Love and Leprechauns (Ballybeg, Book 3) (The Ballybeg Series)

by Zara Keane

“Long story. Definitely one for another day.”

  “Did it have something to do with this Connelly guy?”

  “Just mind your step around the man, okay?” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Look, I don’t know what happened to Gant. My instinct tells me you didn’t kill him, but my instinct won’t convince a judge or jury.”

  No, unfortunately, it would not.

  The remaining half hour of the drive passed in silence. By the time Seán drove through the gate of Olivia’s former home, the clawing dread she’d felt since that morning had turned into a vicious headache. She massaged her temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain, averting her gaze from the army of gnomes that flanked each side of the driveway. She’d never liked them, had poked fun at Aidan for being proud of his collection, but never in a million years had she imagined one would be used to kill him.

  They were met at the door by two NBCI officers, both grim-faced men in suits who glared at her with open hostility. Brian Glenn hovered in the background, assisting the forensics team. He didn’t meet her eye. And so it had begun—the suspicions, the assumptions, the judgments.

  Had it not been for the several pairs of eyes boring holes in her back, nothing in the entrance foyer would have seemed out of the ordinary. “Is he…” Her voice broke. “Is he still here?”

  “No,” Seán said gently. “The body has been taken to the pathologist. Your mother-in-law identified him. What we need you to do is look at the crime scene and tell us if you notice anything missing from the room.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “In his office. From what Patricia Gant indicated, the murder weapon—”

  “The gnome?”

  “Yes. It was in Aidan’s office because he needed to repair it.” She fingered the spot at the base of her throat where a beaded necklace usually hung. In her haste to dress, she’d forgotten it. “Aidan did all that stuff himself. Also touching up their paint. He’d spend hours in there, tinkering with his gnomes. I think it was the only time he was truly content.”

  She was babbling, not to mention delaying the inevitable. She propelled herself forward, each leaden step bringing her closer to the office. A white-suited forensics worker backed out of the room, carrying a box filled with small plastic bags and test tubes.

  Another few steps…She came to an abrupt halt outside the office. The door was wide open, giving her a full view of the carnage within. A thin trickle of red stained the wall, but the Persian carpet was thick with blood.

  Bile surged up her throat. She took a step back, exhaling sharply. Her ears rang with a strange, clanging noise. This couldn’t be happening. Any moment, she’d wake up and it would all have been a horrible nightmare.

  “You must be the wife.”

  At the sound of the nasal Dublin accent, she spun round. The man standing before her was fiftyish. Heavyset with coarse features and raisin orbs spaced too close together. Although he was barely a few centimeters taller than she was, his presence dominated.

  “You must be Detective Connelly.”

  The nostrils of his crooked nose flared. “Detective Inspector Connelly.”

  Fabulous. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Seán his rank? The man didn’t offer his hand in greeting.

  “Is anything missing?” Connelly demanded. “Anything out of place?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Apart from the blood?”

  The man’s closely spaced eyes grew even narrower. “Smart aleck, aren’t you? Just answer the question.”

  Hesitantly, she took a step closer to the office entrance. It was like wading through water. Her limbs were heavy, as if the entire force of gravity was upon them. And the smell…she’d never smelled death before, yet she was in no doubt that she was smelling it now beneath the acrid smell of blood. She stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to stop the gagging.

  Despite her revulsion, she forced herself to scan the room. A forensics photographer was hard at work, snapping photos of every surface. There was no sign of the murderous gnome.

  She stepped back and shook her head. “Everything looks to be where Aidan usually kept it. But you have to understand that his office was his sanctuary. I rarely came in here, and I haven’t lived in this house for months.”

  Connelly stabbed her with his dark-eyed stare. “So I understand. Where were you last night, Mrs. Gant?”

  “Olivia, please. Mrs. Gant makes me think of my mother-in-law.”

  “Mrs. Gant.” The detective emphasized every syllable. “Answer the question.”

  A cold trickle of dread snaked down her spine. Apart from being an obvious dickhead, this man already had her pegged as guilty. “I was at the Ashbourne Hotel in Dublin.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. I went up to Dublin with two friends. Fiona Byrne and Jill Bekele.”

  “You were with them all night?”

  “Well…” She hesitated for a beat. “Not all night.”

  “Where were you if not with your friends?”

  “I…” She took a gulp of air, trying to stem the dizziness. “I spent the night with a guy I know.”

  “Does this guy have a name?”

  “Jonas O’Mahony.”

  Connelly’s hard stare bore into her. “Would that be the same Jonas O’Mahony who punched the deceased a few months ago?”

  She gave a stiff-necked nod.

  Seán materialized at her side. “O’Mahony is due at the station at five o’clock this evening. I can also verify that both he and Olivia were at the Ashbourne when I went there this morning.” He gave Olivia a side glance. “They didn’t look like they’d left the room all night.”

  “If I wanted your opinion, Mackey, I’d have asked for it.” Connelly’s expression had turned from hostile to thunderous. “Take your partner over there and go give out traffic tickets or herd sheep. Whatever it is police usually do in Ballybeg.”

  Disgust flickered over Seán’s face. Giving Olivia a brief nod, he turned to leave the house with Brian.

  Another scribbled note in his notebook. She wondered if Connelly was keeping a running tally of all the incriminating evidence against her. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl. She’d had nothing to do with Aidan’s death and had no reason to feel responsible. Damn the man for making her feel guilty for a crime she didn’t commit.

  She scanned the room. The Murano glass vase she’d bought Aidan on their honeymoon was lying on its side on the floor. Miraculously, it was still intact. She reached for it. The man grabbed her wrist. She blinked back tears from the crushing pressure.

  “Don’t touch anything, Mrs. Gant,” he said severely. “This is a crime scene. Everything needs to stay exactly as it is.”

  She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and massaged her wrist. She resented his tone, resented his insistence at using a name she didn’t acknowledge. She debated arguing the point with him once more but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her. He was there to investigate Aidan’s murder. Although the inquest wouldn’t be held until Tuesday, it was clear to everyone that they were dealing with a homicide. As the victim’s estranged wife, she was the prime suspect. Feck them all.

  “I can’t tell if anything’s missing,” she said in a flat tone. “Everything’s all over the place. It’s usually so…orderly.”

  The man scribbled another note in his notebook. His gaze collided with hers. “Any idea who could have done this?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Sergeant Mackey already asked me that. Aidan was a solicitor, a member of the town council, and running for mayor. Of course there were people he’d pissed off over the years, but murder? I can’t see it.”

  “Yet someone did murder him.”

  “Yes,” she said, “someone did.”

  The smell of blood assailed her nostrils. She tasted bile. Covering her mouth with a hand, she lurched out the door, nearly colliding with a uniformed policeman on the steps.

  Two more meters…She vomited into the fountain, narrowly mi
ssing a gnome. So much for showing no sign of weakness in front of the police. Their accusatory stares bore into her back. Wiping her mouth with a tissue, she addressed the young man guarding the door. “I think I’ll go home,” she told him.

  “Where would home be, Mrs. Gant?” asked the homicide detective, looming at her back.

  “My cottage,” she snapped, finally at the end of her tether. “Where else? You know perfectly well that Aidan and I are…were…separated. I no longer live here. Ask my mother-in-law if you don’t believe me.”

  “Quite the temper, haven’t we?” the man drawled. His self-satisfied smirk made her blood boil. “I will talk to Mrs. Gant Senior again. You can be assured of that. She had a few choice words to say about you when I met her this morning.”

  Olivia was sure Patricia had had plenty to say about her, probably at ear-shattering decibels. Despite developing a cordial relationship over the years, they’d never been friends, and Patricia was the sort of person who always sought someone else to blame for her woes. Aidan’s death would have devastated her, and Olivia was an easy target for her grief-fuelled rage. “Is Patricia here now?”

  He smirked. “Luckily for you, no.”

  Olivia nodded dully. A dizzy sensation overtook her. In her mind’s eye, she saw Aidan’s body lying face down on the office floor, the back of his head bashed in. Her morbid imagination was in overdrive.

  The detective inclined his head, the hardness of his stare never slackening in intensity. “We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Gant. Don’t stray too far from Ballybeg.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  OLIVIA WAS DOWN THE DRIVE and out the gate before she remembered that she was without a vehicle. Feck. She sagged against the wall and ran through her options. Aidan’s house was located on the outskirts of Ballybeg, less than a thirty-minute walk from the town center and her cottage. She could call someone to collect her, but it might take them longer to get here than it would for her to go home on foot. Mustering her remaining strength, she started to walk.

  The road into town meandered past tumble-down farmhouses and luxurious new-builds. The former were owned by people whose families had farmed the land around Ballybeg for generations. The latter were divided into two categories: deluxe holiday rentals, and mansions belonging to Cork City’s newly rich (the extra living space more than compensated the short commute to their jobs in the city). For a local boy to afford a house as grand as the Gant residence, Aidan’s father had done extremely well for himself. Aidan, had he lived longer, was poised to do even better.

  Olivia’s brisk pace didn’t falter until she reached a partially dug-up tract of land. If Fiona’s uncle, Bernard Byrne, hadn’t fiddled the books, this would have been the site of the controversial new shopping center. Aidan had been one of the investors, and one of the people to lose money when Bernard did a runner. Could that have had something to do with the murder? But how? Using a gnome as the weapon seemed personal, impulsive.

  She continued walking, only veering from the main road when she reached the small woods near Ballybeg Primary School. There was a clearing in the woods with a makeshift playground. She’d played here with Fiona as a child and had taken Luca a couple of times recently.

  Thankfully, the playground was deserted. Olivia claimed her favorite bench and pulled out her phone to send a quick text message to Fiona and Jill. They’d be out of their minds with worry. She should call them instead of texting, but she didn’t feel up to dealing with the inevitable questions. She needed a moment to think, a minute to breathe.

  Once the text was sent, she contemplated her next move. Where could she go? The café was out of the question. Every gossip in Ballybeg would be there, feigning a desire for one of her buttered scones but in truth looking for the latest salacious detail of the investigation. Gawd. She put her face in her hands and groaned.

  A familiar child’s voice drifted over the breeze. For a moment, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her.

  “Olivia!”

  She looked up to see Luca bounding toward her. His dark hair was in need of a cut, the fringe almost covering his eyes.

  “Hey, there.” Her gaze strayed beyond the little boy to his father.

  Jonas was wearing more clothing than the last time she’d seen him. The thought brought heat to her cheeks and a pain to her breast. They stared at one another for a long moment. Part of her wanted to leap up and throw herself into his arms. The other part was cemented to the bench. Would he reject her now that Aidan had been murdered? He’d said he didn’t want their night together to be a one-off, but he’d had the whole day to come to his senses, not to mention the specter of a police interview looming over him.

  “Olivia.”

  “Jonas.” She was reminded of their awkward greeting that day in the dental surgery. It seemed ages ago, yet it had only been a few months. “Did you just get home from Dublin?”

  “Yeah. Luca and I are here for a quick play before I drop him back to my parents’ house. I’m due at the station in an hour.” His dark eyes searched her face. “How are you?”

  “Okay. I’m going to have to call Patricia.” Her voice wobbled. “I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

  He knelt beside her and took her hands in his. “How was it at the house?”

  “As you might expect. It was a murder scene.”

  He nodded, slowly and deliberately, as if weighing his words. “Have the police formally questioned you yet?”

  “I don’t think so. I…don’t know. They asked questions. I answered them.” She stared at the dry leaves beneath her feet. “Seán was right. The NBCI guy is a right arse.”

  “Do the smart thing and get yourself a lawyer. Don’t answer any more questions without one.”

  “Problem is, who? The only lawyers I know are in Aidan’s circle of contacts.”

  “Karen McCormack? I’ve interviewed her a few times for my detective series. She has a practice in Cork City.”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell, which is probably a good sign. Yeah, give me her number and I’ll call her. Thank you.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry about me. Once you call Karen, don’t worry about anything. Neither you nor I killed Aidan. The police will have a devil of a time proving we did.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ON THE MONDAY AFTER THE MURDER, Jonas pulled into a parking space outside the turquoise façade of the Book Mark. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Dark hollows under his eyes and a persistent headache were his reward for two sleepless nights. The grilling by Detective Inspector Connelly and his team had been unpleasant, but it paled in comparison to the prospect of telling his mother he’d slept with Olivia. That was going to be one hell of a conversation.

  Tossing this morning’s edition of one of the national newspapers onto the passenger seat, he rubbed his aching temples. Joe, the journalist pal he’d met at the hotel bar Friday evening, had already called to find out if he had any inside info on the Ballybeg murder. The media hadn’t yet picked up on his link to Olivia, but it was only a matter of time. He’d have to tell Mam today or risk her hearing about it on the news. What a bloody nightmare. Grabbing a box from the backseat, he got out of the car.

  Inside the Book Mark, Bridie Byrne was totting up numbers in a ledger while Fiona and Gavin drank coffee at a table in the bookshop’s small café.

  They all looked up when he entered.

  “Hey there, stranger.” Gavin stood and clapped him on the back. “Come join us for a coffee. You look like you need one.”

  “No amount of caffeine could jolt me into functional consciousness today, but I wouldn’t say no to an espresso.” Jonas deposited the box on an unoccupied table and slumped into a chair. “I brought the mystery books for your window display, Bridie. All the crime fiction authors at the reading in Belfast signed a few copies for you.”

  The older wom
an beamed. “You’re a sweetheart. My customers will be delighted.”

  Fiona placed an espresso cup under the spout of the coffee machine and hit a button. She was fiddling with her lip ring and appeared agitated. “Have you seen Olivia? I’m worried about her. She’s not answering her phone.”

  “I got a text from her yesterday, but she hasn’t been back to her cottage since Friday.” Jonas rubbed his jaw, noting this morning’s lousy attempt at a shave. “I called into the café before I came here. Jill said she was expecting Olivia to arrive at any moment.”

  Bridie raised her head from the account book. “Olivia is staying with the Major for a few days. Jill and Naomi are running the café and doing the baking, hence our well-stocked scone basket.”

  Fiona put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t think to mention this to me?”

  Bridie peered at her niece over half-moon spectacles. “You didn’t think to ask.”

  “Have you seen her?” Fiona demanded. “How is she?”

  “Apart from her estranged husband being clobbered to death with a garden gnome?” Bridie raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Hard to tell. I’m no psychologist, but I’d guess she didn’t respond to your calls because she knew that whatever hold she had over her emotions would crumble the moment she heard a friend’s voice. Old codgers like me and the Major don’t count. We serve cups of tea, talk about the weather, and pretend we don’t know she’s having sex with Jonas.”

  That jolted him out of his exhausted haze. “What? How the hell did you know that?”

  “How the hell did I not know that?” Gavin waggled a finger at his wife. “Have you been holding out on me?”

  Fiona gave an insouciant shrug. “I was being discreet.”

  “You, discreet?” her husband guffawed. “That’ll be the day.”

  Fiona placed a double espresso on Jonas’s table and shivered. “I hated Aidan, but even he didn’t deserve to be murdered. I wonder who did it.”

  “Death by Gnome…” Gavin mused over his coffee cup. “Now there’s a title for Jonas’s next book.”