“Did you hear that?” Leslie asked.
“The stairs creaked, didn’t they?”
“I’m kind of freaked out right now. Do you think Cullen’s playing a practical joke?”
“Are you kidding me? He better have a personal bodyguard with him if that’s the case. He knows I hate being spooked.”
I pulled out my cell to call the police.
More noises came from below. Further away now.
Leslie and I bolted down the stairs at the same time, heading for the kitchen. Sure enough the back door was wide open but there was no one in sight.
FORTY-THREE
I sat on the couch in the living room, staring blankly into space.
“Do you think they’ll find him?” I asked.
“Of course, they will, honey,” Leslie said.
“I can’t stop imagining what happened – I keep picturing Cullen laying there—half in and half out of the shower—bleeding out.”
“Bleeding out. Be realistic, Sophia. It wasn’t that much blood. He probably bumped his head, and he’s fine. You heard the garda or whatever they call themselves; he couldn’t have gotten that far. We heard him upstairs when we arrived. He was probably in one of the rooms we didn’t check and then, hearing us call to him earlier, and in a confused state, he simply wandered downstairs and out the backdoor. The gards are searching the woods. Nothing to worry about.”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Maybe we should go look, too,” I said, getting to my feet.
“You can hardly stand,” Sam said. “I’ll go outside and have a look around.”
Leslie tried to make me sip tea for the tenth time but I turned my head. I had no interest in being coddled—not while Cullen could be dying in the woods somewhere.
“Sophia?”
I nodded as one of the uniformed men approached.
“I’m Inspector Mícheál Ó Cléirigh,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Hi,” I said, taking his hand. He was a towering figure; his hair was gypsy black and his skin pale white. I smiled nervously. I’d dealt with the Garda Síochána when my ex-boyfriend Nick had been killed months earlier. To see them again so soon was not the best feeling. Leslie reached out and gripped my hand, even lacing her fingers through my own as if she understood.
“This must be a really difficult time,” Ó Cléirigh began, looking across to me. “Ye told one of the gards that ye’re due to be married on Christmas day.”
I managed a nod.
Ó Cléirigh looked down at his notebook.
“I’ve got a lot of details here from the preliminary questionin’, but would ye mind if I confirmed a few things?”
“Sure. Let’s sit down over here.”
“Ye last saw Cullen when?” Ó Cléirigh asked, following Leslie and I to the couch.
“It was about four o’clock.” I replied.
“Yesterday. Last night?”
“Yes—I don’t even know what time it is right now.”
“Three a.m.” he replied taking a seat in the chair to me left.
“Right, well, it was just before Leslie picked me up for dinner.”
“Ye were goin’ to a hen party.”
“Yes, we were celebrating my bachelorette in Dublin – me and some friends.”
“And when did ye notice that somethin’ was wrong?”
“Leslie got a call from her boyfriend, Sam. He said that Cullen hadn’t turned up for his stag. So we went back to the house to see if we could find him.”
“We?” Ó Cléirigh questioned.
“Leslie and me,” I said, gesturing to Leslie, who sat next to me.
“And Leslie’s boyfriend, Sam, was he with ye when ye came home? I see his name listed here.”
“No. He showed up after.”
“Talk me through what happened when ye got here,” he said, sitting back and folding his arms.
“Well,” I began. “The study light was on and the door was already unlocked. When we went inside I could hear music playing from upstairs, so I headed directly up there. I called Cullen’s name but he didn’t answer and that’s when I saw the mess in the bathroom. I rushed back into the bedroom to see if I’d somehow missed him on the bed, and that’s when Leslie called me back in to the bathroom to show me the streak of blood.”
I started crying at the memory and what the blood might mean for Cullen.
Ó Cléirigh paused, and allowed me to pull it together. Four tissues later I was ready to continue.
“How was Cullen behavin’ before he disappeared?”
“Cullen was great. He was always great. We’d been through a lot in the last couple of months but he was happy and we were moving forward. “
“What do ye mean, Ms. Marcil? What went on lately?”
Leslie cut in, while I once again resorted to tears and tissues. “She means that three people were murdered at our hotel while we were in India last month, two of whom we had direct contact with. And before that, Cullen’s brother, Liam, kidnapped Sophia, and tried to kill all of us.”
“But we were getting back to normal,” I choked out between sobs. “He was a happy-go-lucky guy and we were both excited about the wedding.”
“Weren’t ye supposed to get married two months ago?”
“Yes. That’s what Leslie was talking about. Liam kidnapped me the night before the wedding. We lost Cullen’s mom and Cullen was almost killed in the process. Leslie was also injured and we lost another friend.” I choked up again, before I could finish the rest of the story. “It was a nightmare.”
“Cullen’s brother, Liam, was killed as well, correct?”
“Yes. He used to work here in Dublin with the garda. Did you know him?”
“I didn’t, but I know the history.” He paused. “I’d still like to hear how he died…from ye.”
“He fell from the rafters of his church—the one on his family’s property—The Colley Estate in Carbury County. He was forcing me to cross a beam and I fought back. He died. At least I hope he’s dead.”
“Ye hope he’s dead. What do ye mean by that?”
“I just mean…they said he was dead. We buried him, but the coffin was closed. What if…” I started to cry again.
“Liam was a very bad man, Inspector,” Leslie said. “He stalked Sophia and kidnapped her. Although he’s dead, she’s afraid he’s had something to do with Cullen’s disappearance, but that’s not plausible, is it?”
The Inspector nodded but didn’t answer Leslie’s question. “No one else with a grudge? No ex-girlfriend? Someone he could have owed money to?”
“No way. Everybody loved Cullen.” Except his brother, I thought.
“I’m sure ye’re right,” Ó Cléirigh said. “But I have to ask, ye understand. So there’s no reason ye know of that explains why he might have disappeared?”
I shook my head and resisted the temptation to confirm what Leslie had mentioned: that his dead brother might have found a way to travel through time from beyond the grave. The good inspector would lock me up for sure.
“Sam’s been gone a while,” I commented after Ó Cléirigh walked away. We were watching the police lights flash outside the window.
“It’s only been twenty minutes,” Leslie confirmed.
“It seems like it was just yesterday that everything happened with Liam,” I said, as Leslie looked over at me. “What if it’s not over?”
Leslie reached over and put an arm on my back. “Stop torturing yourself. Liam’s dead and there’s got to be a sane explanation to all this. They’ll find Cullen and one day we’ll look back at this and laugh.”
“I’m really scared, Les,” I said, lowering my voice. “What if Liam isn’t dead? What if he somehow faked his death and now he’s come back for revenge? Or worse, what if I opened the door when I went back? What if he followed me back through time?”
“Sophia. Liam is dead. Cullen probably got drunk, bumped his head in the shower and walked into the woods in a daze. He probably fell against
a tree and went to sleep.”
“Then why haven’t they found him yet?”
“I don’t know,” Leslie admitted. “But I think I know one way to make you feel better.
“What’s that?”
“We’ll visit Liam tomorrow and make sure that son of a bitch is covered in dirt.”
FORTY-FOUR
I opened my eyes long enough to glare at Leslie from my curled-up position in bed, then shut them again. I heard her sigh.
“How was your sleep?” The expression “slept like the dead,” seemed fitting, thanks to the little white nerve pill she’d given me, but I couldn’t bring myself to crack a joke, not when Cullen was missing.
Reality had hit me hard when I’d snapped my eyes open. I’d been having the most wonderful dream about Cullen and me lying on the beach in Kerala—one of the few happy moments from the trip to India.
“Not long enough,” I grumbled and flopped over, turning my back to her.
“You can’t stay in bed forever,” Leslie said.
“Why not,” I mumbled, “who will miss me?”
“Me, for starters.”
If I tried really hard, I knew I could force myself back to sleep, but I also knew that Leslie would still be there poking me in an hour.
“Fine,” I said as I rolled over and sat upright.
Leslie stood in the doorway and gave me a critical eye as I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. “You look like hell. When was the last time you ate?”
“Do tears count?”
I’d cried for a good twenty minutes in the shower. Now I felt drained and somewhat numb.
Leslie’s expression was sympathetic. “I know this is hard—but you can’t give up. We’ll find him.”
I knew she was right, but somehow it didn’t seem fair.
“Is there coffee left because I could really use a cup before we rehash what a mess my life has once again become.”
“I was thinking we’d just pick one up on the way.”
“Forgive me—I’m a little slow—but on the way to where?”
“To the cemetery, silly, to make sure Liam’s still dead and buried.”
“You were serious about that? Leslie, besides the fact that it’s completely disgusting, you do realize that it’s a crime to dig up a body. “
“Its private property and it’s in the middle of nowhere. Besides, we’re not really gonna dig anything up. We’ll just go make sure everything is good and untouched over there. No one will even see us. “
“What about Móraí, she lives there, remember?”
“But she’s not home. You told me last week that she’s visiting a friend in Canada. Remember she had to change the dates of her trip because of your wedding. “
Leslie was right. Móraí had been less than thrilled to find out we were planning a last-minute re-do wedding, partially since she’d had plans to be away for Christmas this year, but I suspected more so because we weren’t letting her arrange everything this time around.
Leslie looked at me, an expectant expression on her face. I knew she wanted me to toss my hat in the investigative ring—mostly to help bring me out of my current funk, but also because if Liam was alive then we were into some next-level shit.
“Why the hell not?” I relented.
FORTY-FIVE
A s I stepped from the car, the sold sign in the Georgian bowed window of the shop we’d toured only days ago caught my eye. Tears threatened to emerge. Cullen had been with us the last time we were on this street. He’d wanted to come back here to take more pictures. He had somehow known that this was my favorite place—the spot I dreamed of opening up a bookstore. The black door had a proper, highly polished knocker and knob and I could practically see the old-fashioned sign that we could have had made. Our entire cozy little bookstore dreams, gone up in smoke—not that it mattered since Cullen was missing. If we didn’t find him then what was left for me in Ireland, anyway?
“Looks like the building has been bought,” I mumbled.
Leslie walked around the car to where I stood staring and tugged me across the road to our new favorite cafe at the corner of Wicklow Street and William Street South.
“Don’t go there right now.” Leslie blurted out. “There were two other locations. Whatever’s meant to be, will be,” Leslie said more gently this time and placed her hand on my back, guiding me through the front door.
The Storybook Cafe was between customers when we walked in. The girl behind the counter recognized us, and went to work getting our lattes and Leslie’s multiple breakfasts: one bagel, one doughnut and one ham and cheese biscuit. Leslie’s appetite was becoming legendary in Dublin.
“Do you want anything to eat?”
I shook my head. Who could eat at a time like this—who besides Leslie, that was?
A minute later, we were back in the car and on our way to the Colley Estate, and even though I knew Móraí wouldn’t be there, I could feel the dread gathering in the pit of my stomach.
“Hey, Les, I forgot to ask: Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“The miscarriage. We never talked about it. You went to Sam’s and then it was my bachelorette and Cullen disappeared. Did everything go smoothly?”
She nodded, suddenly looking solemn.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
I turned my attention outward. The ride along Dublin’s back roads to the Colley Estate Cemetery was tree lined and the morning sun blazed through my Spitfire’s front window. The weather was too happy for life’s circumstances at the moment.
We parked, got out of the car, and approached the house.
“Look at the tire tracks,” I said. “Somebody’s been here—or maybe Móraí hasn’t left yet. Maybe she’s just out. We should go,” I said, not wanting to run into Cullen’s Grandmother who I was pretty sure hated me over Liam’s death.
“It would be awkward to run into her, but we really need to do this. Besides, maybe she just has someone checking on the house or watering her plants.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
The sun beat down as we made our way along the path and around the house. There was an old gate that we passed through to get into the cemetery. The monuments near the front of the cemetery were older, some of them wind-worn, chipped, and difficult to read.
I looked ahead to where a line of white oaks made a barrier not far from the black, wrought-iron fence that was the cemetery’s east border. The dirt was heaped around the grave like something had clawed its way out.
Leslie shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
She reached out and took my hand. “Sophia, say something. Tell me I’m hallucinating—that I’m going crazy—anything but the fact that Liam’s grave is dug up.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re as sane as I am. However sane that may be. Do you see a shovel?”
She yanked me back and I almost tripped. “Aren’t you afraid?”
I looked over at her. She’d lost all color in her face. She had been carrying Liam’s child—was she afraid he’d come back for her too? He could be hiding over there. “Maybe we should call the Inspector.”
Then again, maybe we were just being paranoid. I stared off in the distance, trying to think back to the funeral. What if I was mixed up on the location? Maybe that wasn’t Liam’s grave at all. After all, there was an empty grave there the first time we’d come to visit Liam here.
I turned back to Leslie. I’d never seen her so scared and we’d been through a lot together.
“Do you want to go back to the car?”
She shrugged. “Does that make me a wimp?”
“No. It makes you smart.”
We turned and practically ran back to the car. I periodically looked over my shoulder worrying that someone might be following. Neither one of us spoke until we’d passed the cemetery’s front entrance and had the car within reach.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, locking the doors afte
r we both buckled up. I started the engine and pulled the car around the turnabout. But before I hit the accelerator to leave, I glanced at the rearview mirror and I could have sworn I saw Móraí’s curtain move.
Just then my mobile rang.
I reached into my purse, looking for my phone, and felt it in the side pocket. My heart leapt when I saw the Caller ID.
It was Cullen.
“It’s him,” I shouted at Leslie in a panic while I grabbed the phone. “It’s Cullen. Cullen, where are you, are you okay?” I spluttered.
I forced myself to stop talking and listen, but I was met with silence.
“Cullen, was that you I just saw? Are you in the house?”
Again there was nothing.
“Cullen? Are you alone? Cough if someone’s there. Clear your throat if you need help now.”
The line went dead.
I looked across at Leslie, but before I had a chance to say anything the phone rang again.
“Cullen?” I said.
“Sophia Marcil?” a deep male voice asked.
“Yes, yes,” I replied, taken aback by the fact that it wasn’t Cullen on the other end of the line.
“Inspector Mícheál Ó Cléirigh here. I have some news. Can I come and speak with you?”
“Have you found him?” I asked, meeting Leslie’s interested gaze.
“I’ll talk to ye about it in person. I’m just finishin’ something; I’ll be there in an hour.”
“I can come to the police station now. I also have something to tell you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’ll see ye in an hour.”
***
Sophia, thanks for seein’ me,” Inspector Mícheál Ó Cléirigh said as I opened the front screen door. “This is Sergeant Kaylee O’Brien,” Ó Cléirigh added, nodding towards his female companion.
“Pleased to meet ye,” O’Brien said, also shaking hands. She was at least a foot smaller than her partner, and they looked like quite an odd pair.
I waited.
“Can we come in?” Ó Cléirigh said, offering up a weak smile.
“Oh, sure, yes, come on in,” I said, forgetting myself.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 60
