by Zara Keane
“Okay. Something’s wrong. Can you show me what?”
Poly stopped pacing and eyed me with annoyance. Her cries for attention grew louder and more insistent. And then I noticed what lay behind the spot where she was pacing back and forth. A green drainpipe, half stuffed with straw. I kneeled down and peered inside, but it was too dark to see anything. “Hang on a sec.” I leaped to my feet and found the flashlight Noreen kept hanging from a nail by the barn entrance. Armed with the flashlight, I returned to the drainpipe and aimed the light inside. A tiny kitten was in the pipe, unmoving. My heart squeezed at the sight. No wonder Roly and Poly were upset. I lay down and stretched my arm into the pipe, but it was hopeless. I couldn’t reach the kitten.
“Ms. Doyle? Are you in here?” A male voice called my name, and I jerked around. My breath caught. Sergeant Hottie, aka Liam Reynolds, stood by the barn entrance, looking even more gorgeous than he had in the café. I raked him with my eyes, focusing on his arms.
“I need your help,” I said without preamble. “A kitten is stuck in this drainpipe, and my arms aren’t long enough to reach it.”
Sergeant Reynold’s cheery smile faded and his expression grew serious. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. A man of action—I approved. “Let’s see if my arms are long enough.”
He kneeled in the straw beside me. This close, I could smell his aftershave—something subtle but spicy that made my pulse race. I blinked away the X-rated scenes playing in my mind and focused on Mission Kitten Rescue. “Can you reach her?”
“Yeah, I have her.” Reynolds looked up from his position on the ground and gave me a bone-melting grin. “You sure this kitten is a she?”
“I have a feeling it’s a girl.” My voice caught. “I just hope she’s still alive.”
“Well,” Reynolds said, slowly removing his arm from the pipe, “she’s a wriggler. I’m taking that to be a good sign.”
“Oh,” I breathed in wonder when he opened his hand to reveal a squirming kitten. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s gorgeous, but cold and probably hungry.” The police sergeant ran a finger over the tiny body. “Want to go back to your mama, little girl?” He placed the kitten onto the straw beside Poly. The mother cat licked and nuzzled her baby, and soon coaxed the adventurous kitten to nurse.
“How do I persuade Poly to bring her kittens into the house? I don’t know anything about cats.”
“Does your aunt have a basket you could use?” Reynolds asked. “If you make it nice and comfy and show it to Poly, she’ll get the message and put her kittens into it.”
“A basket… I’m sure I can rustle one up.”
Ten minutes later, Poly and her kittens were back indoors, snuggling in their basket beside the fire.
“Thanks for your help, Sergeant.”
He grinned at me. “All in the line of duty.”
“However,” I drawled, “you didn’t come here to rescue kittens. Did you get my email?”
“I did, and I have a few follow-up questions.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Want to ask them over coffee?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We went into Noreen’s cozy kitchen, and I fixed an espresso for him and a regular coffee for me. When we were seated at the table, I offered him a muffin.
“No thanks. I’ve just had breakfast.” He cleared his throat and slipped a pen and notebook from his shirt pocket.
“So, shoot,” I said. “What did you want to ask me?”
“I’m interested in your aunt’s neighbor, Paddy Driscoll. Of all the people who were at the Movie Club meeting the night of the murder, he and your aunt appear to have the strongest motives for wanting Sandra dead.”
“That’s assuming we know all there is to know about the others,” I pointed out. “If Sandra was squeezing money out of my aunt, she may have been blackmailing others.”
“And given that their blind items remained unpublished, we have no idea who they might be.” Reynolds took a sip of his espresso, his brow furrowed. “So far, everyone I’ve spoken to about Driscoll describes him as cantankerous, and fall silent when asked if he’s ever displayed violent tendencies. You’re not from around here and don’t have the same ties. What’s your opinion of Driscoll?”
I laughed. “I’ve only met him a couple of times. On the first occasion, he aimed a shotgun at me.”
“He did what?” Reynolds’s eyebrows formed twin Vs. “You know that’s illegal in Ireland, right?”
I blinked. “It is? But I was trespassing on his land.”
Reynolds shook his head and scribbled a note in his notebook. “That makes no difference. He’s not allowed to aim a firearm at a person unless he’s being attacked.”
“I didn’t mean to get him into trouble,” I said quickly. “I didn’t take him seriously. From what I could tell, Paddy Driscoll is all talk and no action.”
“Do you want to file a report?” Reynolds looked me straight in the eye. “You’re entitled to.”
“No, of course not. Like I said, he didn’t hurt me, and my aunt’s dog was bothering his sheep.”
At that moment, Reynolds’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the display and frowned. “Sorry, but I have to take this.” He pressed the phone to his ear. “Reynolds. Mmm-hmm. Okay. Sit tight. I’ll be right over.”
“Gotta go?” I asked as he got to his feet.
He grimaced. “Yeah. Something’s come up.”
“Something to do with the case?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he said with a laugh, and drained his espresso cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Thanks for the use of your long arms,” I returned, standing up to shake his hand. His grip was warm and firm and sent a shiver of awareness down my spine.
“I hope Poly and her kittens are okay,” he said on the doorstep.
“Thanks to you, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Have a good day, Sergeant.”
He grinned. “You, too, Ms. Doyle.”
After Liam Reynolds had left, I checked on Poly and the kittens. They were curled up in their basket, snoozing. I stifled a yawn and surveyed the cottage. I needed to finish tidying, but I’d make another coffee first.
I’d just switched on the coffee machine when the doorbell rang. I frowned. Had Reynolds forgotten something? Who would call over this time of day on a weekday? Maybe Paddy Driscoll wanted to yell at me about Bran.
I opened the door and sucked in a breath. Melanie Greer stood on the doorstep, her face pale and drawn.
“Hey,” I said. “What do you want?”
“I’m not here about your aunt,” she said, her tone clipped. “At least not directly. Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.” As if to prove her point, she tightened the belt of her cashmere coat.
“Okay.” I stood back, and she stepped inside.
Melanie’s gaze swept over the cottage and her lip curled. “How quaint.”
“We can’t all live in a twelve-room mansion,” I said dryly.
Melanie sniffed the air. “Do I smell coffee?”
I sighed. Looked like I wouldn’t be getting her to leave in a hurry. “Yeah. I just made a pot. Do you want some?”
“Yes, please. Black, no sugar.” Melanie didn’t beat around the bush.
When we were seated at the kitchen table, Roly and two of the other cats checked Melanie out.
“How many cats does your aunt have? I saw more in the living room.”
“Eight,” I said, deadpan, enjoying her look of horror. “Not counting the kittens. For what it’s worth, I had a similar reaction my first night here.” I took a sip of my coffee and regarded her over the brim of my mug. “Why are you here, Melanie? I guess it’s not to catch up on old times.”
Her grip on her mug faltered, and she put the mug back on the table. “No. I don’t think we’ve ever been on chatting terms.”
And whose fault is that? I pressed my lips together. “So what brings you here today? Noreen won’t be bac
k until this evening.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, fiddling with her sleeves. “I understand you’ve taken it upon yourself to make inquiries into my mother’s death.”
“Sergeant O’Shea didn’t exactly inspire confidence. I wanted to protect my aunt.”
“O’Shea is an idiot.” Melanie leaned forward in her chair, her expression grave. “I wanted to ask you about what you’ve discovered. O’Shea shared a lot with me, but this new person—Ryan or Reynolds or whatever his name is—isn’t as forthcoming.”
I struggled to keep a straight face. So Sergeant Reynolds was less inclined to fall for her damsel-in-distress act? My opinion of the man’s intelligence rose.
“It seems O’Shea is now backtracking and harking back to the suicide theory,” Melanie said. “Much as I loathe the idea of someone murdering Mummy, I know she wouldn’t have killed herself.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why am I not surprised? O’Shea is panicking and trying to get rid of the police officer from the mainland. He won’t want a fellow policeman reporting back to the district superintendent on all the mistakes he’s made, not to mention all the working hours he’s spent on the golf course.”
“As far as I’ve been able to find out, neither O’Shea nor Reynolds is making headway finding proof that your aunt killed my mother.”
“They’re not finding anything more than circumstantial evidence against my aunt, because there’s nothing to find,” I said with a sigh. “Look, Melanie, if you’re hoping I have information to share with you, I’m sorry. First, I don’t have a clue who killed your mother. And second, I don’t trust you.”
“Fair enough. You don’t have to trust me. All I’m asking is if Sergeant Reynolds has confided in you at all.”
Did she seriously think a police officer was going to chat with a civilian about a case? “Uh, no. Why would he?”
Melanie shrugged. “I thought he might, seeing as you used to be in the police.”
“Not the Irish police,” I reminded her. This conversation was going around in circles. Why had Melanie come here? She’d made her dislike of me plain.
Melanie twisted the rings on her hands, including an ostentatious engagement ring that must be worth a fortune. She caught the direction of my gaze and gave a bitter laugh. “It’s fake, Maggie. We had to sell the original years ago.”
I blinked and sucked in a breath. “Your and Paul’s money troubles are that bad? I knew you weren’t as flush as you’d like people to think, but I didn’t think you’d resorted to selling jewelry.”
Melanie’s jaw tightened. “Thanks to Paul, we’ve had to sell everything we ever owned that had any value.”
In spite of myself, I felt sorry for her. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, well, it is what it is.” Melanie adjusted her pashmina, and a muscle in her cheek flexed. “I should never have taken Paul back over and over. I should never have believed him when he said he’d change.” Her mouth twisted. “What’s that old saying about leopards not changing their spots? Believe it or not, I did you a favor, Maggie. You were lucky Paul didn’t follow through on your childish engagement. Instead, I married him, and I’ve had ten years to regret it.”
It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close to one as Melanie was ever likely to get. Even if I’d never regard her as a friend, I’d had too much humiliation at Joe’s hands to crow at another woman’s marital woes. “If you’re unhappy, why didn’t you leave him years ago?”
“There were the children to consider.” Melanie jutted her chin. “Besides, I don’t like quitting.”
“Getting out of a bad situation isn’t quitting,” I said gently. “Take it from one who knows.”
Her eyes met mine, and we shared a wry smile. “Sounds like neither of us had much luck in the husband department,” she said.
“No,” I agreed. “What do you plan to do now?”
“Now that Mummy is dead, you mean?” Melanie took a sip of her coffee before answering. “Once probate is over, I’ll have the financial freedom to do whatever I want. Assuming Paul doesn’t try to squeeze it all out of me.”
“Lawyer up, Melanie, and don’t let him take advantage of you.”
“That’s the plan. I have an appointment to see a solicitor on the mainland next week to ensure I keep my money away from Paul. Once that’s sorted, I plan to take some time to think about what to do with my future. I don’t intend to jump into divorce proceedings, but I will if I have to.” She grimaced. “I never should have let Paul and Mummy talk me into resigning from my job at the Whisper Island Medical Centre. I loved working as a nurse, but they didn’t feel it was fancy enough for the wife of the future owner of the Whisper Island Hotel. What a joke that turned out to be.”
“I didn’t know you had a nursing degree,” I said, filing the information away for future reference.
“I went to nursing college after my first child was born. That’s why there’s a five-year gap between Cian and Clodagh.” Melanie shoved her coffee cup away and stood. “Thanks for the chat, Maggie. I’m glad we had a chance to clear the air.”
I wasn’t certain we’d cleared anything. I wasn’t even sure why Melanie had sought me out. Had she wanted to apologize to me in her own weird way? Had she wanted to discuss her marriage breakup with a woman who’d just experienced a similar situation? I accompanied Melanie to the door and said goodbye.
After Melanie had driven off, I got back to the cleaning, my mind working overtime. If Melanie felt trapped in her marriage, the money she’d inherit from Sandra was a pretty powerful motive for murder. And as a trained nurse, Melanie would know how much codeine mixed with alcohol would cause a fatal overdose.
But could Melanie bring herself to kill her mother? And to turn the situation on its head, could she be throwing suspicion on Paul in order to protect herself? With these troubling thoughts, I pulled on my jacket and stepped outside into the snow to go question another potential suspect.
21
I parked in front of The Movie Theater Café and walked to the school. The fresh air and exercise would do me good, and allow me the opportunity to think, which I didn’t have when I needed to concentrate on driving. I waved to the Spinsters and Sister Pauline through the café window, and to Joan Sweetman, who was across the street polishing the front window of her gallery. As I walked, I sifted through all the people who had a motive to kill Sandra Walker. The problem with this case was that there were too many suspects, all of whom had had the opportunity to commit the murder. For the first time since I’d left the police academy, I was truly stumped. If I whittled down the list of suspects, I was left with two who stood out in my mind: Paddy Driscoll and Paul Greer.
Paddy Driscoll had stated that he hated Sandra. Perhaps finding the buried chalice was more important to Paddy than he was willing to admit, but why wait years to take his revenge? My mind drifted to Paul, who had the most obvious and pressing motive. With Sandra dead, he no longer needed to worry about his embezzlement coming to light—assuming no one else at the hotel knew and ratted him out. In addition, his wife would inherit money from Sandra—money Paul could claim half of if he filed for divorce.
By the time I reached the school gates, the bitter wind had gotten into my bones. The warmth of the school building was an enticing prospect, even if my reason for being there was less than pleasant.
Julie met me at the entrance. “You sure this is wise, Maggie? I don’t like the idea of ambushing Cormac. He’s a good guy.”
A good guy with a grudge against Sandra.
“I won’t ambush him.” I caught her dubious expression. “Okay, so I’m aiming for the element of surprise here, but I promise I’ll play nice. He was at the Movie Club the night Sandra died, and he’s one of the few people I haven’t had a chance to talk to yet.”
“Sergeant Reynolds was here yesterday,” Julie added. “He doesn’t look half the fool that O’Shea is. Can’t you leave the investigation to him?”
“Maybe Reynolds knows h
ow to do his job, but no one is going to look out for Noreen’s interests like we will. And seeing as I mixed the fatal drink, it’s in my interests to make sure the real killer is caught.”
My cousin sighed. “Come on then. I’ll walk you to Cormac’s office.” She led me through school corridors that smelled of freshly applied paint. The children were on their lunch break and played outside in the yard or ate their sandwiches on benches.
“Doesn’t Tate eat his lunch with the other teachers?”
“Sometimes, but he usually prefers some alone time in his office.” She laughed. “Lucky sod. I’d like to be able to close the door to everyone every now and again.”
The principal’s office was on the second floor, beyond classrooms whose doors were decorated with colorful paintings. Julie knocked on the door, and Tate growled for us to enter. The man greeted us with a scowl. “Don’t tell me that blasted guard is back already to ask me more questions.”
“It’s just me,” I said cheerfully.
He stared at me as if he couldn’t place me.
“Maggie Doyle from The Movie Theater Café.”
“I know who you are, Ms. Doyle. I’m wondering why you’re here.”
Fabulous. First, Melanie had wanted to slime up to me, and now Cormac Tate was acting like a bear who’d been deprived of its prey.
Julie shot me an I-told-you-so look and backed out of the office. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
“To what?” Tate asked after my cousin had beaten a hasty retreat.
I smiled at him, hoping to soften his mood. Judging by the thunderous expression on Tate’s face, my charm offensive wasn’t working. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have the time.”
“I don’t have the time,” he snapped. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Perfect.” I dropped into the chair opposite him. “I won’t take that long.”
Tate grunted. “You’re as bossy as your aunt.”
“To be fair, Noreen is even bossier.”
“I was referring to Philomena, but both sisters are terrors.”