“It’s probably because I almost died,” she said. “When my bike went over that cliff.” She started to laugh. It hadn’t been funny in the moment, but for some reason it seemed funny now.
“Jaysus,” Danny said. “I don’t think you’re Irish at all.” She stumbled outside, Danny holding her up. The fresh air immediately soothed her.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she slurred, trying but failing to walk straight. I am so drunk. Danny was an excellent minder, which was much needed considering the closer they got to Johnny’s cottage, the rockier the terrain. Not easy to stumble home in this condition. Without Danny she probably would have tripped in a field and been woken up by cows. “Moo,” she said. “Moo.”
“Jaysus,” Danny said.
The next thing she knew, she was being lowered onto the sofa in Johnny’s cottage. Danny had handed her water that was fizzing. “Alka-Seltzer?”
“Solpadine. Trust me, your head will thank me in the morning.”
His last words echoed through her head as she fell asleep. Trust me . . . Could she?
Chapter 23
Danny was nowhere in sight when Tara woke the next morning. Her neck was stiff but she was surprisingly okay otherwise. That little fizzy drink he’d given her had done wonders. The rain was coming down, whispering at her to stay on the sofa all day, and for a few serious seconds she considered it. A cell phone rang. It made her jump. She didn’t have a cell phone. There was one sitting on the coffee table. She answered it, perplexed. “Hello?”
“How’s the head?” It was Danny.
“Whose phone is this?”
“It’s yours now. Grabbed one for you this morning, I did.”
“What time is it?”
“Half eleven.”
“Oh my God.” Tara couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept until almost noon.
“The head?” Danny asked again.
“Thanks to you, it’s great.”
He chuckled. “No more wakes for you.”
“Here’s hoping.”
“Jokes aside, I just spoke with our solicitor. Apparently, there’s been a report to the city planners that our building is not up to code.”
“What do we need to do?”
She heard him sigh. “I’m still trying to get the details and the potential cost.”
“Is this Ben Kelly’s work?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“Do you need help?”
“I need Johnny.”
“What?”
“If Johnny has paperwork that grandfathers the building in before this code was written, we could make this all go away.”
“Have you searched his office?”
“Top to bottom.” Was Danny hoping Tara would run off to ask Johnny about this matter and lead Danny right to him? She hated this. Warming to him one minute, suspecting him the next.
“I guess we keep looking.”
“For Johnny or the paperwork?” he asked.
“Both.”
As she hung up the phone, she thought of Johnny huddled in some other dark storeroom on this rainy day. Emmet and Carrig in early graves. With each thought, her motivation to move lessened. She snuggled under the blanket. Just a few more minutes.
* * *
Tara was reaching for the door to the mill when a figure emerged from around the corner. She jumped and let out a little yelp, even as she processed Rose standing in front of her, black-and-white hair blowing in the wind. The rain was coming down, but Rose stood there, dripping and staring.
Rose almost smiled. “Put the heart in you crossways, did I?”
“If that means you scared me half to death, then yes.” Tara pushed open the door and waited for Rose to enter. She flicked on the lights, still shivering, as the wind slammed the door against the rain.
“I heard what happened to you on your way home,” Rose said, her voice barely a whisper. Tara glanced up at the second floor. Alanna was probably at cookery school, but like Rose, she didn’t want to take any chances. She gestured for Rose to follow her to her office. Once there she cleared papers off a chair for Rose and sat behind Johnny’s desk.
“Someone tried to kill me,” Tara said. It was the first time she’d said this to anyone other than the guards.
“That curve is deadly. Are you sure it wasn’t just a close call?”
“I’m sure. The person was wearing a hood and large sunglasses and a bandana around the mouth. And he or she deliberately cut me off and bumped my bike.”
“I tried to tell you.”
“That death was all around me?” Tara asked. Rose nodded. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where my uncle is this time.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Rose said. “He must have left shortly after you did.”
“I thought you’d be angry with me,” Tara said. “For telling the guards.”
Rose wiped dust off the desk with her finger. “I knew you would tell them. I think it’s for the best that he comes out of hiding. He won’t listen to me.”
“You wanted me to follow you,” Tara said. “Knowing I’d have to report it.”
Rose sighed. “I won’t admit to dat. But I wish he wasn’t so stubborn. He’s going to be in trouble now, even after they unmask the true killer.” Rose leaned back in her chair. “Do they know what time Carrig was murdered?”
This threw Tara for a second. “Yes. They were able to narrow it down from the end of rehearsal to the next morning.”
“As I thought. I was with Johnny the entire time.”
“If you’re his alibi, why not go to the guards? He’s getting himself in worse trouble by hiding.”
“I’m his lover. And not exactly loved in this town. They would never just take me word for it.”
“I don’t like keeping this from Danny.”
Rose’s eyes widened. She clasped her hands. “You must.”
“I need to get a question to Johnny about an eviction notice we received.”
Rose gasped. “Ben Kelly,” she said. She clamped her lips and shook her head.
“I suspect,” Tara said, “someone has reported a supposed building violation to the city planners. We have thirty days—well, twenty-nine days—to respond. Danny thinks Johnny might have paperwork that proves something about being grandfathered in—to whatever this violation is—but we can’t find it.”
Rose nodded. “I told you the truth. I don’t know where he is.”
“Do you know where my cell phone is?”
Rose had the decency to look ashamed. She reached in her bag and plunked it on the desk. “I had to give him a head start. What I didn’t count on was you almost getting killed.”
“You have to promise me—you’ll tell me if you hear from him,” Tara said.
Rose nodded. “You have me word.”
* * *
Just as Tara was about to leave to walk Hound, the black phone on Johnny’s desk rang, sending her heart fluttering into her throat once again.
“Hello?”
“This is Dawson Securities, may I speak with Johnny Meehan?”
“He’s not in.” Tara kept her voice steady. The caller either knew full well Johnny was missing, or he was not calling from Galway.
“May I speak with someone in charge of your security system?”
Dawson. That’s why she recognized the name. That was the company Danny hired to set up the security cameras.
“This is Tara Meehan, you can speak with me.”
“We just got an alert that all your cameras have been disabled.”
“Disabled? How?”
“That’s what I’m trying to ascertain. Are you near a camera now?”
Tara glanced at the ceiling. There in the corner, pointed directly at the desk, was one of eight cameras that had been installed. “Yes.”
“Is there a red light flashing or a green light?”
Tara stepped closer. “A red light.”
“It’s disabled. It should be green.”
&n
bsp; “How did this happen?”
“In some instances, weather or system upgrades can knock a camera or two offline. But all eight of yours went off within minutes of each other, suggesting to us that they have been manually disabled.”
Manually disabled. Somebody had shut off all the cameras. “When was this?”
“We were alerted just now. Our overnight employee had an emergency of his own so we can’t give you the exact time they went offline. The good news is—if you have a ladder I can tell you how to switch them back on.”
“Thank you.” Tara listened to the instructions and hung up. Turning them back on was not her main concern. The fact that someone had deliberately turned every camera off was stealing her focus.
Danny O’Donnell.
The question boomeranged to her once again. Was it him? He seemed genuine when he said he wanted the security cameras installed in the salvage mill. Had it all been an act? Could she trust him? Or was Johnny Meehan’s right-hand man the killer they’d all been searching for?
* * *
Danny didn’t show up for his shift. Tara had tried calling several times. She still had no idea where the man lived. At the very least she wanted to tell him about the cameras and gauge his reaction. She also didn’t want to be on a twenty-foot ladder in the rain trying to turn security cameras back on.
She tried calling Alanna and got her voicemail as well. It had to have been either Alanna or Danny who messed with the cameras. Unless someone else out there had a key to the mill. Tara supposed that was possible, maybe even likely, given that Johnny had been here his entire life, and until the murders, this was a place where some folks still didn’t even lock their doors and visitors were known to pop in at any time of the day or night, and when they did they would be welcomed in with tea and digestives.
She was on her way out the door when Alanna burst in. “There you are,” she said, as if she had been looking for Tara all night.
“Don’t you have school?”
Alanna narrowed her eyes. “We’re all working out of our own kitchens today.”
“Were you looking for me?”
Alanna nodded. “Danny wanted me to give you this.” She dug into her pocket and handed Tara a note:
Heard from our friend George
Gone to see him
Alanna watched as Tara read it. “Who’s George?”
“Nobody.” Tara shoved the note in her pocket. Why was Danny going to see O’Malley? Why not bring her? Or call her? He was the one who had given her a cell phone. It was no mistake that he’d given the note to Alanna. He wanted to be long gone by the time she read it. What was he up to? What if the killer was circling in on him—setting him up? Or what if Danny was the killer and he was circling her, setting her up?
Alanna brushed past Tara and headed upstairs. “What are you going to cook?”
Alanna stopped. “Sorry?”
“You said you were cooking from home today.”
“Right.”
Tara wondered if there was much of a kitchen upstairs. “May I see your place?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve never seen your flat. I’d love to have a tour.”
“Not today.” Alanna plodded up the rest of the steps.
“I suppose the smells will start wafting down soon.”
“Smells?”
“Cooking.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Unless you’re doing your homework somewhere else?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Alanna stomped up the rest of the stairs. A few seconds later, her door slammed shut. Tara stood, taking deep breaths. She’d purposely not mentioned the cameras. If Alanna had been the one to disable them, Tara didn’t want her to know she was on to her. If she had nothing to do with it, Tara didn’t want her to know they were off. She had already turned the one in the office back on, climbing on top of the desk as away of reaching the camera. If there was a ladder hanging around, Tara couldn’t find it. She was more interested now in why Danny was going back to the Aran Islands. But there was one more thing she wanted to do first.
Tara called a taxi. It was time she paid a visit to a certain cookery class.
Chapter 24
Tara stood in front of the Galway Cookery School, surprised to find an adorable cottage/café situated on a busy street, open for both classes and the public. The students worked back in the kitchen, and as Tara entered she was greeted by no less than three young, smiling faces, welcoming her to the café. Trays sailed by filled with mini-quiches and fruit, and the smell of baking bread wafted out from the kitchen. There was a garden in the back visible through French doors, and it was thriving with herbs and flowers. This was her kind of cooking school.
She let herself be seated, which hadn’t been her plan at all, but now that she was here, she simply had to try the food.
A young girl waited on her, and Tara waited until after she was served a cappuccino and had ordered wheat pancakes with berries and fresh cream, to ask if the girl was a student.
“I’m a graduate,” she said, smiling. “I was offered a permanent position here.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She started to walk away.
“I was wondering if I could speak with the instructor.”
The girl turned, her face slightly aghast. “Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all. I wanted to talk to her about the program.”
The beaming smile was back. “I’ll let her know.”
A tall woman with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun and big glasses rimmed in neon pink delivered the pancakes. They were heaped with blueberries, strawberries, and, as promised, fresh cream. Tara allowed herself a moment of hedonism.
“I’m Lady Bea,” the woman said. “This is my café and cookery school.” Tara didn’t want to tear her eyes away from her plate, but had no choice. The woman laughed, putting Tara at ease. “How about we have a chat when you’re finished.”
“Thank you,” Tara said, loving the woman already.
* * *
The sun was out, so they sat in the back garden. Lady Bea insisted on tea service and Tara wasn’t about to complain. “Were you interested in catering services?”
“Actually, I wanted to check a reference.”
“You could have just called.”
“I’m so glad I didn’t. That was delicious.”
A smile came and went as quickly as the Irish weather. “I’m not sure I can help. I get a lot of students.”
“Alanna Kelly.”
Her eyebrow arched up. “Lovely girl.”
“Yes.” No.
“She did receive a certificate of completion.” Lady Bea didn’t offer more, although Tara could see a lot swimming behind her brown eyes.
“Completion?” Tara said, trying not to sound too alarmed.
“Yes. Her attendance was a bit spotty during the twelve weeks—”
“Twelve weeks?”
“Yes.” Suspicion had landed, Lady Bea was on alert.
“I’m sorry. I thought the program was several years.”
“No.”
“When did Alanna attend?”
“I’d have to check to be sure, but I believe she was with the late January group.”
“So that would have ended in April?”
“Correct.” Lady Bea set down her tea. “You’re Johnny Meehan’s niece.”
Tara sighed. That darn Irish grapevine. “Yes.”
“Why in the world would you be interested in Alanna’s attendance last winter?”
“She’s a tenant. I’m currently filling in for my uncle.”
“I see.” Lady Bea continued to stare. “She’s a decent cook. But I don’t think that’s where her true passion lies.”
“I heard she wants to box,” Tara said.
“Yes. I think she took the classes to appease her father.”
Tara was sure Alanna’s father thought the cooking course was much longer than twelve weeks. Was he st
ill paying for classes she wasn’t taking? And if he was—was this any of Tara’s business?
She lied about her alibi. But she’d lied to Tara. Not necessarily the guards. Had the guards even questioned her? Or were they only trying to find Johnny, still convinced that he was the killer?
“She’s a lovely girl, if that helps,” Lady Bea said. “I’m sure she’ll be a wonderful tenant.”
“Thank you.”
“Come back for supper some night.”
“I will.”
Lady Bea walked her back inside the café and then to the front door. “I don’t want to step out of place.” She hesitated.
“Go on.”
“Have you met Alanna’s father?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a bit old-fashioned. He’s the only reason Alanna took classes with me. It was obvious from day one that it was his idea, not hers. I wasn’t as strict with her as some of my other students who truly want to become chefs. You’re probably not used to the ways of the older generations here. I just thought you should know. In case you were thinking of stirring things up—I think she could use a break.”
They held eye contact. Tara suddenly felt guilty. She had been dropped in the middle of all these lives, each brimming with drama, and she was stirring things up. Wasn’t it worth it to find a killer? One that had already struck twice?
Tara thanked her and headed out. Another warning about Ben Kelly. Alanna’s lies were most likely a lifelong habit, to avoid the wrath of a father who had different ideas about how his daughter should live her life.
Tara began to walk. It helped her think. Alanna also had access to the key at the inn. The key with drops of blood on it. Had she killed Emmet, then raced to the inn? Had she been unaware there was blood on her? Was she the hooded figure in the car?
It just didn’t make sense. Why kill Emmet? Perhaps there was a case to be made if she had killed Johnny. But Emmet? And then Carrig Murray? Alanna wasn’t involved in theatre.
Motive was the thing to look at. Who wanted Emmet Walsh dead? Who gained the most if he was gone?
Tara wished she could access everything the guards could. Did the wife and kids get everything in Emmet’s will? Had the wife snuck into Ireland to kill her husband?
Murder in Galway Page 21