by Zara Keane
“Sure.”
Now that the movie was over, I turned the dimmer switch. Warm, yellow light flooded the theater, robbing it of some of its mystique. At the far end of the third row, someone wearing a green dress had fallen asleep. A couple of women had worn green tonight, and neither was the type to go for a snooze during a movie. Then again, Sandra Walker had been pretty drunk when I’d served her the second cocktail. “Hey,” I called. “Movie’s over. Time to go home.”
No response.
Jeez. Sandra—or was it Brid?—must be out for the count. Not that I could blame them. I glanced at my watch. Eleven twenty-five. I was ready to collapse into my cat-infested bed the instant I got back to Noreen’s place. I stifled a yawn and picked my way down the steps. When I neared the third row, I recognized Sandra Walker’s slumped form. A prickle of unease snaked down my spine. Sandra had been pretty drunk the last time I’d spoken to her, but surely two cocktails hadn’t made her pass out?
“Mrs. Walker?” I sidled down the row toward her seat and then reached out my hand to touch her arm. I recoiled, breathing hard. Her skin was cool to the touch. Yes, it was a cold January night, but the heat in the packed movie theater had made me sweat. Sandra’s skin shouldn’t be this chilly. My heart thumping against my ribs, I felt for a pulse. There was none.
My breath caught in my throat. Briskly, I collapsed the armrest of the neighboring seat and went through the motions of CPR, even though I knew it was too late. “Help,” I shouted between blows. “Call emergency services.”
“Maggie?” Julie appeared at the entrance to the movie theater. “What’s wrong?”
“Call a doctor,” I repeated. “And the police. Sandra Walker is dead.”
6
“Dead? Are you sure?” Under her freckles, Julie turned pale.
“Yes,” I said with a touch of impatience. “No doubt about it.” I took my phone from my pocket and hit the button for emergency services.
While I rattled off the essential details to the dispatcher, faces appeared in the doorway to the movie theater. “Unless one of you is a medical professional,” I said coolly, slipping my phone back into my pocket, “you can take a hike.”
A man with a wild head of wiry curls pushed his way through the crowd and took the steps down to the third row two at a time. “Dr. Thomas Reilly,” he said by way of introduction. “I run the Whisper Island Medical Centre.”
I moved aside, and Dr. Reilly leaned over to examine Sandra Walker. In truth, I was glad to leave the handling of the body to an expert. I’d seen dead bodies before. Plenty of them. But death’s cold finality never failed to give me the shivers.
After he’d checked Sandra for a pulse, the doctor’s eyes met mine and his mouth tightened. “I’d say she’s been dead at least an hour, but I’ll need to examine her more closely to give a more accurate estimate.”
The sick sensation that had been building in my stomach since I’d first seen the slumped figure in the seat sent a surge of bile up my throat. I swallowed past it and took a deep breath. Now was not the moment to lose my cool. “I’ve called an ambulance,” I said. “And the police.”
The doctor frowned. “The guards are hardly necessary.”
I fixed him with an icy stare. “Sandra Walker seemed fine when she arrived at the café, yet now she’s dead. I’d say that warrants at least a cursory examination by the police, the guards, or whatever you call them in Ireland.”
“I understand you used to be in the American police force.” Dr. Reilly treated me to a condescending smile. “Perhaps you’re too used to violence to recognize death by natural causes.”
“You’re very quick to make that call. You haven’t even examined her properly yet.”
Dr. Reilly’s smug smile vanished. “And you, Ms. Doyle, are very quick to suspect foul play. You’re letting the atmosphere of Dial M for Murder cloud your judgment.”
“I’m not saying Sandra Walker was murdered,” I said with as much patience as I could muster. “I just think we need to keep an open mind and look at all the possibilities.”
The doctor’s nostrils flared. “We need to do nothing, Ms. Doyle. You jumped the gun by calling the guards. Sergeant O’Shea won’t be pleased to have his time wasted.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Sandra Walker wasn’t popular, and she appeared to be in perfect health when she arrived this evening. I don’t think calling out the police is overkill, no pun intended.”
The doctor rubbed the back of his neck and said in a weary tone, “Sandra Walker probably died of a heart attack.”
“Were you her family practitioner?” I demanded. “Did she have heart issues?”
“Yes, she was a patient of mine. And no, I wasn’t aware of any heart problem.” The concession caused Dr. Reilly’s self-assurance to falter for a moment, but he soon rallied. “However, Sandra was fifty-six. It’s hardly unheard of for people her age to die of a sudden heart attack.”
“Hmm.” I stared at Sandra’s prone form and rubbed the back of my neck. The doctor was most likely correct in his assessment of Sandra’s cause of death, but I couldn’t shake the sensation that something was wrong. Was I paranoid? I’d come to Ireland to regroup after a bad marriage and a lackluster career. Why look for trouble where there was probably none? My gaze lingered on Sandra’s cocktail glass, still half full with Peppermint Cream cocktail. A lingering doubt nagged at me.
After a tense few minutes, during which the doctor and I ignored each other and I avoided looking at Sandra Walker’s body, Julie opened the doors to the movie theater and approached the third row, accompanied by the island’s most senior police officer, Garda Sergeant O’Shea. O’Shea was dressed in civilian clothing and wore a disgruntled expression on his craggy face that matched the impatience apparent in his every movement.
“What’s all this about a dead body?” he demanded and surveyed the scene. He blanched when he saw Sandra’s corpse.
“Sandra Walker is dead,” I said. “I thought a police officer should examine her body.”
“And I disagreed, but she’d already placed the call.” Dr. Reilly regarded me with a dislike that was mutual. “I suspect the shock of discovering the body rattled Ms. Doyle’s senses.”
Sergeant O’Shea’s nostrils flared. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve dragged me away from a golf club dinner because you overreacted?”
“A woman you knew is dead, and you’re upset about missing your dinner?” I glared at him. “At the very least, you should track down her family. Her daughter and son-in-law were at the movie, but they might have gone home already.”
“They’re out in the café.” Julie bit her lip. “I told them a white lie. Everyone is aware that Dr. Reilly is in here with you, and I said you weren’t feeling well to avoid panic.”
“Have Paul and Melanie noticed Sandra’s missing?” I asked.
My cousin fiddled with her necklace. “Yes. Melanie thinks Sandra went home.”
“They all saw me come in. We can assume half the island knows by now that something dodgy happened in The Movie Theater Café.” Sergeant O’Shea’s ruddy complexion turned purple, and he glared at me accusingly. “Poor Melanie will be very upset that you called the guards.”
“It’s your job to be here,” I snapped. “Why aren’t you taking notes? You’re not even pretending to examine the scene.”
O’Shea glared at me. “There’s no scene to examine, Ms. Doyle. We’re in a movie theater, sure, but this here is real life. Real life on Whisper Island. If Dr. Reilly thinks one of his patients died of a heart attack, then that’s all I need to know.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. “You could at least inform her family of her death.”
“She’s right. We should fetch Melanie,” Dr. Reilly said gloomily. “Better she hears the bad news from us than let the rumor spread.”
Julie nodded. “I’ll get her and Paul.”
A few seconds later, Melanie announced her presence with a hysterical scr
eech. “Mummy? Oh, Mummy.” Melanie flew down the steps and threw herself on her mother’s body, sobbing, and almost sent the cocktail glass flying.
Paul followed his wife at a more sedate pace. He scanned the room before fixing his attention on me. When our eyes met for the first time in ten years, I felt a stirring of mild dislike, but no stronger emotion.
“Hello, Maggie,” Paul said, his tone as bland as his expression.
I nodded curtly. “Paul.”
I’d avoided Paul and Melanie earlier, or rather, they’d avoided me by ordering their drinks through other Movie Club members. Up close, Paul’s handsome face bore the puffiness of a man who drank more than was healthy.
“What happened to her?” Melanie wailed. “She was fine earlier.”
“She was drunk,” I amended, “but she seemed okay apart from that.”
Melanie narrowed her eyes and rounded on me. “Nonsense. Mummy never gets drunk.”
“She was knocking back cocktails this evening,” I said before casting my mind back to Sandra’s final order. Unless she’d ordered another drink from Lenny and I hadn’t noticed, I’d only made two Peppermint Creams for her, and the glass beside Sandra’s seat was half full. Why had I said she’d been knocking them back? I frowned. Sandra had appeared to be very drunk when she’d placed the second order. The Peppermint Creams were strong, but surely she wouldn’t have been that drunk from one?
“Perhaps she was feeling unwell, and that made you think she was drunk,” Dr. Reilly said as if reading my mind.
My gaze moved toward Sandra’s body and the cocktail glass beside her seat. “Shouldn’t we hang on to Sandra’s glass? Maybe get it analyzed?”
The others stared at me as though I’d just spouted Shakespeare.
“Seriously,” I added. “Maybe someone spiked her drink.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Sergeant O’Shea snapped. “If I were a betting man, I’d say you were the one who drank too many cocktails, not Sandra.”
My nails bit into my palms. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to lose my temper. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve had half a cocktail this evening. I’m not drunk, and I’m not inventing a mystery where there is none. Even if you and Dr. Reilly are convinced that Sandra died of heart failure, the least you could do is examine the contents of her cocktail glass.”
O’Shea’s nostrils flared. “We don’t have a forensics lab on the island, and I’m not wasting tax payers’ money having it sent to the mainland.”
“Melanie?” I turned to my erstwhile nemesis, and her expression hardened. “She’s your mother. Do you want the glass examined?”
“What I’d like,” Melanie said through gritted teeth, “is for you to leave us alone. I don’t want you spreading nasty rumors about Mummy drinking too much.” Her lips tightened, and she dabbed at her eyes delicately with a cloth handkerchief.
I slow-blinked. Melanie’s mother had just died, and she was playing for her audience.
“Probably best you join your aunts and the others, Maggie.” Paul forced an unconvincing smile.
“Yes, leave. And tell Noreen to come in here,” ordered the sergeant. “We’ll arrange for the body to be removed by the fire exit.”
They turned their backs on me as if to emphasize the point that my presence wasn’t wanted. Frustrated but not defeated, I cast a last glance at Sandra’s prone form. On impulse, I removed a tissue from my purse and used it to pick up the cocktail glass.
“What are you doing?” Sergeant O’Shea demanded.
“You said you weren’t interested in Sandra’s glass,” I said smoothly, “so I’m tidying it up.”
Before he could utter a protest, I marched up the steps and out of the movie theater. I shoved past the curious crowd out in the café and battled my way to the kitchen. I leaned against the fridge and released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The situation stank. Why did no one else see it but me? My eyes dropped to the cocktail glass in my hand, and my resolve hardened. Sergeant O’Shea and Dr. Reilly could take a flying leap. I’d save both the contents and the glass, just in case. What harm would that do?
I’d just finished pouring the remnants of Sandra’s final cocktail into a plastic screw-top bottle when Lenny barged in, wearing a harried expression. “Is it true that Sandra Walker’s dead?”
“Yeah. Say, you didn’t make her a cocktail, did you?”
Lenny’s eyes widened. “Do you think it was something she ate or drank? The rumor going around is a heart attack.”
“As far as I can recall, I made Sandra two cocktails, and she didn’t finish the second. I remember thinking she was drunk when she ordered the second Peppermint Cream. Did you make her a different cocktail at any point?”
Lenny considered this for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Sandra wasn’t much of a drinker, and I was making the gin and whiskey-based cocktails. The sweet Peppermint Creams would have been more her style.”
A thought occurred to me. “You gave Sandra a ride tonight.”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “She insisted on me collecting her laptop. I guess she won’t be needing that new RAM chip after all.”
“So you have her laptop?” I prompted. “A laptop that could well contain a folder with her gossip columns and blind items about people on Whisper Island?”
Comprehension dawned on Lenny’s face. “Yeah. Want to take a look at it?”
“I do. I’ll just finish bagging this cocktail glass first.”
After I’d put Sandra Walker’s cocktail glass in a makeshift evidence bag, I followed Lenny out of the café and down the street to where he’d parked his VW van. We’d just reached Lenny’s vehicle when an ambulance pulled into the lane that led to the movie theater’s exit.
I exchanged a glance with Lenny. “I guess we’ll have to go back inside and give the laptop to Melanie.”
“Sure.” Lenny gave me a wink. “But not before I take a look at those gossip columns of hers first.” His smile faded when he opened the back of the van. “That’s weird. I was sure I’d locked it.”
The prickle of unease I’d experienced earlier returned in full force, and my heart rate kicked up a notch. “Has anything been stolen? Is Sandra’s laptop still there?”
Lenny rooted around in the mountain of cables and gadgets that filled the back of his van. “It’s here.” He held up a battered-looking Samsung laptop. “I guess I must have forgotten to lock the van after I went back and forth with equipment.”
“Maggie?” A woman’s voice made me whirl around. Sister Pauline stood in the doorway to the café. “Noreen is looking for you,” the nun said. “She’s rather upset.”
I imagined that “rather upset” was an understatement. “I’ll be right in,” I said, and Sister Pauline nodded and went back inside the café. I turned to Lenny. “Do you want to meet tomorrow to take a look at the laptop? I’m assuming you can hack through whatever password Sandra used?”
“No need to hack. Sandra gave it to me.”
“Of course. You were going to install a new RAM chip for her. Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow morning. In the meantime,” I added with a grimace, “I’d better see how Noreen is coping.”
After Lenny had driven away, I retraced my steps to the café. The uneasy sensation I’d had since I’d found the body worried me. I tried to shove my doubts aside, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right about Sandra’s death. My instincts were rarely wrong and had served me well as a police officer. However, without evidence, I had nothing to compel either the doctor or Sergeant O’Shea to listen to me. Maybe the laptop would shed some light on Sandra’s death.
7
The night after I discovered Sandra’s body, I slept badly. Dreams of poisoned cocktail glasses haunted me, and I woke up shivering. In the dark, two pairs of feline eyes glowed. Roly, the cat with the white patch on his nose, meowed and rubbed against me. I stroked his soft fur and pulled him close. Soon, Poly joined us, her pregnan
t belly wobbling, and we snuggled under the quilt until my alarm went off for the second time. Groaning, I blinked at the display. Eight forty-five. Ugh. I was going to be late. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stood, and stretched. “Running is good for me,” I said to Roly and Poly. “Right?”
Their only response was to stare back at me, unblinking.
I sighed and pulled on my running gear. I’d promised my cousin I’d be her running partner, and I wouldn’t let her down. Out in the hallway, my aunt’s bedroom door was closed. After the drama yesterday evening, not to mention her surgery, she must be exhausted. I tiptoed to the front door and just missed tripping over Bran, the only one of Noreen’s other animals that the cats allowed into the house.
Bran, a border collie-Labrador mix, looked up at me with pleading eyes. He whined and licked my hand.
I leaned down and stroked his fur. “Smart dog. You recognize a sucker when you see one. Want to come for a run with me?”
Bran panted and pawed at the front door.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I clipped the dog’s leash into place and opened the cottage door. Bran took off like a shot, dragging me in his wake. “Whoa, big guy. Slow down. I’m supposed to be taking you for a walk, not the other way around.”
Julie leaned against the gate, a mischievous grin on her face. “If we’re taking Bran, we’re not going to manage the walk part of the walk-run intervals my program recommends.”
“If we don’t take him, he’ll howl the place down and wake Noreen. I’ve only been here a couple of days, but I’ve figured out how Bran operates.” I shot past my cousin, struggling to keep up with the dog. “Consider this our warm-up,” I shouted over my shoulder.
Laughing, Julie closed the gate and jogged to catch up with me. “You look like I feel this morning, Maggie. Rough night?”
I grimaced. “It was hard to sleep after what happened.”
“You must have stumbled across a few dead bodies during your time with the police.”