Murder in Connemara

by Carlene O'Connor

  “They’re all liars! All of them! I’m going to expose them all!” Tara frowned, staring at the phone as if it were a person. The voice was somewhat familiar, but through the woman’s hysteria it was hard to place. She played it again. Was it a wrong number? It was as she was going out the door that she recognized the voice. It was the heiress from yesterday. Veronica O’Farrell. Why had she called Tara? How had she gotten her number?

  Tara’s new business cards. They’d been sitting on the counter. Veronica must have snatched one when she wasn’t looking. As she headed outside, she pushed the number and listened to it ring. There was a click as if someone had picked up.

  “Hello? Hello?” Another click and a dial tone filled her ear. She tried once more, and it went straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. Perhaps Veronica had been drinking? And now was too embarrassed or hung over to admit it. She certainly sounded hysterical, and drink would explain it. She felt a squeeze of pity for the woman. It couldn’t be easy to fall off the wagon.

  Tara had just opened the door to her flat to go down to the mill when someone pounded on the main front door. She could see the wooden door jostling with each pound. It was too early for treasure hunters, although she’d quickly come to learn that treasure hunters didn’t abide by the rules. She jogged down the rest of the steps. The massive wooden door didn’t have a peephole. “Hello?” It did, however, have plenty of cracks, so she knew whoever was standing out there would be able to hear her.

  “Tara? It’s Breanna.”

  “Breanna.” Tara started to undo the locks. Why had she sounded so formal—and something else. She sounded afraid. Tara was already tense by the time she worked the old door open. Breanna stood before her flanked by guards, one of whom was Sergeant Gable. They’d met when Tara first came to town, and discovered a man’s body in her uncle’s cottage.

  “Hey,” Breanna said, trying to sound casual.

  “Hey,” Tara replied.

  “Hello, Miss Meehan,” Detective Sergeant Gable said. A sense of dread flooded her. Was it Danny? Uncle Johnny? Nancy Halligan?

  “Detective.” Tara nodded. “What’s wrong?”

  Gable stepped up. “This is voluntary, but I’d like you to accompany me to a crime scene in Connemara.”

  That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Nancy Halligan?”

  “No.”

  “A crime scene?” Tara’s eyes flicked to Breanna, and if she wasn’t mistaken she saw an apology in them. Or was it worry?

  “Remember the woman you described in your shop the other day?” Breanna said. “The one with the brooch?”

  Veronica’s hysterical voice rose in her mind. They’re all liars! I’m going to expose them all! “Yes. Veronica O’Farrell.”

  “We have a body out at Clifden Castle,” Sergeant Gable said. “We’d like to know if it’s the woman you encountered.”

  “Veronica?” Tara stared, dumbfounded. “Clifden Castle?” She looked at Breanna, hoping it was a joke. “Are you serious?”

  Gable nodded. “As a heart attack.” He cleared his throat as if just realizing the comment wasn’t quite appropriate for the situation. “It’s a bit unorthodox, but she’s not a local, and the sooner we get an identification the better.”

  “I can’t believe this.” She lifted her phone. “She called me.”

  Gable stood at full attention. “When?”

  “In the middle of the night.” She held up her phone, which seemed to nearly always be in her hand these days, and opened her voicemail. “Just after midnight.”

  “What did she want?”

  “I didn’t pick up. I had no idea it was her calling.” She put the message on speaker and pushed play. They all listened as Veronica wailed that they were all liars and she was going to expose them all.

  “What does that mean?” Gable frowned.

  “I don’t know. She sounds drunk. And she was one year sober. I saw her sobriety chip.” Tara gasped. “I hate to say this—but I hope it wasn’t because I broke the news to her about Nancy Halligan’s death.”

  “I heard about that,” Sergeant Gable said. “That’s quite a strange coincidence.”

  “I hope it’s not more than that,” Tara said. She glanced at Breanna.

  “I’ve told him all about your concerns,” Breanna said. “The flyer, the book, and Veronica’s visit. I’m sorry I didn’t take it seriously before. If I did, maybe . . .”

  “Nonsense,” Tara said. “None of us could have known about Veronica.” She hesitated. “You said crime scene. Are you sure this isn’t an accident or an overdose?”

  Gable nodded. “Veronica O’Farrell was murdered. I think you should see for yourself.”

  That didn’t make sense. Tara wasn’t a guard. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re our quickest link to identifying her.”

  “Okay.” Was that the only reason? “She was here to make amends. I have her guest list.”

  “I’m going to want that as well, like,” Gable said.

  Tara swallowed and nodded. She had a million questions, not to mention a million things to do, and she didn’t relish the prospect of visiting a crime scene, but Sergeant Gable deemed it necessary and she wasn’t going to argue. “I’ll grab Veronica’s list and my things.” She called Uncle Johnny and woke him up. His grumpy demeanor faded as she filled him in on what was happening and he said he’d be at the mill to take care of the dogs. Tara picked up Veronica’s list. She hadn’t mentioned her design book to Gable. She didn’t want to give it up. Would the list be enough for him? What about Veronica’s additional notes? Why didn’t Tara mention them? Darn it. She couldn’t keep it from him. She had to turn over everything. But was there any harm in taking photos of every page so she could recreate it? Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture to Veronica’s memory to complete the job? All but spying on Iona Kelly, that is. As she snapped photos, thoughts jumped out at her:

  Stole the love of her life

  Some people aren’t meant to be parents

  A piece of work

  Hasn’t created

  Accused her of stealing

  Injured, might be faking it

  This was no longer just an amends list. And everyone seemed to have a motive. These people thought they were coming here to accept a grand apology, and now it was looking like they were all going to be suspects in a murder inquiry.

  Chapter 7

  Clifden Castle was a few miles outside of downtown Clifden, known as the capital of Connemara. This time, Tara’s mood did not lift with the rising hills. She was finding it impossible to believe that the vivacious tornado of a woman who whirled into her shop the other day was gone. Just like that. Before Tara knew it, Sergeant Gable was parking in a car park across from a stone gateway, built in medieval style by the D’Arcy family with an arch and a tower. Blue-and-white guard tape was strung across the entry, and Gable lifted it, allowing them to duck under. “It’s a bit of a rocky walk, and there’s some muck from the rain,” the detective said, glancing at Tara’s hiking boots with approval. “Technically we could drive it, but I want us to take the walk. There were no fresh tracks from vehicles, so we believe our victim and her killer arrived on foot.”

  “All the way from Ballynahinch Castle?” Tara asked. They’d passed the Ballynahinch Castle on their drive here; the fancy hotel was about twenty minutes away by car.

  “Not necessarily. Although none of the cars in the car park belonged to her. Her driver said he was not aware she had left Ballynahinch Castle. We’re assuming she got a ride here. But visitors are not allowed to drive up to the Clifden Castle.”

  “I don’t know how anyone could,” Tara said as she looked down at the narrow path, covered in rocks.

  “The farmers manage to drive the path, given they own it. We could have brought a vehicle that could make the drive, and we probably will once we secure the scene. But for now, everyone is banned from driving it, including our farmers.”

  Tara wondered how long they had to
walk before they reached the castle; she saw nothing but pastures. The path rose up a small hill and curved around. There, on a fencepost, was a white poster board, with CAST written on one line, LE beneath it, with a crude arrow. She was starting to wonder just what to expect of this castle, with such a crude sign, when she glanced across the dipping pasture, first gasping at the Clifden Bay in the distance, and then spotting the castle nestled into a valley below. Even from here, it was an impressive building, a proper castle, like something out of a fairy tale. The hill started downward, and a pair of standing stones loomed ahead of her, one on each side of the path, at least ten feet tall. Tara read that the D’Arcy family had the stones placed on the property. Ancient gate markers. They were incredibly cool, and Tara had to tamp down her excitement; they were not here to be wowed.

  The dirt path turned to stones, and then mud as they reached the final hill up to the castle. Once they plodded through, Detective Sergeant Gable pointed to a mat on the ground. More crime scene tape was blocking off the perimeter of the castle. Tara wiped her boots on the mat, and Gable handed her booties and gloves. The sun was out, but the temperature was in the low sixties. “It’s stunning,” Tara said. She meant every word of it.

  Gable nodded and pointed to the bay. “That’s Clifden Bay. They built the castle facing south in order to take advantage of the view.”

  “I don’t blame them.” The water sparkled in front of them. Tara could imagine herself standing in one of the castle’s multiple towers, gazing out at the bay. There was a round tower, a square one, and an entry tower with a pair of turrets. It was truly stunning, even in its ruined state. It was impossible to take it in without imagining the people who used to live there, wondering what kind of lives they led. The people who lived here had been through turbulent times, there was no doubt. She read there was a graveyard to the North near the road for three of the Eyre children who died in the 1880s. There was something so haunting about deaths so young. It was right up there with murder.

  Gable pointed to the field beyond the castle. “To the west is a farmyard with the remains of an old grain store, workers’ cottages, stable, and cottages.”

  “My word.” Tara wanted to see every inch of it.

  “Unfortunately, you won’t be seeing them today.”

  “I understand.” She did. They were not here to sight see. She wished she had made this trek earlier.

  Gable looked at her intently.

  “Are you sure you can handle this?”

  Tara swallowed, put on her booties and gloves, and nodded. He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. “Don’t touch anything, and follow behind me.” He passed the front of the castle, walking along the side, heading directly to the back.

  Tara found herself wishing she could peek in the doorways and openings they were passing, but was once again mindful they were not here on a sightseeing expedition. Along with its roof, the castle had long ago lost its floor and ceiling. Grass sprouted through pieces of old stone. They entered what looked like a courtyard in the back. The structure framed an L-shape around it with a main entrance straight ahead and smaller rooms laid out on the right. The detective pointed to the right. There, in a space just large enough for a twin bed and night table, with a tree growing into the stone wall, lay a woman’s body. Veronica’s body. She was on her back. Tara closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before opening them again. She made herself look.

  Veronica O’Farrell had a presence, even in death. She was in a navy tracksuit, perhaps out for an early stroll. Just like Nancy Halligan. Tracksuits were the popular outfit for power walks among Irish women. But what were the chances of this? First Nancy Halligan discovered lying in the grass in a tracksuit, and now Veronica O’Farrell? But there was a marked difference between this body and Nancy’s, and Tara was having a hard time believing what she was seeing. Stones had been placed over her eyes, and mouth, and heart.

  Red stones over her eyes, a green stone over her mouth, and a black stone on her heart.

  “They’re pieces of marble,” Gable said quietly. Tara’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Sticking out of her heart, just next to the black marble, was something metal. Blood pooled around it. Tara inched forward and peered down. It was the Tara Brooch. And someone had plunged it into her heart. Tara stood, then fled to the middle of the courtyard. She stared at the grass, then the sky, trying to breathe. Sergeant Gable gave her a few minutes.

  “Are you ready for a few questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see stones on Nancy Halligan?”

  “No. Nor was there a Tara Brooch stuck in her heart.”

  Gable nodded. “We think someone snuck up behind her and plunged it into her. Then staged the body.”

  “You mentioned Nancy. Do you think her death was also . . . murder?”

  “We intended to re-examine her body. But she’s already been cremated.”

  “Who requested the cremation?”

  “We’re checking on that now. Also waiting to speak with the state pathologist. Hopefully her records of the body before cremation are thorough.” He took out a notebook. “I need you to take me through every detail of finding Nancy Halligan.”

  Tara took a deep breath and nodded. She began her story, starting from finding the flyer and making the drive to the house. She tried to remember everything. “I didn’t see any other cars around. Only a small rowboat.”

  “Was anyone in it?”

  “No. And it was down the hill.”

  She glanced at Veronica’s body again, and said a silent prayer. She turned to Gable. “Isn’t this the jurisdiction of the Clifden Guards?”

  “We’re joining forces on this one. I have more experience with murder inquiries.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Tara pointed to the stones. “Why did they do that?”

  “A calling card. Or maybe a message. We’re dealing with something strange, alright.”

  “She didn’t deserve this.”

  “For the record. Is this the woman who came into your shop?” Gable’s voice had softened; he could see she was distressed.

  She nodded. “And that.” She pointed to the brooch. “The Tara Brooch. She showed it to me. She suggested I try it on and take a picture of it. She said it fell off all the time.” She didn’t just suggest it. She urged you to try it on and take a picture. And like an eager idiot, you did. No wonder Gable brought her here. He wanted to see her reaction for himself. She was a suspect. Her fingerprints were on the murder weapon. How could this be happening? He didn’t really think she was a killer, did he? Had she passed his test?

  Gable jotted down a few notes, then turned to leave. “Come on.” He hurried her out of the interior, and it wasn’t until they were back in front of the ruined manor house that she realized she was shaking.

  “The stones,” she said. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

  He shook his head. “As I stated, they’re pieces of marble. Possibly from the Connemara Marble Visitor Centre.”

  “Did Veronica have anything to do with marble?”

  “We’re very early in the investigation.”

  “Of course.”

  “As I said. I believe it’s a message. Any ideas?”

  “Me?” A nibble of worry turned into little bites. “Why would I have any ideas?”

  He turned the screen of his smartphone to her. She was looking at the photo of herself holding the murder weapon with a big grin on her face. #KillerBrooch.

  Idiot, idiot, idiot.

  Detective Gable swiped to the next screen on his phone. The photo of the manor house. #StormTheCastle. Her hand flew up to her mouth once as she shook her head. Posting pictures of the murder weapon and the crime scene before the murder. It looked bad. Really, really bad. Even she could see that. Did the killer get the idea from her postings? The thought was a horrific one. “Veronica handed me the brooch. Actually, it slipped off her scarf and when I picked it up she said to try it on.” Her mouth wa
s dry. She swallowed. “That’s when she told me how it slipped off all the time. She wanted me to take a picture with it on. For Nancy, she said. I guess Nancy loved the brooch. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “Why don’t you tell me again how it is that you discovered Nancy Halligan’s body?”

  Again? She’d already told him, and so had Breanna, but she knew this was part of his method. To see if Tara’s story would change. “Someone left a flyer on the door to my shop. It was for the old stone farmhouse. It’s up for sale.”

  “Are you in the market for an old stone farmhouse?”

  “Who isn’t,” Tara blurted out.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “I’m not actively in the market. But as part of my new position, I am interested in older homes. I thought Danny O’Donnell left me the flyer.”

  “Are you involved with Danny O’Donnell?”

  Involved? That was kind of personal, wasn’t it? You could say involved, couldn’t you? She was aware that Danny might answer the question very differently. Did she really need to tell this detective that they were on-and-off lovers? If it were up to her they’d be more on than off. She’d love to see Gable posing this question to Danny O’Donnell. “It’s complicated. He works for my uncle. But we’ve gone out socially. Yes.” And he hasn’t called since he’s been away. Solve that mystery for me, Detective. She felt guilty for worrying about her petty problems at this moment and brought her mind back to focus. “He’s been encouraging me to see new places. I haven’t spoken with him to confirm it. I’m no longer sure it’s him who left the flyer. I think it’s the same person who left the book.”