by Zara Keane
“Yes, please. Granddad needs to call his solicitor and get her to make a petition to get Carl out of jail.”
Gerry Logan, also known as Gerry One to differentiate him from Geroid O’Sullivan, his friend and frequent companion at the Movie Theater Café, lived a short drive past Paddy Driscoll’s farm. When we pulled up in front of the house, all the lights were blazing, and Fifties rock and roll was blaring through the windows.
“For an old guy, your grandfather sure likes to stay up late,” Mack said with a chuckle. “Do you think he’s playing Xbox again?”
My jaw gaped. “Gerry Logan plays Xbox?”
Mack grinned at my incredulous expression. “Oh, yeah. He and Geroid are addicted, especially when they’ve had a few shots of poitín. Lenny and I taught them how to play.”
I laughed out loud at the mental image of the Two Gerries, drunk on moonshine and battling it out on Gerry Logan’s widescreen TV. “Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”
We piled out of the car and Bran raced ahead, barking to announce our arrival. The door swung open to reveal Gerry Logan wearing nothing but his birthday suit and a wide grin across his craggy face. His wild white hair stood up on end, and his bushy eyebrows and mustache added to his mad professor look.
“Hello, there, comrades,” he drawled, sounding more like his grandson than his usual self. “Come on in.”
I slow-blinked, but no, my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Gerry Logan stood before me naked and completely at peace with his lack of clothing.
I elbowed Mack in the ribs. “Remember me saying I wanted to see the Two Gerries drunk and gaming?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You didn’t tell me they’d be naked.”
“I didn’t know,” Mack whispered. “They’ve never stripped off before.”
Gerry swayed in the doorway. “Don’t just stand there. Come on in and have a swig of my poitín. It’s a new batch.”
“And a potent one by the look of it,” I muttered under my breath.
“Uh, Maggie, I don’t think Gerry got naked on poteen alone.”
My eyes shot to Mack’s. “Oh, no,” we said in unison.
“Dude,” Lenny drawled, “do you think Granddad ate my brownies?”
“It sure looks like that,” I said and followed Gerry into the house.
Lenny’s grandfather led us into the kitchen, where we were greeted by an equally naked and equally stoned Geroid O’Sullivan, the second of the Two Gerries. Sure enough, a half-empty tray of brownies lay on the table.
“Uh-oh,” Lenny said, surveying the scene. “Please tell me you guys didn’t eat all of those brownies.”
“There’s a couple left,” Gerry said, gesturing to the few brownies left on the tray. “Help yourselves.”
I suppressed a giggle. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
Lenny, having grasped the gravitas of the situation, strode to the coffee maker. “We need to get you lads sober before the police arrive.”
“Don’t tell me those eejits are planning another visit.” Gerry’s expression darkened. “It’s harassment, that’s what it is. Police brutality.”
“That Reynolds fella must have picked up a few dodgy ideas when he worked in England,” his friend said. “Did you know he used to work for the British police?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I doubt that has anything to do with Gerry and Carl’s arrests.”
Lenny had just placed two steaming mugs of black coffee in front of the old men when the sound of a car crunching up the drive had me sprinting to the window.
“Yikes,” I said. “It’s Sergeant Reynolds.”
“Quick,” Mack yelled. “Hide the brownies.”
“That’s not very hospitable,” Gerry said indignantly. “Reynolds might have arrested me, but I’ll offer any guest in my house refreshment. If he agrees to let my grandson go, I’ll even throw in a free bottle of poitín.”
“I’d seriously advise against offering him one of those brownies,” I said, “and the moonshine’s better out of sight. And after you’ve gotten rid of the stuff, you might consider putting on clothes.”
Gerry One stood up and stared down at his naked body—and at an area I’d been studiously avoiding looking at. “Well, I never. I was feeling a bit hot earlier. I guess they just fell off.”
Riiiight…
Gerry Two pulled the brownie tray out of my reach and packed them into a storage container. “These are too good to waste. Lenny should set up business as a baker.”
Mack, Lenny, and I, all thinking about the not-so-secret extra ingredient, avoided eye contact.
The doorbell rang, making us all jump. “Reynolds is going to bust a gut,” Lenny said. “I guess I’d better let him in.”
“Nonsense,” his grandfather said, moving across the floor at considerable speed for a man of his advanced years. “It’s my house, and I’ll open my own front door.”
“Gerry, wait,” I yelped, and raced after him.
The old man flung open the front door and pulled a startled Sergeant Reynolds into a bear hug. “Isn’t it great news?” he said, releasing the shell-shocked policeman from his grasp. “The postman returned from the dead!”
With this astounding statement, Gerry Logan danced in the direction of the kitchen, shaking booty I didn’t want to see.
Liam Reynolds took a step back and his gaze collided with mine. “Want to tell me what’s going on, Maggie? I got a call from O’Shea while I was on the ferry. He said to get straight over here and hung up. I was expecting to encounter a bloodbath.”
“Instead, you encountered a stoned octogenarian,” I said cheerfully. “To make your evening even better, there’s a second one in the kitchen.”
Reynolds groaned. “Is Lenny behind these shenanigans? Or did Gerry Logan make psychedelic poteen?”
I motioned a zipper across my lips and stood aside to let him pass. “I know nothing.”
He brushed against me, and for a second, I forgot to breathe. “You know far too much, Miss Maggie Doyle. What’s this nonsense Gerry was sprouting about the postman being back from the dead? Did the zombie apocalypse start on Whisper Island while I was gone?”
I led him into the kitchen where both Gerries had been wrestled into superhero underpants to protect what wasn’t left of their modesty.
“I had to let them borrow my undies. I don’t know what they’ve done with their own.” Lenny trailed off when he spotted Reynolds. “Uh…it’s not what it looks like?”
Reynolds surveyed the kitchen and its inhabitants. “I’d say it’s exactly what it looks like.”
“Liam,” I interrupted before he could start reading the Logans the riot act, “Gerry was serious about Eddie Ward. I don’t know who’s in the morgue, but Eddie Ward is alive. I spray-painted him green this evening, and it was definitely him.”
Reynolds’s stare pinned me in place. “Are you high, Maggie? I didn’t think you were the type.”
“No, I’m not high. I really did spray-paint him green. And,” I added belatedly, “he really is alive.”
“It was green hair spray,” Mack added. “For St. Patrick’s Day. With glitter.”
Lenny nodded. “The stuff with glitter is the best.”
Reynolds ran a hand through his hair. “Have you all gone crazy in the few hours I was on the mainland?”
Lenny’s grin was manic. “Dude, that’s just what Ward said when we told him he was toe-tagged in the morgue.”
The policeman looked at Mack. “McConnell, you’re an upstanding citizen, right?”
Mack squirmed. “Um, kind of.”
“What the heck is going on here?”
I answered for him. “While I was out jogging, I saw a suspicious-looking guy going into Eddie Ward’s house. I called Lenny, and he and Mack came to help me investigate. The intruder turned out to be Ward. He said he’d been on vacation and was astounded to discover he’d been declared dead.”
Reynolds swore fluently. “If Ward is alive, who’s the dead m
an?”
“That, my friend, is for you to figure out.” I glanced at my watch. “Need my help herding this gang to the station? I guess you’ll want our statements.”
Reynolds surveyed the scene before him and swore under his breath. “Yes, please. The sooner I untangle your mess of a story, the sooner I can return to reality.”
15
Two hours later, Liam Reynolds and I stood in my hallway, both in the same awkward poses we’d adopted the night he’d confided in me about the case. Despite the late hour, I was wide awake. After I’d helped Reynolds and Mack herd Lenny and the old dudes to the police station, the policeman had taken all our statements. Gerry One and Two hadn’t made a whole pile of sense, but a patient Reynolds had done his best to coax their stories out of them. Gerry Two remained adamant that Gerry One had been at his house on the night of the murder, playing Xbox and discussing a new recipe for poteen. To my surprise, Reynolds had made no mention of the brownies or the nudity. Once all the paperwork had been taken care of, he’d driven me home to Shamrock Cottages.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, shifting my weight from one leg to the other.
His rumbling stomach answered my question. “It’s almost eleven.”
“No matter. I’ll fix us omelets, and maybe a cocktail.” I grinned at his look of alarm. “Even I can manage an omelet.”
“If you do the food, why don’t I fix the drinks?”
“Deal.”
He headed into the living room, and I soon heard the clink of bottles. I switched on the light in the kitchen and grabbed the ingredients to make cheese and ham omelets. Despite my brave words, my cooking skills hadn’t improved much since I’d started working at the Movie Theater Café. I could just about warm up soup and not burn scones and muffins that my aunt had prepared ahead of time. Still, omelets were easy, right? There had to be a reason they were included in beginner cookbooks. With the aid of my phone and the internet, I soon had a recipe and got to work.
Two minutes later, the piercing screech of the smoke alarm brought Reynolds running into the kitchen, clutching a tumbler in each hand. “Seriously, Maggie? Not again.” He reached up and switched off the alarm while I, red-faced, dumped the smoking frying pan into the sink.
I plastered a cheerful look on my face and gestured to the plate of cheese I’d prepared for the omelets. “I guess we’ll have to stick with sliced cheese.”
“Sliced cheese is fine.” Reynolds grinned and handed me one of the glasses. His fingers brushed mine. This time, neither of us jerked away. His gaze slid to my mouth. “I made Old-Fashioneds with an extra dash of maple syrup.”
“Sounds delicious.” My voice had an uncharacteristic breathy quality. I prided myself on my self-control, but whenever I was close to Reynolds, it went AWOL.
When he took a step nearer, the spicy aroma of his aftershave tickled my senses. This close to him, it was all too easy to forget my past and very near future and focus on the present. “Maggie, I—” he began in his whiskey-soaked voice. His phone vibrated with a shrill ring tone. Reynolds took a deep breath and stepped back. He glanced at the display and muttered something in Irish that I was pretty sure wasn’t polite. “I’m sorry. I have to take this call.”
“No problem. I’ll be in the living room.”
I sat in my favorite armchair and waited. My heart pounded in my chest. Calm down, Maggie. Time to play it cool. Falling for Liam Reynolds would be all too easy if I let my guard down. He was funny, charming, smart, and sexy. In short, everything a woman could want. But he was also Irish, a father, and determined to make Whisper Island his home. I didn’t know where I’d be in a couple of months, let alone what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I cast my mind back to those long-ago summers on the island when I’d been so sure of my path and confident I’d achieve anything if I worked hard enough. Aged twenty-nine with a failed marriage and a lackluster career behind me, I knew better.
Through the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, Reynolds’s voice was a low rumble. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could guess it wasn’t a conversation he cared to have. A few minutes later, he joined me in the living room. His face was paler than it had been a moment before, and the shadows beneath his eyes appeared darker. He slumped onto the armchair opposite mine and took a sip of his cocktail.
“They’re good,” I said, determined to break the silence. “We should commandeer your services for the cocktail hour at the Movie Club.”
“Gladly. My mother ran a cocktail bar in Dublin. I grew up with these recipes.”
“Liam Reynolds, man of mystery, finally reveals something about his past,” I teased, but I could see it wasn’t the moment for levity.
Liam stared into his glass without seeming to see the amber liquid. “What a day. I thought I’d impress the district superintendent with a swift case wrap-up. Instead, I found myself herding two stoned octogenarians wearing nothing but superhero underpants, and it transpires that my murder victim is a John Doe. The boss is furious. That was him on the phone just now.”
“It sucks. Especially the superhero underpants part.”
This elicited a reluctant laugh from Reynolds. “Yeah. The scene at Gerry Logan’s house was surreal. When I catch up with him tomorrow, I’m going to have a stern word with your pal, Lenny. Even if poteen played a role in tonight’s shenanigans, the smell of hash brownies pervaded the kitchen.”
I bit my lip. “Listen, Liam, I’m sorry I didn’t mention the Logans’ rift with Ward. I’d only just found out about it from Lenny. If I’d believed any of them were involved in the murder, I’d have told you about it right away.”
He took a long drink from his glass and met my eyes. “I felt like a fool because I’d confided in you about the case, but that was on me. I should never have shared that information with a civilian.”
Guilt seared a hole in my stomach. He’d taken a risk by confiding in me, and I’d broken his trust by not returning the favor. “You needed someone to talk to, and you knew I had the professional experience to understand.”
“Looks like O’Shea has won.” Reynolds took another sip and eyed me over the rim of the glass. “My career on Whisper Island is over before it had a chance to begin.”
I took in his pinched expression and the defeated slump of his shoulders. “Don’t say that. Surely the district superintendent will understand why you assumed the dead man was Eddie Ward?”
His weary expression conveyed little optimism. “He’s livid, Maggie. I held a press conference. I stood up in front of my peers and superiors and a whole bunch of press, and I told them we’d charged two men with the murder of Eddie Ward. Tonight’s revelation makes the force look bad, and it’s my fault.”
I winced. He was right. It was his case and his responsibility to correctly identify both the victim and the killer. “Well, the dead dude just happens to be someone else. And the murderer probably isn’t Carl Logan.”
“Exactly. But who?” He slapped his thigh. “I didn’t like it when we couldn’t locate Ward’s dental records. Turns out he grew up in the Traveller community and moved around a lot. As an adult, he’s avoided going to the dentist because he’s afraid of drills.”
“Hence the lack of dental records.”
Reynolds nodded. “Exactly. And his medical records listed a weight and height consistent with the dead man’s, as well as an identical blood group. The only fly in the ointment was the pathologist’s insistence that the dead man was diabetic, and Ward’s former doctor in Galway knew nothing about that—but he’d only met the man twice.”
“All of this points to an honest mistake on your part, Liam,” I said, placing my glass on the coffee table. “And it also points to a murderer who went to a lot of trouble to disguise the identity of the victim and throw suspicion on the Logans.”
He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. The sheer amount of evidence against Carl and Gerry Logan gave me pause, but most criminals aren’t the masterminds we encounter in crime fiction. A murd
erer dumb enough to leave a breadcrumb trail is more the norm than the exception.”
“I know, but in this case, I’m convinced the Logans were framed.”
“In the light of tonight’s revelations, I agree. But where do I go from here? The district superintendent has given me seventy-two hours to sort out this mess and find the real killer.” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes ago. That means I have less than three days to save my job.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And you can be sure Sergeant O’Shea won’t lift a finger to help me.”
Judging by O’Shea’s past behavior, he’d do everything in his power to make sure Reynolds didn’t solve the case. “Why are you so determined to stay on Whisper Island? I can understand you wanting a change from working in London, but why here?”
“For my daughter.” His worried expression softened, and his love for his child shone through with every word. “I want her to have the sort of summer holidays I had as a child. My grandparents lived on the coast in Kerry, and my brother, sister, and I went to stay with them every year. We swam in the sea daily, rain or shine, and had freedom we didn’t have in Dublin. I want that for Hannah.”
“Isn’t she still in London?”
“Yes. My ex-wife got primary physical custody, and I get her for school holidays.”
“Why no weekend visitations? Because you moved away?”
A pained look flitted across his face. “The opposite way around. I wanted shared custody and to have Hannah live with me every weekend. When I didn’t get it, I decided I’d make sure she had a nice, safe place to spend her holidays, and that I had a job that was less intense than my previous one.”
A light bulb dawned. “That’s why you didn’t get shared custody. Your job.”
“Yeah.” His lip curled in disgust. “My ex is a lawyer and a very good one at that. I didn’t stand a chance in the negotiations. And I could hardly argue her point about me being a workaholic. I was dedicated to the job, and crazy hours are part of the deal.”
