Mark of the Loon (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 1)

by Molly Greene

  “Oboe,” Cole replied. “My mother is playing. Doesn’t it make you feel like she’s seeing into your heart?”

  She nodded. Her face flamed as she signed, you are a good son.

  He signed in return but Madison missed the meaning. “I got the ’you are a good’ part, but what was the last?”

  “I said you are a good student.”

  “Obviously not good enough.”

  “It will come. Taegan’s taught you well. I like that boy.”

  They went into the kitchen, rich with the scent of butter and garlic. Steam rose from a soup pot.

  “Clam chowder,” he said.

  “Makes me want to go for a walk on the beach.”

  “Have you ever been to Irish Cove, out on the coast?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take you someday.”

  Cole paired the chowder with a salad and warm, crusty bread. They chatted through the meal, mostly about Anna and school and the garden. Cole rose to clear the plates and Madison followed, loading the dishwasher and scouring pans while he stored leftovers in the fridge.

  Cole held out his hand. “Come outside.”

  The moon was full. He wrapped his arms around her and pointed out the constellations. They stared at the stars until the cold drove them back inside, where Cole poured brandy and shared pictures of his parents and his brother, Nash.

  “Something’s missing,” Madison said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The clarinet.”

  “Of course. All that talk, and when it comes right down to it, I’m intimidated.”

  “Oh, come on. Play for me.”

  Cole lit candles on the mantel, dimmed the lights, then left the room and returned with the instrument. Madison lay down on the couch and closed her eyes as the mellow notes of a slow melody filled the room. When the music faded, Cole sat on the floor and leaned to kiss her.

  “My life is perfect,” Madison murmured.

  “As is mine.”

  * * *

  The porch bulb was on. Madison turned the key in the lock and tiptoed through the foyer, loving the feeling of coming home. A lamp was lit in the living room. Gen’s door was closed. Finn was asleep in the chair beside the fireplace. Jack stirred, then followed as she crept up the stairs.

  Madison switched on the bedroom light.

  Gen was asleep on her bed, wrapped in a knitted throw. A handful of Edward’s journals were scattered around her. She blinked and raised her head, shielding her eyes until Madison shut off the bright overhead and switched on a lamp.

  “What time is it?” Gen asked.

  “Why?” Madison asked. A smile played across her face. Color flushed her cheeks. “Did you want to catch me coming in late?”

  Gen sat up. “You’ve got a little beard burn. Did you get lucky?”

  “None of your business.”

  “That’s not why I waited up.”

  “Why, then?” Madison asked, catching Gen’s tone. “What happened?”

  “I found something. A letter and a picture.”

  “You stayed up to tell me that? There are letters and pictures all over the place.”

  “This one’s a big deal.” Gen opened a battered journal, revealing a vintage envelope addressed with spidery writing.

  Madison recognized Mallory’s hand.

  “They were hidden in the lining.” She removed a black and white photo, then held out the folded paper. “A note in the back of the book shows he shipped it to the U.S. and put it in storage.”

  The image was a sober-faced young Mallory wearing a German military uniform. She looked like a child playing an adult game. Madison sat heavily on the bed.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  She unfolded the ancient page and read aloud.

  Dear Edward,

  If you are reading this, my contact has reached you and you now understand what I am. I offer my deepest apologies, but it’s best you know the truth. I was damaged – I fear sometimes beyond repair – by the hate that was the Ireland of my youth.

  My birth name is Siobhan O’Quinn. My mother was murdered by the British when I was ten, caught in the crossfire when they ambushed a rebel faction. In retaliation, my brothers committed their lives to the IRA cause. Young as I was, I joined them as best I could and plotted against the tyrants for many years.

  The story of how I became what I am is too long a tale. I will say that I was marked for death when the IRA discovered what they assumed was my betrayal. They cut my father’s throat as a warning. He died in my brother’s arms.

  I became a fanatic. Adrift without a cause, betrayed by all I held to be true. An empty shell, unfeeling, uncaring. Hate was my beacon.

  Then I met a handsome American ornithologist in England, on leave from a Baltic Sea birding site. I had no idea those whirlwind weeks would reveal the love of my life. Now my deepest sorrow is that I have disappointed you.

  I will make it right. I’m leaving England tonight, my love. Please don’t try to find or follow me. Don’t make inquiries, as it could prove dangerous. Know that what remains of my life stays behind, forever intertwined with yours. My heart and soul belong to you forever.

  Siobhan

  Madison dropped the letter. “Poor Mallory.”

  “I know. It’s heartbreaking.”

  “Why would Edward risk keeping these?”

  “Maybe he was afraid he’d never see her again, and this would be the last tie.” Gen picked up the photo. “He’d hidden it well. The glue that bound the lining to the book just got brittle with age and pulled away when I messed with it.”

  “Well, your detective work paid off, Gen.” Madison re-folded the letter and handed it back. “But this isn’t the way I want to think of Mallory. Or should I say, Siobhan?”

  A moan came from the hall. Gen grabbed Madison’s hand and the two huddled closer, fixing wide eyes on the door.

  Finn curved his body around the wooden casing, and they laughed with relief when the peculiar old cat moaned again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Madison was pulling weeds in the south-side flowerbeds when she heard the blast of a horn and looked up to see her electrician’s time-worn vehicle barreling up the drive. The early February day was overcast. Spring seemed like a distant wish, yet she was forced to shade her eyes against the bright sky after her earthly concentration.

  Today she’d taken on the task of pulling last year’s shriveled growth from the outer edges of the iris. Time to clear the way for new. She stuffed the withered foliage into a trash can brought along to hold the gleanings.

  Cole had discovered two lengths of field fencing and fashioned them into wide circles, then hid them from sight behind the garage. They were makeshift compost bins, designed to hold leaves and discarded plant material such as this. With the addition of a little manure and a pitchfork to turn the mix, the rubbish would evolve into a rich black fertilizer within a month or two.

  It took both brown and green, dead and alive, he’d told her, to make the useless garbage rot into something that would nourish the future. Like all aspects of life, yesterday and today created tomorrow. The dead provided what it could to help the living thrive.

  She scratched up a handful of soil and looked at it closely. The loam was dark and rich with humus. Mallory must have fed the soil the way Cole was helping her tend it now.

  Childlike and committed, he was passionate about the promise of it all, like a little boy with a plastic horse who imagined life as a cowboy. The man focused on possibilities, not the past or what had been. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. He knew everything she was, and although he hadn’t spoken of it, he saw everything they could be.

  Madison wished her vision was as clear.

  The image of Cole in old jeans and a sweatshirt turning earth with a trenching shovel spun her thoughts toward dirt of an entirely different kind. She laughed and stood to wave, grinning now, as Hodge and Anna clattered to a stop in his old dual-wheeled pic
kup. Its original red paint had long faded and lost its gloss, but the 4-wheel-drive truck was geared low and strong as an ox. Hodge nurtured the workhorse just like he would his own babies someday.

  She was suddenly thrilled that her friend had the good luck – and good sense – to fall for this simple, hardworking, down-to-earth man whose mission in life was to please his lady.

  Happy wife, happy life.

  That line would probably be engraved on Hodge Tooley’s headstone.

  She slapped her hands together to dislodge the soil, then pulled off her gardening gloves and stuffed them into a pocket of her down vest. “About time,” she said. “Banker’s hours, eh?”

  “It’s not even eight in the morning.” Anna jumped from the cab and grabbed Madison close, holding her past the count of five. “What, did we miss the sunrise service?”

  “Love you,” Madison whispered.

  “Love you, too,” Anna replied, then pulled away. She touched the back of her hand to Madison’s forehead. “You okay?”

  Madison slapped Anna’s fingers away and ran to throw her arms around Hodge. “Come inside, I have food and – oh, that’s right, I have Genny. Better man up. And keep your toes clear of her lead foot.”

  “When is her walking cast finally coming off, anyway?” Anna asked.

  “Not long,” Madison replied. “And it’s a good thing, she’s starting a new case and has to be back in court the first of March. What will I do without her? I’ve gotten used to having a wicked chaperone.”

  At that moment, Genevieve threw open the front door. “Children, please use your inside voices.”

  She produced a water pistol, aimed, and pumped the trigger. A six-foot blast of H2O squirted out, hitting Anna’s vinyl raincoat mid-chest. She cried out in rage.

  “Bullseye!” Gen shouted, then slammed the door. They heard the shooter clump away as fast as her bum leg could carry her.

  “Let the games begin,” Hodge drawled.

  “Welcome to my world,” Madison said.

  She and Anna raced around the house and crashed into the mudroom. Gen was waiting, hands in the air.

  “I give,” she said. “I don’t know what got into me. I plead insanity.”

  “You’re insane all right.” Anna pinched Gen’s arm.

  “Oww.”

  “What’s going on around here?” Anna asked. “Are you both just high on life, or are you hitting the sauce?”

  “Well, Madison is getting laid and I am … not. But I guess the ability to walk without crutches and sit in the bathtub has improved my mood. Even if it is with a plastic bag over my gimp leg. I’m baaaack.”

  “Tell me more about the getting laid part,” Anna said.

  “Big mouth,” Madison said to Gen.

  Hodge came in with the handle of a heavy tool chest in each fist.

  Madison flashed Gen a sign. Shut up.

  “What’re we tackling first, Maddy?” Hodge asked.

  Gen spiked her eyebrows up and down and made a zipping motion across her mouth. She leaned to Hodge and gave him a hug, then grabbed Anna and led her into the living room. “We have much to discuss, so we’ll leave you to your toil.”

  Madison poured coffee into a mug and handed it to the electrician. “Thanks for coming today, I know you’re slammed.”

  “I’m never too busy for you, Maddy,” Hodge replied. “Been looking forward to it.”

  He looked around the room. Except for the coffeemaker, the counters were clear, draped with plastic to keep the dust at bay. Tarps covered much of the floor. Even so, the appeal was obvious.

  “You’ve done yourself proud again, haven’t you? I take it this is the cabinet we’re pulling.”

  “That’s right. Looks like we need to change out some wiring.”

  “What are you going to do with this nice old piece when it’s out?”

  “Move it into the dining room. That wall it’s set into is really thick. I want to put the stove there and add cabinetry, so I can have more storage and counter space.”

  She ran her palm over the gouges in the plaster. “I still wonder what made these marks,” she mused, half to herself. “No matter. I think I should chip it all away to bare stone.”

  “Nice. Who’s the muscle?”

  “Handyman who lives next door. He’s done a couple things around here and they worked out well, so I figure he can handle it. He should show up any minute. Do you want the tour first?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s start with the electrical panel.”

  Madison pointed. “Right behind you in the mudroom.”

  Hodge opened the hinged metal door and peered inside. “Cool, Square D, good quality. And everything is labeled. Except these last two. I wonder why they stopped?”

  Madison looked over his shoulder. “I figured since the Blackburnes built the house, they knew what the fuses were for. Maybe they’re extras. Maybe they go nowhere.”

  “Could be any one of those scenarios. Anyway, they’re off. Did you flip them when you moved in?”

  “No. Found them that way.”

  A knock sounded on the back door. Seeley stuck his head inside and said, “Hey,” then came in with his own tool chest clutched in a ham-like hand.

  He wore a carpenter’s belt over overalls. His long-sleeved Henley strained across his chest and upper arms. His hair had grown out since their first meeting, and Madison considered it an improvement.

  “Seeley, this is Hodge, my electrician.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Hodge said.

  Seeley nodded pleasantly and set the toolbox down. He began to lift out tools and arrange them in the pockets of his leather belt.

  Anna and Genny returned arm in arm.

  “Yo Seeley, nice guns,” Gen said. “Have you met Anna?”

  Seeley turned to face them. “Pleasure.” He smiled and leaned against the counter.

  “Likewise.” Anna tilted her head. “You look familiar.”

  Seeley’s expression darkened, but he grinned and waved dismissively. “Match.com.”

  Anna’s eyebrows went up. “Maybe two years ago,” she replied, then curled her fingers around Hodge’s arm and tugged him toward the living room. “Baby, come see the house before you get too busy.” They ducked through the door.

  “Is that how you met Janice?” Madison asked. “Online?”

  “Nah,” Seeley answered. “She introduced herself while I was stapling up a flyer on the grocery store bulletin board. I was looking for work, and she was looking for a workman.” He winked.

  It was unlike Genevieve to ignore the innuendo, but she did just that, swaying over to the coffeepot in her lopsided gait. She poured a cup of coffee.

  “We’ve decided to explore the attic today,” she said. “Seeley, caffeine?” He nodded no. “Hodge is going to help us with the lights if we need it. Didn’t you say the bulbs were out?”

  “I think that’s all it is,” Madison replied. “I opened the door for the inspectors when they were here last October. The termite guy said they must be burnt out, but I haven’t got around to going in. It’s real grubby, though. You better put a sock over your cast.”

  “Will do,” Gen said. “Do we have any spare light bulbs?”

  “In the mudroom. I’ll bring you up some empty cartons. I’m sure you’ll find stuff we should take to the thrift shop. Seeley, you ready?”

  “Let’s get ‘er done,” he replied.

  Madison grabbed a hammer and chisel and began to ease the baseboard away from the wall. Seeley used his demo bar to do the same on the opposite side.

  Five minutes later, Hodge shut down electricity to the kitchen, and Madison let the boys take over and went out to the garage.

  She stopped in front of the National Geographics. Too bad she couldn’t get Gen interested them; that would make quick work of the wall of magazines. She chuckled and pulled three flat boxes from a stack, got a roll of strapping tape and some scissors, and headed upstairs.

  The attic door was open. The lights in
the stairwell illuminated the passage. She climbed the narrow steps, hunching over as she rose through the attic floor. Headroom was limited where the steep roof angled inward.

  Genny and Anna sat together on a bench before a mirrored vanity, each wearing a forties-era hat. They turned toward her and batted their lashes in sync.

  “Goofballs,” Madison said.

  “We’re having the best time.” Anna pointed. “Look at the old dresses. Mallory must have saved everything she ever owned. There’s kids’ clothes, too. But they didn’t have children, did they?”

  Madison kneeled by an open trunk and picked through clothes that ranged in sizes from toddler through grade school. “Dr. Udell told me she was involved with Irish orphanages. These are probably things she collected to ship over–”

  A rustling in the dark made all three duck for cover. “Bats!”

  Madison jackknifed into the keyhole of the dresser. “I didn’t know I could move that fast,” she said.

  Gen snickered from her hiding place.

  The sound of wings was not repeated. Madison peered out from beneath her crossed arms in time to see Genny reach toward a slit of light coming from the roof. “That must be one of the purple martin’s nesting boxes,” she said.

  “This is where the sound came from.” Gen picked at the ceiling with her fingernails. “It’s hinged.”

  “Probably so they could clean it,” Madison said. “The swallows must be back early. I wouldn’t open it, you might get bird poop dumped on your noggin.”

  “I’ve been called a shithead before.” Gen turned a latch and sticks rained into the attic, followed by a stained plastic bag that floated down and landed like a spent kite atop the pile.

  “Close the front door,” Madison said.

  Genny pounced. “It looks like another picture of Mallory when she was young.” She tipped the photo up toward the light. “She’s with another woman, but I can’t make out her face. It’s hidden in the shadow from her hat.”

  Gen looked up. “But if I know my history, this other gal is wearing a German officer’s uniform. And look, there’s a handful of five dollar bills folded behind it.”