The Man on the Cliff

by Janice Macdonald

  They walked back the way they’d come. The sky had darkened and a drop of rain worked its way under her collar. At the edge of the bog, they started back into town. A few moments later, they came to a field where a crowd was watching a soccer game. Men in colored jerseys, one team in blue and yellow, the other in red, hurled themselves around the field, bodies clashing, cleats thudding against the turf, splattering mud on the crowd of onlookers.

  Kate watched as the ball soared high and wide beyond the midfield, then sailed down into a clump of rushes. The crowd roared its disapproval.

  “Go home and get your auld lady’s apron.”

  “Me mother’d do a better job at it.”

  “One of Rory McBride’s criticisms of you,” Kate told Niall, “was that you weren’t one of the lads. Not the sort to kick a ball around.”

  “Sure, it’s true enough,” Niall said with a smile. “One of those habits that should be dumped, maybe. I’ll have to talk to them about giving me a try.”

  She smiled up at him.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “If I throw out a worn-out idea, you have to toss one, too.”

  “How about if I modify that comment I made that night at the castle,” she said. “The one about all men being no-good jerks?”

  “Go ahead. Modify it.”

  “Most men are. There are exceptions.”

  He smiled again, and they walked on in silence, arms around one another. Back at the harbor again, they stood at her car.

  “Have you anything to do for the rest of the evening, Kate?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have to rush back to Annie?”

  “No.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Will you come up to Sligo with me?”

  “Yes.”

  WHEN SHE PULLED UP outside the Pot o’ Gold to get an overnight bag, Kate saw with relief that the sitting-room lights were out. Annie’s anxious inquiries into how she was planning to spend her day, while sweet and caring, made Kate feel more like a teenager than a thirty-four-year-old woman. Not that she didn’t appreciate Annie’s concern, but right now she had other things on her mind. She parked, got out of the car and sprinted to the front door.

  In her room, she threw her bag on the bed, then surveyed the open suitcase. In Santa Monica she had, on a whim, splurged on a pale apricot silk bra and panties. Now she wondered whether Niall was onto something with the destiny thing. She stuffed them into the bag, added a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and another sweater. As she started down the hall for her toiletries, she heard the front door open.

  For a moment she froze, as guilty as if she’d been caught stealing the silverware. Then someone called her name.

  “Hi.” She peered over the banister, down into the hallway where Hugh Fitzpatrick stood looking up at her. “I, uh…” She felt her face color. “I just came back to grab a few things. What…do you need something?”

  “I had some letters I wanted to show you. Annie said you might be here. I wondered if you’d like to go into Galway. I’ll show you around a bit.”

  “I’m sorry, Hugh.” She remained at the top of the stairs, for some reason a little unnerved by him. His hair, damp from the rain, was flattened against his skull. He wore a long black plastic raincoat over a dark shirt and dress pants. The dim amber light from the window cast an eerie glow on his face. “I’ve, uh…got plans.”

  “With Maguire?”

  She looked at him. It was none of his business, of course. Still, she recalled his remarks about Niall getting everything he ever wanted and felt a stab of sympathy. “Maybe we could look at the letters when I get back,” she said. “I could meet you in your office.”

  “You’re taking a risk, you know.” Hands in his pockets, he looked up at her. “I was talking to one of the detectives today. They’re not actively looking at anyone but Maguire. It’s just a matter of time before they make an arrest.”

  Kate said nothing. Annie had called Hugh a lonely boy. Lonely and eaten up with jealousy. Right now he struck her as a little creepy. She eyed the open door behind him, wondered how to bring this to a close.

  “There’s more than enough evidence,” he said. “Witnesses who saw him on the cliffs that night. Footprints there that matched footprints in his house. And then, Elizabeth had this romantic crush on him.” He watched her face. “It all adds up, no?”

  “Look, Hugh—”

  “If they charge him for Elizabeth’s murder, they may reopen the investigation into Moruadh’s death.” He moved a few feet down the hallway, closer to the stairs. “A man who would murder his wife, and then take the life of a young girl. What woman in her right mind would want anything to do with a man like that?”

  NIALL WHISTLED as he moved around the kitchen. Into a picnic basket on the table he put a couple of bottles of champagne, some grapes and cheese he’d picked up that morning. He glanced down at Rufus, who had apparently picked up a sense of excitement in the air and was panting expectantly.

  “What? You’re wanting to take someone up there yourself, is that it? Why should I have all the luck? Sure, if you weren’t such a scruff bag, the little Pekingese might have given you a second look.” He turned his attention back to the picnic basket. What else? Bread. He’d bought a loaf, hadn’t he? Maybe it was still in the car, he thought, and went out to check.

  The doll had been placed facedown on the doorstep. A small pink plastic doll with a mass of red hair around its back and shoulders. Naked, but for a pair of painted-on white shoes and a piece of paper taped like a belt around its waist.

  He reached for the doll, removed and unfolded the paper. The scrawled message read:

  Victim number three? Turn yourself in, Maguire. If she dies, no one will believe it wasn’t your work.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HUGH FITZPATRICK HAD finally left, but his words lingered in Kate’s mind. She stared through the windows of Niall’s Land Rover and out at the dark night. Signposts appeared and disappeared in the white flash of headlights. Letterfrack. Leenane. Westport. They’d stopped somewhere to let the dog out for a moment and to buy gas. A village with a tiny harbor. From the car, she could hear the mournful low of a foghorn, the groan of boats against the moorings. Niall had hardly spoken a word since they left Cragg’s Head.

  What woman in her right mind… She sat with her knees clamped closely together, her hands tucked under her. Did she so desperately want to feel whatever it was that Niall made her feel, that she couldn’t see what seemed clear to everyone else? Or could she, as the outsider, see what others couldn’t?

  Mountains appeared and disappeared in the mist, the road played hide-and-seek with the ocean. You don’t know Niall Maguire, Annie had warned so many times. Kate shot him a sideways glance. Hands loose on the wheel, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Silent, detached.

  She thought of Hugh’s face contorted with anger as he raged on about Niall and she made a mental note to check on Hugh’s whereabouts Monday night. The tall figure she’d seen could have been him and the timing was right. He could have pushed the girl off the cliff and still kept his appointment at Dooley’s. In fact, he had seemed a little rattled.

  And she still had to decide what to do about Rory. The night before, she’d gone into the kitchen for a glass of water and walked into an argument between Rory and Caitlin. She’d immediately apologized and tried to leave, but Caitlin had insisted she stay.

  “Rory just admitted he was with Elizabeth Monday night.” Her face pink, Caitlin stared at Kate. “He said you knew about it.” She whirled on Rory. “You did it with her, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me. I know you did.”

  “Listen, you guys.” Kate backed toward the door. “This really has nothing to do with me.”

  “No, stay, Katie. I want you to hear this,” Caitlin said as she confronted Rory. “Did you or didn’t you?” she asked him.

  “Caitlin, I already told you, I don�
�t remember much about what happened after we got back from Galway, but I didn’t do anything with her, I swear. She went off somewhere, and I just passed out in the car.”

  “If you don’t remember what happened, how do you know?” Caitlin’s voice rose. “How do you know what you did? For all I know, maybe it was you who pushed her.”

  But of course Caitlin hadn’t really believed that. “I’ve known Rory almost my whole life,” she’d told Kate after Rory had stormed out. “Even though I could throttle him at the moment, I know he’d never do anything like that.”

  Annie had walked in then. “See, Katie, we all love Rory. Sure, I’ve known him since he wore nappies. I know his faults as well as he does. I know he’s a bit fond of the drink and he’s an eye for a pretty girl, but inside he’s a good lad with a heart of gold. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never so much as laid a hand on anyone.”

  “Never,” Caitlin agreed.

  “Never,” Annie had repeated, her voice emphatic. “But Niall Maguire now, well, there’s not a soul in Cragg’s Head who has a clue as to what he’s thinking. Ah, he’s cordial, right enough, and if the mood strikes him, you may get a smile, but he’s an odd one and there’s no getting around it.”

  They drove on. Castlebar. Ballina. And then a sharp turn onto a narrow dirt road that wound and bumped through darkened fields and out to a rocky promontory where she could see a white painted tower and a dim light in the circular window. Outside, she heard the crash of waves against the rocks.

  Niall parked in the long grasses and cut the engine. Then he turned his head and smiled at her. “You’re very quiet,” he said. “Everything all right?”

  “No…” She shook her head. “It’s not.”

  He caught her hand, tried to pull her to him, but she resisted. “What is it?”

  “I’m scared to death for you, Niall.” The words came out before she had time to think about them. “Not scared of you, which everyone seems to think I should be. Scared for you. They’re on the verge of arresting you—”

  “They’ve been on the verge of arresting me before,” he said. “After Moruadh.”

  “Well, this time they’ve got two deaths to pin on you.”

  “I’ll set Rufus on them.” He reached for her. “Moving on to other things.”

  “No.” She pushed him away. “How can you just joke about this?” She told him about Hugh Fitzpatrick’s comments. About the film boxes on the cliff tops. The heater blasted out warm air, but she felt chilled. She huddled into her parka. “Look, we can’t just sit back and let it happen—”

  “We?”

  “I want to help you, Niall.” She moved sideways in her seat to face him. “Maybe you’re too close to the situation to see how much trouble you’re in, but it’s bad. First thing we need to do is find you an attorney. You should have done that already, but we’ll get onto it right away. Second, you’ve got to show them Moruadh’s suicide note. Obviously their suspicions about Elizabeth are fueled by the uncertainty about Moruadh. We need to get that letter—”

  “You can forget the letter, Kate.”

  “But the letter will prove you’re innocent.”

  “I’ll say it again, I’m not giving them the letter. Look, this is no different than what went on after Moruadh. It’ll blow over.” He took the keys from the ignition. “Can we just drop it, please?”

  “Niall—”

  “This isn’t your concern, Kate. I’ll deal with it in my own way.”

  “Meaning stay out of your business?” She tried to read a contradiction in his expression, but there was a guardedness there now. Something seemed to go hollow inside her. “That is what you mean, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, come on, Kate. Look, I appreciate your concern, but—”

  “That’s okay, I get it.” Her pulse racing, she watched his face in the dim light from the dashboard. God, what an idiot she’d been. She’d created this little melodrama with Niall as the misunderstood and falsely accused tragic hero and herself as the wise and courageous St. Kate the Rescuer. Clearly, though, he didn’t want to be rescued. Clearly, what he wanted from her was just a noninvolved little action in the bedroom. Wham, bam, then please get out of my life. Surprised? the cynic asked. When was the last time you accurately figured a guy’s motivations anyway? Her arm and shoulders were squashed against the passenger window, as far from Niall as possible. If he wanted noninvolvement, she’d give him noninvolvement. That’s all she wanted anyway.

  “Kate.” He reached for her. “Look—”

  “No. No apologies necessary. Well, actually, I’m the one who should be apologizing. Sorry I stuck my nose in.”

  “I’ve hurt your feelings,” he said.

  She laughed. “Don’t be absurd. It’s much better that we each understand where the other is coming from. Makes things much easier.”

  He kept watching her, his expression a little quizzical. Moments passed and neither of them moved. Then he reached across the seat for her and hauled her up onto his lap and they kissed. Long slow kisses that went on and on, the culmination of what had been building all day. Sex, she reminded herself. That’s all you’re here for. A little romp in the bedchamber. Her hat came off and her hair fell everywhere. Strands of it around her throat, hanging down over his face. He unbuttoned his jacket, unzipped her parka, held her so tight she felt her breasts flatten against his chest. They kissed again with renewed intensity.

  “My God, Kate. I’ve wanted to do that all afternoon.” His arm rested along the back of her seat, his eyes intent on her face. “I can’t tell you what it means to me that you wanted to come up here.”

  He reached for her again, and they kissed, his body stretched out over hers. His mouth against her skin, he whispered her name, held her to him with an intensity that shook her. She could feel herself going under, drawn into the current of his feelings. With all the willpower she could summon, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Stay out of my business, he’d said. Or words to that effect. Okay, she could do that.

  “Listen, Niall. I have to say something. Before we go in, we need some kind of understanding. This is…I don’t know what you want to call it. A onetime thing. A fling. Total noninvolvement. All that stuff.”

  Niall’s eyes flickered across her face. The muscle in his cheek twitched. He said nothing.

  “Okay?”

  “Kate…”

  “Really. I mean it. Obviously, it can’t be anything else, so let’s not even pretend it can be.”

  “Right.” His face grim, he took the keys from the ignition, pulled open the car door. “Let’s pretend it’s a fling.”

  NIALL STOOD at the doorway to the bedroom, watched as Kate flicked on the light and walked across the room. She sat down on the edge of the bed, bounced up and down. “You can tell a lot about guys by their bedrooms,” she said. “Black satin sheets would be very bad news. Water beds are bad, too. And leopard-skin bedspreads.” She laughed. “Forget it.”

  “What does white cotton tell you?” Niall watched her turn down the corner of the quilt.

  “Safe.” She looked at him. “If not particularly imaginative.”

  “I suppose for a fling,” he said, “you’d probably want black satin. I’m sorry I can’t oblige you.”

  Kate shrugged, and flashed a quick look as she passed him. He followed her into the living room. Something had gone wrong in the car. He’d only wanted to keep her from getting mixed up in the mess his life had become, but he hadn’t expressed himself well. Then she’d made the remark about a fling and now, for the life of him, he couldn’t read what was on her mind. He watched her, thought of the doll back at the castle. She’d be safer here, with him.

  Arms folded across her chest, over at the window now, she turned her head to look at him. “So how long ago was this a lighthouse?”

  “It hasn’t been for years.” He came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. “It was never very well thought out to begin with. They were going to use it f
or big ships, but only fishing and pleasure boats pass by and they know the area well enough.”

  They stood for a while, staring out at the dark sea. A pinpoint of a light glowed out on the horizon. He watched Kate’s reflection in the window, caught her watching him.

  “We don’t have to do this, Kate,” he said softly.

  “I’m fine.”

  With a bright, false smile, she pulled away from him, started across the room. “What do you have to eat? I’m starving.” In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of Moselle. “A little sweet for my taste,” she said with a glance at the label. “But it’ll do. Where do you keep your glasses?”

  He took two down from the cupboard, watched as she poured the wine and downed half of it in a quick gulp. She filled the glass again and raised it to her mouth, then looked up and saw him staring at her.

  “What?”

  “I meant what I said before. If you’ve changed your mind, you can have my bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Niall, I said I’m fine. This is what I want. Really.” A moment passed. Another tight smile. “Anyway, how can we have a fling if you sleep on the couch?”

  He studied her. Back against the refrigerator, arms folded across her chest. Green cardigan, a shade lighter than her eyes. Same color as the ribbon that tied back her hair. Convincing herself as she tried to convince him, even though they both knew that a fling was the last thing either of them wanted. But God, he wanted her. Wanted to make love to her.

  “What are we waiting for?” Glass in hand, Kate came over to where he stood and kissed him. She drank some more wine, looped an arm around his neck. “Let’s go check out your sheets.”

  “No.” He pushed her away. “We’re going to eat.”

  “Eat?”

  “Eat.” He opened the refrigerator and scouted the contents, suddenly not in the mood for the picnic he’d envisioned. “I’m famished, and you’re drinking wine as if it’s water.” He pulled out bacon, tomatoes and eggs and took them over to the counter. “And because after the bouillabaisse fiasco, I have my reputation to maintain.”