by Calinda B
“It’s probably a bunch of pranksters,” Inspector Brown said, her pen poised over her notepad. “Wasn’t she known as the village bicycle or some nonsense? Some broken-hearted, jilted lover probably still carries a grudge.” She tapped the pen against the white paper, staring at the grave.
“Yes, her morals apparently loosened with each Guinness. She let many local lads have a ride,” Lassi said. “At least that’s the town lore. I barely knew her before she died. But why do you think that?” Her gaze slid to Ryan’s.
He nodded slightly, no doubt wondering the same thing stabbing her mind.
Is the Dearg-Due on the hunt again? Lassi shivered. What else could it be?
“It fits the profile of another case we’re working on,” Inspector Brown said, without looking at Lassi. “There’s a known group of bitter women near Dungarvan who will do anything to exact revenge on their husbands’ indiscretions.”
Lassi’s eyebrows rose. “They go around vandalizing graves?”
“No.” Inspector Brown scoffed. “Not all of the women who snatched the husbands or boyfriends of the bitter women are dead, Miss Finn.” Her lips strained to form a slight smile, then gave up, resuming their usual grim line. “They’ve painted the word ‘whore’ on nearly a dozen doors in the region. They send out vicious emails to the women who fucked their husbands, excuse my French. They dress in black masks and tease and torment the women. They call themselves the Revenge Angels. Personally, I think they’re nothing but a nuisance. I can imagine why their men bought stock between the legs of another.” She tucked the notepad into her generously sized raincoat.
That’s a mean-spirited thing to say. Guys can be lying, cheating scoundrels. The face of Liam O’Donnell drifted through Lassi’s awareness. Never mind his slight paunch and late-forties unattractive male-pattern-baldness. The now-deceased previous owner of the Laughing Rat, he thought himself God's gift to women. He and Ailis, and no doubt others did the bump-ugly whenever they could.
Lassi cleared her throat. But what if the Dearg-due is to blame? Now there’s a woman with an ax to grind.
Again, her gaze sought Ryan’s. “Well, I’d best get on my way.”
“You’d best,” he said. “We need to get this investigation wrapped up. You probably have more important things to do, anyway.” His attention turned toward the distant horizon near her house, then slid back to her.
The Dearg-Due lay buried near the beach down from her cottage.
“Right, right,” she said. “I’ll get to my important things.”
Inspector Brown trained a quizzical gaze on Lassi. “What kind of important things do you have to be doing, Miss Finn?”
“Oh, there are sick children everywhere. I’m on my way to Rainville,” Lassi said, with a wave of her hand. “We’re in the midst of a real epidemic.”
Inspector Brown’s eyes narrowed, pinning Lassi where she stood.
Good Christ, I’m not involved with this crime, any more than I was with the last set of murders. Lassi returned the glare.
Ryan cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get the photographer out here to record the damage.”
Inspector Brown pried her gaze from Lassi. “Good. You make that call, Conway. I need to contact headquarters and let them know the Revenge Angels are at work again.”
Lassi scurried away.
Back in her car, she contacted Bres. “Any chance you could stop by Anne Kennedy’s place? I got the call, but there’s something else more urgent I need to do. I have to head to the beach.”
“Don’t worry. I’m already out this way. I can swing by, no problem,” he said. He spoke loudly above the backdrop of rain and wind. “Where did you say you were off to? The beach? It’s hardly sunbathing weather.”
“I need to check on the Dearg-Due’s grave. Ailis’ grave has been vandalized.”
“Oh, boy,” he said. “Not this again.”
“It might not be her, but it’s something. Anyway, I’ve got to jump off and call Cillian.”
“Okay. You take care, you hear? Now, more than ever,” Bres said.
His compassionate tone of voice conveyed everything she wanted Cillian to say. She sighed, said her good-byes, and then tapped Cillian’s number.
“Lassi,” he said, after the first ring. “I’m so glad you called.”
His surprisingly warm voice brought cheer to her somber disposition, but she quickly cut him off. “We need to meet at the Dearg-Due grave, right away.”
“What? Why?” Alarm spiked in his voice.
“Another grave has been vandalized. Ailis’.” She filled him in on the details as she maneuvered along the road, heading for her house. Then, she hung up before turning down her driveway.
Once she arrived at her home, she parked and exited the car, umbrella in hand. Slogging through the mud, she made her way down the path to the beach.
Cillian stood in the distance, staring at the grave, the wind whipping his hair and coat. Beyond him, huge waves battered the shoreline. To the left of him stood the outcropping where he’d shared his leviathan secrets with her, two years ago.
Her heart stirred at the memory.
As she approached, he looked up, his face brightening.
“Lassi,” he said in the same enthusiastic tone he’d used on the phone.
Her arms began to lift toward him. But then she remembered no decision had been made on his part to assume his role as a parent to their child and partner to her. She moved to the opposite side of the grave.
His expression fell.
“It looks untouched,” she said.
“It does.” He stooped and lay his hand on the stones they’d placed atop it. He closed his eyes. “Yes. I can feel our magic in these stones. And, I can sense the Dearg-Due deep within.”
Lassi crouched and placed her arm next to his. Her other hand clutched the umbrella. Usually, when she felt the stones, she had to yank her hand away from the intensity. This time, she sensed muted magic like it had been filtered through waxy cotton. She moved her hands to another spot. The same dull sensation trickled through her fingers. Good Christ, what’s happening to me? She placed her hands on her knees and pushed herself to stand.
Cillian did the same. He watched her. “What’s the matter?”
Lassi stood back, studying him. “Nothing’s the matter, why do you ask?”
“Because you look as if you’re frightened or worried. Tell me what’s going on.” His dark curls clung to his scalp, dripping water. He peered back at her, as rain splashed his cheeks.
“It’s just the Ailis thing. It’s… I…” I’ve lost you, and now I’ve lost my magic.
Raindrops clung to his thick eyelashes.
I should stand next to him and hold the umbrella over both of our heads. He looks like a drowned rat. Lassi remained rooted. She focused on the gravestones. “It doesn’t look disturbed in the least.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Cillian’s gaze narrowed at her for a second, before he said, “The rocks are secure.” He reached out to pat one of them as if to assure what his eyes could see. “And, you say the dirt over Ailis’ grave was undisturbed?”
“Yes.” She shuffled next to him and stiffly held her rain parasol over his head. “So, Ailis couldn’t have left her grave.”
Cillian’s shoulders fell away from his ears. He placed his arm around her. When she didn’t respond, he removed his arm, letting it fall by his side. “Physically, no, but there are other ways for the dead to arise. Ghosts are ghosts.”
“And science is science,” Lassi retorted, her hackles rising. She’d always been more of a scientist than one who believed in superstition. Until I came to Ballynagaul and stared into the dead eyes of a vampire. “But, yes, I suppose you’re right. There are other ways for the dead to rise.” Her body sagged toward Cillian.
He put his arm around her once again, and she stiffened. He jerked it away. “Damn, Lassi. What do I have to do to get back on your good side? I’m so hungry for you, I ache with need.”
Her heart filled with longing. “I miss you, too,” she said, tears filling her eyes.
He leaned close, lips parted, bringing his head toward her as if to kiss her.
She reached for his lapel with her free hand. When she could feel his breath upon her lips, she whispered, “Have you made a decision yet, about who we are to one another? Or, do we have to continue to live in secret?”
He pulled away.
Her body seemed to numb as she stared at his unmoving lips and anguished expression.
The rain amplified over her head, spattering the umbrella. The wind howled around her, fluttering her coat with forceful gales.
“I…” was all he managed to say.
“You…” She waved her hand in the air and pressed her lips together. “Forget about it. We have other things to attend to. Like why Ailis’ grave is desecrated. Inspector Brown thinks it’s the work of some crazy group of bitches called the Revenge Angels. I disagree. It seems to me something supernatural is messing with us again. I need to head out.” She whirled to stomp away.
Cillian caught her arm.
She stood stock still.
“What?” she snapped, not turning around.
“Nothing,” he said. “I can’t give you an answer yet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or that I won’t do the right thing.” He let go of her arm.
“The right thing would be to let go of pretense and love me openly.”
He inhaled sharply.
“But you can’t do that, can you?”
“I…” he began, drawing out the word.
Without looking back, she stormed up the hill, a torrent of tears falling from her eyes. As she approached her cottage, she forced herself to quit crying. I should go see Paul.
Once back in the car, she headed for Siobhan’s house. A few minutes later, she stood outside her front door, medical bag in hand. She knocked.
Siobhan opened the door looking like a barely warm corpse. Her hair hung in a tangled mess. Dark circles shadowed the soft skin under dull eyes. She wore crumpled clothing and mismatched socks. “Oh, hey, Lassi.”
“I came to check on you and little Paul. Is he any better?” Lassi peered past her.
“Not a bit. Paulie kept me up all night. I don’t know what to do.” Her chin quivered. “I’ve followed the clinic’s instructions to the letter. I’m dosing him with antibiotics and baby aspirin. Bathing him in lukewarm water. He’s simply not getting well.” Her shoulders drooped like melting wax.
“Can I check on him?” Lassi asked.
“Sure. But I doubt it will do any good. The doctor checked on him earlier.” She said, “the doctor,” in a stiff, formal voice.
“Stephen Breslin?” Lassi said. “That doctor?”
“That’s the one,” Siobhan said coldly. “Come on in. Paul’s in the front room.”
Lassi stepped across the threshold and made her way into the front room.
All the curtains were drawn, lending a shrouded gloom to the once cheery space. All the pictures of Dylan and Siobhan were gone. Only one photo of Paul perched on the mantel.
Paul sat on the floor, looking as weary as his mama. Snot lined his nose. When he exhaled, mucus bubbles gathered at his nostrils. Listlessly, he stacked wooden blocks. He didn’t look up when Lassi entered.
She closed the gap between them and settled on the floor. “Hey, Paulie.”
Siobhan shuffled in and slumped on the sofa.
Paul lifted his head and handed Lassi a block with a picture of a dog on one side, and a dog bone on the other.
“Thank you,” she said. “What’s this?” She pointed to the dog.
“Dog,” he said, in a stuffed nose voice. He pointed to the other side. “Bone.”
“That’s right.” She handed him back the block. “Can I take your temp, big guy?”
He nodded.
She opened her medical kit and retrieved the tympanic thermometer. After fitting a cover over the tip, she inserted it into his ear canal. She pressed the button. It gave off a beep and displayed the results.
“It’s only slightly elevated, so something must be working.” She popped the cover off and placed it in a baggy of disposable items. Then, she retrieved a tissue and wiped the slime from Paul’s face.
“That’s good,” Siobhan said in a faraway voice.
Paul plopped onto his back and brought his thumb to his mouth. He began to suck vigorously. His eyelids fluttered closed.
Lassi rose to stand and scanned for a blanket. She found a red and white one in the corner, shook it out, and placed it on Paul. Then, she stepped toward the couch and sat down.
“Thank you, Lassi. At least someone can calm him. It’s sure not me.” Siobhan’s eyes grew moist.
Lassi leaned closer, ignoring Siobhan’s deprecating statement. “I want to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Siobhan said, her body melting into the sofa.
“Ailis’ grave was vandalized,” Lassi said in a loud whisper.
Siobhan sat up straighter. “What about Dylan? Is his grave untouched?”
“It seems to be, yes. I didn’t notice any damage. But listen to what someone did to Ailis’ grave.”
Siobhan swished her hand in the air. “Spare me the details. I couldn’t care less what anyone did to Ailis. She deserves whatever she gets.”
She lay her head on the back of the couch.
Lassi’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, but it could mean…”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what it means.” Siobhan’s eyelids drifted closed. “Ailis is not my problem. The only grave I care about is Dylan’s.” She opened one eye. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some shut-eye while Paulie is asleep.” She closed the door on the conversation by promptly closing the open eyelid and barricading her chest with her arms.
Lassi stared at her with a slack mouth. “There’s no need to be callous about Ailis’ grave and vandalism.”
“Isn’t there?” Siobhan said, opening her eyes. “You be me for one day, and then you can tell me why I should feel something other than derision for Ailis. I wouldn’t care if dogs carried off her bones.” Then, she closed her eyelids, sinking into whatever hellhole she currently resided in. “You can let yourself out, right?”
“On my way,” Lassi said, rising to her feet.
She cocked her head and studied Siobhan for one long second. I don’t suppose she’s one of the Revenge Angels. If ever a woman had good cause to exact revenge, it’s Siobhan. Without saying another word, Lassi spun on her heel and departed.
Once she left Siobhan’s house, she decided on the Laughing Rat as her next destination at her stomach’s insistence. She drove the few blocks to the pub, parked, and exited the vehicle. The rain had lessened to a soft mist, so she left her umbrella in the back seat. She tromped across the street, tugged open the Rat’s blue door, and trekked across the room toward the bar.
Lady Freddie pushed through the double doors leading to the kitchen. “Lassi! What can I get you, love?”
The smell of cooked food invited groans from her belly. “Fish and chips would be lovely. I’m famished. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
She settled on a burgundy-leather bar stool and placed her forearms on the smooth bar top. She pushed the pivoting seat right and left.
Lady Freddie fished her order pad from her black apron, scribbled down Lassi’s request, and disappeared into the kitchen. A few seconds later she returned, followed by Petra.
“This is my new employee, Petra O’Neill. She’s the one I told you about. Petra, this is Lassi Finn. She’s the nurse I mentioned.” Lady Freddie smiled.
Petra looked similar to her dead sister, Ailis. The same shoulder-length blonde hair bobbed around her heart-shaped face. But ditch-deep lines suggesting a much harder life framed her eyes and mouth. And, while Ailis had sported a few extra pounds, Petra’s body looked like a dumpling, all soft and squishy.
“Hello, Petra.” Lassi reached out her hand, hop
ing to get some sort of clue as to her integrity or lack thereof when Petra touched her.
Petra reached for her hand and shook it. “A pleasure, Miss Finn.”
“Likewise.” Only a dull throbbing sensation tickled Lassi’s palm. No sinister vibes or evidence of evil intent could be discerned. But, again, it felt like muted magic trickling through her bloodstream, not the energetic vibes she usually felt.
“Get Lassi a cup of tea, won’t you, Petra?” Lady Freddie said.
“No, no.” Lassi swished her hand through the air. “Water will be fine.” She didn’t feel like explaining tea now made her nauseous. Her preggers status needed to stay on the down low, until she knew where she and Cillian stood.
A small frown creased Lady Freddie’s forehead but she swiftly recovered. “Water, then, please, Petra.”
“Coming right up.” Petra turned to retrieve the water pitcher.
“You seem stressed, love,” Lady Freddie said, placing her palms on the bar top. “What’s up?”
“I’m hoping you can have a word with Siobhan. I just came from her house. Shit doesn’t seem to be getting any better for her emotionally or psychologically. It’s like the past has a mighty grip on her ankles, reaching up from the grave, preventing her from moving forward.” Lassi sighed.
Petra stepped forward and placed a glass of water in front of Lassi. “Here you go.”
Then, she busied herself by wiping off the bar top, keeping within earshot.
“Thank you.” Lassi took a sip. “Anyway, I’m worried about Siobhan. I think we all are. Something’s got to give, or she might do something stupid like off herself.” She shivered. “I don’t know…she looks so…haunted.”
Lady Freddie nodded. “I’m not sure what I can say that hasn’t already been said, but I’ll have another go at it.”
“Thank you. Has Garda Conway come in today?” Lassi took a few more swallows of water.
“Yes. I overheard him and Inspector Brown discussing a vandalized grave. Something about the Revenge Angels.” Lady Freddie pushed away from the bar and folded her arms over her chest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lassi caught Petra’s grimace. She doesn’t know. She kept her words vague to not upset the poor woman.
