by Zara Keane
“Well…” My aunt’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “One of the blind items in Sandra’s gossip column referred to a married man of influence who was having an affair with a woman half his age. Island gossip pointed the finger at O’Shea as the married man in question.”
“So he might have been meeting his mistress on Friday, hence his annoyance at being disturbed?”
“It would also explain how he got to The Movie Theater Café as quickly as he did,” Sister Pauline said, placing a steaming teapot and two cups on the table. “If he’d been at the golf club, he should have taken at least a quarter of an hour longer to get here.”
I looked at both of them in turn. “Do either of you have any idea who his younger woman is?”
“I can’t say for certain, but Sergeant O’Shea has always been flirtatious with Mina Kelly, Brid’s younger sister.”
“He’s been seen leaving her cottage at strange times of the day, too,” Sister Pauline added.
No wonder Sergeant O’Shea hadn’t been motivated to investigate Sandra’s death. If she’d written about his affair in the local newspaper, he must have hated her. Had he hated her enough to want her dead? But how could he have killed her? Even if he’d lied about being at the golf club, he hadn’t been here, and neither had Mina Kelly. But Mina’s sister, Brid, had… I filed this information away for future reference and helped Lenny put chairs up on tables.
“When you’re finished with your tea, I’ll drive you home, Noreen. You look like you need some serious rest and relaxation.”
“I do. I’m looking forward to curling up with an old Georgette Heyer novel.” My aunt took a sip from her teacup and put it down on her saucer with a clatter. “Oh, Maggie, before I forget. Philomena says she lost the scarf she was wearing the night of the Movie Club meeting. Red tartan with a navy trim. She asked if we could check if she dropped it in the café or the movie theater.”
“Sure. I’ll have a look around the movie theater now.”
I moved toward the back of the café and opened the doors that led to the movie theater. The hairs on my nape stood on end, and I gave myself a mental shaking. I’d avoided going into the movie theater since Friday. Bran followed me down the steps and stopped to sniff at seats, as if hoping to find food. I checked each seat in turn, pulling it down and looking underneath, but there was no sign of Philomena’s scarf. To Bran’s delight, he unearthed a stale piece of popcorn. I turned to walk back up the aisle to the café when something orange caught my eye. Wedged between two seats was a screw-top medicine bottle container, identical to the one Noreen had been given at the hospital. I sucked in a breath. On autopilot, I pulled a tissue from my pocket and used it to pick up the container. On the off chance that it was relevant to Sandra’s murder, I didn’t want to get my fingerprints on it.
I examined the container. The label had been torn off and shed no light on its contents. My heart pounding, I poured the contents of the container into a second tissue. Four white pills gleamed back at me under the movie theater lights. Not Solpodol, thank goodness. But why had they been shoved down the side of one of the seats? Was it by accident or by design? And did their presence in the movie theater have any connection with Sandra Walker’s death? After all, there was no way to know how long the container had lain concealed between the seats.
I returned the pills to the container and screwed it shut. I’d bag it as carefully as I’d preserved the cocktail glass. Once I took Noreen home, I’d call Mack and ask him to identify the pills. From my work as a cop, I was familiar with a lot of medications available in the U.S., but many had different names in Ireland.
Out in the café, Noreen and Sister Pauline drank their tea, and Lenny lounged at a neighboring table.
“No sign of Philomena’s scarf.” I kept my tone casual. “By the way, who sat in seats 4D and 4E? I found an old pill container stuck between the seats.”
“I’m afraid we don’t assign seats for the movie theater nights,” Noreen said. “It’s first come, first served.”
“Ah. Never mind. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Hang on a sec, did you say 4D and E?” Lenny asked, a line between his brows.
“Yeah. Any idea who was sitting there on Friday night?”
“Yeah.” Lenny met my eye. “I was in 4D, and Julie sat in 4E.”
12
The following week passed in a haze of early starts, jogs with Julie, and the occasional scorched scone. The medicine bottle I’d discovered in the movie theater was still in my purse. I wanted to show it to Mack, but he was attending a training course in Galway and wouldn’t be back until Friday. Knowing Julie and Lenny had occupied the seats where I’d found the mysterious pills made my stomach cramp. I couldn’t be sure they had anything to do with the pills, or that the pills had any connection with Sandra Walker’s death. All the same, the pills were yet another item on my growing list of things that didn’t add up.
Apart from a few stalwart regulars, business at The Movie Theater Café was down, both during the day and in the evening when the various island clubs held their meetings. From what I could glean from snatches of gossip overheard in the café, Sergeant O’Shea had bumbled around Whisper Island, questioning the attendees of the fatal Movie Club meeting and giving the impression that Sandra took her own life, or was poisoned by Noreen, and that both eventualities were somehow my fault. I gritted my teeth. If the police officer spent less time improving his golf handicap and more attention on policing the island, he might have solved the case by now.
Just before closing time on the Thursday after Sandra’s death, I glanced up from the table I was polishing. My aunt stood behind the counter, chewing her lip. Seeing her stressed from worry and lack of sleep tore me up. While I didn’t believe Noreen had poisoned Sandra’s cocktail, logic told me that the source of the codeine in Sandra’s glass was my aunt’s prescription medication.
Noreen caught my eye and forced an unconvincing smile. “Are you looking forward to playing that game with Lenny and his friends this evening?”
I made a face. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a game.”
“It’ll do you good, love. Take your mind off…” She left the sentence unfinished.
“I know.” I sighed. “You know what’s ironic? I came to Whisper Island to get Joe off my mind. And it worked. Unfortunately, I’ve replaced dwelling on my disastrous marriage with obsessing about Sandra Walker’s death.”
“Not the plan. Not for either of us.” Aunt Noreen’s lips twisted. “I’m looking forward to watching Call the Midwife with Sister Pauline later. I need some soothing entertainment.”
“I like Sister Pauline, but she doesn’t seem like a nun.”
Noreen smiled. “What do you imagine a typical nun to be like?”
“More serious. And bossy. And wearing a nun’s habit.”
My aunt laughed. “You’re behind on the times, love. Most nuns don’t bother with a habit anymore. Besides, Sister Pauline had a life before she joined the order. Maybe that’s what makes her different.”
The bell over the café door jangled. Joan Sweetman came in, followed by Sister Pauline and my aunt Philomena. “Bliss,” Joan sighed. “It’s nice and warm in here.”
“We’ve just come from the library,” Philomena explained. “The heating’s on the blink. I’ve sent John over to fix it, but we decided to decamp and come here.”
“We picked up copies of the book we’re reading for the next book club meeting, and we want to make sure everyone has a chance to read it.” Sister Pauline pulled a dog-eared version of Josephine Tey’s Miss Pym Disposes from her purse. “If you’d like to borrow my copy after I’ve finished with it, Maggie, you’re more than welcome. The library only has two copies and one of them is an interlibrary loan.”
“Thanks, but I have the book on my digital reader.”
Philomena reared back as though I’d hit her. “You don’t read those awful ebooks, do you?”
“There’s nothing awful abou
t them,” Miss Murphy piped up from the table where she was playing cards with her spinster friend, Miss Flynn, and their male companions, the Two Gerries. “With my bad eyesight and arthritis in my hands, they’re much better than struggling with a regular book.”
Philomena pursed her lips. She was old school and didn’t like change. I suspected that Whisper Island’s long-overdue digital catalog was being implemented in spite of her position as head librarian rather than because of it.
“I started reading the book before all the drama,” Noreen said with a bitter laugh. “I can’t seem to settle back into reading about a murder mystery when I’m living one.”
“It must be awful for you, Noreen.” Joan’s fine features settled into a frown. “And having that dreadful little man poking into everyone’s business is making the situation worse. He’s a menace at the golf club and utterly useless at his job.”
“Perhaps they’ll send over someone from the mainland,” Sister Pauline said. “Surely all police officers can’t be as stupid as Sergeant O’Shea.”
“I’m relying on Maggie to solve the case.” Noreen smiled at me. “I’m only half joking, love. If you were in charge of the investigation, I’d feel more confident that justice would be served, one way or the other.”
“I can’t go around Whisper Island interrogating people,” I replied gloomily. “I’d like to, but I have to watch my step. Sergeant O’Shea made that very clear.”
“If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, no one would have known Sandra’s cocktail contained codeine,” Philomena added. “You’re much smarter than O’Shea.”
“My cat is smarter than O’Shea,” Joan said dryly.
I bit my lip. “My drawing attention to the fact that Sandra’s death might not have been natural hasn’t exactly gone down well with many residents on Whisper Island.”
Sister Pauline patted my hand. “Don’t take it to heart. People here like a quiet life and the illusion that no violence can occur on a small island.”
“If it were the summer, the word on the street would be that a tourist was responsible.” Joan raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Yes, many islanders are naive enough to believe that one of their own couldn’t possibly poison another.”
I looked around the café and took a deep breath. “Let’s say Sandra’s drink was deliberately spiked with Noreen’s medicine. We can assume that it had to have been someone who attended the Movie Club night. Of all the people there that night, who had a reason to want Sandra Walker dead?”
The silence that descended after I voiced my question lasted for a few tense seconds. Finally, Philomena spoke. “Plenty of people disliked Sandra. Whether or not that dislike was strong enough for them to want to kill her, I can’t say.”
“The first day I was here, a few of you mentioned the rumor that Sandra was the pen behind a vicious blind item gossip column in the local paper. Do you have any idea who she’s featured in her columns?”
“The columns didn’t name anyone, but they weren’t exactly subtle.” Philomena grimaced. “There was that unpleasantness about Paddy Driscoll’s relationship with his sheep, for example, but I never believed the rumor.”
I balked at her. “Ew. Didn’t Paddy Driscoll look after the animals while you were at the hospital, Noreen?”
“He did, and I wouldn’t have let him near my babies if I believed that nonsense. Just because the man’s a bachelor and not the most sociable of characters doesn’t mean he’s romantically interested in sheep.” Noreen eyed me. “In fact, I’d considered setting the two of you up. He’s a little long in the tooth, and an ardent nationalist, but he owns land.”
“And sheep he’s alleged to be more than just friends with. Sight unseen, I’m going to give the idea of a date with Paddy Driscoll a resounding no.” I blew out my cheeks. “Boy, this is one conversation I never imagined I’d be having.”
“Paddy’s not a bad fellow,” Philomena said, “but I don’t see him and Maggie hitting it off.”
“Was Driscoll at the movie?” I asked, keen to get the conversation back on track and away from my aunt’s matchmaking schemes.
Joan nodded. “Paddy comes to every meeting. He sat next to me last Friday.”
So yet another person with a grudge against Sandra had been at the Movie Club meeting. The list kept growing.
“If you’re interested in the gossip columns, we have back issues of the Whisper Island Gazette at the library,” Philomena said. “Why don’t you drop by tomorrow and I can show them to you?”
I seized on the opportunity. “That would be great. Who’s the editor of the Gazette? I might try to track him or her down.”
“Sean Clough.” Philomena’s lips twitched. “Sean lives and breathes the Gazette and writes most of the articles himself. If you want to talk to him, he has a flat above the paper. Just walk down the main street past Logan’s Electronics, and you’ll see a side street named Lynott Lane. The Gazette’s building is the second on the right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” I had no business inserting myself into what I knew would be an official murder investigation before long. But given Sergeant O’Shea’s incompetence, and his determination to pin Sandra Walker’s death on Noreen if he couldn’t make his suicide theory stick, I didn’t feel I had a choice. I hadn’t liked the woman, but if someone had murdered her, Sandra Walker deserved justice.
The door of the café crashed open, and Melanie Greer marched in, eyes blazing, fists clenched. Paul ran in behind her, out of breath. I sucked in a breath and braced myself for the onslaught. I didn’t have long to wait.
Melanie turned to me. “You.” She drew the word out for maximum effect. I’d always felt Melanie belonged on the stage. “Why don’t you go back to America where you belong and let my mother rest in peace?”
“I’m sorry that you’re upset, Melanie, but I couldn’t not show the test results on your mother’s cocktail glass to Sergeant O’Shea.”
“You had no right to perform any tests on my mother’s glass. Who asked you to interfere?”
“As I’m sure you know, I was a cop. I didn’t feel the sergeant was doing his job the night your mom died. In the hope that he’d display some initiative in the morning, I saved Sandra’s cocktail glass.” I stared at her defiantly. “And just as well I did.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Melanie snapped. “Mummy is dead. No police investigation will bring her back. And now they’ve performed an autopsy…” She collapsed into Paul’s arms, sobbing dramatically.
Over Melanie’s mass of perfect black curls, Paul caught my eye. “We realize you felt you were doing the right thing, but Melanie doesn’t believe the cocktail glass you tested belonged to her mother.”
I placed my hands on my hips. “Are you saying I made the whole thing up? The cocktail tested positive for codeine. Ask Mack McConnell if you don’t believe me.”
“How do we know you didn’t spike a random cocktail glass to get attention?” Melanie demanded. “It would be the type of thing you’d do. You always went in for histrionics.”
I took several deep breaths. Now was not the moment to lose my cool. “Your memory of my teenage self and my own differ, but whatever. The point is that I didn’t invent a story to get attention. Frankly, I came to Whisper Island for a rest. I’m sorry about your mom, Melanie, but if someone deliberately put codeine in her cocktail and caused her death, don’t you think she deserves justice?”
“Justice?” Melanie sneered. “You’re one to talk. You and your stoner friend broke my mother’s computer. If I hadn’t let Paul talk me out of it, I’d have filed a police report.”
“Lenny and I didn’t break Sandra’s laptop. Why would we want to do that? Sandra gave it to Lenny because she wanted him to install a new RAM chip. When he tried to start it up, it didn’t work.” I turned to Paul. “Have you had any luck fixing it?”
He shook his head. “I gave it to our tech guy at the hotel, but he said it’s toast.”
I nodded, un
surprised. “That’s what Lenny said.”
“Sergeant O’Shea collected it yesterday to send to a computer forensics team on the mainland. Maybe they’ll have better luck salvaging its content.”
“If the laptop is broken, Maggie and her weirdo friend are responsible. Everyone knows Lenny is into something dodgy. Maybe he used Mummy’s computer to conduct his black market drug trade and needed to destroy the evidence. He’s sly enough to do it.”
“Don’t be absurd. Lenny isn’t a drug dealer.” And yet Melanie’s portrayal of Lenny bothered me, and not just because I considered him a friend. Sly? Was this a figment of Melanie’s imagination, or was there a side to Lenny’s character that I hadn’t seen? How well did I know the guy? We’d only become reacquainted a few days ago.
Melanie glared at me, her chin at a belligerent tilt. “I saw Mummy on her laptop the evening she died, and it was working fine.”
My heart rate kicked up a notch as my investigative instincts came into play. “What time was this?” I asked in as casual a tone as I could muster. “Maybe the laptop broke later that evening.”
“It must have been around six o’clock.” Melanie sniffed. “I called over to her house to drop off a casserole dish I’d borrowed.”
Six…plenty of time for Melanie to have given her mother a fatal dose of codeine. The timing fit better with Mack’s estimate of how long the drug would have taken to kill Sandra. But why would Melanie want to kill her mother? Money? Or had they had an argument? If so, over what? “Are you sure your mom’s laptop was working while you were at her house?”
“Yes.” Melanie’s eyes filled with genuine tears, and I felt a pang of guilt for wondering if she’d killed her only living parent. “Mummy was typing up one of her little stories for the paper, just as she always did on a Friday evening.”