Chapter 15
The very woman cracked open the door to the tower wall and eased outside, presenting an immediate opportunity. “Good mornin’, Jane. What are you doing out here?”
Jane jumped with a guilty conscience. “Hello, Mairéid. Just talking on the phone with Cheryl.”
Mairéid shifted her gaze left and right. “I need to give ya’ a warnin’. Griff’s somewhat of a ladies’ man, so ya’ need to watch out.”
It was a complete lie; Jane knew it as sure as she knew anything. “I don’t agree. Griff’s not like that at all.” She tucked her hands into her armpits, thumbs sticking straight up, mustering the courage to ask this lying, deceitful suspect some questions. She had quite a few. “Were you following us when we went to Galway?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I don’t even know when ya’ went ta’ Galway.” Mairéid was once again wearing the black, lace shawl with a cowl hood. She drew her hood up, playing the part of the witch in the shadowy, murky graveyard.
“Wednesday, last week.”
Mairéid laid a finger against her nose. “Wednesday…I drove over ta’ Ennis on Wednesday.”
“I know you were behind me. The front hood of your car has a dent right in the middle where my side mirror flew off and hit it.” She raised one eyebrow to give the woman a glassy stare. Would she break down and admit it?
“That was you? I might’ve been behind ya’, but I wasn’t following you. I was on my way to Ennis, like I said.” A vein throbbed in her neck. “You Americans need ta’ learn how ta’ drive.”
Jane sized up her adversary. “Tell me, what do you do for a living?”
“What business is it of yours?” Mairéid exchanged look for look.
“Well, you’re here every day. You don’t seem to work, other than around here, and your dad said you had a job in Dublin.”
“I’ve taken some paid annual leave. I get days off because of Da’s death.” Mairéid brushed her long-nailed fingers across her lips, then volunteered, “I work in a doctor’s office.”
“You do?” Jane stood taller, with her back straight. “You must know about excited delirium, working in the medical field…”
Mairéid’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know about it before Da died. I wish I had. I know you’d like to pin Da’s death on me. You and Griff. But I’m just the doctor’s receptionist. I wouldn’t know about any of that.”
“Oh, really? You probably do know, and about amphetamines, too.” Jane propped her fists on her waist and leaned forward.
Mairéid’s hands crushed her cowl against her throat and she took a step toward Jane. “Are you accusing me o’ giving Da tha’ drugs?” Her eyes were flashing and her height was intimidating.
Jane held her ground. “I thought you might know where the drugs came from. Surely you have an idea?”
“I…do…not!” Mairéid’s words sounded loud and deliberate. Then, she turned on her heels and ran, dodging the gravestones, her shawl billowing out in the wind. The suddenness with which she launched across the spooky, old graveyard caught Jane by surprise. She had so many more questions she didn’t get to ask. Perhaps she’d been too forceful.
She shot after the witchy-woman, who’d disappeared into the chapel. Not watching where she was going, Jane ran smack into a knee-high grave marker. Summersaulting over the top of the stone, she threw her arms out, landing on her hands in a handstand. She balanced like that for a moment, her hands flat on the ground, her wrists practically hyperextended, her legs scissoring the air, and her purse emptying out on the grass, the cellphone landing with a plop on top. She tumbled onto her side, then righted herself. As she gathered her things, she glanced, embarrassed, in every direction. The television news van was parked across the road, and the high powered camera was aimed her way. She stuffed everything back into her bag and ran, watching where she was going this time.
Jane escaped inside the chapel’s dark, hushed interior and ducked behind the last row of stark, wooden pews.
Mairéid stood still in front of the pulpit, backlit by a dim candle, monk-like in her black shawl. Stale incense, accumulated over years, circulated in the peaceful silence. Minutes passed, while Jane kept an eye on Mairéid, but kept herself out of sight. A Charlie-horse formed a hard knot in her right calf and Jane started to regret her crouched position. Still playing the spy, hunched over, she crab walked the length of the pew to stretch her muscles. She really needed to get back into yoga.
After a while, Sean Smithwicket banged open a door at the front and joined Mairéid at the pulpit in a muted conversation. Jane tried to listen, but couldn’t make out the words. Soon the two headed back down the center aisle, causing Jane to scramble in her crab walk around the corner of the pew when the couple passed by. The two exited the church, and Jane rose to a stand with a grimace of pain, rubbing her calf and pointing her toe.
What were they doing? She wished she could’ve heard what they were talking about. Was Mairéid making plans to buy more drugs? What better hideout for a drug deal than a church?
If Mairéid had bought the amphetamine from Sean Smithwicket, she could have drugged her dad to manipulate him into giving her the castle, then she could have choked her dad to get rid of him afterward. She’d followed the group to Galway for some reason, maybe out of paranoia, thinking they were on to her. Jane remembered having once read female murderers tended to kill different types of people than men did, those who were more vulnerable…like the elderly…like Alsander…
Wanting to discuss her suspicions with someone, Jane wandered over to her favorite sunny spot on the stone wall. The suspicious couple were no longer in view and the television van had departed. She typed out another text. I saw Mairéid and Sean meeting in the chapel. I think Mairéid was buying drugs. And she may have overheard our conversation. She hit the send key, and waited a moment, but Cheryl did not reply.
Nudging herself from the lichen-spotted wall, she dusted off her behind, trekked past the tombstones, past the tall, blowing, green tuffs of grass…all the way to the chemist’s shop in town.
****
Ryan hailed her from the pharmacy counter. “Hello there, Jane. What’s that you’ve got?”
She plunked down a new top-bound, pocket-sized spiral. “Just a notepad like Columbo’s,” she chuckled.
“Who’s he? Do I know ’im?”
“Ah, no, no.”
“Some Italian? Live ’round here?”
“No.” Jane laughed out loud. If Columbo lived in the neighborhood, he’d have caught the murderer by now. “So, how’s Una and the baby?”
“Fine, doing fine.”
Turning serious, she leaned over the countertop. “Ryan, did you hear that some pills in Alsander’s prescription bottle had amphetamines in them?”
His eyes went wide with surprise, and he pounded on the counter. “I had not. Someone added those after the prescription bottle left my store. That explains all the questioning by the guards.”
“What exactly did they ask you?”
“If anyone else double checked his prescription. Lucky for me, my assistant, Allison, did.” Ryan splayed his fingers. “I have a copy of the label from the bottle that has all our initials on it, provin’ the tablets were checked by Allison. The dose and instructions were correct and the tablets were verified. I printed the label out from the computer for the guards.”
“The police said the amphetamine pills looked the same as the prescription pills.” Jane fidgeted with the notepad.
He stared off for a moment. “That’d be amphetamine hydrochloride.”
“That’s right.” She squinted her eyes closed, remembering. “That’s what it was called.”
Ryan angled his computer screen around so Jane could watch as he brought up pictures of the pills. “That type of amphetamine comes in a white tablet. It has letters on one side and numbers on the other. Alsander’s prescription was white with letters and numbers on both sides like those. One’s a stimulant and one’s
a depressant.”
“Wouldn’t they counteract each other?”
“If they were taken at the same time, but not if they were taken separately.”
“Do you know where to buy this amphetamine hydrochlorine?” Jane found herself crossing her fingers.
“Hydrochloride.” Ryan dropped his voice a few octaves. “It’s illegal in Ireland, but it’s a legal prescription in the United States.”
“Yeah, that’s what the police have been saying. They all but accused Bruce of bringing the amphetamine over.” Fear fluttered in her chest once more. “What time did Mairéid pick up that last prescription?”
“The receipt is stamped at 4:48 p.m. I remember because I looked it up for the guards.” His face appeared deep in private thought. “I can’t wait to tell Una.”
Jane was hoping the police were considering other suspects, because she certainly was. “Did you know Sean Smithwicket wanted to buy the castle?”
“Heard somethin’ about it.”
“What’d you hear?” She shuffled her feet making a squeaking sound on the shiny, polished floor.
“Heard Sean made an offer to Alsander, and the old man was considerin’ it.”
“Alsander was considering it?”
“He was, but instead he decided to leave the castle to his daughter to do with as she pleased, if she wanted to sell it after he died, she could. Griff wasn’t too happy when he heard his uncle was goin’ to change the will.”
Jane clutched the edge of the counter. “So Griff knew his uncle was leaving the castle to his cousin, if he told you about it.”
“Una’s the one who told me. One o’ her friends is related to the Smithwickets on her mam’s side. She knows Sean from way back.” Ryan stuck a label on a bottle, shoved it into a paper sack, and handed it off to another chemist in a white smock. “Sean said Griff resented bein’ just the nephew. He liked the idea of bein’ the heir. Bad luck for him. Mairéid’s getting the castle now and Sean’s cozying up to her.”
“Griff told me that Mairéid did not inherit, that he did. I wonder why he told me that. What does he gain if it’s not true?”
Ryan shook his head. “Maybe he’s tryin’ to impress you.”
Jane pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and finger. “Well, I’d be bound to learn the truth eventually. I need to talk to Griff again, and to Sean, too.”
“Sean’s at his shop around the corner, I’m sure. By the way, where’s everyone else? Where’s Bruce and Cheryl?”
Jane winced, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. “Oh, Ryan, they left late last night for Scotland. I’m so sorry, I thought Bruce would’ve called you.”
“He did not! I’m goin’ to have a few words with him.” Ryan’s nostrils flared.
Jane’s tone was apologetic. “I’ll just pay for this notepad, then.”
“Promise ta’ come see me before you leave. Don’t go without sayin’ goodbye.”
“I promise.” After passing him two euros for her purchase, she took flight out the door, then scurried to the coffee shop, Wicket Good Coffee. She’d have to let Bruce know Ryan was upset.
After ordering a latte, she asked the cashier, “Is Sean Smithwicket here?”
“He’s in the back. You want to speak to him?”
“Yes, please.” Jane sat at the nearest table, as rickety as a dinghy on choppy waters, while the barista, with tattoos of the moon and sun on his arms, finished steaming the latte and brought it to her.
“I’ll get Sean for you.” The teenager crossed the room and continued through a swinging door.
She breathed in the calming aroma of her latte, as her eyes caught the headline across a newspaper left on the table, “Death at the Castle.” Her insides turned to ice and her hands shook as she read an American tourist was one of the possible suspects. Luckily, there were no photos of any of the dinner club members. She hoped never to see a picture of herself in the newspapers, especially in the graveyard doing a handstand. Slapping the pages shut, she clasped her hot drink in both hands. She’d forgotten Bruce was going to pick up copies of the newspapers, but hadn’t done so.
Moments later, Sean darted out from the backroom and dodged around the tables. “Jane, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She gave him an encouraging smile, but one that was sincere, not just an I-want-something-from-you smile. “I love this café. It’s my favorite in Limerick.”
He swelled out his barrel-sized chest. “Used to be a restaurant, family owned for generations. I changed the place to a coffee shop. New trend, you know.” And trendy it was, with twenty- and thirty-somethings playing chess, drinking organic espresso, and listening to tranquil, new age music playing over wireless speakers.
“Your family owned the castle once, too?” Jane hid her curious eyes behind a look of friendliness.
A shadow passed over his round face. “That was years and years ago.”
“I heard you wanted to buy the castle back. Is that why the police questioned you the other night?”
“I suppose that was part of it.” Sean gave her a long appraisal before plopping down onto the chair across from her. “The castle’s been the family dream. I’ve been saving for it, plus I came into some money when my Mam and Da passed on. If I had it, I’d make the B&B profitable, which it’s not, not the way Alsander ran it.”
It was true the dinner club members were the only staying guests for the whole first week, although the dining room was always busy for their Irish stew dinners open to the public. “Why isn’t it successful? The castle’s so beautiful.” She inched her chair closer to Sean, but not too close.
“Alsander was losing his temper all the time, driving guests away.”
She wasn’t surprised, of course. She looked sideways around the crowded café, then back to Sean, and took a deep breath. “Was Griff upset with his uncle’s behavior?”
“He was. You’re investigating his death, aren’t you? I thought so.”
“I’m asking questions because I’m interested. I heard you were, too. Am I right?”
“You are right about that. And, Griff and Alsander did have a big argument. Harsh words. In the end the old man agreed to let Griff continue to run the B&B while he was alive, but he made up his mind to leave the castle to Mairéid.” He looked her straight in the eyes and his voice held confidence. He looked and sounded so sure of himself. But then, Griff had, too.
Could Jane be so sure who was telling the truth? “How do you know for certain?”
“I was there. I heard the argument.” He rocked his chair back on two legs and crossed his arms. “Plus, I’ve seen the will. I’m still hoping to buy the castle from Mairéid. Good thing she owns it now because Griff would never sell it.”
She sat still, her head buzzing and her chest constricting. So, if Sean had seen the will, then Griff had lied to her. The roar of a grinding blender and the clattering of silverware on plates sounded behind the counter. “Sean, you probably heard amphetamine was found in Alsander’s blood work.”
“I did.” The front legs of his chair came down with a thud. He leaned his elbows forward on the table as if daring her to make something of it. “I was with Mairéid when she picked up the old man’s prescription. The seal on the bottle was unbroken when we delivered it to Alsander. You can ask Griff if you want.”
“All right. I will.” She took up the dare. “What day was that?”
“Sunday, late afternoon, the day before Alsander died. We dropped the bottle off at about five that night. It was on his bedside table, right next to that glass of water that was almost empty.”
Jane gave him a probing gaze. He knew about the glass of water and the pills on the table…he had been in Alsander’s room, too. What else did he know? “Where could someone get drugs like that?”
“I’ve no idea. No idea at all.”
“I saw you coming out of the chapel with Mairéid this morning.”
“You did? We just met there…by accident.” A wary look passed over hi
s face.
She leaned back in her chair and, remembering her latte, fiddled with the mug. “I’d like to come out and ask you something. I hope you don’t mind.”
He clutched the edge of the table and leaned in. “Go ahead and ask. What?” The question came out in a raspy voice, as if he was expecting rough treatment.
She charged in. “Who had their hands around Alsander’s neck? Griff hasn’t told me, he wants to believe his uncle just died from natural causes, this excited delirium…he thinks that somehow his uncle passed out and choked on his own.”
Sean ran his fingers over the top of his thick, straw-colored hair. “It was Griff. At least, I think Griff had his arm around his uncle’s neck with his elbow under his chin. Honestly, I didn’t give it any mind at the time. We were all trying to hold him down.”
Jane frowned. This let Bruce off the hook for the choke hold but incriminated Griff. “Did you tell the police? They seem to be focusing on my friend Bruce. The one with the glasses.”
“I did tell the guards.” Sean pulled his lips in, signaling he was done. “Is that all?”
“Yes. Thanks, Sean.”
“Goodbye, then.” He pushed himself away from the table and stepped over to talk to another customer.
Jane slapped the brand-new spiral down flat on the rickety table and opened it to the first page.
Who was telling the truth about the choke hold? Sean or Griff? Did the witnesses all contradict each other? Was that the reason the police hadn’t made an arrest? And who was telling the truth about the will? She reviewed the few pages of notes she still had, those not stolen from her purse. With a firm hand she combined the old notes into one list in the notepad, planning to keep all her thoughts recorded in one place this time, the better not to lose them.
She wrote Griff’s name on the top of her new suspect list. Concentrating on him, she pictured the blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, the longish, strawberry blond hair, the tall, lanky frame, the sexy Irish accent. The image of him choking his uncle just wouldn’t stick. She forced her fingers to form the question on the page, “why did Griff lie about owning the castle?” Pondering that dilemma, she next wrote, “or does Griff truly believe he inherits and why?”
A Stewed Observation Page 16