The Postman Always Dies Twice (Movie Club Mysteries, Book 2): An Irish Cozy Mystery

by Zara Keane

  “I’m sorry.” I’d known plenty of cops whose marital breakdowns made it hard for them to get shared custody. It wasn’t a slam-dunk reason not to get it, but when it came to a dispute, it was easy for the former spouse to argue that the cop worked long and irregular hours and came home stressed and irritable.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Reynolds gave a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. “It was my fault our marriage broke up. Being a homicide detective in London isn’t exactly a low-stress occupation. I often worked weekends and holidays, and I had a tendency to take the job home with me.”

  “You’re not the first cop to do that,” I said gently. “It’s hard to switch off from the horrors of the day and talk about everyday, quote, unquote, normal things.”

  He nodded gravely. “The last straw for my wife was when I had to run out of Hannah’s seventh birthday party because I got a tip-off that the child killer I was chasing had been spotted at a shopping mall. I caught the guy and got promoted, but I came home to find my stuff in suitcases outside the house and the locks changed.”

  “Ouch. I’m wincing on your behalf.” Actually, I was furious on his behalf. Okay, cutting out on their kid’s party sucked, but anyone who married a homicide detective knew what they were getting into.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t pleasant.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, the judge took my wife’s arguments on board, and I couldn’t come up with a convincing rebuttal. As a homicide detective, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t be working weekends. I could have arranged a babysitter to look after Hannah, but as my ex pointed out, that’s not the point of having shared custody.”

  “No, it’s not.” On this point, his ex was correct.

  “At least this way, I can schedule time off for when she’s with me, or arrange for her to attend a summer camp while I’m at work. Except for this case, Whisper Island isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime.”

  “You must miss her like crazy.”

  “Every minute of every day. We Skype, but it’s not the same as seeing her regularly.” A smile of pure pride spread across his face. “Still, she’s happy and doing well in school, and she’s looking forward to her first visit to Whisper Island.” His frown returned. “Assuming I’m still here, that is.”

  “You will be. A lot can happen in a case in seventy-two hours,” I said, but my forced optimism rang false even to my ears.

  “True, but knowing the identity of the victim kind of helps. At the moment, all I’ve got is a pile of evidence pointing to Carl and Gerry Logan, and a motive that tonight’s revelations have smashed to smithereens.”

  “If you’ll let me, I’ll help you. Whoever did this has to be familiar with the Logans in order to know enough about them to frame them so cleverly.”

  “I can’t ask you to help me, Maggie. You’re—”

  “A civilian,” I finished. “Then don’t ask. Just turn a blind eye when I dig for info where you can’t. I don’t want to give details, but I’m working at the hotel at the moment. Let me talk to Carl’s coworkers. He isn’t a man with a lot of friends outside of work. One of them has to know something that can help us.”

  “Okay, but promise me you’ll be careful. No putting yourself in danger like the last time.”

  “You were with me the last time,” I reminded him. “You’d have kept me safe.”

  “Through a hail of bullets? We’re lucky we weren’t all shot.” He drained his glass and stood. “I’d better go. And you’d better get some sleep.”

  I followed him into the hall and opened the door. He stepped outside but lingered on the doorstep. In the moonlight, his fair hair appeared silver. “Thanks for the drink, Maggie.”

  I gave him a mock salute. “Any time, sergeant. Sleep well.”

  When I closed the door and locked up for the night, it struck me how much I’d miss Reynolds if he lost his job and had to leave Whisper Island. I liked his company and enjoyed having him as a neighbor. And it wasn’t just Reynolds’s presence I appreciated. These last few weeks had provided me with a glimpse of an alternate future, one that didn’t involve me returning to San Francisco and picking up the pieces of my old life. Now that I was no longer someone’s guest, I had room to spread out and make myself at home. How was I going to feel when the end of May rolled around and it was time to move on?

  16

  The morning after Eddie Ward returned from the dead, my car refused to start. After several attempts to coax the engine into life, I took a peek under the hood, but my novice eye could see nothing wrong.

  “Car trouble?” Liam Reynolds strode over to join me. The bags under his eyes and the involuntary yawn told me all I needed to know about how he’d slept—about as badly as I had.

  “Yeah.” I glared at the car. “I should have listened to my aunt and bought a car on the mainland.”

  “Jack Logan of Zippy Motors has quite the reputation.” Reynolds’s grin enlivened his tired face. “O’Shea told me the guy’s a constant thorn in the side of the Inland Revenue. He knows every trick in the book to get out of paying his fair share of tax, and has invented a few more.”

  “Jack Logan hiding cash doesn’t surprise me in the least. He drives a flashy car for a guy who sells and rents wrecks to unsuspecting tourists.” I stared gloomily at my car’s innards. “But right now, all I want is for this wreck to last a couple more months.”

  “Want me to jump-start it?”

  I regarded him with hopeful eyes. “Would you?”

  “Sure. Hang on a sec.”

  A few minutes later, my car wheezed into life. “Thanks,” I called through my rolled-down window.

  “No problem. I’ll see you later. And Maggie?” A crease formed on his brow. “Be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.” With these words, I waved to Reynolds and shot out the gates of Shamrock Cottages. Despite my tiredness, I used the drive to the hotel to sift through the scant information I’d gathered on the ghost. I groaned. After days of asking questions and getting Philomena to dig for info, I had two days left to crack the case, or I’d be out a couple of thousand euros.

  After I’d pulled into a free space in the hotel parking lot, I whipped out my phone and dialed my aunt’s number. Philomena answered on the first ring. “Oh, hello, Maggie. I was expecting a call from Jack Logan.”

  I laughed. “Don’t tell me you and John want to buy one of his cars. I had to get Sergeant Reynolds to jump-start my Zippy Motors special this morning.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to buy one of his dreadful fleet. John’s work van broke down and we need to rent a replacement fast. I left a pleading message on Jack’s voice mail.” She sighed. “I suppose he’ll charge us a small ransom, but we’re desperate. It’s the start of the building season, and John has a job to finish by April. But enough of my woes. How are you?”

  “Not bad.” Also not good, but I left out that part. “I was wondering if you could do some more digging for me. Do you know where I could find a copy of the plans for this extension the Greers want to build?”

  My aunt chuckled. “In my house.”

  It took me a moment for the penny to drop. “Oh! Is Uncle John involved in the project?”

  “No, but he put in a bid. The Greers turned him down flat. They wanted to hire a fancy construction company from the mainland.”

  “Could I swing by your place after work and take a look at those plans?”

  “No problem, but aren’t you working at the café tonight? If so, I can bring them by on my way home from work.”

  “Really? That would be great. I’m due to start at six.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then. Have a good day, Maggie.”

  “You, too.” I disconnected and got out of my car, deep in thought. I wasn’t sure what brainwave I expected a bunch of building plans to trigger, but I figured it was worth a shot. Philomena’s mention of my uncle being turned down for the job of building the hotel’s new extension also bothered me. I knew business was tough for him at the moment. Being turned down for
a potential windfall like the hotel project gave him and my aunt a reason to hold a grudge against the Greers. But I couldn’t see either John or Philomena clanking chains and wailing. They were the pragmatic type who’d indulge in a dedicated grumble, and then move on.

  Lisa was on duty at the reception. She glanced up when I walked in. “Hasn’t Mrs. Greer told you to use the staff entrance?”

  Her snooty attitude chose the wrong morning to pick me as its victim. I glared at the woman. “Actually, Melanie told me to report at the reception each morning so she can decide what floor I’m working on that day.”

  Lisa sniffed. “It’s most irregular. Our floating staff usually report to Mrs. Dennehy, the head of housekeeping.”

  “It’s not for either of us to question our boss’s decision, now is it?” I snapped. “And it’s not your place to boss me around.”

  Lisa’s lips tightened, and a pink flush stained her prominent cheekbones. “No need to fly into a strop. I’ll call Mrs. Greer now.”

  A moment later, Melanie appeared, looking harassed. Before I’d started working at the hotel, I’d assumed Melanie was a lady of leisure. She owned a restaurant in Smuggler’s Cove, but I had the impression that its day-to-day operations were taken care of by the restaurant manager. I’d guessed her role at the hotel was of a similarly non-involved nature. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Although Paul held the title of hotel manager, Melanie appeared to be the one doing all the work. This revelation gave me a grudging respect for the woman, although I’d never understand why she’d chosen to stick with Paul and their marriage after all he’d put her through. But what did I know about break-ups when kids were involved? Maybe Melanie was willing to put on a front for their sakes.

  “Come into the office, Maggie,” she said now. “We can discuss where I need you to work today.”

  This last bit was for Lisa’s benefit. Judging by Lisa’s expression and her words to me earlier, the receptionist suspected there was something odd about my employment at the hotel.

  In the office, Melanie gestured for me to take a seat. “How is the investigation going? You only have two more days to solve the mystery.”

  A fact of which I was uncomfortably aware. “It’s going. Under other circumstances, you’d be glad to know your staff is a tight-lipped bunch.”

  “They aren’t usually,” she replied frankly. “This ghost business has them scared. Even those who don’t believe in the supernatural have the sense to know they’re being terrorized.”

  “The only piece of information I’ve managed to discover is that your new extension isn’t popular.”

  Melanie screwed up her nose. “It’s not my new extension. I was against the idea, but Paul and my father-in-law are determined to go ahead with it.”

  “What’s your objection?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  An ironic smile played on Melanie’s mouth. “As you’re well aware, the hotel has been in financial difficulties for several years. I think we should concentrate on making what we have profitable rather than throwing money we don’t have at yet another building project.”

  “Has the spa and beauty center not worked out? That was the most recent extension, right?”

  Melanie sighed and some of her hauteur appeared to deflate. “It’s doing all right, but it’s heavily reliant on local trade at this time of year. Apart from buying holiday and birthday gift vouchers, the residents of Whisper Island simply can’t afford pricey beauty treatments. We’ll see an uptick in trade during the summer months, but we need a plan to bring in more revenue all year round.”

  “Seeing as we’re being frank with one another, who do you think is behind the hotel ghost? You must have a hunch.”

  A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Ironically, my money was on Carl Logan.”

  “Carl?” My eyebrow shot up. “Why would he want to put his own job at risk?”

  Melanie stared at her hands for a long moment before saying in a strained voice, “You’re aware that Paul hasn’t been faithful to me.”

  I was aware Melanie’s husband had been repeatedly unfaithful to her as he’d been to me all those years ago. “I heard something about him having an affair with a hotel guest when I was investigating your mother’s murder,” I said gently. “That can’t have been easy for you.”

  “A hotel guest?” Melanie snorted. “Is that what Paul told you? I’m sure he’s charmed the knickers off several hotel guests over the years, but the woman he was planning to leave me for was Carl Logan’s wife.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Carl Logan has a wife? Lenny never mentioned him being married.”

  “They were only married for a short time. It was a whirlwind romance that fizzled within a few months of taking their vows. They separated a couple of years ago. Carl acted like the separation was no big deal, but I believe it bothers him more than he’d care to admit.”

  “I doubt Carl was pleased when he found out Paul was having an affair with his ex, but we know Carl can’t be behind the hotel ghost.”

  Melanie sighed. “If only we could wrap it up that easily, but given that the ‘hauntings’ continued after his arrest, we’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  “Carl will be released on bail soon,” I said. “With the motive for him killing Eddie Ward collapsing, the courts will be more likely to let him out, especially if it’s likely that the evidence against him was planted.”

  “I’ll be glad to get our head chef back. Carl’s a prickly personality, but he’s an excellent cook.” She stood, indicating that our meeting was at an end. “I’m putting you with the cleaning staff on the third floor today, Maggie. You can report to Mrs. Dennehy.”

  As I went out the door, a thought occurred to me. “Melanie, where is Carl’s estranged wife now? Does she still live on the island?”

  A catlike smile crept over Melanie’s face. “Oh, yes. In fact, you just spoke to her this morning.”

  It took a moment for me to get the message. I darted a glance at the blond-haired receptionist, and closed the office door again. “Lisa?” I asked, incredulous. “Your hotel receptionist is the woman Paul almost left you for?”

  Melanie inclined her head. “Lisa doesn’t know that I know about her affair with Paul. At least this way, I can keep an eye on her.”

  And make her life a living hell. Suddenly, the receptionist’s uptight manner and clipped tones took on a new light. Clever, malicious Melanie.

  As I made my way to Mrs. Dennehy’s office to report for duty, I observed Lisa’s perfectly made-up face pale at the sight of me. Here was a woman with a grudge against Paul Greer and his wife. Had Lisa decided to take revenge by terrorizing the guests?

  By the time my lunch break rolled round, I’d discovered precisely zero new information. Mrs. Dennehy, not being in the know about my undercover role, paired me with Zuzanna again, and worked us like dogs.

  During my break, I took my sandwich and mineral water outside to enjoy the sunshine. Zuzanna sat on a bench beside Bernadette from the kitchen, smoking and picking at a container of salad. Despite our linguistic differences, I decided to try to see if Zuzanna had any information to share.

  “I miss all the fun,” I said cheerfully. “I hear the haunting that happened the day before I started work here was particularly spectacular.”

  “The one the same night as the murder?” Bernadette shrugged. “It was no more dramatic than the previous ones.”

  Zuzanna’s eyes widened. “Lots of staff quit. Lots of guests scared.”

  “Who’d want to scare the guests?” I asked. “And don’t tell me you believe in ghosts.”

  She regarded me with a look of scorn. “No ghosts. Only in head.”

  I leaned forward. “So what do you think is going on, Zuzanna? You were there when I found the hidden speaker. Who would want to scare away the guests?”

  “How I know? Maybe they want to dig. That makes sense.”

  I glanced at Bernadette, who looked equally baffled by this statement. “Dig for what?”
>
  “I study archaeology in Warsaw. I come to Ireland to improve English.”

  “Yes…” I circled my hand in a gesture for her to continue.

  “Rich history on this island. Lots of places to excavate.”

  “Are you saying that there’s a place of archaeological significance on the hotel grounds?” Philomena had already mentioned a potential site to me, but I didn’t share that tidbit with my companions.

  Zuzanna shook her head. “I not say nothing. I only say what I read.”

  “Back up for a sec. You read something about the land near the hotel?”

  “There was an interesting article in the Journal of Irish Archaeology last year.” She caught my surprised look and flushed. “I read English better than I speak.”

  “Go on,” I said. “What did the article say?”

  “There are a lot of potential excavation sites on Whisper Island. It mention one near here with fairy tree. Excavation permission not granted in the Sixties. This hotel has fairy tree.”

  The wheels in my mind were whirling. Philomena would be able to find recent editions of this archaeology journal that Zuzanna had mentioned. She might even have copies at the library.

  “Are you coming out for drinks tonight?” Bernadette asked, cutting through my thoughts.

  I blinked. “Drinks? No one mentioned drinks.”

  “We’re meeting at Murphy’s Pub in Smuggler’s Cove,” Bernadette said. “Do you know it?”

  “I think so. It’s down by the town’s harbor, right?”

  “That’s the one. We’re meeting at eight. There’ll be a crowd of us. You’re welcome to come.”

  “So you’re not patronizing the hotel bar?” I teased.

  Bernadette roared with laughter. “Not likely. The Greers are very strict about staff not visiting the bar and restaurant in our free time. We might lower the tone, don’t you know.”