Dial P For Poison (Movie Club Mysteries, Book 1): An Irish Cozy Mystery

by Zara Keane

  “Noreen mentioned Sandra wrote for the paper.” I kept my tone uncharacteristically diplomatic. “I’m sure she was a great addition to their staff.”

  Melanie dabbed at her tears and nodded. “Mummy loved going to all the island events and writing about what people wore. She was such a sociable creature. Everyone loved her.” Melanie’s gaze hardened again. “Which is why your ridiculous idea about her being murdered is nonsense.”

  “I hope it is, Melanie,” I said quietly. “I’m an ornery creature, and I like being right, but on this occasion, I’d gladly be proved wrong.”

  Only I wouldn’t be proved wrong. Of that I was certain. Sandra Walker had been murdered, and it was up to me to find her killer.

  13

  The snow that had been forecast for the morning finally began to fall by late afternoon. By the time I closed the café for the day, the street was blanketed in white. After the day I’d had, I was ready for a stiff drink and a warm bath. However, I’d promised I’d stay for Lenny’s Unplugged Gamers meeting, so the bath, at least, would have to wait.

  I’d just finished cleaning the tables when Lenny ambled in, balancing a stack of board game boxes in his arms. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me. “Rough day?”

  “That’s an understatement.” I grimaced. “Melanie barged in here and accused me of spiking the cocktail glass after the fact to get attention. You were also mentioned in her accusation fest.”

  “What did I do?” he asked, dumping the games on Bette Davis.

  “Apparently, you and I broke Sandra’s laptop. Melanie claims she saw Sandra using it earlier that evening and the laptop worked just fine.”

  Lenny shrugged. “Maybe it did. Sandra never mentioned it being busted when she roped me into collecting it. But whatever happened, that laptop was dead when I tried to start it the following day.” He scratched his head. “I even checked my van for water damage, but there’s no sign of a leak, and all the rest of my gear is fine.”

  I blew out a breath. “I wish you hadn’t gotten dragged into this.”

  “I’d have been dragged in no matter what. If Sandra was poisoned, I had easy access to both Noreen’s meds and Sandra’s drink.” He opened one of the game boxes and started sorting the pieces. “A game will take your mind off Sandra.”

  “Who all is coming to tonight’s meeting? Will I know anyone?”

  “It’s probably just going to be you, me, and Julie.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Does the Unplugged Gamers have so few members?”

  “We have seven regulars and a few stragglers. Unfortunately, Mack’s away, and Günter has the flu.” Lenny shifted uncomfortably. “Some of the others don’t want to come until the mystery of Sandra’s death is cleared up.”

  I sighed. “That’s what I suspected. Business has been slow at the café all week. Is Günter the disheveled guy who came to the Movie Club the night Sandra died? Noreen described him as a weird German dude who lives on a houseboat.”

  “Yeah. That’s him.” Lenny shot me a look. “Paul Greer is also a member, but I guess he’ll avoid you and the café at the moment. Melanie has him under her thumb—or so she likes to think.”

  “But Paul sneaks out sometimes?”

  “Uh-huh.” Lenny shrugged. “I know Paul’s a snob, but he can be a laugh when he lightens up a little.”

  I remembered that side of Paul, but people changed. When I’d hung out with him during the summers I’d spent on the island, he’d been a show-off and a charmer, but quick to laugh, even at himself. My memories rewound to the evening Paul had first kissed me. We’d practiced swinging from the branches of the trees beside the lake that bordered the hotel, both dressed in our Sunday best. Determined to impress me, Paul’s swings had grown ever more daring…until he’d landed with a splash in the lake, much to both our amusement. Yeah, those had been good times. It had taken me a while to realize that Paul would always put his needs and desires before anyone else, no matter what the circumstances.

  A knock drew my attention to the door. Julie peered through the window, a sunny smile on her face despite a smattering of snow on her hat and scarf. I unlocked the door and let her in.

  “Brr. It’s freezing tonight.” She removed her outdoor clothing. “Can I dry these on the radiator?”

  “Sure.” I took her hat, scarf, and gloves and placed them above the radiator under the front window. “Lenny says it’ll be just the three of us tonight.”

  “So I heard.” Julie examined me closely. “What’s up, Maggie? You look worried. Is it Sandra Walker?”

  “Yeah. Listen, do you guys mind if I bounce some ideas off you before we start the game? With Sergeant O’Shea being a moron, I feel obligated to make sure he doesn’t screw up the investigation and put Noreen in handcuffs.”

  “Mum mentioned that business was down in the café,” Julie said. “I’m happy to do anything I can to help Noreen. What do you think, Lenny? Brainstorm over a hot drink?”

  Lenny gestured to the tiles on the table. “I’m game—pun intended. I like Noreen. Granddad says the rumors Sandra put around about the café being unsanitary are out in force now that Sandra died here. I’m betting that’s why business is slow.”

  “Yeah,” I said grimly. “People aren’t subtle about it.”

  Julie moved past me and slid behind the counter. “Why don’t you talk while I make us all Irish coffees?”

  “Go easy on the whiskey in mine,” I said. “I have to drive.”

  Lenny grinned. “Whereas I’m walking. Hit me with it, Julie.”

  The comforting whirr of the coffee machine in the background soothed me, and I was looking forward to having my first Irish coffee since I’d arrived in Ireland. I took a seat opposite Lenny and took a notebook and pen from my purse. “Okay. Until we know for sure how Sandra died, we have to assume there’s a strong possibility she was poisoned. And if she was poisoned, it’s highly likely that one of the other members of the Movie Club did the job.”

  Lenny snorted. “Not surprising. Most of them hated Sandra.”

  “I have the guest list from that night, but I don’t know most of these people. I’d appreciate your input.”

  “Sláinte,” Julie said, placing three perfect Irish coffees on the table and collapsing onto the chair beside me.

  “Sláinte.” I took a cautious sip from my mug and consulted my notes. “I’ve photocopied the guest list, complete with my notes, and I’d like you to help me go through it and figure out each person’s connection with Sandra.”

  I handed Julie and Lenny a copy of the list and looked at my own. There were twenty-eight names on the list, including our own. I’d asked Noreen for people’s ages and professions and had added my impressions of those I’d met.

  Maggie Doyle — 29 — Yours truly. Made Sandra Walker’s cocktail.

  Noreen Doyle — 56 — My aunt. Owner of The Movie Theater Café. Missing codeine pills. Known to have an ongoing feud with Sandra.

  Philomena O’Brien — 55 — My aunt. Librarian.

  John O’Brien — 57 — My uncle. Builder.

  Julie O’Brien — 28 — My cousin. Elementary school teacher.

  Lenny Logan — 29 — Works in electronics store. Made cocktails the night Sandra died.

  Sister Pauline McLoughlin — 60 — Nun. Teaches at elementary school. Knew about codeine pills.

  Miss Flynn — 60s — Spinster. Runs a gift shop in the summer months.

  Miss Murphy — 60s — Spinster. Runs a gift shop in the summer months.

  Gerry One aka Gerald Logan — 85 — Geriatric regular at the café.

  Gerry Two aka Geroid Sullivan — 82 — Geriatric regular at the café.

  Melanie Greer — 29 — Sandra’s daughter. Owns a fish restaurant and wine bar in Smuggler’s Cove. What does Melanie inherit from Sandra?

  Paul Greer — 31 — Sandra’s son-in-law. Manager of the Whisper Island Hotel.

  Cormac Tate — 57 — Principal of elementary school. Acted shifty when the subject of Sa
ndra’s blind item gossip column came up in conversation.

  Joan Sweetman — 53 — Widow. Owns the gallery across from The Movie Theater Café.

  Nick Sweetman — 37 — Joan’s stepson. Owner of the Smuggler’s Cove Yacht Club and sailing school.

  Jennifer Pearce — 30s — Nick Sweetman’s girlfriend. A lawyer.

  Linda Logan — 54 — Lenny’s mother. Runs Logan’s Electronics.

  James Greer — 62 — Owner of the Whisper Island Hotel.

  Aaron Nesbitt — 55 — Partner at the law firm Nesbitt & Son.

  Tom Ahearn — 32 — Fireman and owns a sports store.

  Rita Ahearn — 31 — Tom’s wife. Works in the sports store.

  Sandra Walker — 56 — Victim. Widow with two adult children, Melanie and Jonathan (lives in London).

  Thomas Reilly — 45 — Doctor. Runs the Whisper Island Medical Centre.

  Maria Reilly — 43 —Dr. Reilly’s wife. A painter.

  Brid Kelly — 31 — A nurse. Works at the Whisper Island Medical Centre. Her sister, Mina, is suspected of having an affair with Sergeant O’Shea.

  Paddy Driscoll — 50s — Grumpy farmer. Looked after Noreen’s animals when she was in the hospital.

  Günter Hauptmann — 33 — Weird German dude who lives on a houseboat.

  “Looking at this list, can you think of anyone who might have had a blind item written about them? I already know about Brid Kelly’s sister and Sergeant O’Shea, and Paddy Driscoll and his sheep. Can you think of any others?”

  Julie and Lenny exchanged a significant look that wasn’t lost on me. They obviously knew something they were reluctant to tell me, and I’d need to tread carefully if I were to coax the information out of them.

  “Most of the people on this list had reason to dislike Sandra,” Julie said after a long pause. “Some of Sandra’s blind items were fairly harmless and easy to guess. Others, less so—on both counts. I know Brid Kelly was upset over a blind item that implied she’d given a patient the wrong injection, but no one ever complained of feeling ill after she’d treated them, so it quickly blew over.”

  I made a note about Brid’s blind item in my notebook. “What about Cormac Tate? He acted shifty when the topic of the gossip column came up.”

  Julie thought for a moment before shaking her head. “I can’t think of any of the items that could refer to Cormac.”

  “What about anyone else on the list?” I prompted.

  “Well,” Julie said slowly, “there was an item about a pair of spinsters who lived and worked together and were more than ‘just friends.’ Everyone guessed it was about Miss Flynn and Miss Murphy, but no one cared if it was true or not.”

  “Were they upset?”

  “Miss Flynn was,” Lenny said. “My mother played golf with her soon after the column was published, and she was very embarrassed and adamant that it was all nonsense.”

  I took a deep breath and plunged on. “Were either of you mentioned in a blind item? Or a member of your family?”

  Julie’s face turned fiery red, and Lenny’s pale complexion went even whiter. “No,” they said in unison.

  “Guys, please. You’ve already said most people on the island were mentioned in the column at some point. I want to eliminate you from the list of suspects.”

  “I didn’t know I was considered a suspect,” Julie said indignantly. “I didn’t go anywhere near Sandra’s cocktail.”

  “Julie, come on. If O’Shea got off his butt and conducted a proper inquiry, he’d question all of us.”

  “He did question me. Well,” she amended, “sort of. He just asked me to confirm I was here that night and asked if I’d seen Noreen slip something in Sandra’s drink.”

  “Ugh. Head. Meet. Desk. He didn’t ask you if anyone else had a motive to kill Sandra? Or if you saw someone apart from Lenny and me screwing around with her drink?”

  “No, he didn’t ask me anything like that.”

  Lenny guffawed. “Sure, I was standing right next to the fatal cocktail, and O’Shea didn’t seem to care. All he wanted to know was if you were sane.”

  “Seriously?” I blew out my cheeks. “It would suit him just fine if I were proved to be a nutcase looking for attention.”

  “For what it’s worth, he’d just come from talking to Melanie,” Lenny said. “I’m sure she put the idea in his head, and he tends to latch on to stuff that might make his job easier.”

  “So you have nothing else to add to my notes?” I asked. “I saw the look you two exchanged when I asked if any of the blinds referred to you or your family.”

  My cousin flushed and fiddled with her glass. “I suppose if I don’t tell you, someone else will. One of the more recent cheating items referred to someone who worked with books, and everyone assumed it meant my mother.”

  “Philomena, cheat on John?” I stared at her incredulously. I’d always had the impression that my aunt and uncle were crazy about one another, even after thirty years of marriage.

  “It’s not true, of course,” Julie said quickly, and darted a glance at Lenny. “The blind said she’d been sneaking around late at night. That’s ridiculous. Why would she want to go out in the dark this time of year unless she absolutely had to? It’s freezing cold.”

  My cousin’s defensiveness screamed her doubts louder than if she’d put them into words. If Philomena was having an affair, it would surprise me, but then again, how well did I know her? She and John had been together a long time. I had no idea if the united front they presented to the world was reflected behind closed doors. Julie squirmed in her seat and took a gulp of Irish coffee.

  I directed my attention at Lenny. “Do you know of anyone else on this list with a serious grudge against Sandra?”

  Lenny thought for a moment. “Well, it’s not a blind item, but Paddy Driscoll had an argument with her over land.”

  I leaned forward, pen poised. “Go on.”

  “I don’t know all the particulars.” Lenny scrunched up his brow. “When Sandra’s husband died, he left her a farm as well as the lease on the news agency. Sandra didn’t want to keep the farm, so she arranged to sell most of the land to Paddy Driscoll. I guess a property developer came to her after she and Paddy had shaken hands on the deal and made her a better offer. Sandra left Paddy in the lurch and sold not only the farmland but the cottage she was living in at the time to a company that wanted to build holiday homes.”

  “I bet Paddy didn’t like that,” I said.

  “He was livid,” Julie added. “He’s an organic farmer and a leading light in the detectorists’ club. Paddy is dead set against greedy property developers wrecking the island and building homes that will only be occupied a few months of the year.”

  “Paddy had a point,” I said, “but I can understand Sandra taking the more lucrative deal.”

  “Unfortunately, Paddy never could,” Julie said. “Even three years later, he’s still banging on about treasure from the old monastery buried somewhere on Sandra’s land. She used to allow him and his detectorist pals to roam all over with their metal detectors—for a fee, of course. She didn’t believe they’d find anything, but Sandra was always one with her eye on the money.”

  I ran a fingertip down the list. “You can’t remember any blind items that could have been about anyone else on this list?”

  “You’re talking to the wrong people about the gossip column. Julie and I are in the minority of islanders who don’t read the Gazette. Anything I know about the blind items is stuff I heard from others.” Lenny leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms behind his neck. “So what’s your next move? Can we help?”

  “Tomorrow, I have a day free from the café. I’m going to try to track down Sean Clough, Sandra’s editor. Then I’ll go to the library and take Philomena up on her offer to show me back issues of the paper. I might even pay a call to Sergeant O’Shea in the hope of persuading him to let something slip.”

  Lenny and Julie laughed in unison. “Good luck with that,” Julie
said. “O’Shea won’t want to tell you anything.”

  “Heck, no, but I have a talent for getting people to say more than they intend.” I took a sip of my Irish coffee. “Now that we’ve done a thorough character assassination on the suspects, how about that game?”

  The following morning, I drove into Smuggler’s Cove early and ate breakfast with my aunt at the café. After washing down three helpings of Noreen’s divine scrambled eggs with black coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice, the zipper of my jeans groaned in protest. “So much for my vow to live healthy while I’m on the island,” I said as I shrugged into my winter jacket and wrapped my scarf around my neck.

  “Ah sure, the food will do you good. In this cold weather, you need to keep your strength up.”

  “Nothing wrong with my strength,” I said with a wry smile. “It’s my waistline I’m worried about.” I pulled on my hat and gloves and grabbed my purse from behind the counter. “Do you need me to pick up anything for you?”

  “When you’re at the library, you could collect the books I reserved. Just ask Philomena.”

  “Okay. If you think of anything else, give me a call.” I waved goodbye and stepped outside into the bitter cold.

  Between working at the café and the drama over Sandra’s death, this was my first opportunity to stroll through the town of Smuggler’s Cove. The town ran in a semicircle around the cove that gave it its name. The main street, formally known as Greer Street after a former mayor but referred to by everyone as Main Street, ran all the way through the center of the town, following the semicircle pattern from the crossroads by the elementary school right on down to the harbor. Whisper Island had two harbors: Carraig, the harbor I’d sailed into on the ferry the night I’d arrived, and the one in Smuggler’s Cove. Smuggler’s Cove Harbor catered to yachts and holidaymakers. During the tourist season, the ferry stopped at both harbors, but in low season, it only went to the one nearest the mainland.

  I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. Was it too early to catch Sean Clough? If I wanted to get everything done before I was due back at the café, I’d have to try. I followed the directions Philomena had given me and found Lynott Lane with no difficulty. The Gazette’s building was the second on the right-hand side and stood next to Nesbitt & Son Solicitors.