by Zara Keane
A memory pinged in my brain, and my pulse picked up the pace. “What’s her name?”
“Mamie Byrne,” the retired policeman said. “She runs the Apple Tree Lodge B&B.”
9
Every cell in my body buzzed with excitement. If the Malone brothers had been responsible for her father’s injury, Mamie Byrne had good reason to hate them. Why hadn’t she mentioned the attack when we’d discussed the case at her B&B the other night? Was it because she had something to hide?
I looked at the retired police officer. “Thanks for the info, Sergeant O’Mara. I want to do everything I can to find the necklace and clear Jennifer Pearce’s name.”
A smile lit up his craggy face. “Good girl.”
I slipped a receipt out of my purse and scribbled my number on the back. “If you can think of anything else relating to the Malone brothers or the attack on the postmaster, please give me a call.”
The old man folded the receipt and put it into his shirt pocket. “I’ve told you all I remember, but if something else occurs to me, I’ll be in touch.”
After I’d left Sergeant O’Mara, I went in search of Reynolds. I found him by the fire exit, chatting to Günter.
“Are you guys planning your escape already?”
They looked up when I spoke, and Reynolds’s warm smile melted my composure.
“How’s your foot?” he asked, barely containing his amusement. “We saw you fall, and Paddy said you’d twisted your ankle.”
“I’d imagine everyone witnessed me fall face first into a guy’s crotch,” I said dryly. “As for my ankle, it feels better than it did when I’d first injured it, but I have a slight limp.”
Reynolds laughed. “Does this mean I won’t be able to persuade you to dance with me this evening? You were showing such enthusiasm on the dance floor with Paddy.”
“Haha,” I said sarcastically. “These old dances aren’t my thing. I’m not sorry to have an excuse to sit them out.”
Although I very much regretted not being able to dance with Reynolds. I’d fantasized about his strong arms guiding me around the dance floor far more than I should have.
I glanced at Günter. “Can I borrow the sarge for a few minutes? There’s something I need to discuss with him.”
Günter’s easy smile widened. “Sure. In the meantime, I’ll go and annoy Julie. I’m good at that.”
“Play nicely,” I warned, but Günter just laughed. After Günter had ambled off in search of my cousin, I turned to Reynolds and shook my head. “Those two are ridiculous.”
He held his palms up. “I’m not getting involved. They’re more tempestuous than the storm that’s forecast. If you’re heading out to the Golf Club later, promise me you’ll stay there if the storm gets bad.”
I made a mock salute. “Yes, Sarge. We’ll stay at the Golf Club all night if the weather gets wild.”
“Smart. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I have some info for you regarding the missing necklace case.”
Reynolds sighed. “It’s not my case, Maggie. All I can do is pass on whatever you’ve discovered to Sergeant O’Shea.”
“Even if it concerns Mamie?”
His eyes widened. “Why would Mamie be mixed up with the missing necklace? Do you suspect she stole it?”
“If she did, it wouldn’t necessarily be for monetary gain.” I gave Reynolds a brief breakdown of my conversation with Sergeant O’Mara, culminating with Mamie’s connection to the postmaster allegedly attacked by the Malones.
Reynolds rubbed his freshly shaven jaw. “I’ll talk to Mamie. I’ve gotten to know her pretty well over the last few weeks. Even if she has a grudge against the Malones, I can’t see her standing by and saying nothing while Jennifer Pearce’s name is dragged through the mud.”
“It doesn’t fit with my impression of her, either, but people do surprising things, especially if they’ve let resentment fester for years.”
“True.” Reynolds gaze fixed on the crowd behind me. “Julie’s waving over at us. I think she wants you to leave.”
“Oh, heck.” My eyes flew to my watch. “I hadn’t realized how late it was. I’ll go and say goodbye to my aunts and uncle.”
Reynolds caught my arm before I could leave. His grasp was gentle, but the heat from his fingers set my skin tingling. “Be careful, Maggie. If the Malones are capable of attacking an unarmed man, they won’t hesitate to hurt you. And a diamond necklace valued at half a million euros is worth a lot more than the five hundred pounds that were taken from the post office.”
“I won’t take any unnecessary risks,” I said, careful to keep my face neutral. If Reynolds thought any inquiry into an object worth that amount was risk-free, he was deluding himself.
“Maggie…” he said in a warning tone as if reading my mind.
On impulse, I blew him a kiss, realizing too late what I’d done. Heat seared my cheeks. Reynolds blinked but grinned.
“I won’t do anything stupid,” I said. “And that’s all I’m promising.”
With these words, I waved and melted into the crowd.
It was nearly ten by the time Julie and I arrived at the Whisper Island Golf Club. While Julie headed for the bar, I raced up the steps and tore through the lobby toward the room at the back of the building where Lenny and his chickens were preparing for their performance. I arrived, breathless and disheveled, but with enough time to change my outfit and touch up my makeup.
The changing room was chaotic. Ten chickens strutted around in their green velvet costumes, squawking and divesting themselves of their velvet hats.
“They’re an absolute menace,” Lenny said, exasperated. “I can’t get them to keep their hats on. I don’t know how Granddad does it.”
“Hang on a minute. Haven’t you done this before?”
Lenny looked horrified. “Heck, no. I’ve helped Granddad out with hauling chickens, but this is my first time choreographing the performance. I only agreed because of his dodgy hip. He’s not up to gyrating on stage.”
My jaw descended. “Gyrating? We’re expected to dance?”
“Well, ‘dance’ is a bit of an exaggeration.” Lenny grimaced. “Sort of leap around the place like a leprechaun.”
I choked back a laugh. “Have you ever seen a leprechaun?”
My UFO-fanatic friend gave my question serious consideration before answering. “No,” he said regretfully. “But I keep an eye out all the same.”
“If you’ve never seen one, how do you know how leprechauns dance?”
“I haven’t a clue, but people expect them to be merry.” At my horrified expression, he added. “Sure, it’ll be grand. We’ll wing it.”
One of the chickens marched past me, squawking loudly.
“Poor choice of words,” I said in a bone-dry tone.
A knock sounded on the door, and a dapper little man in a tuxedo peeked in. “Are you ready, Lenny? Everyone’s waiting.”
“Uh, yeah. Give us a sec, Niall. We’ll be right out.”
“Right-o.” Niall nodded at me and closed the door.
Lenny and I looked at each other. “Ready?” he asked.
I cast an eye over his leprechaun costume. He wore green velvet breeches with a matching waistcoat and blazer. His stockings were emblazoned with garish shamrocks and pots of gold. He’d completed the ensemble with a tall black hat decorated with a green sash. He looked absurd.
Lenny grinned. “Go on. Laugh. You know you want to.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said between heaves. “Laughing is not good for my dress. I think my boobs are going to fall out.”
“Try not to breathe,” was Lenny’s sage advice.
I pulled my shoulders back and took one last look at myself in the mirror. “I look like a St. Patrick’s Day stripper.”
“You look fab, Maggie,” Lenny said. “Now come on. We need to herd the chickens out and let them strut their stuff.”
Outside our changing room, Lenny led me down a narrow corrido
r. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “This leads to the back of the stage.”
The chickens waddled along beside us. Judging by their speed, they were excited to be on the move.
Lenny stopped outside a black door and opened it for us. He ushered me in, and the chickens followed. The back of the stage was dark. The chickens seemed to find this alarming. Their squawks increased in intensity, but they allowed Lenny to hoist them onto the stage.
While Lenny got the chickens in order, I climbed the four steps up to the stage and surveyed my surroundings. Beyond the closed curtain, the audience was growing restless. We were a few minutes late, and impatience was mounting.
Lenny wiped sweat from his brow. “Okay. I think we’re good to go. Are you ready?”
“Heck, no. Are you?”
He laughed. “Absolutely not.”
“Excellent. Let’s do this thing.” I took a deep breath—or as deep as my tight bodice would allow—and took a step forward. One of the chickens got in my way, forcing me to shift my weight onto my bad ankle.
With my attention focused at floor level, I cast my gaze over the chickens, and my stomach sank. “Um, Lenny? How many chickens did you say there were?”
His hand on the curtain pull froze. “Ten. Why?”
“Then we have a problem. There are only nine here.”
10
Lenny and I stared at one another in horror. “Before we panic, let’s do a recount,” I said, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.
My friend tugged at his scraggly goatee and groaned. “You’re right. There are only nine chickens on stage. It looks like Dooley is missing.”
I lost my battle against laughter. “Dooley?” I asked between heaves. “The chickens have names?”
Lenny looked indignant. “Of course they do. These are the Chicken Night dancers. Granddad gives them special treatment.”
“In other words, they’re not destined to end up in a stew?”
One of the chickens let out a loud squawk. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn it was glaring at me.
“You’ve gone and upset Raggles, Maggie. He’s the temperamental one, but a talented dancer.”
Lenny’s serious tone and expression made me laugh all the louder.
Niall, the guy who’d knocked on our dressing room door earlier, came back stage, a scowl etched across his face. “Are you two ever going to come on stage? The crowd is getting restless.”
Lenny cast me a helpless look. “What are we going to do?”
“You’ll go on stage with the nine chickens we have, and I’ll go in search of the tenth.”
Niall’s mouth gaped. “You’re missing a chicken?” he spluttered. “Where is it?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “If we knew that, I wouldn’t need to look for it.”
“We can’t have a chicken wandering around the club unsupervised.” Niall wiped sweat from his brow and made a vain attempt to loosen his bow tie. “You’ll have to find it fast.”
“I’m on it.” I gave Lenny a thumbs up. “Break a leg. I’ll be back with Dooley a.s.a.p.”
At that moment, the curtain slid apart, and I darted for the exit.
Niall trundled after me, red-faced and sweating.
“You okay? I don’t want to waste time doing CPR if you keel over.”
“I'm all right.” He tugged at his collar again. “I get stressed organizing events, and I have to supervise the storm preparations. Any idea where your rogue chicken might have gone?”
“No clue. My only experience with chickens is cooking them.”
“Fantastic,” he muttered. “We’ll have bird droppings all over the place.”
After a thorough search of the rooms along the corridor at the back of the stage, Niall and I moved toward the golf club’s lobby. “We’ll start at the entrance and move back,” I said. “Dooley has to be around here somewhere.”
Outside, the wind was gaining force. The windows of the Whisper Island Golf Club rattled, and a boom of thunder accompanied a flash of lighting.
While we searched for the errant chicken, members of staff scurried around, securing the windows and doors.
“The storm’s going to hit in earnest at any moment,” Niall said, his round face pinched with worry. “I hope my house will be all right. My cat will be terrified.”
“My aunt asked her friends to look after her pets tonight.” The Spinsters—regulars at the Movie Theatre Café and good friends of Noreen—had been only too delighted to stay the night at Noreen’s cottage. Their house was closer to the sea and likely to be worse hit by the storm.
“I would have sent the cat to my mum,” Niall said as he guided me down another corridor of the club, “but she was determined to attend Chicken Night.”
I laughed. “I hear it’s a huge draw for the islanders.”
“I don’t recall my mother attending before.” Niall looked bemused. “It must be the draw of those Malones. I swear the place is packed because of them.”
“Seriously? I didn’t get the impression that the Malone brothers were all that popular on Whisper Island. I’ve yet to find someone who has a good word to say about them.”
Niall smirked. “Oh, they aren’t popular. I suspect that’s the draw. It’s like an unofficial school reunion at tonight’s Chicken Dance. Plenty of people have old grudges against the Malones and want to see if they’ve gone to seed since their days of terrorizing their classmates.”
“Wow. People I couldn’t stand are the reason you couldn’t pay me enough to roll up to one of my high school reunions.”
“Ah sure, you know how it is on Whisper Island. Not much to do except talk about other people. No one wants to miss out on an opportunity to gather fodder for gossip.” The man paused in front of a door and threw it open. “I know chickens can’t open doors, but there’s a good chance people have been in and out of the billiards room. They don’t always remember to close the door behind them.”
We searched the empty room from top to bottom, but there was no sign of Dooley.
“What’s your role in the club?” I asked after we’d moved on from the billiards room and were searching through a closet in the corridor.
The man beamed. “Officially, I’m the club manager, but in practice, I’m a bit of an odd job man. The club only has a few people on its payroll, as well as the elected positions.”
“Sounds like you’re kept busy.”
“We’re a small club, so we all chip in to get stuff done.”
I gave the storage closet a final look and stood back. “No luck here.”
“That chicken must be somewhere. Do you know when it went missing?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t take a head count until Lenny and I were back stage. I’m assuming they were all present and correct before we left the changing room, but I can’t be certain.”
Niall frowned. “If the chicken did a runner between the changing room and the back stage door, we’ve covered all the options.”
I caught his drift and leaped on the implications. “But if Dooley disappeared back stage, he could have hidden behind equipment or the curtains. It was pretty dark back there.”
The man nodded. “Okay. Let’s head back to where we started and search behind the stage.”
I followed Niall back down the corridor and up the short flight of steps that led to the back of the stage. Beyond the second curtain, the audience roared with laughter at Lenny’s antics on stage. From my friend’s flustered instructions to the chickens, I got the impression that this year’s Chicken Night had turned into an inadvertent comedy routine.
Suddenly, my shoe encountered an unexpected texture beneath it. I looked down and spotted a small green hat. I scooped it up and identified the name Dooley stitched onto the rim. “I have his hat,” I told Niall excitedly. “That means he made it as far as back stage with us.”
Niall opened his mouth as if to respond when a piercing screech from the audience drew our attention to the stage. A loud
squawk followed, producing an even louder human scream.
“Dooley.” I dashed to the back curtain and was on the stage with Lenny and his dancing troupe before I’d had time to consider my actions.
The runaway chicken perched on a woman’s lap, wings flapping. The cacophony drew squawks of sympathy from the chickens on stage. When Dooley chose this moment to deposit a large quantity of droppings on the woman’s dress, the noise rose to a crescendo. Lenny’s dancing troupe decided to come to their friend’s rescue, and exited the stage at speed, leaving a litany of feathers and green caps in their wake. Between the screaming, squawking, and laughing, Chicken Night was rapidly descending into a farce.
One of the chickens darted between my legs, forcing me to shift my weight onto my bad ankle. Realizing my mistake too late, I yowled in pain and stumbled over a second chicken. Before I had time to react, I’d pitched forward and fallen off the stage.
Before I hit the ground, someone ran forward and broke my fall. We tumbled to the floor in an inelegant heap. The bodice of my costume made a rending sound, and it was suddenly easier to breathe. This could mean only one thing…
“Um, Maggie?” A winded Sergeant Reynolds stared up at me, flushed and uncomfortable. “Your bodice…”
My hands flew to my chest, but all I could do was cover up my exposed cleavage. “What are you doing here?” I demanded of my rescuer. “I thought you intended to spend the evening at the Valentine’s Day Dance.”
I climbed off him, and we both got to our feet, me still holding my ripped bodice together. Reynolds shrugged out of his uniform jacket and draped it around my shoulders. His lips twitched. “That should preserve your modesty.”
“What’s left of it,” I responded dryly. “Seriously, though, why are you here? Did something happen?”
His expression grew grave, and he turned to address the crowd. “I’m here to get volunteers. The storm’s worse than we’d expected, and buildings in Smuggler’s Cove are flooding. The mobile phone mast must be damaged because no one has a signal. We need all members of the volunteer fire brigade and paramedics team to help, and anyone else who’s willing.”