by Zara Keane
When my cab pulled through the gates, most caravans had their curtains drawn. The majority of the park’s inhabitants were food truckers. They worked from lunchtime until close to midnight and slept late. A few kids were awake and making the most of the dry weather to construct sand fortresses and trenches on the beach.
I opened the passenger door of the cab with my uninjured hand. “This won’t take long,” I told the driver. “I need to make the eight o’clock ferry.”
Jim Carroll, a long-time cab driver and friend of Noreen, killed the engine. He turned to face me, giving me the full effect of his Grizzly Adams-style beard. “We’ll have morning traffic on the way back to Smuggler’s Cove. If your errand here takes more than five minutes, I can’t guarantee we’ll make it.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Righto.” Jim settled back to read his newspaper, and I stepped out of the cab.
A couple hours of sunshine wasn’t enough to remedy weeks of rain, and the ground was the same muddy obstacle course as yesterday. I picked my way through the park, keeping an eye out for someone I could ask for directions to Theresa’s caravan. I spotted Sammy by the side of his rusty caravan, crouching over a mud patch and clutching a magnifying glass. “Hey, Sammy. You’re up early.”
The boy straightened, revealing the full horror of his neon-yellow Hawaiian shirt. He grunted when he recognized me. Clearly, he hadn’t forgiven me for my failure to pay him fifty euros for nothing. “You’re looking even worse than you did yesterday. What did you do to your arm?”
I ignored the question. “What are you looking for?”
“Slugs. I collect them and sell them to the other kids for fifty cents apiece.”
“You’re a budding Fortune 500 candidate,” I said dryly.
“A fortune what?” The boy regarded me with distrust. “Did you come to rip me off again?”
“On the contrary.” I withdrew a five-euro note from my pocket. “I have a business proposition for you.”
He screwed up his nose. “I don’t like your business propositions. You don’t pay up.”
“I pay for results,” I countered lightly, “but if you don’t want the money, okay.” I started to return the note to my pocket.
“Wait a sec.” Sammy leaped to his feet. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll give you this fiver if you tell me which caravan belongs to Theresa Crawley.”
Sammy’s freckled face split into a grin. “Is it true you attacked Old Leather Face yesterday? Is that why your arm is busted? What did she do? Spit on your chips?”
Had I taken the time to have coffee before leaving my cottage, I’d have saved myself my momentary confusion at the mention of chips. “Irish chips,” I murmured to myself, “are French Fries. Our chips are crisps.”
“There’s nothing French about chips,” Sammy pointed out. “It’s a silly name for them. So did you go for Old Leather Face or not?”
“First, I didn’t ‘go for’ anyone. Ms. Crawley and I accidentally fell down a flight of stairs. And second, I’ve never eaten food from Battered and Clammed.”
Sammy nodded in approval. “Smart. My dad says Theresa’s food is a one-way ticket to Costa del Salmonella.”
I bit back a laugh. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that your father runs a rival fish-and-chip van?”
“Nah. Theresa’s a battle-ax. Everyone says so. She’s on the outs with Dad since he got the Dolphin Island job.”
“What Dolphin Island job?” I asked in surprise. “Is your father involved with the movie crew?”
The boy’s skinny chest puffed up with pride. “Dad got the director dude to agree to us going to the island with the chipper. We even got a special permit from the council. We’re heading out to Dolphin Island today to serve food to anyone who doesn’t want to eat at their poxy cafeteria. If there’s space, I might get to be an extra. And I totally want to explore the Poison Garden.”
“I’d forgotten all about Dolphin Island’s Poison Garden,” I said, the reminder conjuring childhood memories. “I visited it when I was a kid.”
“Is it as cool as they say?” Sammy demanded. “With all sorts of plants that can kill?”
“I don’t know about cool, but it has a range of poisonous plants and flowers. I remember wondering how such regular-looking plants could be so deadly. It’s definitely worth a visit. I might stop by if I have the time.”
The boy nodded in approval. “And stop by our truck too. Dad’s hoping to make a killing this weekend.”
“If the food’s as bad as you say at the set’s cafeteria, I will.” Sammy’s easy jump from poison to food amused me, but I needed to steer the conversation back to Theresa. “Hey, Sammy? You said Theresa fell out with your dad over him going to Dolphin Island. Why? Did she try to get her food truck on the movie shoot?”
“Yeah, but Dad got to the director first and scored the gig. When Theresa found out, she was spitting nails.”
I’d been correct in my surmise that Theresa had few friends among her fellow food truckers. Despite my determination to return her letter and distance myself from the woman and her problems, my inquisitive streak got the better of me. “Apart from your dad, do you know if Theresa fought with anyone recently? Or if someone has a particular grudge against her?”
The boy snorted with laughter. “Wrong question. You should ask who Theresa hasn’t fought with. When my mam was still around, she used to say, ‘If that woman had a tail, she’d bite it.’”
I’d never met Sammy’s mother. In the two summers I’d been on the island, she hadn’t accompanied the boy and his father, and I assumed she and Magnum were separated. “Not a bad analogy. Do you know if anyone threatened Theresa?”
The boy squinted at me. “How do you mean? Like shouting at her? Dolly O’Brien from The Cupcake Café, for one. She and Theresa fought like wild cats last week. Something about Theresa not paying for her order at Dolly’s café. And Ann Russell is another. Ann lives in the caravan next to Theresa. She says Theresa pinched her jeans off her washing line, only she’d never fit into them with her huge a—”
I held up a hand. “Thanks, but I get the picture.”
I made a mental note to talk to Dolly and Ann Russell. Not that I was taking on Theresa’s case. Not without her permission. And definitely not without pay. I was simply…curious.
My curiosity prompted another question. “Do you know if anyone sent Theresa nasty letters?”
“What, like poison pen letters?” Sammy perked up at this idea. “I haven’t heard anything about letters. Why? Does the old bag say she got hate mail?”
“Has anyone else in the caravan park received threatening letters?” I asked, dodging the boy’s question.
He shook his head. “I told you I don’t know anything about letters.”
“Which caravan is Theresa’s?” I waggled the five-euro note again. The boy made to grab the money, but I held it out of reach. “Info first, cash later.”
Sammy glared at me and pointed to the other side of the caravan park. “Last caravan on the left, right before the path down to the beach. It’s painted piss yellow. You can’t miss it.”
The caravan in question had a distinct look of jaundice and bore the same streaks of rust as Sammy’s summer home. I handed the boy the money. “Thanks for your help.”
He snatched the cash and shoved it into his pocket as though he were afraid I’d change my mind. “Good luck with Old Leather Face. You’ll need it if you go disturbing her ugly sleep.”
I choked back a laugh. “Duly noted. See you on Dolphin Island, Sammy. Stay out of mischief.”
The boy cracked up laughing. “Sure, where’s the fun in that?”
9
After leaving Sammy, I squelched across the muddy caravan park, dodging puddles and random debris. My injured wrist throbbed, but the pain meds I’d swallowed this morning had dulled the intensity. They’d also dulled my senses. Not ideal when I was about to go undercover for Con Ryder,
but I figured a doped-up Maggie was better than an addled-with-pain Maggie.
When I reached Theresa’s caravan, I knocked lightly on the door. No response. I waited for a full thirty seconds before knocking again, this time harder.
The door swung open. Theresa loomed in the doorframe, a cigarette clenched between her teeth. I’d expected to find her still in her night attire, but she was in full makeup and dressed in a floral shirt, floaty skirt, and neat patent leather sandals. Her body blocked my view into the caravan, but the smell of old grease and cigarette smoke wafting out didn’t encourage me to try her food.
“What do you want?” she snarled. “Come to do me more bodily harm?”
“As you can see from my sling, the person harmed was me. But yesterday’s fall isn’t why I’m here.” I withdrew the crumpled envelope from my coat pocket and handed it to her. “I came to return your letter.”
She snatched the envelope out of my grasp and glowered at me. “I suppose you read it.”
I didn’t bother to deny the accusation. “You need to show this to the police. You can’t ignore a death threat.”
“All the letters say the same thing, more or less.” Theresa rolled her eyes. “I’m always going to die in forty-eight hours or seventy-two hours or whatever. As you see, I’m still kicking.”
“The postmark on that letter is from Wednesday. If the forty-eight-hours threat was valid from the day of postage, that means it’s up today.”
“Or the forty-eight hours started from the moment I collected the letter yesterday.” Theresa grunted. “The sender doesn’t get specific.”
“You can’t let this person get away with making death threats.”
“Why do you think I wanted to hire you?” Her jaw tightened, and her knuckles tensed. “When I find out who’s responsible, I’ll make them regret ever learning my name.”
“I understand your anger,” I said, “but vigilante justice isn’t the answer.”
Her raspy laugh ended in a coughing fit. “I’ve no time for the police. They look down on folks like me. Treat us like vermin. Same goes for the Traveller community, circus workers, and anyone else not living a settled life.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d heard the comments made by islanders, and not just by those who feared their livelihoods were threatened by the seasonal food trucks. “I guess you know I’m dating Sergeant Liam Reynolds, head of police here on Whisper Island. I can assure you Liam’s a good man and a good cop. He’ll treat you fairly.”
She shrugged. “I’ve met Sergeant Reynolds. He seems a decent enough bloke, but I’m still not going to the station. I prefer to take care of matters on my terms.”
I sighed. This was an argument I wouldn’t win. “I can’t force you, Theresa. Just think about it, okay?”
Her answer was a snort. “If going to the Guards is the best advice you can give me, I’m glad I didn’t hire you. Now get off my doorstep and leave me in peace.”
Before I had time to respond, Theresa slammed the door in my face. I stood there for a moment, stunned at my abrupt dismissal. Charming. Still, I’d done my due diligence. I’d returned her letter, and I’d tried to make her see reason. There was nothing left for me to do at Happy Campers caravan park.
I made my way back to the cab, mulling over the encounter. I had an uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach. However, that might’ve been due to my pain medication, and not a nagging sixth sense about the letter. Theresa Crawley was the type of woman who attracted enemies. She was rude, abrasive, and probably not above physical violence. If she said similar threats had been made against her in the past, she was likely correct in her assumption that this latest threat was equally baseless.
Squaring my shoulders, I resolved to shelve the Theresa situation, at least for the weekend. With three long days stretching before me, and my brain power compromised by fatigue and pain, I had to concentrate on the matter I’d been hired to investigate.
I reached the cab and slid onto the passenger seat. Jim gunned the engine, and we were speeding through the gates of the caravan park while I was still fastening my seat belt. We hurtled down the dirt track that led to the main road, narrowly avoiding a collision with a second cab weaving its way up to the caravan park.
“It’s all go this morning,” Jim remarked. “We don’t usually get rides to Happy Campers. Those folks keep to themselves. I suppose it’s this film business. Seems everyone and their granny wants to be an extra.”
“Mmm,” I murmured, regretting my decision to sit in the front. Jim was a nice guy, but he was a talker. Exhausted and uncaffeinated, I wasn’t feeling sociable. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, hoping Jim would get the message.
He didn’t. “Did you hear about the fight between the council and the film company? The film crowd wanted Dolphin Island closed to the public for the duration of the shoot.” The cab driver chuckled. “Can you fathom that? Closing down a national park during peak tourist season? As you can imagine, the suggestion didn’t fly. The council has already bent over backward, catering to their demands.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I kept my eyes shut, but Jim droned on.
“And no one’s thrilled by the compromise. The first nice weekend we get this summer, and the number of visitors to the island is capped at no more than fifty at a time. I hope you booked your ticket?”
I let out a sigh and opened my eyes. Jim wouldn’t draw breath until I got out of the car. “Yeah. I used the ferry company’s new phone app.” According to the contract Harper had emailed me this morning, Con would cover my travel expenses in addition to my fee.
Jim shot me a curious glance. “I suppose you’re heading out to the island for the shoot. What with your sister being the star and all.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
A line of cars snaked toward the harbor. I glanced at my watch. We were cutting it close for me to catch the ferry.
“I go out to Dolphin Island a couple of times a year with my grandkids,” the driver said. “Lovely place. I’ve always liked the bird sanctuary. Not the Poison Garden, though. That place always gave me the creeps.”
“Hmm…” I murmured, wishing Jim came with a mute switch.
“I haven’t been out to the island since they renovated the castle, though,” he continued. “I’ll wait until that film crowd clears out.”
We inched up the line, getting closer to the ferry terminal. Come on. Hurry up.
The Renault Clio in front of us surged forward. Just as Jim hit the gas, another taxi overtook us, inserting itself into the narrow gap between our car and the one in front.
Swearing, Jim slammed on the brakes. “Would you look at that? I’ll be having words with Tom Russell later. That’s his car. Ironic seeing him right after driving to Happy Campers. That man’s constantly up and down to the place.”
Jim’s chatter floated over my head. The tension of cutting it so close to catch the boat had my fingers tingling with anxiety.
“I bet Tom’s fare wants to make the eight o’clock ferry,” Jim continued. “Just like you.”
“At this rate, I’ll only make the ferry if I get out and run.” Pulling cash out of my wallet, I shoved a note at him. “Keep the change.”
Jim looked dubiously at the note in his hand. “Are you sure?”
“If you help me lift my bag out of the trunk, yeah.”
The driver stalled the engine and leaped out to retrieve my bag. “Good luck with the film shoot. Rather you than me.”
“We must be the only two people on Whisper Island with no interest in the shoot,” I said. “Everyone else is obsessed.”
Jim eyed me curiously. “Why are you going, then?”
“I’m performing my sisterly duty.” I grabbed the handle of my case. “Thanks for the ride, Jim. Have a great weekend.”
Pulling my wheelie suitcase behind me with my left hand, I sprinted down the pier to the ferry ramp. After flashing my phone screen at the man checking passengers’ tickets, I boarded the ferry. Thirt
y seconds later, we were on the move. As the pier and ferry terminal faded into the distance, I inhaled the salty sea air. Next stop, Dolphin Island, and a new mystery to solve.
10
The crossing to Dolphin Island was the smoothest ferry ride I’d experienced since moving to the west of Ireland. I’d grown used to rough crossings and made sure to carry vitamin B6 tablets in my purse. Today, the ferry sliced through the water with the barest of rocking motions. Sunlight danced off the surface, imbuing the sea with a magical air. I kept an eye out for dolphins but saw none.
Exhausted from my impromptu run to the gangway, I slumped onto a seat by a railing on the starboard side. My meds were doing a reasonable job of keeping my pain levels manageable, but they zapped me of all energy. After I caught my breath, I scanned the deck.
The ferry was crammed with tourists, plus a few locals, who I guessed were straggling movie extras. I’d visited Dolphin Island with Liam last summer, a day that had involved the discovery of a dead body, albeit not on the island itself. In the aftermath, I’d been too stressed to properly appreciate the rare bird sanctuary that made Dolphin Island a popular tourist destination. If the beautiful weather held, I’d make the trip again and take the time to see the bird sanctuary in its entirety.
This summer, the reopening of Dunfarrig Castle would attract even more people to the island. Abandoned to the elements in the mid-eighteenth century, the castle and its gardens, including the infamous Poison Garden, had fallen into disrepair. Funded by a government grant, a total renovation and refurbishment had begun several years ago and had been completed earlier this year. The movie company had hired the castle for part of its shoot. When the shoot was over, the castle would be formally opened to the public.
Once I was feeling human again, I made a beeline for the onboard café. The coffee sucked, but I needed a jolt of something to stop me from snoozing on the job. I joined the line of tourists and ordered a triple espresso. Yeah, don’t judge me. I’d had a rough twenty-four hours. The brown liquid that passed for coffee was drinkable but lacked the kick I needed. I decided to add a Red Bull to my order, knocked it back in a few gulps, and ordered a second.
