by Zara Keane
I grinned. “Good luck with that.”
When I climbed back into the car, I checked the clock on the dashboard. I’d swing by the station and try to bribe whoever was on desk duty into being indiscreet. My gaze strayed to the two muffins I’d sprung from the bake sale goodies. Bribery in the form of baked goods would be my weapon.
February was still low season on Whisper Island, and the afternoon traffic was light. A few minutes after leaving the school, I reached the Whisper Island Garda Station. When I pulled into the station’s parking lot, Sergeant Liam Reynolds was climbing off his Harley, dressed in civvies.
Muttering under my breath, I grabbed the muffins and got out of the car. Our gazes clashed. A by-now-familiar prickle of heat spread across my skin. “Sergeant,” I said, or rather, croaked.
“Ms. Doyle.” His lips twitched with amusement. “I should have known you’d show up. Drawn to trouble, as per usual.”
My eyes widened, and my attention flew to the door of the solicitor’s practice. “Jennifer.”
“Yeah.” He cocked his head to the side and grinned at me. “Your pal is in a bucket load of hot water.”
“She’s not exactly my pal.”
“Yet here you are, running to her rescue.” He dropped his gaze. “With muffins.”
“How do you know I’m here to help Jennifer?” I demanded in a haughty tone.
“I doubt you’re here to visit Sergeant O’Shea,” Reynolds said cheerfully, “unless those muffins contain strychnine.”
“Nope. I was hoping to bribe whatever dork of a reserve garda was stuck on desk duty.”
Reynolds’s deep chuckle brought heat to my cheeks. “Not a reserve, but I’m on desk duty this afternoon. I guess those muffins are for me.” He swiped one out of my hand before I could protest, and took a bite. “Delicious. I guess you didn’t bake them.”
“I’ll have you know my baking skills are improving,” I said in a tone of outrage. Okay, ‘improving’ was pushing it, but the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off in an entire week. I considered this progress.
Reynolds turned on his heel and strode toward the entrance, forcing me to jog to keep pace with his long strides. “I was expecting you. Aaron Nesbitt told me you’d show up.”
“Did he now? And how would he know that? Has he developed clairvoyant tendencies?”
“Apparently, Jennifer wanted to consult you about a client, and she mentioned it to Aaron.”
“Yeah, she texted me to arrange a meeting, but she didn’t say what she wanted to talk to me about.”
Reynolds shoved open the station door and gestured for me to enter. When we were inside, he swung his backpack behind the front desk. “I can guess that whatever Jennifer wanted to discuss with you is connected with the reason she was brought in for questioning. Take a seat while I put on my uniform.”
I obeyed and chose the least uncomfortable of the police station’s hard plastic chairs. I picked up a tattered magazine from the pile on the coffee table and leafed through it absently, barely seeing the pictures or words before me. What could Jennifer have done to warrant such a dramatic entrance from the notoriously lazy Sergeant O’Shea? The older police officer was usually more concerned with his next round of golf than with maintaining law and order on Whisper Island.
Reynolds reappeared after a few minutes, looking disturbingly handsome in his uniform. “Can I offer you a coffee?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Thanks, but no thanks. I value my stomach lining.”
He laughed. “Our machine isn’t up to the high standards set by the Movie Theater Café, that’s for sure.”
“A glass of water would be good.”
“Sure.” Reynolds filled a large glass with mineral water and handed it to me. “You don’t look too hot today. Did the flu get you?”
I pulled a face and nodded. “I’m going back to bed once I’ve spoken to Jennifer.”
Reynolds jerked a thumb in the direction of the station’s only interrogation room. “That might take a while. I popped my head round the door a moment ago, and it looked like O’Shea was just warming up.”
“Why’s he handling the questioning and not you? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”
Reynolds’s grin widened. “Officially, I’m helping him to wind down toward retirement. Today is my day off, but with Sergeant O’Shea busy, and neither of the reserves available, I came in to cover the phones and anything else that crops up.”
“So…” I lowered my voice. “Why the coffee? You’ve got to have an ulterior motive for being nice to me.”
He schooled his features into an expression of faux hurt. “Maybe I’m just being nice to my future neighbor.”
“Hmm…maybe, but I don’t buy it. Why are you so keen to talk to me?”
Reynolds glanced in the direction of the interrogation room. “Because I know what Jennifer wanted to talk to you about, and why.”
“Well, go on,” I demanded, leaning forward. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“Jennifer has been accused of stealing a valuable diamond necklace that belongs to a client.”
I drew back and stared at him, slack-jawed. “‘Jennifer’ and ‘stealing’ don’t belong in the same sentence. You’ve met the woman. She takes herself and her job way too seriously to jeopardize it by stealing from a client.”
Reynolds shrugged. “Nevertheless, the client—or rather, the client’s heirs—are adamant that Jennifer took the necklace.”
“Okay, tell me the whole story. I’m intrigued.”
“It’s not my case…” he trailed off, leaving me to fill in the blank.
“Not yet.” I grinned. “Go on.”
“Jennifer and Aaron are handling the estate of a client who died in a nursing home on Whisper Island a few months ago. The man’s heirs have been fighting over their inheritance since the funeral. They thought that Matt Malone, the dead guy, was dirt poor, but it turns out he had a pile of cash stashed away under the floorboards—literally. As well as the cash, Malone owned valuable diamond necklaces. I don’t know the full details, but that’s what I gleaned from O’Shea.”
“Where did the money and the jewels come from?”
“Gambling. Apparently, Malone was a gifted poker player.”
“Poker is legal in Ireland, right?” I frowned. “I think I read that somewhere.”
Reynolds nodded. “As long as the game adheres to certain rules, and Malone always made sure to avoid illegal poker games.
“If people knew Malone was a talented gambler,” I mused, “why were they surprised to discover he had money?”
“His friends say he played to win, but he wasn’t interested in the winnings. He was content with his life on the island and saw no reason to change it. Malone won most of his big prize money off the island, so people around here didn’t necessarily know how much cash he’d won.”
“What about the tax folks?” I asked. “Did they know about it?”
“Yes. Malone declared his winnings on his tax forms. It was all above board, even his decision to keep cash in his house. No one is obliged to keep their wealth in a bank.”
“So Malone’s friends knew he had cash lying around, even if they weren’t aware how much?”
Reynolds shook his head. “No. Malone made no secret of his distrust of banks, especially after the Irish banking crisis, but he wasn’t a fool. The only people who knew he kept cash in his house were his lawyers.”
I digested this information for a moment before saying, “Tell me more about the necklace.”
Reynolds slid another glance at the closed door. “As I said, Malone stored his winnings under the floorboards. I’m not sure of the exact details, but he left instructions in his will with a list of the various locations he’d hidden his wealth. Among the loot was the diamond necklace that Jennifer Pearce is accused of stealing.”
“Who made the accusation?”
“Matt Malone’s sons. It looks bad for Aaron and Jennifer because they failed to report the bre
ak-in to us.”
I nodded. “Okay. Go on with the story.”
“As I said, Malone had a deep distrust of banks. His instructions were that Nesbitt & Son should collect his loot from his house after his death and store it in their safe until probate was over.”
I whistled. “That’s a heck of a risk.”
“Aaron and Jennifer weren’t comfortable with this stipulation, but they were being paid a hefty fee for their services. Malone’s four children were scattered around the globe, and no one else knew about the contents of the safe.” Reynolds’s smile was wry. “At least, no one officially knew, apart from Aaron, Jennifer, and Matt Malone’s heirs.”
“Which is why when the diamond necklace was discovered to be missing, the fickle finger of suspicion pointed at Jennifer,” I finished.
“Yeah.” Reynolds flexed his shoulders. “The whole business stinks.”
“Your esteemed colleague doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Sergeant O’Shea doesn’t have much experience dealing with thefts on this scale,” Reynolds said, determinedly diplomatic about his waste-of-space fellow police officer.
“Where do I come into the picture?” I asked. “There has to be a reason you’re telling me all this.”
“When Jennifer gets out of here—which she will in another hour or two—my guess is that she’s going to ask you to do some discreet digging on her behalf.” Reynolds chuckled. “I’d like you to refuse.”
“What?” I shot out of my seat. “No way.”
“Sh.” Reynolds held a finger over his lips. “You don’t want Sergeant O’Shea coming out here and seeing you.”
With a reluctant grunt, I slumped back onto my seat. “Why tell me all of this and then turn around and warn me not to get involved?”
“First off, you’re sick. The smartest thing for you to do is to go home and sleep. And second, I haven’t known you long, but I can guess you’ll leap at the opportunity to go haring off in pursuit of the thief.” The laughter lines around Reynolds’s eyes deepened. “I’m politely asking you not to stick your nose in this case. I fully intend to be put in charge of the investigation—” the unspoken implication that it would be with or without O’Shea’s cooperation hung in the air, “—and I don’t want you involved.”
“Charming.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I helped you catch a killer last week.”
“For which I’m very grateful, but that is to be your only foray into cracking crimes in Ireland. Do we understand one another?”
I sniffed. “Perfectly.”
He beamed. “Excellent. Then you promise to stay out of this?”
“What can a woman with the flu add to your stellar detective skills, Sergeant?” I stood up and allowed a slow smile to spread across my face, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty in his deep blue eyes. “I’ll go home to my chicken soup and leave you to solve the crime.”
“Maggie, I’m serious,” he called after me as I swept out of the police station.
I looked back at him over my shoulder, savoring the sight of the handsome police officer looking flustered. “So am I, Sergeant. So am I.”
3
My next stop was at McConnell’s Pharmacy, where I threw myself at the mercy of my friend Mack. “I need a cure for the flu.”
“Don’t we all.” Mack cast a look of longing at the back room in which he kept his lab equipment. “If I invent a cure for influenza, I’ll make my fortune.”
“Until you go down in the annals of pharmaceutical history, do you at least have something that’ll mask my symptoms?”
The pharmacist looked me over and shook his head. “Are you sure you have the flu? If you had the real deal, you wouldn’t be able to move.”
“Flu, bad cold, whatever. What can I take that doesn’t need a script?”
“A what?” Mack blinked for a moment. “Oh, you mean a doctor’s prescription. As well as making sure you get plenty of rest and liquids, you could try Day and Night Nurse.” He took a couple of packages from a shelf and turned back to me. “I recommend the Day Nurse capsules for during the day, and the Night Nurse in liquid form for the night.”
“As long as they work and don’t knock me on my behind, I’m happy.”
“Don’t you want to know the ingredients?” Mack frowned at me as though I were an inattentive student.
I sighed. “No, but I get the impression that you won’t sell them to me unless I let you give me a chemistry lecture.”
He laughed and rattled off a list of ingredients, some of which sounded familiar. I slapped a few notes on the counter and grabbed my meds. “Thanks, Mack. I’ll see you at the Movie Club on Friday.”
A line appeared between Mack’s brows. “Will you be well enough to go?”
“If your medicines are as effective as you say, sure I will.” I gave him a mock salute and sauntered out of the pharmacy.
Back in the car, I opened the package of Day Nurse. After a cursory glance at the instructions, I popped a pill and downed it with the bottle of mineral water I always carried in my purse. Now that I was medicated, it was time to get to work. While I had Jennifer Pearce’s number stored on my phone, I didn’t have Aaron Nesbitt’s. I opened my phone’s browser and looked up Nesbitt & Son. I hit the number that popped up on my screen. Aaron answered on the second ring.
“Ms. Doyle,” he said after I’d introduced myself, “I’m glad you called. Would it be possible for you to meet me this afternoon?”
“Sure. I’ll swing by your place now. I’m parked on the main street, so I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Thank you.” The man’s relief was palpable.
I slipped my phone back in my purse and got out of the car for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. There had to be more to this story than Reynolds had revealed, I thought as I retraced my steps from earlier to Lynott Lane. Why else would Jennifer and Aaron be so keen to involve an outsider like me instead of relying on the police?
A vision of that incompetent oaf, Sergeant O’Shea, danced before my eyes and I swallowed a snort. Maybe Aaron and Jennifer would feel more confident once Reynolds wrested the investigation out of O’Shea’s grubby hands. The thought of O’Shea raised another pertinent question. Why was the notoriously work-shy police officer suddenly keen to take on this case? Something didn’t add up.
In contrast to earlier, Lynott Lane was deserted, and no curious crowd loitered in front of the entrance to Nesbitt & Son Solicitors. I pressed the bell and Aaron’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Ms. Doyle? I’ll buzz you in.”
Inside, a short flight of stairs led up to the first landing. Aaron Nesbitt stood in the doorframe, waiting for me. He was around Noreen’s age and wore his curly silver hair short. Like Jennifer, Aaron was impeccably dressed and looked as though he’d been transplanted from a big city law firm to this small two-person show on Whisper Island. However, I knew from my aunts that Aaron had inherited Nesbitt & Son from his father, and had practiced on Whisper Island since the day he’d qualified as a solicitor.
Ignoring my tiredness, I took the stairs two at a time and forced a confident smile. “Hello, Mr. Nesbitt.” I stretched out an arm.
He shook my hand with a firm, confident shake. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Doyle. Please call me Aaron.”
“Then I’m Maggie.”
Aaron led me through a fusty reception area where an equally fusty assistant tapped away on a keyboard.
“Could you serve tea in my office, Mary?”
The woman glanced up and gave me a critical stare over her horn-rimmed glasses. Then her lined face lit up. “You’re Noreen and Philomena’s niece.”
“Yeah. I’m Maggie.” It still felt weird to be recognized by people I didn’t know. I was used to the anonymity of living in a big city where strangers neither knew nor cared what I was called, or who my family was.
“I’m Mary Driscoll, Paddy’s sister. I went to school with your dad.” The woman’s broad smile lit up her homely face. “Dermot was alwa
ys the class clown.”
The idea that my dour father came from this warm, welcoming community still baffled me, and the notion that he’d once been the class clown was even more bewildering. Mary must have mixed him up with someone with a sense of humor.
I followed Aaron into his office, and he motioned for me to take a seat. I chose one of the sleek leather armchairs that faced Aaron’s impossibly neat desk.
“How’s Jennifer?” I asked. “I hoped to catch her at the station earlier, but she was in with Sergeant O’Shea.”
Aaron’s nostrils flared ever so slightly, betraying the anger that simmered beneath his cool and collected exterior. “That buffoon. Jennifer is bearing up. The police let her go half an hour ago, and I told her to go home. The stress brought on one of her migraines.”
“At least she hasn’t been charged with anything.”
“Not yet,” Aaron grunted. “Sergeant O’Shea wanted to keep her longer, but the new guy intervened.”
“Sergeant Reynolds filled me in on some of the background,” I began. “I assume that’s why I’m here.”
Aaron nodded. “Yes. Jennifer suggested we contact you. She felt your…professional experience…might prove useful.”
“I’m not a cop over here,” I cautioned. “I have no jurisdiction and no right to question people.”
“I know. That’s why you’re perfect.”
“Maybe you can expand on what Sergeant Reynolds told me.”
Before Aaron could begin, Mary arrived with the tea tray. Normally, I preferred coffee, but my sore throat was grateful for a cup of hot tea today. After Mary had left, Aaron began his tale.
“Matt Malone was a family friend. He and my father were at school together, and they both came back to the island after university.” Aaron took a sip of tea before continuing, weighing his next words carefully. “They were the only boys in their year to get college degrees. My father studied law and qualified as a solicitor, and Matt took a degree in mathematics. Everyone expected Matt to stay in academia, or qualify as a secondary school teacher, but he chose to come back to Whisper Island and take over the family farm. He married a local girl, had four children, and lived a mundane existence. The only unusual thing about the man was his love of poker.”
