by Lisa Alber
He knew how it looked.
After Merrit left, Nathan drifted into sleep on the peaceful waves brought on by thoughts of obliterating Sid Gibson.
fifty-nine
Danny paused outside a storefront labeled Gentlemen’s Grooming, Peter Enright, bearbóir. After O’Neil’s call that morning about Cedric Gibson, Danny had sped from Nathan’s bedside to the station, and from the station to this barbershop.
O’Neil pointed through the window into the shop. “That’s Gibson.”
A brown-haired man sat on one of the barber’s chairs. He wore an ill-fitting sport jacket with jeans and slouched in relaxed fashion with a half smile aimed at his reflection. The beginnings of a double chin bunched up beneath his jaw.
Peter Enright, the barber, glanced at them when they entered. “How are you keeping?”
“Hanging in there, anyhow,” O’Neil said.
Cedric Gibson smiled at them through the mirror. Danny hung back, letting O’Neil approach first. “’Allo, Sid, was it?” O’Neil said. “We met over in Doolin.”
“Nice to see you again. Simon, yes?”
Merrit’s assessment of Sid was spot-on: dull as bricks. Danny wouldn’t clock him, if he did at all, as anything but an unassuming bloke who worked an office job, the first generation off the farm, and who enjoyed the little pleasures such as a professional trim and a yearly trip to Dublin.
Sid’s smile remained when Danny asked the barber to switch the shop sign to “Closed” and take a break. They didn’t have to worry about gossip out of him: he kept his and his clients’ confidences to himself.
“I’ll be next door at the pub,” Peter said. “Fetch me when you’re done, sonny.”
“Ay, will do.” Sid pulled out his wallet and paid Peter. The bell chimed above the door as Peter pulled it shut. Sid glanced at himself in the mirror. “He does a fair job, doesn’t he?”
“Your name is Cedric Gibson, is it not?” Danny said.
Sid swiveled his chair to face them. “It is. I go by Sid. How may I help you, officers?”
“Your name has come up in relation to the suspicious death of Annie Belden.”
What looked to be genuine sorrow wilted his smile. “I saw the news in the papers. I’m not surprised you were looking for me, but I am surprised you found me so fast. How did you manage that?”
“You come here every day for a shave,” O’Neil said. “Plenty of people have seen you about.”
“There’s nothing like a professional shave.” Sid swiveled back and forth a few times. “How did good Annie die?”
O’Neil raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. Gibson may or may not be guilty, but the guilty often forgot to ask this question. Danny considered whether to answer. Cause of death hadn’t made the news yet, but it would soon enough. “Insulin overdose.”
“Ah, right. She was diabetic. I knew that.”
Danny pulled up one of the stools and perched on it. O’Neil remained standing with his notebook in hand. “What brought you to Clare?”
“Annie.” His half smile turned apologetic. “You don’t need to tell me the timing looks too coincidental. I know.”
He knew many things, did Sid Gibson.
“Why visit Annie after all this time?” Danny said. “You had an unorthodox relationship with her that ended her career. So why contact her?”
“To apologize,” Sid said. “To close the circle on the past. Annie was a brilliant practitioner of the psychiatric arts, and I like to think that I’m out here functioning in the world thanks to her. I didn’t behave well under her care, and I wanted to perform my own version of making amends.”
“What were your plans for this reunion?” Danny said.
He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought it through. A pint and a laugh?”
“I imagine more along the lines of another cozy writing retreat.”
“Bloody hell, that?” Sid rubbed the back of his neck with a wry chuckle. “You get used to being on the inside, you know. I didn’t know how to handle my freedom.”
The man had all the answers. “Where were you on the night of Thursday, the twenty-fifth of March?”
“My alibi, you mean? I suppose I was in a pub.” He pulled a pocket-sized date book out of his jacket pocket and flipped the pages. “Nothing written for that day, but the next night I listened to music in Doolin.” He nodded to O’Neil. “You saw me there with that bird, Zoe Tate. I’d met Zoe the night before, which makes her my alibi on Thursday. She can tell you which pub.”
“How long were you here for by then?”
“A few weeks.”
“Why take your time to make amends to Annie? Why not be done with it and on your way?”
“Good question.” Sid puzzled over the answer for a moment. “I suppose I needed to gear myself up for it.”
“How did you find out she’d moved to Clare?” Danny asked.
“That was easy enough. I got it from her mum. Clare is the last place I’d expected Annie to land.” He nodded more to himself than to Danny. “People are too fascinating for words.”
“Her mother gave you Annie’s address as simple as that?”
Sid shrugged yet again. The gesture annoyed Danny, which may have been Sid’s goal. “She’s in a memory-loss home. Annie has a brother, did you know? I used his name to gain access. Annie’s mum went right along with it, happy as could be. I could have been the Easter bunny for all she cared. Now you’ll ask me how I knew about Annie’s mum. The answer is that after I was discharged to a high-support hostel, Annie used to visit to help me run errands, look for a job, and so on—she was very helpful. One day we visited her mother together. She’s a nice old bird.”
“Odd behavior for a professional.”
“True, but I considered us friends by then.”
“Meanwhile, she fell in love with you and sabotaged her own career to support your move to freedom.”
Sid didn’t respond.
“Where did you find Annie’s address?”
“In the night table. Her mum had an ancient address book. At some point, Annie had updated her own address and phone number, not that the information does the old girl any good these days. Be lucky if she can read a toothpaste label.”
“Do you know Joseph Macy?”
For the first time, Gibson’s easygoing composure shifted. His head recoiled, turtle-like, further enhancing his doughy chin. His voice turned haughty. “Like I said, I read the newspapers. Are you looking to solve all your crimes in one go?”
“Do you know him?”
“No.” He kicked out his foot, almost landing a blow to Danny’s shin. “This is a bore now that you’re shooting questions in any direction. Do you have anything meaningful to ask me?”
“We have it from someone close to Annie that you frightened her. You must have known this.”
“I’d never hurt her. Not a hair on her head.”
“You have killed before. What’s to stop you from killing again?”
“I didn’t kill the diplomat’s daughter.” His smile returned. “And I think you know that. It was a tragic accident, but I also don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything. You might as well know that I drove past Annie’s place a few times. A neighbor might have seen me, and I know that, and now you know that I know that. See, I don’t want anyone to assume I’m off my rocker. I’m not. This isn’t a repeat performance. The first time I drove past, I wanted to see where she lived. After that, she wasn’t home when I dropped in, so I couldn’t make amends.”
Jesus, the man was making it up as he went. Danny decided to play along. “Did you see anything unusual as you were passing by?”
“It wasn’t as if I were stalking her.” For the first time, he bared his teeth in a wide smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“Did you happen to pass by her house the night she died, too?” Danny said.
“I wish I had passed by at the right time. Maybe I could have prevented her death.” Sid stood along with Danny and O’Neil. After
adjusting a black mourning armband, he buttoned his jacket over his paunch. He stood aside to let Danny and O’Neil exit the barbershop ahead of him. In silence, he followed them out, shut the door, and ambled into the pub next door, just another bland man going about his bland business.
sixty
Once again, Merrit surveyed the world from her bedroom window. Watching the weather had become part of her morning routine, similar to reading her horoscope when she was a kid. Today a hulking grey mass of cloud floated north, taking the rain with it. In its wake, sunshine streaked through lighter fluffy clouds and a rainbow grew out of the ground in an iridescent arc. A flock of starlings swirled like an airborne school of fish and settled on a telephone line while lambs bleated for their mamas in the neighbor’s field. Spring had truly arrived. She decided to consider this a sign of a good day to come.
This was Merrit’s second spring in Ireland, and even in her disenchanted state of mind, spring still came as a revelation after the gloomy winter. No wonder the ancients had celebrated with spring rituals. Beltane. Passover. The festival of Isis. Fertility cults the world over.
And, of course, Easter. This Sunday. Five days from now.
Merrit huffed hard enough that condensation formed on the window. Later the marquee company would arrive to set up the Cool Chill party space, or whatever it was called, and she had a task list the length of her arm. She tightened the belt on her robe, straightened her shoulders, and opened her bedroom door to the wondrous smell of a full Irish breakfast. She wandered toward the kitchen, telling herself she shouldn’t mind Zoe’s presence. Merrit was grateful for help in keeping Liam’s weight up. Now if only Zoe would do the same for Nathan.
The previous day, she’d left the hospital with an unsettled feeling high in her chest, but she hadn’t understood what worried her until six o’clock this morning when the dawn chorus of songbirds woke her up. During their conversation, Nathan had become animated when he turned the conversation toward Sid Gibson. For a moment there he’d closed his eyes and smiled with pleasure, savoring a thought, which would have been fine if his expression hadn’t looked like that of a—dare she think it?—madman. One madman recognizing the kindred spirit of another?
She shook off the thought and followed her nose toward the kitchen. “Zoe—” She stopped at the sight before her. “Liam?”
“In the flesh.” He set a basket of brown bread on the kitchen island alongside a platter of rashers and white pudding. “What do you say now, oh, ye of little faith?”
Merrit perched on a stool and sprinkled salt on the roasted tomato, fried egg, and fried mushrooms already loading her plate. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Liam’s limp was still in play as he walked around the island and sat down next to her. He labored to pull air into his lungs, and she couldn’t tell whether his rosy cheeks were the result of cooking over a hot stove or something else. But he did seem to have more energy. This could be remission, even though she doubted the possibility of spontaneous remission. Or, this could be the calm before the cancer storm.
She spooned up mushrooms. “Zoe’s not a healer. There’s got to be another explanation.”
“Your loss. There’s all manner of oddities in this funny world of ours.”
“I wasn’t raised with superstition and lore as my normal. It’s not in me to accept these things the way the Irish seem to—at least as they do around here.”
Liam heaped rashers onto her plate and then onto his. He’d made enough food to supply a small army. “That doesn’t mean ‘these things’ aren’t there, fleeting and rare in this modern age but still lurking about the sidelines, waiting for a chance to appear.”
“Miracles.” Merrit heard her scoffing tone. “Sorry, I don’t mean to belittle it.”
“Oh yes, you do. You want a rational explanation.”
“That would be nice. How about a doctor’s appointment? We’ll hit up a new doctor for a new battery of tests.”
“I don’t need a bloody doctor to tell me I’m better.” He pointed his fork at her. “And let me remind you that you believe in my ability to bring people together, but isn’t matchmaking a lowly superstition, too?”
“That’s different,” Merrit said. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re intuitive. You comprehend people. That’s rational.”
“Oh yeah?” he said. “You saw Zoe heal Bijou’s paw.”
Merrit waved her fork in front of Liam’s fork. “That was crap and you know it. She cooked up some cockamamie incident to attract your attention. Believe me, she’s all about you for some reason. What does she want from you?”
Liam lowered his fork and leaned back with a smile. “Ah. How do you know she wants something from me?”
Now Merrit was confused. “Are you giving me the piss?”
“Taking the piss, and no, I’m not taking the piss. It’s a serious question. What makes you think Zoe wants something from me?”
Merrit bit into a sausage. “How the hell do I know? I just do. It’s obvious.”
“Really? It’s obvious?”
“I see what you’re doing, and I’m not buying that, either.”
“Why not?” Liam said. “Your insight just now is no different than the insight I use when I’m matchmaking. If you can’t say how or why you know what you know, then aren’t we talking about something beyond rationality?”
“You are taking the piss.” Merrit shoved her breakfast plate aside. “Goddammit, Liam, and you’re pissing me off, too.”
“Good. The question remains, if I can have this skill, why do you doubt that you have it, too?”
“We were talking about Zoe, not me,” Merrit said. “I’m not part of this conversation.”
“I’d say you are. I’d say your skepticism about Zoe is about you, not her. One thing you can say about Zoe, she doesn’t doubt herself.”
“Your expectations for my performance at the Easter Festival are too high,” she said.
Liam picked up his laden plate. “Performance? Is that what you think of me?”
With that he excused himself to eat in the living room. Merrit lowered her head into her hands, feeling like a right shit. First Mrs. O’Brien, then Liam. She’d offended him, and in the midst of their argument she’d forgotten the point, which was to persuade Liam to seek a second medical opinion. Everyone had gone nutty—Nathan, Liam, Zoe, even Danny, who had given her permission to meddle. If she were superstitious, she’d blame it on spring fever, but she wasn’t, so she wouldn’t.
sixty-one
Nathan sipped herbal iced tea out of his new water bottle while Zoe bustled around the kitchen, arranging smoked salmon on a plate with a bagel, cream cheese, red onion, capers, and tomato. She’d picked him up from the hospital with water bottle in hand and an exclamation about how much better he looked. “A night away from the ball-and-chain daughter does wonders.”
He set down the bottle and flexed his hand. The swelling had subsided and the scabs had a dry look to them. His toe no longer throbbed, and the stitches on his forehead were due to come out in a few days. The outside healed itself for all to see. Meanwhile, he couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t truly here. He couldn’t feel textures with his hands anymore.
Zoe set the bagel in front of him. The pink salmon flesh gaped at him like an open wound, like a taunt at the parts of him that didn’t heal.
“I think a ‘thank you’ cake for Danny’s kids is in order today,” Zoe said. “Above the call of duty for him to take you to the hospital.”
“No need for that. Danny had his reasons. For the investigation.”
Zoe stood with her back to him as she prepared her lunch plate. “I don’t like the sound of that. You aren’t a suspect.”
“You understand why I’m of interest.”
“Well—but there’s nothing to pin on you. So what if you don’t remember where you are most of the time?” She sat down opposite him. Her outstretched hand begged him to meet her halfway. “Dad, please. We’re fine, right?
”
“Ay.” Zoe had collected her hair into loose pigtails. The curls cascaded over her shoulders, partially obscuring a chunky blue stone necklace. Lapus lazuli, he remembered. “That necklace—” he said.
She touched it, smiling. “One of my favorites of Mum’s.”
“It suits you.” He poked his fork into the salmon. The chunky stones didn’t suit her, though. They had suited Susannah with her patrician features and statuesque shoulders. She was wearing it the day she died.
Stomach lurching, he forked the salmon over to Zoe’s plate. “Upset stomach from the meds.”
“More for me.” Zoe layered the meat over the salmon she already had and bit. A smear of cream cheese stuck to her lip. Nathan looked away. “I’m excited for the Earrach Festival. Liam asked me to oversee the music, did I tell you? I found a traditional band that also plays popular music.”
One by one, Nathan stuck capers onto the cream cheese on his bagel. “The Sons of Erin?”
“Yes. They’re brilliant. It should be a ball of a time. Plus, I’m going to let Merrit practice matchmaking on me.”
He covered the capers with tomato and onion. “I hope your men friends won’t mind.”
“Men friends?” She grinned. “You say that with such loaded significance. They’re mates, nothing else.”
“That fella from last week—?”
“Sid?” She laughed. “He’s far too serious for me, but he’ll be at the festival. I’ve invited everyone I know. You’ll go, too, right?”
“Yes.” He bit into the bagel. His throat tightened, but he forced himself to chew and swallow. Zoe had already demolished her lunch. She stood and placed her plate in the sink. “I’ll grab a late shower now. You’re fine for the bathroom?”
“I’ll shower in the rain if need be.”
She clapped her hands. “There’s your sense of humor. Fair play.”
He returned her smile and bit into the bagel again. She bounced away and trotted up the stairs to the bathroom. Nathan shoved his lunch down the sink and turned on the garbage disposal. He placed his plate on top of Zoe’s. The serrated bread knife sat on the counter. Nathan ran a finger along its edge, but not hard enough to draw blood.