Liar's Moon

by Kate Sweeney

  “Ms. MacCarthaigh?”

  Grayson blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry. What?”

  “I asked you if you had any idea what the victim was doing out here.”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  The inspector nodded and sipped her beer. “So tell me, what made you became a police officer?” Inspector Gaffney finished her pint and stood. She took Grayson’s empty glass. “I’ll give you a minute or two to think about it.” She almost smiled again as she walked away.

  Grayson watched her hips as she walked to the bar. She filled out her black slacks very nicely. Though the inspector was a tad on the short side, she … Grayson stopped herself. “Geezus, MacCarthaigh,” she chastised herself. “Get a grip.” She looked up when the inspector came back with two fresh pints of Guinness.

  “This will be my limit,” she announced as she sat down. “Have you had enough time?”

  Grayson was stumped for a moment. “Oh. My father was a beat cop.” She saw the curious look and grinned. “A patrolman, on the streets. I wanted to be like him, I suppose.” She took another long drink. “How about you?” Anything to take the conversation away from me, she thought.

  “If there is anything in DNA, I can’t say. I didn’t know my biological parents. I was adopted.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no need, I loved my parents, but thank you. They both died a few years back. They were on holiday and were in a car accident. I must admit, for a time afterward, I thought of finding my biological parents, but I never did.” She stopped and took a long drink. “I became a detective because I loved to read detective novels as a young girl and thought myself Agatha Christie, I suppose.”

  “And you love it,” Grayson said, staring at her glass.

  “Yes,” Inspector Gaffney said softly. “As you did?”

  Grayson looked up and nodded. “Yes, I loved it.”

  “And you left it that easily to take care of family business?”

  “Not easily, but yes. Being in Ireland is more important right now.”

  “To take care of your mother’s affairs?”

  Grayson heard the soft concern in her voice, and for a moment, she sounded like Vic. “Yes, she was born in this area. So was I.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Grayson nodded and drank her beer. Inspector Gaffney did the same as they sat in silence.

  “These two deaths are connected. You know that,” Inspector Gaffney said. She ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. “And I will find out how.”

  “I know you will. You should, you’re a police officer. It’s what you do.”

  “And you would do the same. If you had any ideas, I would appreciate a call.”

  “Sure,” Grayson said and finished her beer.

  Inspector Gaffney finished her pint, as well. “I’d best be going. I’ll be in touch.”

  As Grayson started to rise, the inspector put her hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get up. Good day, Ms. MacCarthaigh.”

  “Good day, Inspector.” Grayson watched as she weaved in and out of the late afternoon crowd.

  She won’t give up until she finds out who killed my mother and Kathleen, Grayson thought. “This is not going well.”

  Chapter 15

  Corky and Grayson met Neala at the coroner’s office the next morning. Neala looked pale and tired as she identified Kathleen’s body.

  “It’s just too gruesome,” Neala said while they walked toward her car.

  Grayson put her arm around Neala’s shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry you had to do that. Does she have any family?”

  “Yes,” Neala said. “In Tipperary. They’ve been notified by the museum. I believe they’re making the funeral arrangements now. It’s just so sad. Do you really think it was Phelan?”

  “Who else could it be?” Corky yanked off his tie, shoving it in his jacket pocket. “We all saw the marks. Just like Maeve. What was she doing there? Damn him to hell.”

  Grayson patted him on the shoulder. “And now we have Inspector Gaffney to contend with. With two killed the same way, it’ll be impossible to explain it.”

  “Are we going to try?” Corky asked.

  “No. I don’t see why. As far as we know, my mother was attacked by an animal.”

  “I—” Neala stopped and leaned against her car.

  “What?” Grayson asked.

  Neala shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just that…”

  “That what, Neala? C’mon, don’t hold back now,” Grayson said.

  Corky agreed. “Tell us what’s on your mind.”

  “It’s just that, well, I know the common denominator is Phelan, but it could also be our new vampire friend.”

  Grayson cocked her head in contemplation. “But she wasn’t around when my mother died. And she was with Corky and me when Liam came about Kathleen.”

  “Grayson, remember when Sebastian brought you to my house? It took a matter of minutes,” Corky offered.

  “That is true. She can travel like the wind,” Grayson said. “I suppose she would have time to kill Kathleen, then zip right over to us.”

  “And she was already standing over Kathleen’s body when we got there, and we all left together,” Corky said quietly.

  “How long was she with you? Let’s not forget she’s a vampire, and initially, she did show up in Corky’s book. And now she’s come back with a book of her own and some ancient letter. It just appears too coincidental to me is all I’m saying.”

  They stood by Neala’s car in silence. Grayson pondered this new piece to the puzzle. Anything is possible now, she thought. She longed for the time when the lines were clear. Good guys and bad guys. You worked the clues and evidence. You caught the bad guy. Now…

  “What in the world are you thinking?” Neala asked, placing her hand on Grayson’s forearm. She caressed up and down her arm.

  “Just all this Celtic mythology and mystical mumbo jumbo.”

  “Which is not mumbo jumbo,” Corky said, leaning against the car.

  “I wish it were.” Grayson sighed and did the same.

  “If wishes were fishes…” Corky’s voice trailed off. “What does that mean?”

  Grayson glanced at Neala and all three laughed. “Who knows,” Neala said and opened the car door. “I have to get back to the museum. You two stay out of trouble.”

  “I thought you’d at least take the day off. This was such a blow,” Grayson said.

  Neala smiled and touched her cheek. “It was, which is why I need to keep busy.”

  “Neala.” Grayson placed her hand on Neala’s arm. “You’ve been running back and forth from Dublin to the monastery and back again. You’re exhausted. And now with this.”

  “I know, Gray,” Neala said. “But I have to be at the museum. I’d love to take a vacation, but it would look too odd with everything that has happened.” She looked into Grayson’s eyes. “I’d rather travel the distance and stay for just a little while than not see you at all.”

  “And me too?” Corky added.

  Grayson smiled as she looked into Neala’s eyes. “Yes, you too, Corky,” Neala said.

  “Why don’t we meet for an early dinner?” Corky suggested. “We can take in Dublin and meet you, say, around four?”

  “Yeah. That’s a good idea. No arguing, Neala. You’ll need a break.” Grayson held the car door open for Neala, who rolled her eyes and got in.

  “We’ll meet at Darwin’s, ya know, on Aungier Street,” Corky said.

  “Fair enough. I won’t argue with either of you,” Neala said. “See ya there at four.”

  Grayson and Corky watched her pull away. “Okay, now what?” Corky asked.

  Grayson slapped the back of his shoulder, and in doing so, another vision flashed. She grinned evilly. “We go find Caitlin Delaney.”

  Corky seemed stunned. “W-what? Why? I mean—”

  “Timothy Kerrigan. Are you afraid?” Grayson asked, still grinning.

  “I am not,” Corky said w
ith an air of indignance. “I’m cautious.”

  “Whatever.” Grayson pulled him along. “Now where did you say she—”

  Corky grinned. “Irish Times. She’s a reporter. It’s on Tara Street.”

  “Hmm. Good thing you don’t know much about her anymore.”

  “Oh, shut your gob,” Corky said and pushed Grayson.

  They stood in front of the Irish Times office on Tara Street. Grayson glanced at Corky and saw the forlorn look on his face. For an instant, she thought he might walk away. Grayson quickly reached over and straightened his tie. She then winked; Corky nodded.

  “Let’s do this before I lose me nerve,” he said.

  Grayson opened the door and grinned as Corky walked into the building. The receptionist looked up with a friendly smile. “May I help ya?”

  Corky cleared his throat before asking, “I’m lookin’ for Caitlin Delaney. I’m an old friend.”

  “And your name?”

  “Tim Kerrigan.”

  “Certainly. Let me see if she’s in the building.”

  Corky glanced at Grayson while the woman was on the phone.

  “I’m not sure this was a good idea, Grayson,” Corky whispered.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  “She’ll be right with you, Mr. Kerrigan,” the receptionist said.

  “Thank you.” Corky stretched his neck, then ran his fingers through his thick red hair.

  “You look very handsome,” Grayson whispered. “She’ll swoon.”

  Corky glared at her. “Will you cut it out? She’ll probably not even remember me. It’s been so—”

  “Corky,” a woman’s voice called softly.

  Even Grayson heard the tenderness in her voice. She looked up to see an attractive woman with coal black hair cut short and just as unruly as Corky’s red mop. She wore black framed glasses that contrasted the creamy white skin and rosy cheeks. Grayson inwardly grinned. This woman was adorable, she thought. And by the stunned yet grinning face on Corky, he felt the same.

  “Hello, Caitlin,” Corky said with equal tenderness.

  “My Lord, it’s been a long time.” She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him affectionately.

  With Corky’s back to her, Grayson saw Caitlin close her eyes and smile as she held on to him. Corky pulled back and held her at arm’s length. “You look wonderful. Time has been good to you.”

  “And to you, Corky. Still the same smiling green eyes.”

  Suddenly, Grayson felt out of place. As if sensing this, Corky quickly turned to her. “I’m sorry, Grayson. Caitlin, this is Grayson MacCarthaigh, a good friend.”

  Grayson offered her hand, which Caitlin took. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grayson.”

  “Same here.”

  They stood in silence for a moment until Caitlin said, “Well, I have nothing major planned for the afternoon.” She looked at both of them.

  Corky looked at Grayson, who offered a solution. “Why don’t you two go? I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.” Grayson went on before Corky could object. “I’ve got a few things to check out. Caitlin, if you’re not doing anything, we’re meeting a friend for an early dinner in a few hours at…”

  “Darwin’s,” Corky said. “And you are very welcome to join us.”

  “Let’s see how the afternoon goes. You may decide it wasn’t a good idea to look me up,” Caitlin said, nervously adjusting her glasses.

  “Whatever you decide,” Grayson said, extending her hand. “It was nice meeting you if I don’t see you later.”

  “I’ll meet you at four,” Corky said as Grayson walked out of the building.

  “Okay, so now what should I do for the next couple hours?” Grayson said as she walked down Tara Street.

  As she strolled with no purpose in mind, Grayson found herself at the O’Connell Street Bridge. The day had turned sunny and warm with the white billowy clouds drifting with the breeze. She walked down the boardwalk, then stopped and rested her forearms on the thick metal railing that overlooked the River Liffey. She leaned farther, feeling like a little kid as she peered over the side.

  “Don’t jump. It’s not high enough.”

  Grayson whirled around to see Inspector Gaffney standing nearby. She’s haunting me, Grayson thought.

  “You’ll only get wet, and I’ll be bound to jump in after ya.” The inspector walked up to her and looked over the side, as well. “I’ve had to pull many a drunk off this ledge, let me tell you.”

  Grayson tried to hide her grin. “Really? The drink does that to a person. I thought your superiors relegated you to Dungarin.”

  Inspector Gaffney leaned on the railing and nodded. She swept the windblown dark hair from her face. It was then Grayson noticed her noble profile as she gazed at the river. The inspector had a firm jaw; inwardly Grayson smirked—more stubborn than firm, she thought.

  “I have been. I needed to be in court this morning, and I wanted to talk to some of Ms. Moore’s coworkers.”

  “And did you?” Grayson tried not to sound too interested, which she was.

  “I did. Mr. Bradley and Dr. Norman, they are on the board of directors at the museum. They had no clue and couldn’t offer any explanations. However, I spoke with Michael Dornan. He’s Dr. Rourke’s assistant, as well.”

  Grayson was itching to find out but said nothing. She looked at the inspector, who was smiling slightly. “Would you like to know what he said?”

  Grayson gave a noncommittal shrug. “Up to you.”

  “Ms. MacCarthaigh, you’re dying to know. He couldn’t shed any light, as well. But it was not what he said. It’s what he didn’t say.”

  Grayson knew exactly what the inspector was doing. The first thing Grayson did when interviewing someone was to concentrate on what the person was not saying. It was that hesitation in his voice, that slight hitch that told Grayson there was something else. She knew Inspector Gaffney did the same thing.

  “He’s protecting someone, I think.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Would you like something to eat? I’m starving.”

  Completely taken aback by the abrupt change of topic, Grayson stammered, “Uh, no, no…”

  She watched as the inspector walked over to a street vendor and made her purchase. In a moment, she came back with a small order of fish and chips. She grinned at Grayson. “It’s the malt vinegar that does the trick.”

  Grayson chuckled along. “So why do you think he’s protecting someone?”

  “It’s the vague way he answered. I also noticed him glancing at the file cabinet while I asked questions.”

  “File cabinet,” Grayson said absently. She leaned against the railing and looked out at the river. “What files are in there?”

  Inspector Gaffney ate a bit of the fried fish. “I don’t know. So I asked Dr. Rourke.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She was very nice. Said they were financial profiles on patrons who contributed to the museum. And personnel files.”

  “Hmm.”

  Inspector Gaffney offered her fish and chips. Grayson absently took a fry and popped it into her mouth. “Wonder if any files are missing.”

  “I wondered the same thing. So I asked Dr. Rourke to take a look. And she said nothing was missing.”

  Grayson heard skepticism in her voice while she munched on the fried fish.

  “You don’t believe her?” Grayson asked.

  “Yes. I don’t have any reason to think she would lie.” She looked at Grayson then. “Do you? How well do you know Dr. Rourke?”

  “Well enough to know she’s not a liar.” Grayson felt the anger rising. This line of questioning was not a good idea.

  Inspector Gaffney finished her impromptu lunch and tossed the remnants into the trash can. “Well, I need to get back to my flat to pick up a few things. Mrs. O’Toole runs a very nice bed and breakfast in your village. It’s a peaceful village, Ms. MacCarthaigh.”

  �
��I think you can call me Grayson if you like. I have a feeling you’re going to be—”

  “A pain in your arse?”

  Grayson did laugh at that. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “I don’t blame you, Grayson. And you may call me Megan since I’ll be such a bother to you.”

  Grayson’s body reacted when she heard her name from this woman. Her body tingled and her heart rate increased. Even the hair on the back of her neck tingled—she immediately scratched said area.

  “But I have to be a bother.” She turned to Grayson then. “Because there is something going on and I will find out.”

  Grayson searched her blue eyes and saw the determination there. She almost envied the inspector’s strength of purpose and love of her job. Grayson remembered those feelings. “I know you’ll do what you have to do, Inspector, uh, Megan.”

  “I should be going.” She smiled at Grayson. “I’d like to talk to you further. Are you heading back to Dungarin?”

  “Later this evening. I’m meeting some friends for an early dinner.”

  Grayson wasn’t sure what was going through her mind as Megan searched her face for a moment. She seemed to be considering a question. Grayson was grateful when Megan merely nodded and said, “I think I’ll mingle with the folks of Dungarin. Have a good evening. I’ll be in touch.”

  “You too.” Grayson watched as Megan walked away from her. She watched until she was lost in the afternoon crowd on the boardwalk.

  Grayson looked up into the midday sun and sighed. It was then she noticed a hawk lazily flying overhead. Immediately, she thought of the first day she, her mother, and Neala came to Ireland when that woman picked them up at Shannon, whose name escaped Grayson, and noticed a hawk flying overhead. And then again, when they met Corky, he noticed them, as well. What did he call them?

  “Messengers,” she said as she watched the hawk. Grayson wondered if this hawk was just a plain ole hawk or some messenger from the gods.

  Knowing she was not going to get an answer, she shook her head and made her way back to the O’Connell Street Bridge. As she crossed the bridge heading to the restaurant, she did not need to look up to know the hawk was still circling above her.