by Lisa Alber
Afterglow; Jesus, no afterglow here. As far as he could bloody well get from afterglow. He’d gone mad in broad daylight, all because a glint of light reflected off a paint can lid had ignited the figments inside his head.
twenty-four
Sunday, 21-Mar
Fact of sorts: I haven’t been in my right mind for the last few days. Fear.
Another fact of sorts: I suppose that’s why I slept with Nathan yesterday.
I could have stopped him, but I didn’t. He’s quite nice with his fingers and lips, nice enough I didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want me to stop, didn’t want our interlude to stop. I was the one who pulled him into the bedroom.
Two hapless creatures falling on each other. Nothing romantic about it. Now I’m sitting here with my morning coffee, trying to fathom Nathan. Bruised and stitched and bandaged Nathan. At one point, something triggered him into a break, and I’ll wager anyone he was trying to escape the demons that terrorize him. I suspect he’s rarely in his right mind. He breaks my heart.
Fact: Tomorrow is the year anniversary of The Event, as you prefer to call it.
twenty-five
Hello, morning. Merrit plowed fingers through her hair and shuffled to her bedroom window. A haze of rain obscured the view of Mullaghamore and the countryside. She always seemed to be looking out windows. Her new pastime, watching the world from afar.
“Fantastic,” she mumbled.
A depressing realization first thing in the morning. She needed coffee.
She shuffled into the kitchen only to pull up at the sight of Zoe Tate whistling a ditty as she filled a carafe with fresh coffee. She wore her hair tied back with a blue scarf in a house frau look that managed to emphasize her bone structure and movie star violet eyes. A butterfly pin sparkled from an immaculate cashmere jumper.
If Zoe had a superpower, it wasn’t healing—it was maintaining her collection of winter white and ivory clothes in pristine condition. Meanwhile, Merrit’s tatty bathrobe was more grey than white and featured holes in the armpits.
“You’re here,” Merrit said instead of a proper greeting. “Bright and early.”
“Liam rang last night. He said you could use a break.” Zoe grinned. “I told him about my speciality breakfast—crème brûlée French toast—and he said he wouldn’t mind a taste.”
Oh, did he? The bugger.
Zoe opened the oven door. The tantalizing scent of brown sugar and vanilla caused Merrit’s stomach to grumble. “You have to refrigerate it overnight so I brought it with me.”
She poured a fresh cup of coffee and held it out to Merrit, who sighed after her first swallow. Zoe even made a great cup of coffee, blast her.
“I helped Liam get dressed, too. You relax.”
Merrit refrained from snickering at the idea that Liam needed help dressing. He wasn’t that far along yet, but apparently he wasn’t above milking his condition for extra attention in the name of investigating Zoe and her mythical healing properties.
She grumbled. She was the narky one today and not because of Zoe, though her sunny presence didn’t help. The night before, Liam had revealed his “brilliant idea” to Merrit. She had no choice but to accept that she was in for the utter bollocks, to use the Irish vernacular.
She cocked her head. No, that wasn’t the expression. Never mind. All she knew was that she was going to make a proper bollocks of it.
Yes, that sounded better.
Zoe stood at the counter, gazing toward Fox Cottage, visible through sliding walls of rain. “The cottage doesn’t look any different. My dad’s helping you, right?”
“We’re painting the inside. It’ll be nice when we’re done.”
“I’m glad.” Her tone brightened. “It’s good for him to get out of the house. He’s such a recluse.”
The doorbell rang. Merrit waved Zoe back toward the oven and muttered her way out of the kitchen. There had to be a way to stop the incessant well-meaning-ness of the Lisfenorans. Might as well be inside Grand Central Station these days.
She swung open the front door and almost spilled her coffee in surprise.
“Looks like you didn’t sleep much last night, either,” Danny said.
“What are you doing here?”
“You wanted me to visit more often, didn’t you? We had a deal.” He frowned. “Or have you already forgotten?”
She crossed her fingers. “No meddling with Nathan. I got it.”
He crowded through the door and unpeeled his raincoat, scattering raindrops in the process. Merrit grabbed a random scarf off the coat rack and handed it to him. Danny patted his face dry. He wore his fatigue like a well-worn cap, with brown eyes revealing more hidden depths than usual. “Thought I’d drop in on my way to Limerick.”
Something had happened. “Ellen?” she said.
“Breakfast is ready,” Zoe called.
Danny whipped his head toward the kitchen.
“Too much Pollyanna in the morning for my taste,” Merrit said, “but her French toast smells delicious.”
Zoe popped her head around the swing door. “’Allo? French toast!”
“Settle down,” Liam called from the corridor that led to the bedrooms.
“DS Ahern, hello again,” Zoe said at the same time that Liam’s delight made itself known: “Danny boyo, you’re a sight for the saints.”
Danny stepped forward to escort Liam into the kitchen. Liam’s cane tapped the hardwoods while Zoe propped the door open. Merrit hung back, longing for her bed and a novel, but letting her curiosity about Danny’s visit prod her toward the kitchen and the scent of Zoe’s indulgent breakfast. Would probably be perfect, too, blast her again.
Merrit hadn’t realized she’d grumbled aloud until Danny glanced in her direction.
“Don’t mind her,” Liam mock-whispered, “she’s fit to be tied this morning and it’s all my fault.”
“Bah humbug to us all then,” Danny said.
Zoe clapped her hands. “No bah humbugs allowed in my kitchen. I get enough of that at home from my dad. Grouchy pants, he is.”
“She’s making herself at home,” Danny said in the low voice.
“You can thank Liam for that,” Merrit said.
Zoe had already set the kitchen island and filled their plates with the custardy French toast. Steam dripped down the windows along with the drenching rain. The coffee machine issued cozy percolating noises. She’d even gathered a jaunty bouquet of daffodils for the center of the island.
No wonder Nathan was a grouchy pants. Who’d want to wake up to the perfection that was Zoe every morning? Zoe joined them on a stool and ate with gusto, keeping up a jovial stream of conversation. Danny sat across from Zoe, eating and observing her. Gauging her. Merrit knew the look because she’d been on the receiving end of it herself.
Zoe pushed her empty plate aside and sat back with a contented pat to her flat tummy. “Now, tell me all about the bah humbugs. I think I’ve nattered on enough.”
Danny frowned, but other than that, no one responded. Zoe hauled an armful of dishes to the sink. She puttered in the background, ignoring the dishwasher in favor of filling the sink with sudsy water.
Liam placed a hand on Danny’s arm. “Now then, I know Merrit used her persuasive tactics to bamboozle you into visiting again so soon, but I don’t care. I’m glad you’re here. What brings you?”
“Persuasive, ay, that’s a way to put it.” Danny rubbed his forehead. “Perhaps it was time.”
“Merrit notwithstanding?” Liam said.
“Merrit notwithstanding.”
Merrit let them have the jab. Liam had been joking, of course; Danny, not so much. She realized she didn’t care. Joking at her expense had to be good for their relationship.
“What’s your mischief, old troll?” Danny said. “Merrit doesn’t look happy this morning.”
“You’re deflecting the conversation.” Liam sipped his coffee. “And we’re not telling yet, anyhow. You’ll have to come to the pub tonight for
the grand announcement.”
Zoe let a dish slide into the water. She turned around, clapping her hands. “I love surprises! I’ll be there.”
“Can we move on, please?” Merrit said.
“As you wish.” Liam patted her hand. “You’ll do fine.” He addressed Danny. “How’s Ellen?”
Danny glanced at Zoe. Liam nodded the okay. Merrit reserved judgment about whether or not Zoe should be privy to Danny’s private business. As Danny explained Ellen’s health scare and transfer to Limerick, Zoe’s clattering slowed and stopped.
“Under control for the moment,” Danny ended, “but the ordeal has brought up some issues I need to think about for the long term. I thought I’d hash them out with you, Liam, but not now, after all.”
Merrit could tell by his rigid stance that Zoe’s presence made him uncomfortable.
Zoe dried her hands and leaned toward Danny with elbows on the counter. “I’m sorry to hear this, Detective. I had no idea. If you ever need any help—with Ellen, I mean—please let me know. You’ll do that?”
Zoe returned to the dishes and Danny set his coffee cup aside. He rose, announcing that he should be getting on, the hospital awaited. Merrit walked with him to the front door. Danny shook out his soggy coat harder than necessary.
“Did that girl,” he said, “offer what I think she offered? To heal Ellen?”
“Sounded like it.”
“God help me, slap me silly if I ever consider her shite.”
“With pleasure.”
He smiled, the warm embers of him still alive beneath his concerns and stress. “I’ll wager that.”
Zoe’s laughter floated toward them from the kitchen and followed Danny’s sprint to his car. The wind blew stinging drops against Merrit’s skin. She could have sworn she’d seen hope on Danny’s face. For a second, his desperation leapt toward Zoe before he vanquished it. Zoe was either madder than a box of frogs or the most foolishly kind-hearted girl on the planet. Or maybe both at the same time.
twenty-six
Nathan stood up and placed his hands on his lower back for a stretch. He’d turned on all the lights, creating a cozy studio oasis against the damp and wind. He had the house to himself. Even better, he’d spoken with Annie. After an awkward start, she’d agreed to accompany him to Ennis after Zoe returned with the car.
“Let me pick you up,” she said. “I like driving.”
“You’re grand. It’s my errand. I’ll pick you up and drop you off.”
“Nathan—” She hesitated. “It’s about Zoe, I’m guessing. You want to keep me secret.”
“That obvious, eh?” He’d woken this morning feeling somewhat alive, as if he’d slept decently for a few hours. It was a miracle. She was a miracle. He rushed in, words overtaking him. “I want to see you. Yesterday was—”
“Yes?”
“Yesterday was pure madness. We both know I was odder than a one-eyed potato.” Annie laughed, that sound like chimes. “I would like to know you better, without hassle or interference, that’s all.”
At some point, he’d explain about Zoe. If not everything then at least how complicated it was between them—complicated in a way that he avoided acknowledging to himself most of the time.
He sealed a plastic container filled with white crackle glaze and shifted it under his worktable. He had thirty-six pots glazed and ready for firing now. Zoe would be back by noon, which gave him plenty of time to pick up Annie at one o’clock.
After washing up in the kitchen, he wrapped his injured hand in a clean bandage while eyeing the countertop knife block that Zoe had gifted him. The knives pricked at him, inciting his imagination and kickstarting his terror. Zoe should have known displaying them like that would trouble him. The knives were best kept in a drawer, out of sight.
He hesitated, then pulled the knives out of the holder. He settled an old placemat in a drawer and laid the knives down side by side on top of it.
Now for the knife block itself. Zoe had bought a nice one. A lidless wooden box filled with black sand so that the knives wouldn’t dull as fast. He set it beside the phone and stuck a message pad and various pens into the sand. Nothing wrong with that.
By the time Zoe returned, he’d boxed up ten finished vases for the gallery in Ennis that managed to stay in business despite the crap economy. Her voice called out, followed by trotting footsteps. She arrived with hand pressed against her chest. “You’re after scaring the skin off me. Don’t do that.”
“Here I am, same as most days.”
She dipped her shoulders, one then the other, to slip her coat off. “No, that. In there.” She pointed with her chin. “The knives. They’re gone. Vanished. What was I supposed to think?”
Nathan taped a box closed. The stitches on his forehead itched. Now he wasn’t sure why he’d hidden the knives away. His squeamishness wasn’t related to what he might do. Or perhaps it was.
He shook his head and reached for the next box. No. Zoe couldn’t have mislaid the facts of the matter. It should have been obvious enough to her.
“What are you doing there?” she asked.
“I’ve got to make a gallery run.”
“Fun!” Zoe clapped her hands. “Give me three minutes to change.”
A sensation like doom crawled up Nathan’s spine. He couldn’t force the no out of his mouth if he tried. “Go on then,” he managed.
“Three minutes, tops,” she called as she bounded up the stairs.
Detesting himself, Nathan pulled out his mobile and texted Annie. Can’t make it. I’ll explain later.
twenty-seven
Danny sat in one of the Plough’s wingback chairs near the fireplace, trying to slough off the day before heading home. Joe Junior arrived and threw Danny a terse nod as he passed him by on the way to his usual spot at the bar, where Nathan already sat nursing a Guinness. He leaned in to Nathan. Whatever he said, Nathan responded with a head shake.
No, Danny could have told them, he wasn’t on duty. After breakfast at Liam’s, he’d spent the day in the hospital while monitoring the sagging investigation into EJ’s death through text messages and phone calls. He swore he lost a day off his life for every hour he spent in the hospital. It didn’t help that he’d alternated between guilt for letting work take a backseat to family and more guilt for yearning for the work.
Danny set aside his half-full pint. All he tasted was bitterness. Time for dinner with the kidlings and an early bed. He’d hear about Liam’s grand announcement tomorrow in the midst of catching up with the investigation.
Zoe entered the pub from the rear, accompanied by Alan, who couldn’t get a word in against Zoe’s enthusiastic gesticulations. They stopped to admire Alan’s reconstructed wall of Clare artifacts and photos. Danny caught the words “wall sconces.” Perhaps she was positioning herself as a healer for interior decors, too.
Nathan swiveled on his stool to watch her, his expression inscrutable, and returned to slouching when Zoe took her leave of Alan.
Danny dropped money for his pint on a side table. A gust of chilly air just this side of spring entered the pub along with Liam and Merrit, with O’Neil catching the door to enter after them. He waved at Danny. “Thought you’d be here,” he called.
Annoyed, Danny picked up his pint again. While he waited for O’Neil to join him, his gaze wandered back to Zoe. Now she stood with a couple of young bucks who hung on every word she said. To look at her, you wouldn’t think she harbored fanciful notions about herself.
O’Neil arrived and relaxed into the chair next to Danny. Danny forestalled his questions about Ellen with a prompt for the latest information about the case. “What did I miss today?”
“Nothing of note,” O’Neil said. “Less than nothing, a black hole of nothing. You were right about EJ. He preferred his lodgers to come from, let’s call them ‘non-loving’ families.” His eyes flickered toward the bar where Merrit and Liam sat along with the rest of the regulars. “We found the taxi man who drove him home. He dro
pped him off and went straight to another call.”
From the other side of the pub, the discordant sound of a drumstick clanging a cowbell interrupted Danny’s conversation with O’Neil. “Excuse me,” Alan called. “Shut your maws. Liam has an announcement.”
Liam stood. He coughed into a handkerchief that he carried with him these days, but his grin was still the one of old—a little mischievous, a little mysterious. “As most of you know, I’ve been spending a lot of time at home. Yes, yes”—he waved down the condolences—“my health isn’t optimal. The point is that I have too much time on my hands. And I’ve had a thought.”
Next to Liam, Merrit patted her chest and turned aside to root around in her purse. While Liam drew out the suspense with a funny matchmaking anecdote about a documentary film crew that had attempted to film him, Merrit found her inhaler, as Danny knew she would. She shot the spray into her lungs. Her chest expanded in a full breath. Her shoulders eased.
Witnessing her struggle for breath reminded Danny of Ellen gagging against the oxygen tube. If she were here now, she’d scoff at Merrit’s distress. She could be a right catty wench, his wife. Danny longed to hear her mutters in his ear, then see the way she’d cast her eyes toward the ceiling with a whispered, Sorry, I’ll stop now, as if God or Jesus, or both since she was a believer, floated out of sight but within earshot.
So much for her faith. She had nothing to show for it but her own personal purgatory.
“Right then, now for my announcement,” Liam said. “For my last hoorah as matchmaker, I invite everyone to my house on Easter Sunday for a spring festival. I consider it my final bacchanalia, a nod to the pagan spring fertility gods. Even though I’m on the way out”—he waved a hand at the protesters again—“spring is a time of resurgence, of new beginnings, and rebirth. We’ll celebrate with a few traditions, but the star of the show will be Merrit.”