Tara ducked into the bathroom. Red marks were slashed across the mirror. Blood? Her heart began to thud against her rib cage. BAR was written with a slash mark—an interrupted T? Bartley? A tube of smooshed red lipstick lay on the counter, its lid on the floor. Who wrote this and what made them stop so suddenly? Was it Veronica? Spelling out who she was going to meet at Clifden Castle that morning? The hotel clerk mentioned the guards had processed the room. That meant they knew about this. Tara took a picture with her phone. Shimmering gold on the counter caught her eye; a sparkly makeup bag. The wastebasket was empty in here as well, solidifying Tara’s theory that the guards had taken the rubbish. Strange, how the things we threw away in life were important clues in death. Tara heard a swish, and a click. It came from the room. Someone else was in here. Adrenaline coursed through her as she stilled. She listened for a whistle. Nothing. She tiptoed back into the room, heading for the adjoining door. It was closed. She had purposely left it open.
Could a breeze have shut it? She glanced at the windows. The curtains were drawn on the right side, but partly open on the left. The windows were shut. Had both curtains been drawn when she came in?
Yes. There was more light now. Someone had been in here. Where were they now? If they’d escaped to the hall, wouldn’t she have heard an exclamation from Danny?
If the person wasn’t in the hall, that meant he or she was in Eddie Oh’s room. Was Eddie in danger? Maybe the guards hadn’t seen the writing on the mirror. Maybe it was fresh. Maybe it was Tara who interrupted the message . . .
Bartley was the one being sent to pack up Veronica’s things. Was someone trying to scare him? Or tip him off that he or she knew he was a killer?
Tara cracked open the door to the hall. Danny was leaning against the wall. “Anything?”
She put her finger to her lips and stepped out, quietly closing the door.
“Where’s the hand towel?” he asked. She’d left it in the bathroom. It didn’t matter now. She pointed to Eddie’s room.
“Someone’s in there.”
“What? How?”
She grabbed him and pulled him farther down the hall to a dark recess, where she told him everything in a panicked whisper. “We have to go in. Make sure Eddie’s okay.”
“How? We no longer have the key and you just shut Veronica’s door.”
A creak sounded; a door was opening somewhere on the floor. They flattened themselves against the wall. “What are you two doing?”
The deep male voice came from behind them. They whirled around to see Bartley looming over them. He was wearing thick black gloves and carrying matching duffel bags. A swooshing sound came from the opposite direction. A figure dressed in a long black coat with a pile of clothing draped over his or her head and a pillowcase filled to the brim, bolted down the hall. He or she disappeared into the stair well, the door slamming behind him or her.
“Are those Veronica’s dresses?” Bartley said. He started down the hall.
“Wait,” Tara said. “I need the key to Veronica’s room.” Bartley hesitated, clearly wanting to sprint down the hall. “We have to check on Eddie.”
“What is going on?” Bartley repeated.
“Should I run after him?” Danny said.
Or her. Tara shook her head. “Eddie comes first.” She raced to the room with Danny right behind her, and Bartley shouting in the rear.
“What on earth is happening?”
Tara held her hand out and Bartley reluctantly handed her the key. She entered Veronica’s room, then opened the adjoining door. Eddie was on the bed, on his back, snoring. “Thank heavens.” Tara hadn’t realized how much terror she was holding inside until she let it all out in a big breath. “He’s breathing.”
She returned to the hall, closed his door, and slumped with relief against the wall.
Bartley pointed down the hall. “Who and what was that?”
“Someone stealing from Veronica’s room,” Tara said. Maybe Veronica shouldn’t have been making amends at all. “I interrupted them.” And I think they tried to throw shade at you . . .
Bartley would notice the writing on the mirror. Should Tara mention it? Should she wait and see if he reported it to the guards? What would it mean if he wiped it clean and said nothing?
“I’m here to collect her things,” Bartley said. “We must report this at once.”
“I know.” Tara handed back the key. Bartley hurried over to Veronica’s door and opened it. Tara followed him in. The gowns were missing from the closet. The shoes were gone. The Chanel luggage bag must have been too hard to swipe for it was still at the foot of the bed. “We know it’s a woman then,” Bartley said.
“No,” Tara said. “We don’t.” It probably was. But it wasn’t good to jump to conclusions. Danny poked his head in.
“Everything okay?”
“No,” Bartley said. “One of you had better start talking.”
“We were hauling Eddie up to his bed,” Tara said. “He was drunk.”
“How did that . . . thing . . . get into Veronica’s room?”
“Eddie has an adjoining room and the door was unlocked.”
“But Eddie’s room was locked,” Danny said. “And presumably Veronica’s. Did someone else have a key or do you think they followed in behind us?”
It was an eerie thought. “Wouldn’t we have noticed?”
“We were focused on hauling his drunken arse, so no, I don’t think we would have.”
“They must have been quick,” Tara said. Nerves of steel. Nerves to steal.
“And very quiet,” Danny added.
Bartley dipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his mobile phone. “Should I call the hotel manager first?”
“Probably a good place to start,” Tara said. “They can direct you to the detective or guards who’ve been handling the hotel.”
Bartley paced the hall as he placed the call, then when he was finished returned and wiped his brow with his gloves. “We should knock on every guest’s door and conduct an inspection until we find our thief.”
Tara finally had her chance to speak with the one man who might have the answers she needed. “Can you fill me in on everything that happened with Veronica after you left my shop that day?”
The hallway was dim. Shadows fell across Bartley’s broad face. He did not look like a friendly man. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m just trying to piece it all together.”
“I’ve already spoken with the detective. I think it’s best if I leave it at that.” Bartley returned to the edge of Veronica’s room, hovering. Was he just avoiding Tara’s questions? Should she leave him alone to see how he reacted to the writing on the mirror?
“Veronica called me,” Tara said. “That night.”
Bartley’s body did not move but he turned his head. “What?”
Danny touched Tara’s elbow. “Careful,” he whispered. Tara had told him about the writing on the mirror. Danny didn’t want her to antagonize a killer. But the manager was on his way up, and presumably the guards had been called. If anyone knew all of Veronica’s secrets, it was this man. And her news about the phone call seemed to interest him.
“I didn’t answer,” Tara continued. “It was after midnight, and I didn’t recognize the number.” If she had answered, would Veronica still be alive?
Bartley looked up as if he was trying to snatch a memory from the ceiling. He slowly turned to face Tara. “We ran a few errands after we left your shop and we were back at the castle before seven p.m. She gave me the night off,” he said. “Along with Andy.”
Andy had given the same account, although he’d been more specific about the errands. “What kind of mood was she in?”
Bartley’s gaze now turned to the carpeted hall. “She was tired. We all were. That’s all I can recall.”
“She wasn’t angry?”
Bartley shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Then what?”
“I retired to my room and didn�
��t come out until eight a.m. We were to meet in front of the castle at nine a.m. sharp. I waited with the rest of the group. We all thought Veronica slept in. You know the rest.”
“When you gathered to leave for the castle, did you see all of the guests present?”
Bartley shook his head. “Sheila and John Murphy were nowhere in sight. Neither was Eddie—he hadn’t arrived yet.” At least that’s what Eddie wanted everyone to think. Tara kept this to herself; she had no proof. Bartley frowned as he tried to recall that morning. “Elaine hadn’t arrived yet either.” A worrisome look clouded his face.
“Andy picked Elaine up at a bus station in Galway,” Tara said. Although he made a point of saying he didn’t actually see her get off a bus. But Galway city was far enough away from Ballynahinch Castle that if her late arrival was a ruse to concoct an alibi, it was a pretty good one. Then again, this killer was not ordinary. They were playing an elaborate game. And maybe having a good alibi was all part of their grand scheme.
“Everyone else was present. Cassidy was late. She looked like something the cat dragged in.” He stopped again. “I thought she was hungover. But what if her wild look was because she had just plunged that brooch into Veronica’s heart?”
Tara had never heard him so emotive. “Does Cassidy have her own car here?”
“I don’t know. I can only hope the guards have talked to the valets. If anyone left, or if a taxi pulled up, they would know.”
“What about you?”
Bartley straightened. “What about me?”
“You didn’t come out of your room at all Friday evening?”
“I did not. I showered. Dined in my room, read a book, watched television. I was knackered.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“My room is tucked away. I fell asleep with the television on. What is it you think I would have heard?”
“Veronica. Arguing with some of her guests.”
Bartley shook his head.
“You knew Veronica better than anyone. You know all of her guests.” Tara stepped forward. “Is there anyone you’re suspicious of?”
“Yes,” Bartley said. Danny and Tara stilled.
“Who?” Tara said, wanting him to spit it out.
He pinned her with his eyes. “You,” he said. “I’m suspicious of you.”
Chapter 20
“You sleeping here tonight?” Danny asked, after Bartley shut Veronica’s door in their faces.
“No,” she said. “I want to go back to the mill.” And she did. She missed Hound. And Savage. And her loft. And Galway city. She didn’t need a castle. Or suspects pointing the finger at her. Bartley couldn’t really suspect her, could he? And who had been the person hiding in Veronica’s room, writing Bartley’s name on the mirror and stealing Veronica’s clothes? Was it the killer or just an opportunistic thief? Would the guards conduct room-to-room inspections? It was all swimming in her head and she needed the comfort of home. And she secretly hoped Danny would stay over. They were quiet on the drive back. Danny put the radio on, and they each retreated into their own thoughts, buffered by the mountains shrouded in darkness on either side of them. It had been quite a busy day. Tara nodded off and by the time she woke, Danny was pulling up to the mill.
He didn’t park in his usual spot; instead he left the engine running, waiting for her to get out. “You want to come in?” She hated that she felt timid even asking it—no, she hated that she had to ask. “Sit by the fire with a drink?”
“After that shower of savages?” he said with a dry laugh. “I’m beat.”
“Me too.” We could just sleep, you know. She got out of the car and gave a half wave.
“Get a good night’s sleep.”
“You too.” She already knew she would not.
* * *
Hound and Savage were welcome sights. They were in the mill but eagerly followed her up to the loft, where she gave them kisses, and hugs, and treats. Hound took his usual spot by the fire, but Savage curled up on her lap as she lounged on the sofa while clutching a warm mug of tea. The beverage was winning her over from coffee, especially before bed. She’d meant to get her mind off the shower of savages, as Danny put it, but she found herself ruminating on the case. Were the guards following up on Nancy Halligan? Was her case now considered a homicide? Was it possible that the killer thought Nancy Halligan was Veronica? They were similar in height and weight, and both had white hair and wore tracksuits. But Nancy was taken to that location. Wait a minute. Could the rowboat have been Nancy’s? Did the guards see it? Tara didn’t know she was at a possible murder scene at the time, so she hadn’t scoured the scene. Should she go back? Maybe clues had been missed. Especially if the guards weren’t treating her death as suspicious. Her to-do list was filling up. Buy gifts, go back to the old stone house, then perhaps a visit to Inishbofin Island was in order. And of course, there was her shop to keep her busy. Maybe tomorrow would be the day that her permit would be in the mail.
* * *
Tara was at Renewals before the sun rose the next morning. She immersed herself in ordering flowers and champagne for her grand opening. It was just the distraction she needed. The mail usually arrived in the late afternoon. She had hope that today would be permit day. Three hours flew by, and she was startled to hear a knock at the door. She opened it to find Grace Quinn on the doorstep. Grace ran the nearby Bay Inn. As usual her white hair was pulled into a tight bun. Tara had stayed at the inn when she first came to town. Which was how she knew the basket of scones in Grace’s hand was probably not the friendly gesture she wanted her to believe. Grace was here for gossip.
“Mrs. Quinn, what a lovely surprise.”
She silently smacked her lips. “I’ve told you to call me Grace.” She thrust the basket at Tara and stepped around her to enter the shop. “I see it’s coming along.” Grace surveyed the shop with pursed lips.
“The grand opening is next week. I trust you got your invitation?”
“I’m glad it wasn’t one of those e-vites. Although I suppose you are killing trees sending out all of those paper cards, are you not?”
Tara sighed. There wasn’t enough Guinness in Ireland to make this woman pleasant. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m only going to have one grand opening then.” She suddenly found herself trying to imagine Grace as a little girl and the image that came to her was an exact replica only with plumper, rosier skin. It made her slightly sad for younger Grace. What, or who had made her so cranky?
Grace stood under the article that had drawn Veronica to her shop. She wagged her finger at it. “You had a second chance, now you’ve gone and wrapped yourself up in another murder!”
She imagined if she had Xanax she would be popping one now and she felt a tug of pity for Cassidy. There but for the grace of God go I. “It’s hardly anything I’ve done,” Tara said.
“Murder just follows you around, does it? Like a little black cloud.”
“A most unfortunate coincidence, I assure you.”
“Then why are you staying out at Ballynahinch Castle?”
Tara sighed. What doesn’t this woman know? “I’m working.”
Grace pursed her lips. “Right, so.”
“Thank you so much for stopping by.” Tara smiled her sweetest smile.
Grace studied her for a moment and turned to go. “I wonder what your mother would tink.” The door slammed behind her. It wasn’t until Tara went to lock the door behind her that she saw a package sitting in front of the door. Bigger than a breadbox, she thought, lifting it. It was light. She wasn’t expecting any more orders. She brought it in, scrambling to figure out what it could be. Had she forgotten anything? She set the package on the counter, then grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the tape. She opened it to a pile of sharp, silver pins. It took her a second to realize they were Tara Brooches like the ones they sold at the Connemara Marble Visitor Centre. There must have been fifty of them. A piece of paper was folded on top.
#KILLERBROOCHES
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Tara gasped and dropped the box. Who had done this? It could be anyone, the rumor mill was churning. But who would actually spend this kind of money on a prank? Was this the killer? Sending a message? She reached for her mobile, her fingers shaking as she dialed the Garda Station.
* * *
Sergeant Gable stood in Tara’s shop, staring at the box of brooches and scratching his head. “I can’t recall the last time I was summoned because someone left them a gift.”
“A gift?” She almost spit out her coffee. “With a note like that?”
“That’s exactly what you posted on social media.”
“Before Veronica was murdered. Had I posted it after she was murdered, that would make me a psychopath.”
“You’re saying a psychopath is after ya?”
She nudged the box. “What if this is from the killer?”
He shrugged, then picked it up. “We’ll see what we can find.” He didn’t sound eager to look into it.
“Why did you make it known that Veronica was stabbed with a Tara Brooch?”
Gable set his gaze on her. “Pardon?”
“You haven’t disclosed the marble stones found on Veronica, but you let everyone know she was stabbed with her Tara Brooch. You could have just said she was stabbed.”
“I won’t have you questioning my methods.”
“You put a target on my back.”
“That was not my intention.”
Tara pointed to the box. “That is a threat. And I don’t get the feeling you’re taking it seriously.”
“If you feel so threatened, why are you throwing yourself in the middle of it?”
“Because I was hired to do a job.”
“Does that job include a visit to the Connemara Marble Visitor Centre?”
The lightbulb went on. He was livid. In his mind she was butting in, acting like she could do his job better than he could. She couldn’t afford to alienate the guards. “Eddie Oh knows about the marble stones on Veronica’s face. I just wanted to see if that’s where they were purchased.” She was twisting the truth, given she’d learned that from Eddie after her visit, but she wanted Gable on her side.
Murder in Connemara Page 17
