Murder in Connemara

by Carlene O'Connor

  She laughed; the Irish always surprised her with their quick wit. “Got it,” she said. “Although it’s the city you should be wagging your finger at for dragging their feet on my permit.” Sherlocking. He was right. She did need to get back to her shop. “I’m heading there now.”

  He grinned and saluted. “My work here is done then.” He thumped his feet back on the desk and put his mug where his mouth was.

  It was while she was on the way to the shop that she decided to pop into the bookshop. It was a long shot, but if there was even the slightest possibility that Places to See in Ireland Before You Die had been purchased in Galway, it was worth the trip. She ducked in, scoured the shelves where there were plenty of travel books, but not that exact one. She headed to the clerk and asked after it.

  He typed something into his computer. “I can have it for ya in about ten days.”

  “No, sorry, I already have it, I just wondered if anyone else has come in lately. Perhaps they bought multiple copies?”

  He tilted his head at her. “What do ya tink we do here, snoop on all our customers and report their buying activity to any yoke who walks in?”

  She bit her lip. She was kinda hoping they did.

  “We had one copy.” The voice came from a young woman shelving books. The clerk shook his head at her, then went back to whatever he was doing. Tara moved in closer.

  “Is there any chance you knew who you sold it to?”

  She shook her head. “He was wearing a cap, that’s all I can remember. Like he was a chauffeur.”

  Andy? “Was he young?” The clerk shrugged, then shook her head. Of course. When you’re a baby like she was, you think everyone is old. “Did he look like a wild-eyed artist, or was he a younger guy who smelled like cigarette smoke?”

  “I’m sorry I said anything. He had a cap. That’s all I know.”

  It was probably Andy, he was the one who had been in Galway. Then again, that didn’t mean Eddie couldn’t have come here. Eddie seemed the type to gravitate toward the city. But the only time Tara had mixed up the two was when she saw Eddie in the same cap in his artist picture. In person, she’d never seen Eddie wearing a cap. Andy claimed he found his book on the passenger seat. Had he purchased it instead? Why the lie? The girl was starting to move away from Tara; she had one more shot. “When did he come in?”

  She sighed, rolled her eyes, but Tara could see she was mulling it over. “Thursday afternoon.” The day before Veronica came into her shop. Did this matter?

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “I was trying to close and he was my last customer. I wanted to hurry him along, which is why all I know is he was just some lad in a cap who bought a book.” She stepped closer. “Why? Who is he?”

  Shoot. The last thing Tara needed was to start gossip. “It’s not a big deal. Thank you.”

  “Why? I said nothing.”

  Tara shrugged. “You tried.”

  The girl shrugged back. She was going to have shoulder problems later in life if she kept that up.

  Tara headed for the door. “If you think of anything else, I own Renewals on Quay Street.”

  “The place the dead woman visited?”

  Great. The girl didn’t know much, but she knew that. Tara shook her head. “I’ve only had live visitors so far,” she said as she headed out the door.

  * * *

  The rest of the afternoon Tara threw herself into work. When her mailbox didn’t house her business permit, she called the city, only to get a spiel about how they were backed up with permits and she would get it when she got it. She secretly wondered if it was because she was an American and they somehow knew that and were just trying to torture her. She entered inventory and prices on an Excel database that would allow for easy purchasing via an iPad. She was tempted to email everyone who had confirmed their attendance to her grand opening, just to make sure the recent murder hadn’t scared anyone away, but in the end she decided that would draw too much attention to it. No one had canceled, she wasn’t cursed, this was happening. She supposed it was very Irish of her to find a way to worry even when things were going well. It made sense on an evolutionary level. Worrying meant you were on-the-ready for challenges to come. That is, if worrying led to strategy. Most of the time, it didn’t. Just played in a loop in her head all day long. Same as her mam. No wonder she was always so wrecked when she came home at the end of a day.

  To cheer herself up, Tara feasted on the items in her shop. The stone sculptures. The chandelier. A collection of antique fire pokers. A coin collection. An old advertising poster for Guinness that she secretly wanted no one to buy so she raised the price to an unreasonable sum. A few select pieces of jewelry. No brooches. She’d never sell those now. She turned to her list and decided to jot down notes for gift possibilities:

  Sheila and John Murphy: a piece of decor for their home. Something attractive, yet functional.

  Tara glanced at her own notes: an antique diving helmet. If she could find one, that would be a great gift for the pair. She’d love to have one herself.

  Iona Kelly: something outdoorsy. A painting of nature, or a sculpture made out of driftwood.

  Mimi Griffin: She thought Mimi would prefer some sort of organizer, but of course there were no architectural items in that vein. Unless she found her an old-fashioned library card cabinet, but she didn’t even know if she could find those in Ireland or the UK. Still, she loved the idea.

  Eddie Oh: He didn’t seem the type to like anyone else’s work but his own. Maybe something to do with drink. An old whiskey barrel to use as a coffee table, or if he wanted he could turn that into an art project. She’d have to schedule delivery, as he wouldn’t want to be dragging it around.

  Elaine Burke: What do you get someone’s ex-best friend after stealing the love of her life?

  Something dainty and nostalgic? A music box?

  Cassidy Hughes: Tara could see her in a vintage movie-star type dress. Irish Revivals didn’t source any vintage clothing, but Tara certainly could. Something with a hat and shoes and a matching handbag.

  Just jotting down her ideas made her feel better. Now she could start looking. It had been several days since she’d driven her Jeep. She’d tried to drive every other day so that her fears couldn’t creep back in. She hadn’t gone on enough architectural shopping excursions, namely because Johnny and Danny loved it too much to make room for her. But this assignment was all hers. She’d start on it right after lunch with Breanna. It would be good to make use of herself, before she went stir-crazy waiting for the shop to open or looking over her shoulder for a killer.

  Chapter 16

  By lunchtime Breanna had sent a message that she wouldn’t be able to meet. She’d probably been advised to avoid Tara until the case was over. That made sense, but Tara felt a pang of emptiness. She bought seafood chowder at her favorite restaurant and brought it back to her shop. The skies had opened up and it was lashing rain. She imagined lugging her newfound objects in and out of the sopping mess and decided to go on her shopping excursion another day. Downtown Clifden had an antique shop; she’d start there the next time she headed for Connemara. In the meantime, she remembered the two people who weren’t in the immediate group, whom she needed to learn a little bit more about: Nancy Halligan and Terrance Hughes. She’d start with the latter; there was likely to be more information on the media mogul.

  As soon as she typed his name into the search engine and hit enter, a picture came up of a gorgeous young couple at a wedding complete with a splashy headline: HEIRESS MARRIES MOGUL. Veronica was barely recognizable. She had a youthful wild-eyed grin. Even from the picture you could tell her much older husband was a bore. His lips were pursed in disapproval, hands clenched in front of him. Is that why after the divorce she went for Eddie—the opposite of her first husband?

  There was more: MOGUL MARRIED TO HEIRESS DIES AT 74

  She scanned the article; he died of natural causes. Then again, that’s what they said about Nancy H
alligan. Nancy probably did die of heatstroke, but that didn’t mean someone didn’t lure her out there and leave her vulnerable. She was about to close out the search when she noticed another mention, and a short article:

  CASSIDY HUGHES DECLARES MOGUL’S

  DEATH FOUL PLAY

  Cassidy Hughes, the niece of media outlet owner Terrance Hughes, insists her uncle did not die naturally of a heart attack. “Take a look at the Black Widow,” Cassidy said. “That viper at the end of a bottle killed me uncle.”

  The rumor was true, there it was in black and white. Why on earth would Veronica make amends to Cassidy after she’d accused her of being a murderer? A viper at the end of a bottle. Her notes made it clear that she was adding Cassidy to the list grudgingly, but given their past animosity, Tara was still surprised. One thing was obvious: Cassidy had been eager to stir the pot. So why accept the invite? She needed to get to know these people better. Could Bartley shed more light on this story?

  Bartley. What a funny man. He was hard to read. He rarely showed any emotion, even after Veronica’s death. Was he just a consummate employee, or was he busy keeping something close to his chest?

  * * *

  Tara strolled the streets, taking in the sights and sounds. It was necessary to get away from the shop, and get her mind off work, and murder. She was passing a pub when she heard a familiar voice. “Hey.” She turned to find Andy leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. It took her a minute to place him; he wasn’t wearing his cap. His hair was thick, but slicked back on his head.

  “Oh. Hello.”

  He stubbed the cigarette out and gave her a nod. “I had to get away from that lot back at the castle.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Join me for a pint?”

  She hesitated. She still wasn’t drinking, and wondered if he would give her a hard time about it. But he’d been driving her around when he didn’t have to, and she could try and suss out whether or not he was in the bookstore the other day buying Places to See in Ireland Before You Die. “Why not.”

  “Dat’s the spirit.”

  The pub was fairly quiet, the locals, or “old stock,” were around, enjoying the lull before the happy hour crowd.

  Andy didn’t make a fuss when she told him she was abstaining from alcohol for a bit to honor Veronica’s memory. It seemed he was more interested in the company than having a day-drinking buddy, which was a good sign.

  “I have a strange question,” Tara said when the small talk was out of the way.

  “I’ll probably give ya a strange answer then,” he replied.

  “Did I see you in a Galway bookstore the other day? The one near my shop?”

  He stared at her, blinking. He chewed his bottom lip. Then nodded. “You caught me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Were you there?”

  “I came in as you were leaving,” Tara said. She hated lying, but the alternative, that she was asking around about him, would sound much worse.

  “I’m a sucker for bookshops.”

  “Big reader?”

  “Comes with the territory.”

  “It does?”

  “Of course. All that time waiting. Reading is a fringe benefit. I get that from me father.”

  “What do you like to read?”

  “Most anything.”

  “It’s an adorable bookstore. I love supporting the locals. Did you buy anything?” She hated how rehearsed it sounded. Would he get suspicious?

  “I always buy something,” he said. “I like to support the locals too.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a paperback. It was a Western. “My father loved these. I started on them after he died. Makes me feel closer to him.”

  “I love that.” Was that all he bought? The clerk didn’t mention the guy she spotted buying anything else. Then again her memory wasn’t the best. Every other man in Galway probably had a similar cap. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that someone else bought that book. “What are you going to do when this is all over?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Are you going to try to find a job as someone else’s driver?”

  “Me?” He sounded startled, then laughed. “No. It was only a filler job. I’m going to Trinity College in the winter.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Tank you. Me father was a working man. It was his dream that I’d go to university.” He lifted his pint up. “To his memory. I’m a bit late to honoring his wishes, but better late than never.”

  Tara toasted him with her Coke. “I agree. What will you study?”

  He shrugged. “History is a passion of mine. But I don’t know where I’ll take it, career wise.” He grinned. “You seem to have figured it all out.”

  Tara nodded. “You have to make a lot of sacrifices when you work for yourself. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I admire that.”

  His smile was easy, his pint almost finished. It was now or never. “Where did you guys go that day after you left my shop?”

  “We stopped at a realtor shop here in Galway, and an art gallery in Clifden.”

  Realty shop. That was news. Was it Heather Milton’s? Did it have something to do with a new lease for Sheila and John Murphy? “What did Veronica want with a realtor in Galway?”

  Andy shrugged. “Had us stay in the car. She was only in the shop for about twenty minutes.”

  “Did Bartley go in with her?”

  Andy shook his head. “He stayed behind too. She definitely didn’t share everything with him.”

  “What is your take on this little group?”

  “I’ve only been her driver for a year. Never knew her during her drinking days, tanks be to God, but I’ve heard things, of course.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “She was a mean drunk, I tell you dat.”

  “I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m gossiping but—did Veronica relapse that Friday night?”

  Andy’s eyebrow raised. “What makes you tink dat?”

  She noted he didn’t answer her question. “I heard a rumor.” She wasn’t going to tell anyone that Veronica called her. It was too risky.

  Andy appeared to be thinking about it. “I didn’t see her after we got back to the castle. But some of the other lads working the car park said something about her, alright. Something about her being back on the sauce. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think anything of it. They talk a lot of shite. Pardon my language.”

  “Were you in your room?”

  “My room?” He laughed. “I didn’t get a room at Ballynahinch.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Andy shook his head. “She did book me a room at the Clifden Station House Hotel. But it was too far away, so I ended up staying in the SUV.” He held up his hand as if to stop her from talking. “I wanted to. Those seats are as soft as any bed. And the staff let me sneak in for showers and changes.”

  “That was nice of them.”

  He shrugged. “I threw them a few bob. We look out for each other.”

  Tara finished her Coke and didn’t want another one. She still had no idea if Andy had bought that book. But what did it really mean? Maybe he was just curious to see why everyone else had a copy. Was he investigating Veronica’s murder on the sly? “I’d better get back to the store.”

  He nodded. “I’ll walk you.”

  As they headed for the shop he bounced by her side, whistling. Tara was replaying their conversation. Andy said they went two places after they left her shop. She’d forgotten to ask about the second. “The art gallery in Clifden,” Tara said. “Was that about Eddie?”

  “The artist,” Andy said, using air quotes. “Why on earth would she be apologizing to him? A no-good hanger-on, after her money. Making his ‘art.’ He’s the one who cheated on her.”

  “Cheated on her? With whom?”

  He shrugged. “Shouldn’t have said a word. Who am I? Just the driver. This isn’t Downton fecking Abbey, where I’ll end up marrying into the family and
rising in stature.”

  Tara laughed. “Who would you marry? Cassidy?” Andy’s face flamed red. Tara felt a little guilty about cornering him. Why wouldn’t he be attracted to Cassidy? “I’m surprised you watch Downton Abbey,” she said to lighten the mood. They’d reached Tara’s shop.

  “I’m full of surprises,” he said with a wink. “If you ever want to learn more, the seats in the SUV fold back nicely.”

  * * *

  The realty shop, Galway Properties, was on Tara’s way home. She stopped to look at the flyers in the windows, wondering what prompted Veronica to stop in. She was peering at an advertisement for a one-bedroom flat when the owner, Heather Milton, exited the shop. As usual she looked impeccable in a tan suit, her red hair piled on top of her head. “What now?” Heather said, stopping when she spotted Tara. “Not happy at the mill? Or is it the shop?” Tara had rented the shop from Heather, so she guessed the woman was half teasing.

  “Very happy,” Tara said. “Just window browsing.”

  “How is the shop?”

  “It’s coming along nicely. Just waiting for my permit.”

  Heather groaned. “Dat’s the worst part of opening a business here. Permits. Waiting on the city. Nightmare.” She shuddered.

  Tara wholeheartedly agreed. “Will I see you at the opening?”

  “Of course. There could be loads of potential clients there.” Of course. Heather winked, adjusted her satchel, and headed off.

  “Wait.”

  Heather stopped, but looked like a runner waiting to zoom off. “What is it? I have an appointment.”

  “I heard Veronica O’Farrell came to see you.”

  Heather regarded her carefully. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People here are finally starting to accept you.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Then knock it off. It’s none of your business whether or not Ms. O’Farrell came to see me.”

  “I thought you’d rather tell me than the guards.”

  “You thought wrong.” Heather whirled on her heels and clacked away, leaving Tara feeling foolish. The feeling was soon replaced by curiosity. What was Heather hiding? Why had Veronica come to see her? The one piece of the puzzle Tara had was that Veronica was looking into housing for John and Sheila Murphy. Tara assumed that housing would be in Dublin, where they currently lived. Was it possible that Veronica planned on getting them housing elsewhere, forcing them to decide whether to move? And if so, had the couple learned that their “gift” came with life-changing strings? Sheila’s desperate voice came back to her: Where do you think she stashed it?