by Zara Keane
I bounced up and down on the spot. “So let’s go. Where does this Chivers dude live?”
“Galway. And I don’t have time to hop on the ferry today.” At my crestfallen expression, he added, “We’re supposed to go to the mainland on Thursday to get the projector fixed. While you and Julie hit the clothes shops, I’ll take care of the projector and the black market tech dude.”
I breathed out a sigh. “Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll have to be patient.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. Chivers is the only guy I know who sells that sort of stuff on the down-low, but your ghost could have bought the equipment online or from another seller.”
“I know. It’s just the first concrete lead I’ve discovered since I started working here, and I have until St. Patrick’s Day to solve the case. That’s less than three days away.”
“Chin up, Maggie. I have faith in your sleuthing skills.” Lenny winked at me. “And watch out for ghosts.”
13
Although I’d faithfully knocked on his door the moment I got home from work, I hadn’t been able to relay my news about the murdered man’s potentially vindictive ex to Sergeant Reynolds. No one was at home, and his cell phone number went straight to voice mail. I could have called the station’s number, but I had no desire to deal with the odious Sergeant O’Shea or the clueless reserves.
Instead, I decided to go for a run. “This time, you can go as fast as you like,” I told Bran, who danced around my feet the instant he saw me put on my running shoes. “We have to keep a sedate pace for Philomena, but tonight, you can fly.”
The dog took me at my word. He shot out the door, forcing me to sprint to keep up. Once he’d burned off his initial energy, the dog slowed down enough for me to catch my breath and we settled into a nice steady tempo.
“Want to take your favorite route?” I asked when we neared the wall that separated Paddy Driscoll’s farm from Shamrock Cottages.
Bran’s answer was an enthusiastic bark. He tugged on the lead and took off toward the path through the woods. The dog’s determination to explore every pile of leaves and behind every tree meant that I slowed to a brisk walk until we came out the other side. Although the days were growing longer, it was already seven in the evening and the sun had set. In anticipation of a run in the dark, I’d worn my running headlamp and put a flashlight into my jacket pocket. I switched on the flashlight and surveyed the terrain. In spite of my reflective gear and Bran’s reflective dog coat, I was wary of cars this close to the road. The coast was clear and we crossed to the other side and strolled past the place we’d found Eddie’s abandoned van. I’d never been fond of the cliff edge in this area of the island. Since Lenny’s and my discovery, the place gave me the creeps. However, if Marcus and Sven were correct, we’d pass Eddie Ward’s cottage farther along the road.
The information about the cake and the chewing gum bothered me. I didn’t know much about diabetes, but if the pathologist said Ward had had the condition, the gum couldn’t have been his. So who had been in the van with Ward? His murderer? But the police had searched the van for prints and other DNA evidence as soon as they’d established that Ward’s death was no suicide, and the only prints they’d found were Ward’s, mine, and those of other postal workers. If I hadn’t lost Reynolds’s trust, I could have asked him if he had more details. Instead, I’d have to get Lenny to pump Carl and Gerry’s lawyer for the information.
Five minutes after crossing the road, I spotted the cottage with the gray slate roof and bright blue door—now navy in the moonlight. When I drew closer, my heart leaped in my chest. I jerked Bran’s lead, indicating he should stop. Slowly, I angled the flashlight across the road. My hands grew clammy around the handle. I hadn’t been mistaken. Someone was creeping around Eddie Ward’s cottage. I stood frozen to the spot and watched as the dark-clad individual reached under a garden gnome and retrieved a small object. A moment later, they slipped what must have been a key into the lock and let themselves into the house. I switched off my flashlight and shrank back into the shadows.
Slipping my phone from my pocket, I hit speed dial. Once again, Reynolds’s phone went straight to voice mail. Swearing under my breath, I hit the next number on my speed dial list.
“Maggie!” Lenny sounded drunk, stoned, or both. “What’s up, dude?”
“What’s up is you needing to get here quick. Someone just broke into Eddie Ward’s cottage.”
“Man, that’s deep.” A pause. “Do you think they want to rob his gnome collection?”
Okay, he was definitely stoned. I bit back a sigh. “Lenny, this is serious. Whoever broke in might be the murderer. The gum in Eddie Ward’s van wasn’t sugar-free. The killer was very familiar with Ward’s van and his routine.”
He seemed to sober up at these words. “Mack and I are UFO spotting. We’re not far from Ward’s place. Meet you in five?”
“Okay, but park down the road. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” At that moment, Bran let out a plaintive howl guaranteed to wake the dead. “Shh,” I whispered. “I know you’re bored standing around. We’ll walk down the road and meet the guys.”
A few minutes later, Lenny’s beat-up VW van came into sight. It drew up in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Lenny drew down the window and grinned at me. “Dude,” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard on the mainland. “Want a vegan scone? We bought the last of them at the café to keep us going. Granddad making bail was worthy of a celebration even if Carl’s still locked up.”
Mack rolled his eyes. “He made brownies to celebrate but forgot to bring them. I’d have preferred those over the scones. No offense to your aunt’s baking skills,” he added belatedly, “but Lenny’s brownies are particularly good.”
“Got it,” I said dryly, trying not to think of what ingredients Lenny’s brownie recipe included. “Now let me into the van and I’ll fill you in.”
Mack slid open the door, and Bran and I clambered in. “Hang on a sec,” the pharmacist said. “I need to move our costumes off the back seat.”
“Costumes?” I looked from one to the other. “Please tell me you guys haven’t started dressing up for your UFO spotting excursions.”
“St. Patrick’s Day, dude,” Lenny drawled. “Mack and I always make an effort for the parade. Gotta show our national pride, you know?”
Mack and I shoved a box stuffed with St. Patrick’s Day paraphernalia off the seat, and I buckled up.
“So what’s the story?” Mack asked. “Lenny said something about a murderer breaking into Eddie Ward’s house.”
“A person—I’m pretty sure it was a man—just entered the cottage, but it wasn’t a break-in. He used a key he found underneath one of the garden gnomes.”
“Great security system there,” Lenny drawled, easing the van into motion. “Maybe Ward got security tips from Pat Inglis.”
I laughed. “By the way, I reminded Melanie that she owes you the two-hundred euro bonus for your work today. She was inclined to ‘forget.’”
“Awesome. Thanks.” Lenny’s voice was still unnaturally high, and it occurred to me belatedly that I probably should have taken over at the wheel.
Before I could voice this thought, Lenny screeched to a halt outside the postman’s cottage. In an upstairs window, a light shone. Whoever Eddie Ward’s posthumous visitor was, he was still in there.
Mack turned to me. “Do we have a plan?”
“Not really. I don’t feel too happy about the idea of knocking on the door and being confronted by a potential murderer.”
“Should we call the police?” Mack frowned. “I don’t want to get into trouble for interfering in an ongoing investigation.”
“For all we know, it’s a burglar who’s taking advantage of the fact that the house’s owner is dead.” I sighed. “Yeah, okay. Call the cops. The last person I want to see tonight is Sergeant O’Shea, and knowing my luck, he’ll be the one to take the call.”
“Whoa,” Lenny said, and leaned over the steering whee
l with enough force to accidentally sound the horn. “Looks like the dude’s making his escape.”
I swore under my breath. I unbuckled my belt and moved to open the door, my foot slamming against something as I did so. “Wait, you guys have pepper spray? Awesome.” I bent down and picked up the canister. I was out of the car in an instant and sprinting across the road.
Lenny had been correct. The intruder was outside the cottage, walking down the path to the gate. His dark hoodie shielded his face. For a moment, doubt crept into my mind. What if this was a forensics guy sent by the police? I scanned the area but could see no car. If a forensics guy from the mainland had visited Eddie Ward’s house, they wouldn’t do it at night, and they sure wouldn’t come without a mode of transportation.
“Maggie,” Mack called from behind me. “Wait up. That’s not—”
At the sound of Mack’s voice, the man in front of me spun around, and the hoodie fell back to reveal his face. I let out a scream that put the hotel’s fake banshee to shame and hit the pepper spray hard.
The man roared and covered his face with his hands. “Are you insane, woman?”
Mack and Lenny brought up the rear, and Mack’s flashlight illuminated the intruder.
Breathing hard, I gave a little yelp and let the now-empty canister drop to the ground. “That wasn’t pepper spray,” I said redundantly, staring at the sparkly green face before me. “And you’re not dead.”
14
Eddie Ward stared at me slack-jawed. He pointed to his green face. “Was this stuff supposed to kill me?” He looked at Mack and Lenny for support. “She’s nuts. You know that, right? As in totally loop-the-loop?”
“I’m perfectly sane,” I said, circling him as one would a potentially rabid dog. “And you’re perfectly alive.”
“You’re dead, dude,” Lenny said. “As in toe-tagged-in-the-morgue kind of dead.”
“Are you threatening me, Logan?” The postman’s green face darkened. “I’ve had enough of your family making threats and throwing punches. The next time one of you comes near me, I’m calling the police.” As if on cue, the sound of sirens floated toward us. Ward threw Mack a pleading look. “Are they on something? I know you and Lenny hunt aliens and smoke funny stuff. Tell me they’re high.”
“They’re sober.” Mack slid Lenny a look. Lenny beamed back at him as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “Well, mostly,” he amended.
“Never mind our sobriety,” I said. “If you’re alive, who’s the dead dude?”
“What dead dude?” Ward was sounding desperate now, his eyes darting from side to side as if in search of an escape route. “High or sober, you’re all whack jobs. I’m getting out of here.”
The police car came over the hill, its blue lights flashing.
Ward bounded into the road and waved his arms over his head. “Help,” he yelled. “They’re over here.” The car pulled over, and Sergeant O’Shea heaved himself out. Ward ran to greet him. “Thank goodness. That loony American woman sprayed something into my face, and Lenny Logan’s making threats about putting me in the morgue. I don’t know what they’re on, but I want them away from me and my property.”
Sergeant O’Shea’s chins wobbled and his jaw descended as if in slow motion. “Eddie Ward?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“Of course it’s me,” Ward said in an irritated tone. “We play golf together, you eejit. What did she put on my face that you can’t recognize me?”
“Green spray,” O’Shea said, scratching his head, “with some kind of glitter. But I recognize you all right. The only problem is, you’re supposed to be dead.”
Ward jerked back as if the policeman had shot him. “Not you as well? Has the whole island gone mad in the few days I’ve been away?”
I leaped on this information. “You were away? When did you leave?”
He regarded me warily. “I took my boat to the mainland soon after I delivered your post on Friday. Why is that an issue? I’d put in for holidays.”
“Not according to the post office,” O’Shea piped up. “I know because Reynolds made me call them. As far as they were concerned, you were supposed to work on Monday.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ward snapped. “Check the system. I put in for three days free. I’m not due back until tomorrow.”
“Believe me, I checked the system. There was no record of you taking leave.”
Ward scratched his head. “That’s bizarre. I filled in the form and handed it in with plenty of notice. I got an email confirming it and everything.”
“You’ll need to show that email to the police,” I said. “Why didn’t you take the van back to the mainland?”
“Because my leave started at noon on Friday,” the postman said. “The post depot was to arrange for Marcus Kramer to cover for me. He should have taken the van back to the mainland on Friday evening.”
“Kramer knew nothing about you taking a few days free,” O’Shea interjected. “We’ve already spoken to him.”
Ward scratched his head. “I don’t think I discussed my leave with Marcus, but I haven’t seen him recently. The boss should have contacted him, though.”
“The more pertinent aspect to your reappearance on the island is the fact that a man wearing your uniform turned up dead on Friday night,” I said, watching Ward’s reactions carefully. “We all assumed he was you.”
The postman whipped around to stare at us again before focusing on O’Shea. “So they’re not talking nonsense?”
O’Shea glared at me and looked as though he’d love to tell Ward we were all destined for a psychiatric evaluation. He heaved a sigh. “A man was murdered on Friday night. As we haven’t been able to track down your dental records yet, we’ve been working on the assumption that the dead man was you.”
“And my brother is currently behind bars, charged with your murder,” Lenny growled.
The postman looked alarmed. “Uh, I don’t know what to say. Sorry I’m alive?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to come with me to the station, Mr. Ward,” O’Shea said, a sly smile across his smug face. “My esteemed colleague Sergeant Reynolds is currently over on the mainland giving a press conference. He’ll be dismayed when he has to tell the district superintendent that he’s got the wrong corpse.”
A pang of guilt hit me between the ribs. I should have tried Reynolds’s cell phone again the instant I’d realized Ward wasn’t dead, but the shock of discovering I’d spray-painted the not-so-dead postman had numbed my senses. And now that O’Shea was on the scene, the whole farce had been set in motion.
As O’Shea led the postman to the police car, a thought struck me.
“Hang on a sec,” I called to the postman. “Why did you open your front door with the key under your garden gnome?”
Ward glared at me. “Because someone stole my car from the Carraig Harbour car park and my house key was in the glove compartment. Whoever the joker is, they drove my car back to my house and it’s now sitting in my garage.”
“Where have you been for the last few days?” I persisted. “Why hasn’t anyone been able to get in touch with you?”
“You don’t have to answer her questions,” O’Shea growled. “Just ignore her.”
“If you must know, I was visiting his sister and our baby.” Ward inclined his neck in Lenny’s direction. “And leaving my phone wasn’t part of the plan. It went missing on Friday afternoon.”
“Do you have a tendency to lose your stuff? Your house key, and now your phone?”
Ward shot me a dirty look. If I’d known spray-painting his face would put an end to his flirtations, I’d have tried it the day I moved into Shamrock Cottages. “No,” he muttered. “I never lose my stuff. I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“Enough questions, Ms. Doyle. This is a police matter.” O’Shea propelled Ward to the car and practically shoved the man into the passenger side. A few seconds later, the police car roared down the road, leaving me, Mack, and Lenny staring after it.
“Dude.” Lenny’s grin was wide. “If that eejit is still alive, Carl and Granddad will be off the hook.”
“I’ll call Sergeant Reynolds,” I said. “Knowing O’Shea, he’ll leave it to the last second to tell him and wring maximum humiliation out of the situation.”
“If they couldn’t locate dental records and Ward’s prints aren’t on file, it’s not Reynolds’s fault he assumed what we all did. Why was the dead man wearing a postal uniform?” Mack asked. “Only Ward would be crazy enough to wear the summer uniform in March. It was his trademark.”
“Exactly. Whoever killed the guy must have known Ward would be away,” I mused, “and that means that the act of disfiguring the dead man’s face wasn’t an act of rage, but simply to disguise the fact that he wasn’t Eddie Ward.”
“Why go to all the trouble of dressing up as Ward?” Mack demanded. “Why not kill whoever he was and dispose of the body?”
I shook my head. “I’m as baffled as you are. Ward turning up alive poses more questions than answers. For one, who stole Ward’s car? Is the theft connected to the murder?”
“I don’t give a toss about Ward’s car. For all I care, Jack can sell it as one of his wrecks.” Lenny bounced up and down on the spot. “This lets Carl and Granddad off the hook. Reynolds will have to let Carl go.”
I stepped forward and gently pried the keys to the van out of Lenny’s fingers and shoved him into the back seat with Bran. I slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “Don’t get too excited, Lenny. All Ward’s return from the dead proves is that he wasn’t the victim. The police still have your grandfather’s ax, his poteen, and the empty vial of sodium nitroprusside, not to mention Carl’s knife.”
“But why would the murderer kill a stranger? It makes no sense.”
“We don’t know who the dead man is. I don’t think this was a random killing. The murderer knew his or her victim, and they’ve gone to a lot of trouble to frame your brother and grandfather. And that person is familiar with your family and their feud with Eddie Ward.” I glanced into the back before turning my attention to the road. “Do you want me to drop you off at your grandfather’s place? He deserves to know what’s going on, and I doubt O’Shea will be in a hurry to tell him.”
