed doubt.

  Another guard said, “The rest of you are to remain here until the search is completed.” The club members stayed put in the dining hall without speaking while the police did their work. Mairéid waited with them, concentrating on her cell phone. After some time, Nolan returned and told them they were free to leave.

  Bruce locked eyes with his buddy, Doug. “Let’s go somewhere to talk about this.”

  “Come with me.” Cheryl led the group down the hall to their room. Suitcases had been moved and were sitting open on the bed. The armoire gapped ajar and hangers were crushed to one side. “Is it normal for our luggage to be searched?” Cheryl began to refold her clothes with unnecessary force.

  “That can happen. Besides, even airport security looks through suitcases on occasion.” Doug rubbed his mustache.

  Olivia said, “Should we call the embassy or something? I wonder if they’re open now.”

  Cheryl gave up on the crumpled clothes. “Do you think it would help any?”

  Bruce wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders as she buried her face in his chest. “Let’s not get all worked up. They don’t really have anything on me…or Ryan, either. They’re just trying to push my buttons. Stir the pot and see what happens.”

  Doug and Dale both agreed and the men engaged in a dissing session involving Nolan as the subject. While the rest of them discussed who had their hands around Alsander’s neck, Griffin or the other two in the skirmish, Jane considered what the Superintendent had told them.

  During a pause she injected herself back into the conversation. “I wonder what came up in the toxicology report.”

  Bruce ground his right fist onto his left palm. “Ryan wouldn’t’ve done anything wrong with the old guy’s prescription, but he did expect to be questioned about his pills.”

  “When did he tell you that?” Jane set her notes down.

  “Oh, the day we toured King John’s Castle. He pulled me aside to give me the heads up about it.”

  She blew out a short breath. “Why did he think the police would question him about the pills?”

  “He said Alsander was dead set against taking any drugs, but for some reason agreed to take this new prescription. The ‘script wasn’t written by his regular family doctor, but by a doctor Ryan wasn’t familiar with.”

  “Not a doctor from around Limerick?” Doug started to ask, when Cheryl interrupted him.

  “Remember our pact. It should include Ryan. We’re all in this together.” Cheryl exchanged a tense look with her husband.

  “Agreed.” Bruce nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. “Jane, I’d like to take another look at the book you bought on excited delirium—”

  The partially open door moved an inch, grabbing Jane’s attention. Griffin hung back on the other side, crooking his finger, beckoning her to come out. The others were still talking, their voices on top of one another, so she slipped into the hallway. How much of their conversation had he heard?

  “I’m sorry the guards came back.” Griffin’s voice went high at the end, as if testing her response.

  “Yeah, me too.” She inched the door closed behind her. “Did the police give you a copy of the search warrant? Do you know what they were looking for?”

  “They left me some paperwork. I haven’t read it yet. I’ll do that.”

  “The police think something’s up, Griffin. It’s so strange. If your uncle had a weird medical condition and choked to death, what does the toxicology screen have to do with it?” She scrunched up her nose.

  His gaze bored into hers for a long moment. “His death was horrible, but he was an old man, unstable, ill…”

  “I know. And I’m sorry he died like that.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I need to get back inside. Dale’s probably wondering what we’re talking about out here…” She stepped toward the door, but he caught her arm.

  His hand remained closed over her wrist for several seconds. “This will blow over, you’ll see.”

  The door cracked open and Cheryl’s head emerged with Dale’s right behind. Jane and Griffin jumped apart like teenagers caught necking on the front porch, and there was silence for an awkward moment. Cheryl mouthed, “Get in here,” and Jane followed her back into the room.

  “What did Griffin want?” Dale’s eyes held a bit of fire.

  “He just apologized for everything that’s happened. What’d you decide to do?” Jane looked from one to the other of them. Her gaze veered past Dale’s suspicious eyes.

  “Nothing, except I’m going to give Ryan a call tomorrow to see what he has to say. For now, let’s sleep on it.” Bruce ushered everyone but his wife out the door. They said, “goodnight,” to each other and, “not to worry.” The Ladners headed to their room, as Dale and Jane climbed the curving staircase to the second floor. The upstairs hallway was dark, with only a small circle of light flickering from a lamp at the end of the corridor.

  Once they were out of sight of the others, Dale came to a halt to ask again, “What did Griffin want with you?”

  She planted both hands on his chest. “He said he was sorry the police came back, that’s all. But I asked him what was listed on the search warrant. He’s going to look at it.”

  “Stay out of it and stay clear of him.”

  The look on his face made Jane’s mouth open in surprise. He didn’t come out and say it, but she knew it. “You’re jealous—” She gave him the most reassuring smile she could muster.

  “Do I have reason to be?” His words sounded husky and thick. Thinking about a reply, Jane was cut short when Dale’s phone pinged, and he said, “It’s the electrician calling. I’ll see you in the morning.” He dodged into his room and left her standing there.

  Grumbling, Jane unlocked her door and crossed over to gaze out the window. The River Shannon reflected the setting sun and the tops of the waving trees. The water was a murky gray, and the leaves were a dreary green in the shadowy light. A loneliness stole over her. Should she give Dale a few minutes to get off the phone, then knock on his door? No, it ought to be the other way around. He should be the one knocking on her door…

  Needing a distraction, she sat in the rocking chair and cracked open the book on excited delirium. She skimmed the first chapter without having her mind on it. But all of a sudden the words started to sink in and brought even more questions to mind. She reread the section again and learned excited delirium was a controversial diagnosis. Identifying mental illnesses was not precise and taking drugs could trigger the condition.

  She rifled through her purse for her pocket-sized spiral notepad, but couldn’t put her hands on it. She must have left it in her large tote bag. Impatient to get a pen in her hand, she grabbed loose sheets of hotel stationary from the de
sk next to where she sat and jotted down her bullet point questions—was excited delirium a real diagnosis or a catch-all for a phenomena not easily explained? Could excited delirium cause respiratory arrest? What was in Alsander’s tox screen and was he drugged? Or did his death simply result from the choke hold? Or natural causes? She couldn’t rule that out.

  She folded the pages in half and then in half again and stuffed them into the pocket of her purse.

  After readying for bed and climbing under the blankets, she tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep, her mind going over the new information. Her tangled thoughts latched onto the problem and wouldn’t let go. She switched on the bedside lamp to read the mystery, but her brain would not quit spinning, so she shut the light off, punched her pillow into shape, and forced herself to think about their day in Galway. Certain Dale was going to ask her to marry him, her mind circled back to everything he said…then she replayed the conversation at the restaurant, but those thoughts were not comforting either.

  Why did she go along with the off-color jokes? And she’d talked a lot about herself, told a couple of self-serving stories showing herself in a good light—got some laughs—but did she really need to be the center of attention like that? Why didn’t she sit back and let the others tell their stories? She was so self-centered, and now she only had self-loathing. Trying to sleep, twisting and tangling the blankets, she prayed for guidance, for wisdom, and for the next conversation, Oh God, keep watch over the door of my lips.

  ****

  She awoke early the following morning in spite of her poor sleep the night before. The yellow globe rising over the horizon on the other side of the River Shannon promised good weather, driving away the problems of the night. She dressed in a knee-length jean skirt and a polka-dot cotton blouse, and then shoved her feet into comfortable loafers.

  Maybe Dale had gotten up early, too. She should’ve made plans to meet him for breakfast. If no one else was in the dining hall, she’d wake him up for some time alone, just the two of them.

  She was in luck; the tables were empty, but breakfast was not yet laid out, not even the coffee. As Jane extracted her cell to ring Dale, she humped open the door to the kitchen and poked her head around the door frame. The cooler emitted its loud humming noise. The divine aroma of brewing coffee met her nose. Jane stopped right there. With her back to the door, Fiona appeared to stare at the coffee maker dripping into the urn, but her shoulders were shaking. Was she laughing or crying?

  The young lady sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. Crying, then.

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Jane darted over, pocketing her phone.

  Fiona spun around. “I’m fine.” But her face crumpled.

  “No, you’re not. Tell me about it.” Jane led the young lady over to a counter stool, then extracted two coffee cups from the drying rack near the sink. She poured them both a steamy mugful and pushed one toward Fiona. “Alsander’s death is upsetting you.”

  “That’s not all. My boyfriend broke up with me.”

  “Oh, dear.” Jane frowned, perplexed for something to say. What bad timing on top of everything else that had happened. “Were you together long?”

  “Only a few months, but I love him.” A big tear ran down her cheek.

  “Did he say why?”

  “I saw him with someone else.” Fiona sniveled into the dish towel.

  “I’m so sorry.” Jane turned down the edges of her lips.

  “I saw the two of ’em coming out o’ the tower together. She asked him if he’d tole’ me it was over between us. He hadn’t, but I knew what they were up to.” The last words came out as a wail.

  Just then, Griffin swished through the kitchen door. “What’s the matter?”

  Fiona bawled, with her eyes closed shut and her mouth opened wide, like an infant whose pacifier was plucked out of her mouth. Jane looked around for something to pop in there, but nothing could stop that waah-waah cry of pain. Griffin rushed over and put his arm around her shoulder. She shoved her face against his collar. He gave Jane a scared look over the top of Fiona’s head, and Jane spread her hands out wide in a what-can-you-do gesture. Should she offer Fiona a tissue? How would the young lady with several nose piercings make use of it?

  Pulling back, Fiona took a deep, shuddering breath and slid off the stool. “I’ll get back ta’ work. It’ll help take my mind off of it.” She heaved the coffee urn onto a cart and motored the cart out the door to the dining room.

  “She said her boyfriend broke up with her,” Jane explained.

  “Ah. A matter of the heart.” He put his hand on top of Jane’s. “Hearts break easy. I hope you’re guarding yours.” His large, warm hand enveloped her small, cold one.

  Before she had a chance to ask what he meant, Dale flung open the door. “What are you two doing?”

  Jane snatched her hand back. “I’m looking for coffee.”

  “The coffee is in the dining room.” His narrowed gaze slanted between Griffin and Jane.

  “I know. Fiona just took the urn in there.”

  Dale rubbed his forehead. “Jane, can I have a word?”

  “Sure.”

  He went through the door into the dining hall and Jane followed him. Dale said, “I’m checking out today. I have to return to Colorado.”

  Chapter 7

  Jane trailed after Dale as he crossed through the dining room into the main hall. “What happened now?” Her voice came out louder and harsher than she intended.

  “The health department closed the restaurant down. I need to get home.” He stopped at the reception desk.

  She bristled, her back as straight as an arrow, her neck stiff, her jaw set, ready and aimed to fire off her retort. “You don’t have to go. It’s not like it’s a matter of life or death—”

  “Jane, a restaurant’s profit margin is always slim. Shutting down for a few days is a matter of success or failure. It can be a death sentence in this business.”

  “But, you can’t leave me here on my own,” she said, pressing her hand to the front of her shirt and fanning her fingers out across her breastbone, “with everything going on.”

  He asked Mairéid standing at the computer, “Would you please get my bill ready? I need to check out.” He turned to Jane and said, as if to placate her, “Come home with me. We can come back another time, just the two of us by ourselves.”

  Although she had wanted to get off by themselves, she was not about to be appeased. “Go home?” She let her spine relax and slumped against the counter.

  “You want to stay?”

  “Yes, of course.” She drew her eyebrows down in a how-can-you-do this-to-me scowl.

  “Right.” Dale’s smile wavered, but Jane could see his determination, and he turned to Mairéid to request again, “My bill, please?”

  Olivia sprinted in from the hall. “What’s this? Dale, you’re going?” The rest of the club charged in behind her, and Fiona stuck her blotchy face around the doorway to listen along with everybody else.

  “I told him he can’t.” Jane tried not to pout.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to. I found a flight leaving Dublin at two this afternoon.” Dale gave her a pleading look, then turned to face their friends. “Sorry, guys. You’ll take care of Jane, won’t you?” He appeared to have trouble meeting their eyes.

  “Of course we will.” Cheryl gripped Jane’s arm. Olivia marched up to stand on her other side, while the guys shuffled their feet and stared down at their hands.

  Mairéid hit a few keys; the printer whorled and made sharp beeps. She snagged a page from the printer tray, then slid the invoice across the counter. Dale paid for his room on his credit card.

  Jane’s heart fell to her stomach, but she brought herself up short. Time to be sensible—she had no claim on him, since they weren’t married, not even engaged. “Okay, Dale. I’ll drive you to Dublin when you’re ready.” But her voice held resentment, and her lips quivered as she looked to Cheryl for reassurance.


  Her friend piped up. “We’ll all go. We have Dublin on our itinerary. We’ll go today instead of later in the week as we’d planned.”

  “Let’s have some breakfast first. I smell the coffee.” Bruce motioned toward the dining hall.

  When Dale escaped to his room for his bags, Cheryl took one of her elbows and Olivia the other, practically dragging Jane to the table. Fiona had finished laying out another hearty breakfast of the same menu—eggs and bacon and black pudding. One would think they’d stop serving the pudding, since no one was eating it. Olivia filled a plate for herself and one for Jane, while Cheryl carried over mugs of coffee.

  “I’m doing the right thing by staying, aren’t I?” Jane looked to her friends for their support.

  “Yes. You need to stay and enjoy yourself, even if he’s leaving, stick it out.” Cheryl banged the mugs down on the table, spilling a couple of spoonsful of the precious brew. “There’s so much to see yet. You don’t want to miss anything.”

  Jane stared down at her full plate. Not appetizing. Not appealing. She swallowed a lump in her throat the size of the Spire of Dublin. This was her vacation, a trip she saved and scrimped for…planned, prepared, and packed for…and so, squaring her shoulders, she said, “You’re right. I do need to stick it out.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Olivia patted her hand in an absent way. “And besides, you have this mysterious death to solve, remember?”

  “It’s not murder.” Cheryl frowned as she wiped the coffee spill with a paper napkin. “The police haven’t said his death was murder. Bruce says it’s only the tox screen that’s questionable, whatever that means.” Not paying attention to the women, Bruce and Doug were engrossed in their own conversation.

  “True, but Jane can still ask some questions, get the scoop.” Olivia spooned eggs into her mouth, then chewed and swallowed. “Remember how she solved that murder last summer. Thank God.”