“Why are you telling me this?” She cranked the valve off and poked a tea bag into her hot water.
“I’m worried about ma’ job. I’m not sure who’s going ta’ run the place now the old man’s dead. Mairéid might fire me. She doesn’t like me much.” Fiona laid the last cup on the table and levered the empty tray under her arm. “She’s blathering on and on. She has this conspiracy theory, how Griff messed with Alsander’s medications, he and the chemist.”
“O-kay. Explain that.” Jane glanced around, but no one else was nearby.
“Griff had the chemist put some dangerous drugs in with the tablets.” After dropping that bombshell, Fiona turned in the direction of the kitchen, but Jane grabbed her arm.
“Ryan told Bruce there was absolutely nothing wrong with the prescription.” Jane pronounced it ab-so-lute-ly-noth-ing.
“Tell that to Mairéid.” The corner of Fiona’s mouth pinched as if in disbelief before she tore herself away and took off. Jane hurried to return to the others with her hot tea and sizzling gossip.
“The chemist? She means Ryan.” Cheryl gave her husband a sidelong glance. The Breewoods crossed their arms at the same time.
Bruce said, “There’s nothing to it. Remember I already talked to Ryan.” He used a cuss word stronger than Jane was used to hearing from him. “What’s Mairéid’s problem?”
Jane said, “I’ll be right back. Maybe I can find out more.” Clutching her teacup she circled the room in an attempt to join conversations, find out what else Mairéid had been saying, and uncover more clues.
One woman said to another, “It smelled fishy, I tell you. Fishy!” Jane slowed her feet to a stop at the woman’s elbow. The woman went on, “I’ll never eat at that restaurant again,” and the second one said, “Right-o. Fish should smell fresh. I’m glad you tole’ me, Myra.” Jane blinked a couple of times, then continued across the room, but the music turned louder and livelier, and it became impossible to eavesdrop.
She spied the young, blond man, who’d been talking with Isleen earlier, acting cagey, but he was only adding several bottles of liquor, whiskey most likely, to the drinks table. The dance floor became crowded, so she rejoined her own group.
Olivia said above the din of the toe-tapping and thudding feet, “Those dance steps don’t look too hard. I’m going to try it.” She ran to the center of the room and stomped her heels in line with the Irish dancers. The others couldn’t contain themselves and had to join in, too. Even the Breewoods’ bad mood lifted, seeming to float away on the music. The Irish laughed at the Americans’ attempts at clog dancing, and the party grew even more rowdy.
Just when one song ended and before another began, Cheryl and Bruce, huffing and puffing, plopped their bottoms onto a couple of folding chairs. Jane, out of breath, too, collapsed next to them. Cheryl said, “This is the most fun I’ve had since we got here.”
Bruce laughed. “I could’ve killed someone myself just to attend the wake.”
Superintendent Nolan tapped Bruce’s shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?”
They all cringed. Bruce’s face was as stiff as concrete. “I was just kidding.”
Chapter 10
During the early funeral service the next morning, the friends sat together in a back pew, yawning and poking each other to keep their eyes from drooping and their heads from bobbing. They hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, since the wake lasted well past midnight, but very few attending the service had had a full night’s rest. After the priest dismissed the sleepy congregation, they withdrew out of the chapel into the graveyard.
Griffin stood with this cousin near the closed casket surrounded by chrysanthemums, giving off a fragrance like a corsage. Jane drew in the flower-scented air, the fresh air waking her up, and waited in line with strangers for her turn to give condolences. After murmuring a few words to the priest, she said to Griff, “We’re going sightseeing, so we’ll be out of your way today. I hope you’re not planning a dinner. You should take the night off.”
“That’s very kind of you, but people from the town will come. I’ll have a dinner ready.” His usually laughing blue eyes seemed to be in a shadow as he stood there, stately in his black suit.
“No one can expect you to be open for meals tonight. Our group won’t be there, anyway. We have other plans for dinner. You should join us.”
“Sorry, I can’t. I want to stay open for dinner.”
“You sure?”
He wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “You’re so sweet and thoughtful, Jane.” She breathed in his masculine aftershave as she laid her cheek against the scratchy fabric of his suit before stepping back.
She approached Mairéid to give her a quick hug, too, but thought better of it, since the woman had on a forbidding expression. Instead, Jane said with a light tap on her arm, “I’m really sorry about your dad.”
“Are you?” Mairéid smirked, a confident, almost arrogant, smirk.
Jane’s hand froze for a second, then she drew it back to cover her mouth, to hold in what she was thinking. Mairéid rubbed her the wrong way, but she reminded herself this woman was grieving. Yet, Mairéid’s question begged one of her own. “Why wouldn’t I be sorry?”
Mairéid’s eyes glinted with hostility toward her cousin, then flicked down to the casket-sized hole in the dirt. “I don’t think Griff is sorry.”
“Not again!” Griff swung away from the man who had his hand in a clasp. “What happened wasn’t my fault.”
“You wanted him dead.” Mairéid blew out her cheeks, her breathing accelerated.
Griff’s eyes seemed to blaze with hatred, but only for a moment. “Me? What about you?”
“You, you need to get ready to move out.”
“Not me. You’re the one who will be heading out, back to Dublin.” His expression was confident, as if he knew for certain she was wrong and he was right.
“You’ll find out once the will is read.”
“You’re crazy.” Griff must have become aware others were listening. His gaze darted to the group of mourners, all paused in their conversations.
Mairéid shifted her head, chin high. “Fiona? Where’s Fiona?” After spotting the young lady, she said in a stentorian voice, each word said in a slow march, “Get the tea ready. We’re about to go inside.” Fiona scuttled in the direction of the castle, as Griff folded his arms across his chest and gazed down at the coffin.
A van was parked next to the graveyard, with high-powered television cameras mounted on the roof and “RTÉ News” painted on the side. A camera crew was aimed toward the casket, and a young blonde newscaster with thick, shiny lip gloss, looking like every other female reporter, pointed a microphone at Mairéid.
Time to get out of there. Jane ran up to Cheryl and tugged on her sleeve. “You ready?”
Her friend nodded, and while leading the group over to the castle, said, “Griff and Mairéid are taking their sibling rivalry to a new level by arguing at the funeral in front of the whole town.”
“And a news crew.” Doug tugged on his mustache. “Is the funeral really newsworthy?”
“Maybe. Questionable death in a castle…kinda spooky.” Bruce adjusted his glasses, and his eyes gazed out owlishly.
Olivia had a blank look, too. “Aren’t they cousins, not siblings?”
“Yes, but they seem to fight constantly, like brother and sister,” Cheryl answered. No one disagreed. “Meet back here in fifteen minutes, everyone.”
Jane rushed up the steps to her room to slip out of her black dress into jeans and hiking shoes. She had a few minutes to spare, so scrolled through the text messages from Dale. He’d sent the first message when his plane landed in Boston and the second when his connecting flight arrived in Denver; she’d responded to that one. The rest of the texts simply asked if she’d gone to the cliffs with the group and what sights she was seeing. There were two voice messages…the last saying nothing except, “It’s Dale, agaaain…” stretching the word out…did she have to call
him back right this minute? She supposed so. She’d had time to think about what she wanted to say, but of course, she wouldn’t say any of those things.
Mustering courage, she steadied herself and dialed his number, only to get voice mail. Relieved, she left a brief message before tucking the phone in her pocket and clattering down the stairs to join the waiting group.
After a short while, a large, passenger van pulled up in front of the castle. A slender woman with a clipboard hopped out of the driver’s seat. Her slim jeans were tucked into tall boots, her green sweater set off the color of her green eyes, and her face was made up carefully, although she was a natural red-headed Irish beauty. She appeared to be nearer to thirty rather than closer to forty.
“Are ye’ the Breewa’s?” Her strong Irish accent was even more difficult than Fiona’s. The mutilated words were spoken in rapid fire. “Me name’s Kate and I’ll be ya’ guide today. I’m takin’ you to the Carrigogunnell Castle ruins first. Get in.”
She tugged open the sliding door in the side of the van, and the group climbed into a comfortable amount of space for a change. Kate propelled the door shut and clambered into the driver’s seat. Jane scanned the parking lot outside the passenger window as Kate reversed past the news van on the other side of a compact with a dent in the hood.
Jane elbowed Cheryl. “Did you see that? Was that the car that followed us to Galway?”
“What car?”
But their tour guide had maneuvered the van out onto the road, so Jane said, “Too late. I’ll show you later.”
Kate drove them a little distance to the N69, then after speeding along that road for a while, they arrived at the first castle and piled out. Standing on a hill among the ruins, they listened to the history of the tower and battles. Jane couldn’t make much sense of the account told in the Irish brogue. Next, a half hour drive to an old farmyard from which they gazed at the ivy covered ruins of Fantstown Castle. The tour guide set out a picnic lunch with red lemonade, egg sandwiches, and crisps. Playing the part of a barbaric bard, Bruce tore open the bag of crisps with his teeth. After the filling lunch, the drawn-out afternoon wore on. Her head buzzed with names of families and kings, years of wars, sieges and surrenders, all described in the nearly incomprehensible Irish accent. They backtracked to the Castle Matrix, which appeared the most intact and with the longest history, then the castle tour ended.
Kate stopped at a restaurant in Limerick’s medieval quarter on the bank of the River Shannon. She had reserved a large table for the club at a wide window with a view of King John’s Castle. Their orders had been placed in advance, so seafood chowder and seafood pie, prepared with salmon, cod, and prawns, waited for them. Doug made one of his toasts, to kings and castles this time. After their meal, their long day came to an end, and Kate dropped them off at Lomán Castle. They thanked her for being their guide, and Bruce handed her a nice tip.
“Tell Griff ‘hello’ from me. He hasn’t called me all week. I guess he’s too busy taking care o’ his uncle’s estate. Such a sad thing ta’ happen.” Kate’s lilting laugh didn’t sound sad.
“That’s right. You’re a friend of Griff’s. He’s the one who recommended you.” Jane looked at her with renewed interest.
“He did at that. I was pretty upset to ha’ missed the funeral this mornin’. But Griff wrote me a note, tole’ me not ta’ come. It was private, jus’ family.” Her eyebrows drew together in a fierce scowl, one that carried history. “Though I saw haf’ the town showed up.”
Bruce and Doug shuffled their feet, but Olivia asked, “Were you at the wake?”
“I had a tour group las’ night, so I couldn’t make it.”
Olivia dangled her large handbag from the crook of her arm. “That’s too bad. We went to both the wake and the funeral.”
“Ya did?” Kate put her hands on her hips. “An’ it looked like the news station showed up, too. It even made television.”
Bruce adjusted his glasses. “We should buy some newspapers to see what they say about Alsander.”
“Good idea.” Jane wished she’d thought of it. “We didn’t know the funeral was supposed to be private. But since so many came, maybe Mairéid changed the arrangements at the last minute.”
“Oh, Mairéid. She’d do that.” Kate seemed to be mollified. “Uncle Alsander treated Griff like o’ hired hand, but he would put up with it, wouldn’t he, being promised the castle.” The Irish beauty chuckled and her smile deepened her dimples. “I’ll be on me way. Tell Griff to call me, so I can thank him for the recommendation. Thank him properly.” She gave them a slow wink.
They stood in stunned silence as Kate eased back into the driver’s seat and sped off. No one said a word about the innuendo.
When they filed through the doorway, Doug stopped to let Jane through. “Griff probably didn’t want you two to meet, so he told Kate not to come to the funeral.”
“Why would it matter?” Jane narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, he didn’t know for sure we’d be there.”
Olivia waved her manicured fingers around. “Griff recommended this guide. He knew she’d meet us eventually.”
Cheryl shrugged as she glanced at her watch. “I booked this tour six months ago. We planned it so far in advance, he probably forgot.”
The guys didn’t look Jane in the eye.
Was she being foolish? She couldn’t compete with this youthful Irish beauty. But then, she wasn’t pursuing the man. What had happened was just an idle flirtation, that’s all. The flirting was fun while it lasted, and it was over now.
Once inside, Cheryl said, “Let’s meet in about half an hour.” She and Bruce stepped in unison together down the corridor, and Jane hightailed it upstairs.
She ditched her jacket and nudged her shoes off her feet. The maid, probably Fiona, had been in her room, since the pillows were plumped up with a candy mint perched on top.
Her book on excited delirium was no longer open, face down, in the seat of the rocking chair, but was closed on the bedside table. Jane hoisted the volume in one hand to feel the familiar weight of it, and a lightbulb went off in her brain. She’d held a similar book in her hands before.
With light steps in stockinged feet, she stole down the vacant, curved stairway to the meager, musty library. After shoving the chair against the shelves, she climbed up to look at the top of the bookcase. She took in the gilded title, Excited Delirium Syndrome and Death. She slid out the heavy text and thumbed through the first couple of pages. No need to look further; it was the same book.
Could someone have researched the condition before the old man died?
Could someone have manipulated the situation to cause an episode of excited delirium?
Could someone have cooked up such a scheme, an awfully complicated way to kill a person?
She returned the textbook to the open spot on the shelf, then stepped down off the leather wingback chair. Her mind buzzed with the possibilities. What should she do with this latest clue? If she were in the States she might call the police, but she wanted to avoid them in Ireland. She’d just have to do her own investigating. One way would be to cozy up even more to Griff. That wouldn’t be too hard or too unpleasant. She could tell he was attracted to her…what if she responded to his flirting? Got to know him better…not to compete with Kate, no, but to uncover more clues, yes.
At least that was the excuse she gave herself.
Forgetting to restore the chair to its place by the table, Jane left the library and knocked on the door to the Ladners’ room. “It’s Jane. What’re you doing?”
Olivia poked her nose out. “Come in. Doug’s having a cigar outside with Bruce and Griff. I’m about to open a bottle of wine.”
“Count me in. But first, I’ll get Cheryl.” Jane scooted across the hall.
Her friend answered the door with a green mud pack on her face and the scent of avocado in the air. “Give me a sec’ and I’ll be right over.”
Jane arrived back at Olivia’s room, and after a few mome
nts, Cheryl showed up, rinsed clean and brandishing a corkscrew. “Thought we might need this. Wasn’t that a great meal tonight?”
“About time. As a dining club, we should have gone to Italy. Everyone raves about the food there. Up until now, here in Ireland it’s been a lot of stew.” Olivia drew a bottle of deep red, almost purple, wine from a brown sack.
Cheryl held her hands out, palms up. “Whoa. It started out as a trip to see Bruce’s relatives. Then you all decided to come along, too.”
“You’ll never want to return, I’ll bet, huh, Jane? Another death and all.” Olivia worked the cork from the bottle of Merlot and poured out three glasses.
“You wouldn’t think so, but I love Ireland.” Jane took hold of the glass Olivia offered and folded her legs underneath herself as she took the only chair. “I have news. You know, I bought that book on excited delirium. Well, get this, I found that same book here at the castle…in the little library.”
“You found another copy of the book?” Cheryl twirled her index finger around in the air. “Here?”
“Yes. Doesn’t it prove Alsander was murdered? Someone else bought that book before he died to find out all about it.” Jane took a swallow of wine, as both women gaped at her with open mouths. Jane licked her lips. “This is good, I taste a plum flavor.”
Cheryl scrunched her forehead into a knot. “Wait. How do you know someone didn’t pick the book up after he died, just like you did?” She propped her bottom onto the windowsill and leaned her head against the jamb, her wine glass cupped in her hand. “The police should have found the book when they searched the place.”
“The warrant was for drugs, prescriptions, and stuff like that. Not a book. They may not have looked in the library.” Jane pressed her lips into a straight line. “The book was not purchased after Alsander’s death, but before. It was there the night he died, before we heard about the excited delirium condition from the police.”
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