by Maggie Finn
Noah didn’t speak and Eliza looked at him, an ache in her chest. All the movies and the songs said love was supposed to bring you joy, but this just made her feel sad. Because she knew she couldn’t reach Noah about his father and if she couldn’t do that, he’d never be able to move on. If she couldn’t melt that solid barrier around his heart, there would always be a wall between them, a wall neither of them would be able to climb.
Noah glanced at her, his face dark, the face of a small boy denied his favorite toy.
‘Why her?’ he said. ‘Why her?’
‘Because! Because Cupid’s like that, Noah. Haven’t you ever seen those old paintings by Rubens or Michelangelo – Cupid enjoys his job, firing his arrows at the wrong people, making them fall in love.’
‘Well it’s stupid,’ He said.
‘Maybe’, she whispered, suddenly exhausted. ‘Maybe it is. But it’s happening. It’s like that guy King Canute. You can’t change it, it’ll keep happening whether you like it or not.’
She walked past him and put a hand on the door.
‘Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Noah,’ she said, hoping he didn’t hear the wobble in her voice. ‘I’ve got to lock up and give Moira the keys back. I’ll be going back home soon.’
‘Why do you have to go, Eliza?’
‘Do I really need to spell it out? I came here to get away from all this, to simplify my life and as you say, it’s just got more complicated.’
Noah looked like all of the air had been sucked out of him.
‘Don’t leave,’ he said.
‘I can’t stay, Noah!’ she cried. ‘If I stay I’ll go down with you.’
He blinked.
‘With me?’
‘Yes, Noah. With you. And I’m not doing that, not again. Not even for you.’
She opened the door and bit her lip hard as he walked through. Then she locked it, bolted it and turned the sign hanging on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.
Chapter Seventeen
The village was buzzing. Hundreds of smiling, laughing people milling around the harbor and all along the path up to the chapel, the way lit by lanterns and strings of fairy lights swinging in the breeze. It was truly magical, especially with the snow still falling.
Noah looked up nervously. The radio news had been talking of a blizzard on the West coast, but so far today all they had was a gentle smattering, certainly not enough to discourage the visitors pouring in.
Clover Cove may have been thrown into crisis by the threat of the Ross Oil takeover, but here was the upside: all the publicity meant that the village was back on the map and the Christmas Procession had attracted record numbers. Noah was glad he and Mikey and, yes, Raff, had erected so many barriers. The village was already crowded, but once the church service was over, the congregation pouring out would make it standing room only.
‘Here you go, Guard.’
Molly Maguire was holding out a cup of what looked like hot chocolate. Molly was proprietor of the Seashell Café overlooking the beach and she had done more than most to attract people to the Cove with an ad-hoc food festival earlier in the year. It had been a huge hit and Molly’s café was becoming something of a tourist destination in its own right. Tonight she had set up a stall selling tea and cakes to the hungry visitors, the bunting along the top bearded with frost.
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Noah, holding up a hand. ‘I’m on duty.’
‘Sure and it’s only cocoa, not whiskey,’ she said, ‘And we need to keep you going, don’t we? It’s going to be a busy night for you.’
She pressed the cup into his hands and Noah took a sip: it was delicious. Rich and velvety.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘Actually, as you’ve been standing here, have you seen the American girl?’
‘Kate? She’s up at the pub, helping Connor. They’re three-deep around the bar tonight and even their rooms are full, been booked for months.’
‘No, I meant Eliza,’ said Noah, ‘Eliza Carlisle? She’s been staying at the guest house.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Molly, smiling knowingly. ‘Kate introduced us. She’s nice. Hasn’t been down this way, though.’
Molly turned to her boyfriend Sean, who was serving a slice of cake to a girl in a bobble hat. ‘Seany, have you seen Eliza this evening?’
‘Nope, sorry,’ he said. ‘Although I did see her hire car, that little green one? It was in the square earlier, so she can’t be far.’
Noah thanked them and headed back up towards the square. He was pretty sure Eliza would have no interest in seeing him, but he had to try. He’d made a mess of things, but he was determined to make it right, to explain to Eliza how he felt. He pulled a small box from his pocket, wrapped in Christmas paper. Eliza’s Christmas gift. Noah wasn’t sure whether she would like it either, but he hoped it might make her see how he felt about her. Because without Eliza… He shook his head. He didn’t even want to think about that.
‘Evening, boss! All’s well here. Nothing to worry about.’ Raff was standing halfway up the lane between the barriers, enthusiastically directing the crowds with a flashlight.
‘That’s grand,’ said Noah, ‘You keep them moving now.’
Starved of official manpower – there was a fireworks display in Ballymintoe and a charity carol service in Galway tonight, not to mention the fact that the emergency services were always short-staffed at Christmas – Noah had been forced to co-opt various bodies from the village to help out on crowd control: Raff, Aaron Garvey, Graham the harbor master and Orla from the post office. Anyone with a vague air of authority who was prepared to give up their Christmas Eve to wear a hi-vis jacket and boss people around, he’d sworn them in.
Raff cocked his head and grinned. ‘D’ya hear that now? I think The Hares have arrived.’
There was a swell of music and cheering as around the corner came a group of travelers playing a festive tune on pipes, fiddle and bodhran, the hand-held Irish drum. They were dressed in fancy costumes; bright silk waistcoats, golden capes and jangling bangles. They looked like an exotic Irish version of the three kings from the nativity, but bearing the gifts of laughter and merriment in place of frankincense and myrrh. Noah stepped aside to let them pass; the Hares were as much a part of a celebrations as the hushed procession which would wind down from the church after the evening mass. There was no sign of Queenie though, which was odd, but Noah didn’t dwell on it, he had other things on his mind: finding Eliza, mostly. He walked quickly up to the square and as he turned the corner, actually bumped into Moira, dropping his parcel. Moira bent to pick it up, handing it back to Noah.
‘Is that for me?’ she asked.
‘No. I mean, I do have something for you back at the…’
‘I was joking Noah,’ said Moira. ‘Lighten up will yer?’
She eyed him, then the package.
‘Was that for Eliza?’
‘Yes, actually. Have you seen her?’
There was a pause and Moira pulled a quizzical expression.
‘She’s not here, Noah.’
‘Did she say when she’d get here?’
Moira glanced up and down the lane, then pulled Noah to one side.
‘Eliza’s not coming to the procession,’ she said quietly. ‘I thought you knew.’
‘So where is she? At the guest house?’
Moira looked at her watch. ‘She could even be halfway to the airport by now. I don’t know what time her flight is.’
Noah’s suddenly felt cold all over.
‘Today? She’s leaving today?’
Moira shrugged helplessly.
‘Ask Ma Brennan, but… you spoke to Eliza earlier today, didn’t she say goodbye?’
Noah began to back away.
‘Hey!’ called Moira. ‘Aren’t you going to…’
But Noah was already moving: he needed to find Diana Brennan. She would be wherever Bishop Ray was – and on Christmas Eve, you were most likely to find a bishop in a church. Dodging around the peop
le filling the square, Noah ducked through the church archway. He could already hear the organ music as he ran for the open door. Diana Brennan was standing just inside, framed by the leaves of a giant potted Poinsettia, stacking up hymn books.
‘Heavens, Guard,’ said the woman, ‘You frightened the life out of me. What do you mean, barging in here like that?’
‘Mrs. Brennan,’ said Noah, trying to control his breathing. ‘Has Eliza – Miss Carlisle – has she checked out of the guesthouse?’
Diana gave him a searching look.
‘She has that, Guard,’ she said. ‘Ten o’clock sharp. I have to say, she was a model guest. Never let it be said I can’t change my mind, but I became quite fond of the girl.’
‘Ten o’clock this morning?’
That meant that she had already packed when Noah had seen her in the book store.
‘Did she say what time her flight was?’
‘This evening is all I know. I recommended she avoid the coast road. Snow storm’s coming, Guard.’
‘Did you actually see her leave?’
The woman nodded.
‘Maybe an hour ago. She said she was disappointed she was missing the procession, but…’
Noah was already pushing down the path, swerving around the churchgoers. ‘Sorry folks, emergency situation,’ he called. ‘Guard coming through. Move aside please!’
He ran into the square and stopped. Eliza’s car was gone.
Offering up a silent prayer, he ran for the patrol car, looking at his watch, making calculations in his head. Noah was no expert on international travel, but he knew most people got to the airport two or three hours before their flight and Eliza was an organized woman, which meant she would have left at least an hour for the journey to the airport. If Noah put on the sirens and the lights, he could be there in half the time, assuming the snow held off long enough. He was just fumbling out his keys when a woman stepped out in front of him. She was tall and regal, her face half-hidden by the hood of an emerald cape, but Noah recognized her immediately.
‘Queenie,’ he said, pulling up short. ‘What are you doing here? I thought I’d see you down at the procession.’
The woman gave him a half-smile.
‘We have business here, Guard.’
She raised a hand towards a panel van Noah recognized from his visit to the travelers’ camp. ‘I have an early Christmas gift for you.’
Noah looked at the woman, then across to his car, desperate to just jump in and head for the airport. He simply didn’t have time for this. But he could tell from Queenie’s expression that this was important. He let out a long breath.
‘Show me. Quickly.’
She slid back the door of the van to reveal a well-dressed man sitting bolt-upright in a passenger seat. He looked terrified, as well he might. One of Queenie’s dogs was sitting next to him, its lip curled back to reveal serrated teeth.
‘Officer, help me!’ squeaked the man, but was immediately silenced by a low growl from the dog. He ceased moving, watching the animal from the corner of his eye.
Noah looked questioningly at Queenie, but the woman simply shook her head and gestured back towards the square. Noah hesitated, but whoever the man was, he obviously wasn’t going anywhere for the moment. And Noah looked down at the man’s feet – he had no shoes. Not an immediate flight risk. Noah slid the door shut and pulled Queenie out of earshot.
‘First of all,’ he said sternly, ‘You can’t go around grabbing people. It’s not a gangster film, Queenie, this is real life.’
‘Sure, I know that Guard,’ said the traveller with a smirk. ‘But under Irish law, aren’t I entitled to protect myself from intruders?’
‘Intruders?’
‘That’s your burglar.’
Noah felt a surge of interest, but was careful not to show it.
‘And did he break into your caravan?’
‘Not technically, no. But he did break into a number of properties and thus implicated myself and my family. So catching this scallywag is me protecting myself, isn’t it?’
Noah sighed. There was no point in having a discussion about the law with someone for whom it carried almost no weight. The Hares had their own rules, which were unbending and rigorously enforced. Irish law, or any other kind of law written down in a book might as well have been ancient Greek. In some ways, Noah envied them for their clarity of vision, but he still had a job to do.
‘Okay, so how do you know he’s the burglar?’
‘We caught him sneaking into Garvey’s farm.’
‘Did you see him breaking in?’
‘No, but he was peeking in the barn at the tractors and such.’
Noah shook his head.
‘Is that all? He could just be rambler lost in the snow.’
Queenie handed him a man’s leather wallet.
‘This was in his pocket.’
Noah swallowed: another violation of police procedure and probably a dozen other civil liberties. But then he saw the pattern tooled into the leather: little ‘r’s and ‘L’s. Roman LeFey, just like the footprints in the castle. Noah flipped the wallet open and took out the ID card: a California driver’s license, name of David Schwartz. Now where had he heard that name before?
‘Check the business cards,’ said Queenie.
Noah pulled one out.
David Schwartz
Development Director
Ross Oil
1251 Avenue of the Americas
Manhattan
New York 10020
‘Ross Oil?’
And suddenly it made sense. The Castle, the Lighthouse and Ham Farm all had one thing in common: their land all extended down to the cliffs – and then, potentially, to whatever off-shore energy plant Ross Oil was planning. And Noah made the connection on the name too: David Schwartz was the man who had arrived by helicopter and proposed to Kate O’Riordan, before she had done the smart thing and hooked up with Connor James. Kate had actually told him the whole sorry tale over a sandwich up at Molly’s. That gave him motive, sure, but it didn’t make the man a burglar.
‘I follow your thinking, Queenie,’ said Noah, ‘But it’s circumstantial evidence at best. There’s no law to say a Ross Oil exec can’t be looking at potential sites for his business, even if he is lumbering about where he’s not supposed to be. We still have no evidence that he’s behind the break-ins.’
Queenie gave a lop-sided smile.
‘I thought you might say that,’ she said, reaching inside her cape. ‘Here: exhibit “A”. I found it in his suitcase.’
She pulled out a book and handed it to him. It was a hardback copy of To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.
Noah knew this was the evidence he’s asked for, but he imagined trying to justify all in court. ‘Yes, your honor, I employed a rag-tag band of travelers as unofficial deputies. Yes, the suspect was held against his will, yes, by a vicious dog.’ Putting aside the many problems with getting a conviction, he’d probably lose his job before all this was over. Noah turned the book over in his hands.
‘So you’re thinking this is the book taken from the castle?’
‘The very same.’
‘Well, let’s see what Mr. Schwartz has got to say about it.’
Noah walked back to the van and slid open the door. David Schwartz was still sitting stock still, one eye on the dog. Noah showed him the book.
‘How did you come to have this in your possession?’
The man looked guilty as hell, but he raised his chin defiantly.
‘I have never seen that book in my life before,’ he said.
Noah nodded. ‘That so?’ he said, pulling a clear plastic evidence bag from his jacket and carefully placing the book inside. ‘Then you won’t mind me sending it off to the lab to have it dusted for fingerprints, will you?’ There was no lab, not this side of Cork and Noah knew that there was zero chance of there being a fingerprint on the linen-bound cover, but he was banking on David Schwartz being ignorant of both those
facts. He certainly looked terrified and Noah guessed it wasn’t just the dog.
‘So why would you want this book?’ he mused. ‘I mean, Sir Charles told me it’s expensive, but I imagine you’re well paid there at Ross Oil.’
When David didn’t reply, Queenie held up a shiny gold mobile phone, scrolling down the screen. ‘Would it be for Ginny, by any chance? A little Christmas gift for your girlfriend?’ she asked. ‘Ginny short for Virginia?’
David Schwartz’s eyes grew as big as dinner plates. ‘How did you…?’
‘Us gypsy folk, we have the second sight,’ she said, baring her perfect white teeth. The American’s face turned almost as pale. Noah looked at Queenie with respect. He remembered Kate telling him the story of how David Schwartz had tried to propose to her, while planning to run off with her friend Ginny – real name Virginia. Queenie didn’t have psychic powers, but she knew how to make educated lateral connections. Perhaps he should have made the Traveler Queen his deputy instead of Raff.
‘We also have these,’ said Queenie. She walked to the cab of the van and came back holding a pair of shoes. ‘Exhibit B’, she said. Noah looked at the soles: little ‘r’s and ‘L’s, just as he expected.
‘There’s exhibit “C” in his suitcase too,’ she added. ‘A banged-up laptop computer with a Galway GAA sticker on it that doesn’t look like it belongs to him. I would make a bet it’s Danny Brennan’s.’
Noah looked at David.
‘Are these your shoes, sir?’
‘You know they are!’ he cried, looking down at his damp yellow socks. ‘These savages took them from me!’
‘Then I’m sure we can match them to the footprints at the break-in up at the castle,’ said Noah. ‘There will certainly be particulates, unique fibers and DNA samples to link you to the scene.’ Noah had heard the word ‘particulates’ on an episode of CSI – he wasn’t exactly sure what they were – but it seemed to have the desired effect on Schwartz.
‘I don’t know anything about any break-in,’ he said, but there was a crack in his voice that told Noah all he needed to know. The trouble was, it would be very hard to prove Schwartz was the burglar, especially given Noah’s threat of forensic evidence was entirely bogus. The only way he was going to get a conviction was if he could coax a confession from the American. And Noah thought he knew how to do that.
