by Zara Keane
Jonas choked back a laugh. “Don’t start. I’m trying to ignore all the plot ideas this has generated and focus on reality.”
“Who do you have pegged as the murderer?”
“I haven’t pegged anyone for anything”—Three pairs of eyes waited expectantly—“but if I were compiling a list of potential suspects, I doubt it would include anyone the police haven’t already thought of: members of the town council, Aidan’s opponents in the mayoral race, and his girlfriends—current and former.”
“A lot of people were upset when the shopping center project fell through,” said Bridie, “but my brother was to blame for that. Thank goodness Fiona and I got our inheritance money out of the rat before he absconded. Did you hear Muireann had her baby? A little boy named James.”
“Gavin mentioned it, yes.” Dismissing newborns from his mind, Jonas considered the shopping center angle. “I can see your point about people being upset when the plan fell apart, but the development was controversial. Many locals were delighted it never got built. From what I understand, Aidan lost money on the deal. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to suspect he benefitted from Bernard’s embezzlement.”
Bridie shrugged. “It’s a puzzle, isn’t it?”
Jonas drained his cup and got to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee, Fiona. I’d better get to work. I’ll stop by the café on my way and tell Olivia to give you a call.”
“Please do.”
“Thanks again for the signed books,” Bridie called. “If you see Olivia, tell her I’ll be by the Cottage Café this afternoon to discuss the catering for Ballybeg Sports Day.”
“In which you and I are participating, remember?” Gavin cast him a wicked grin.
Jonas groaned. “I think I blocked it from my memory. I know I tried.”
“No chance. I’ll ring your doorbell at six tomorrow evening. Luca knows to be ready.”
“Will he be running with Wiggly Poo again?”
“That’s the plan. Let’s wear out our kid and dog, eh?”
“Always the optimist, Gav,” Jonas said with a grin. “Judging by past experience, they’ll outrun and outwear us.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE POLICE MIGHT HAVE A DEVIL of a time proving their guilt, but the people of Ballybeg wasted no time in passing judgment. As Olivia had suspected, the café was packed all day Monday. In addition to the Cottage Café’s many regulars, a steady turnover of new customers came to stare and dig for gossip.
“A terrible thing to have happened,” Nora Fitzgerald said with relish over her morning tea and buttered scone. “A fine figure of a man cut down in his prime. And with a garden gnome of all things.”
Olivia gritted her teeth and concentrated on loading plates onto a tray. Mrs. Fitzgerald was one of the café’s most loyal customers. As much as it pained her, she’d have to tolerate the comments or risk losing Nora’s custom.
“Ah, give over, Nora.” Bridie Byrne shut the café door behind her and glared at her friend. “Have you no other topic of conversation? You’ve been making the same trite remarks all weekend.”
“We’ve a murderer in our midst.” Nora’s shrill voice rose to a crescendo. “Aren’t you concerned?”
“Not in the least.” Bridie sank her considerable weight into a chair and helped herself to a berry scone. “Aidan Gant would’ve driven a saint to murder. The only surprise is that someone didn’t clobber him to death before now.”
Bridie caught Olivia’s eye and winked, eliciting a small smile. Bridie was nosy and bossy, but she was a good sort. She wouldn’t forget the older woman’s willingness to offer up her spare room for the couple of weeks following the beach incident.
Nora Fitzgerald wasn’t a bad sort, either. Having known Olivia all her life, she breezed in and out of the café with a sense of entitlement, determined to ferret out whatever nuggets of gossip she could discover. She was a nice woman in her way, but Olivia was fed up being the focus of speculation. First it was her separation from Aidan. Now it was her possible involvement in his murder. Much as she loved living in Ballybeg, there were times she longed for the anonymity of a big city. This week definitely qualified as one of those times.
Wiping sweat from her brow, she carried a tray of hot buttered scones, clotted cream, and freshly brewed coffee to a table of curious customers. Their inquisitive stares made her cringe. She longed to hide in the kitchen and shut out the world. Sleep eluded her these days, and her panic attacks were back in full force. If it weren’t for the tablets her doctor had prescribed, she wouldn’t be functioning in any capacity. But function she must. She had a business to run.
Plastering a smile on her face, she faked warm hospitality. “Can I get you anything else?”
The customers shook their heads, the tempting aromas proving a momentary distraction from goggling at Olivia. After refilling the sugar dispenser, she retreated to the kitchen, leaving Jill in charge out front. Thank goodness for the sliding door between the café and the kitchen. She usually left it open, but today she was grateful for the option to shut out the noise.
She sniffed the air in distaste. Baking was a form of solace, a refuge in times of stress. Unfortunately, its therapeutic wonders were on strike. She poked the latest batch of scones. Dry and overdone would be a compliment; they were burnt to a crisp. Feck. She’d have to start from scratch. She squeezed her eyes shut. This was not like her. With a sigh, she reached for the flour and went to work. She’d popped a fresh batch into the oven when the door slid open. Jonas stepped into the kitchen. A knot formed in her stomach.
“I called in a couple of times this morning to see if you were here.” He appeared ill at ease, his Adam’s apple working overtime. “How are you doing?”
Olivia focused on the dough she was kneading for soda bread. “Thanks, but there’s no need to check up on me. I’m fine.”
Tentatively, his hand touched her back. The warmth sent a shock of sensation through her thin blouse. “Don’t shut me out, Olivia. I realize you’ve had a shock. I’m not going to push you to make a decision on whether or not to keep seeing me. Take your time. I think we’ve made enough progress over the past few months to consider ourselves friends.”
All of a sudden, the room was stiflingly warm and he was too close. “How can we continue to see each other after what’s happened?”
“How can we not?” His voice broke as he slid his arms around her waist. “Our night together wasn’t some random fling, Olivia. It meant something. You mean something to me. I threw it away once before. I won’t make the same mistake a second time.”
She buried her face into his chest, inhaling his now-familiar scent. “I don’t want to throw it away, either. If only the timing wasn’t lousy. Everyone thinks we killed Aidan. If they don’t think we did it, they definitely think I did. Did you see the looks those ladies gave you in the café?”
“How did you know about that?” he asked with a small laugh. “You were in here when I walked through.”
“Because I can guess,” she said bitterly. “I’ve had to deal with them all morning. Thanks to the local rag, everyone knows I was in your hotel room when Seán came to tell me about Aidan’s murder.”
“The local rag got that story? Damn. I was hoping to break it to my mother before the media did.” He ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “Damn them out there in the café. Let them think what they want. You and Gant were separated for months before anything happened between us. He was hardly a faithful husband when you were together.”
Olivia rubbed her bone-dry eyes. “Everyone knows that, and no one cared until Aidan was killed. As for the NBCI crowd, are they even looking for anyone else? The looks Connelly gives me make me feel like I’m already in handcuffs.”
Jonas pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “We’ve done nothing wrong, Olivia. There’s not a shred of physical evidence to link you to the crime.”
“You’re more optimistic than I am,” she said, pulling away from his embrace. “Why couldn’t they
have kept the investigation local? The only one of them with a scrap of sense is Seán Mackey.”
“Bringing in outside help is standard procedure for a murder. Detective Inspector Connelly and his team have a reputation for getting results. The Ballybeg police haven’t dealt with a murder in more than twenty years, and that was a straightforward case of murder-suicide.”
Calmed by his soothing voice and common sense, her breathing eased into a normal pattern. “How can you stay calm? I’m a nervous wreck.”
“Panicking is counterproductive. The police will want straight answers, and that’s what we’ll give them.” He cupped her face gently in his hands, his finger tickling her nose playfully. “All this worrying isn’t healthy. Come on. Sit down and have a cup of tea.”
Her mouth curved in a reluctant half smile. “You sound like my grandfather.”
Jonas laughed. “I sound like my mother. That’s even worse.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all this.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault. I don’t regret punching Aidan, and I definitely don’t regret sleeping with you.”
She slipped out of his arms and went to stand by the small window over the sink. A cool breeze meandered its way inside. She shivered and hugged herself. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she whispered. “And to die in such a way. I couldn’t stand him, but I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”
“Nor I. It does, however, eliminate the need for a divorce.”
She spun round. “Jonas,” she exclaimed. “How can you be so callous?”
“I don’t mean to be callous. I’m saying what the police are thinking, not to mention the entire population. Speculation is rife on how much you stand to inherit.”
Her laugh was bitter. “I doubt I’ll get much. As I’ve said before, Aidan was careful to keep as much as he could in his mother’s name. The grim irony is that I’d have done better financially had he lived. He’d just suggested a golden handcuffs deal, whereby I’d get a substantial payment in return for keeping my trap shut about his affairs and domestic violence.”
Jonas’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Do the police know about this?”
She nodded. “The conversation took place the last time I saw Aidan. So, yeah, I mentioned I saw him in the café. I told them what we’d discussed, but they didn’t seem to believe me. Apparently, they could find no record of the settlement details.”
Jonas frowned. “Who handled Aidan’s affairs?”
“Most of it he did himself, but he was using a solicitor from Cork to handle our divorce. As far as I know, he was going to handle the settlement.”
“You have to contact Aidan’s solicitor. Don’t you realize it lessens your motive for killing Aidan? If you were going to get more money out of him through the divorce, why murder him first?”
“Yes, it occurred to me.” Her voice rose a notch. “I’m not a fool. I told Connelly about it, but he was dismissive.”
“What about Karen McCormack, the solicitor I recommended? Did you tell her?”
“Of course I did,” she snapped. “I might not write detective fiction, but I’m not a complete imbecile.”
“I’m not implying that you are,” he said gently. “I’m trying to help.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry for losing my temper. My emotions are all over the place at the moment.”
“No worries.” Jonas stroked the back of her neck. “Can anyone verify what was said when you and Aidan discussed the settlement?”
She sighed. “Unfortunately not. There was no one to overhear our conversation, but I did tell Fiona and Jill about it right after.”
He considered for a moment. “Not ideal, but at least they can verify you told them about it before Aidan was killed.”
“Aidan said he was going to send his solicitor a copy of the proposed settlement. Let’s hope he followed through.”
“For your sake, I hope so too.” He bent down and gave her a brief kiss on the forehead. “Listen, I’d better pay my mother a visit. If I don’t hear from you within the next couple of days, I’ll come looking for you.”
She gave him a warm smile. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken to Aidan’s solicitor. How’s that?”
“Okay.” He released her hand slowly. “Talk then.”
After Jonas left, she squared her shoulders and got back to work. They needed loaves of soda bread for the evening crowd, and the bread was not about to bake itself. She was up to her elbows in dough when Jill burst into the kitchen.
“There’s a riot out there, Olivia. Come quick!” She had never seen Jill’s placid face flustered.
She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll come right away.”
With the sliding door open, raised voices were audible.
“What on earth?” She hurried into the café and surveyed the scene. Bridie Byrne and her friends wore belligerent expressions. Newly arrived were Julie Jobson and a couple of her pals. Blast. This was not going to be pretty.
When Julie caught sight of Olivia, her face adopted an expression of sheer hatred. “Murderer! First, your brothers attack James. Now you’ve killed Aidan. Violence must run in your family.”
Olivia’s world spun on its axis. The lingering suspicion she’d had that Julie had been among Aidan’s many conquests crystallized. Somehow, the idea of Aidan with Julie hurt more than all the others. He knew Julie had bullied Olivia in school.
“I didn’t kill Aidan.” Her voice shook, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. Not in public, and certainly not in front of Julie Jobson.
“Well, if you didn’t kill Aidan, he must have done it.” Julie pointed a purple talon at the wall, presumably indicating Jonas’s cottage.
“Don’t be daft. Just because Jonas writes murder mysteries doesn’t mean he has firsthand experience.”
Julie curled her lips in distaste. “Bridie was gloating she can’t keep his books in stock. Crime author suspected of murder? You couldn’t buy publicity that good.”
As perverse as it sounded, Julie was right: the notoriety would likely increase his book sales. A murder mystery author suspected of a brutal crime? Cha-ching. Not that he’d have chosen this route to gain extra sales, but that was the way the world worked.
“You’re sick, you know that?” snarled Julie.
“And you’re a fool,” said Bridie. “How dare you come in here accusing Olivia and Jonas of murder? Have you any proof?”
“I’m sure the police will take care of that,” Julie said with a sniff.
Olivia lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m sure they won’t. They can’t prove what didn’t happen.”
“Julie’s only saying what the whole town is thinking,” said an elderly man with a cane. Olivia recognized him as one of Aidan’s fellow town councilors. As far as she was aware, he hadn’t darkened the door of the café once before today.
She froze him with an icy glare. “Are you in the habit of spreading slander, Councilor Evans? Hardly fitting for a man in your position.”
“It won’t be slander when the police arrest you and your boyfriend.”
“Leave Jonas out of this.” Olivia folded her arms across her chest. “He’s not here to defend himself.”
“And Aidan is?” countered Councilor Evans. “Poor Patricia was bereft when he married you. You’re no better than your mother, and everyone knows what she’s like.”
Her already frayed temper ripped. “Are you quite finished?” Her voice trembled, but she stood her ground. “If so, I’d like you to leave. You can take Julie and her pals with you.”
Councilor Evans bestowed her with a parting look of loathing and made his unsteady way to the café door. Julie and company followed suit.
Ignoring the stares of the café patrons—some gleeful, others sympathetic—she hurried in the direction of the kitchen.
She wouldn’t cry. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She didn’t want to give
the vultures the satisfaction of seeing they’d gotten to her. And they had. Far more than she cared to admit. She grasped the kitchen counter to stop from shaking. She’d opened a new business in Ballybeg. It wasn’t as if she could up and leave, but she didn’t know how much more of the stares and the jibes she could take before she’d crack.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“HOW COULD YOU?” Nuala O’Mahony’s hands trembled with such force that when she set her cup on the table, tea sloshed onto the stained wood. “I told you not to get mixed up with that girl. She brought you nothing but trouble twelve years ago, and now she’s got you mixed up in a murder investigation.”
Jonas took a deep breath and focused on his parents’ hideous kitchen wallpaper. Patience was what he needed, and patience was what he sorely lacked. “It’s not Olivia’s fault someone murdered Gant.”
“Why was I left to discover your involvement with Olivia in the Ballybeg Chronicle? I’m too embarrassed to show my face outside the house.” Mam’s hands fluttered to her throat. “Who’ll look after Luca when you go to prison? Me and your dad? We’re not getting any younger.”
He stared at his fingertips. Deep, cleansing breaths were doing nothing to keep his temper in check. “Mam, I am not going to prison. I was brought in for questioning, not arrested.”
“Sure and it’s only a matter of time.” His mother tugged on the crucifix around her neck. “I saw the way those Dublin detectives stared at you when they dropped you home on Saturday. Oh, why can’t you do the right thing for once in your life? If you’re not dropping out of college, you’re getting girls pregnant. When is it going to stop?”
Jonas counted to ten before replying. “First, I never dropped out of university. I switched from an engineering degree to one in journalism—which I completed with first-class honors. Second, Susanne is the only girl I ever got pregnant, and I took responsibility for Luca. We’ve been over this a thousand times.”
“But you didn’t marry the girl,” his mother insisted. “You should have gotten married.”
“The girl, as you call her, didn’t want to marry me,” he said tersely. “As it turned out, she didn’t even want Luca.”
