by Zara Keane
“Did you know he had money?”
“Not until my father died and I took over as Matt’s solicitor.” Aaron gave a wry smile. “When I first read the terms of his will, I thought it was a joke. But when I saw the precise sums named, I stopped laughing. Matt Malone used to come in once a year for a consultation and to update the terms of his will. He wanted specific sums of money spelled out in the will, and they grew every year.”
“I understand his cash and a necklace was in your safe?”
“Not exactly.” Aaron sighed. “I never should have agreed to the scheme. Matt had an aversion to banks. I don’t know why, and he never elaborated. He just refused to put his money into them. When I explained to him that my safe wasn’t big enough to hold two million euros worth of five-hundred euro notes, Matt went out and bought four diamond necklaces, each worth half a million euros.”
I whistled. “Wow.”
“The idea was that the necklaces represented each of his children’s inheritance.” Aaron sighed. “And I was to keep all four in my safe during the period of probate. Matt paid for the insurance in advance, but no insurance will cover us if we’re convicted of stealing from a client.”
“Are all four necklaces missing?”
Aaron shook his head. “Just the one.”
“And you’re positive that neither you nor Jennifer took it?”
The man looked horrified. “Of course we didn’t take it. I know I didn’t, and I can’t believe Jennifer would be capable of such a crime.”
“What about your assistant? Does she have access to the safe?”
“No. Jennifer and I are the only ones with the code, and the only people who knew about the necklaces are me, Jennifer, and Matt Malone’s children.” He paused. “And anyone involved with the processing of probate, I suppose.”
“Is your legal practice protected by an alarm when you’re not here?”
“Yes, but not one that’s connected to the police.” Aaron tugged at his collar. “Until recently, Whisper Island has always been a very safe place to live.”
“Okay, let’s start with Matt Malone’s children. Where are they now?”
Aaron frowned. “Let me see. Susan lives in Dublin with her family. Jane is in London. Enda immigrated to Australia, but he’s staying with his brother, Mick, at the Whisper Island Hotel at the moment.”
My ears pricked up at this information. “So both of Matt Malone’s sons are currently on the island?”
“Yes, but I can’t see either of them breaking into my office and robbing my safe.”
“Maybe they wanted to increase their share of their father’s estate.”
“Perhaps, but this is a risky way to do it. It’s not easy to convert a diamond necklace of that value into cash without the authorities getting wind of the scheme.”
“And even if they did sell it on the black market, they’d be unlikely to get its full value.” I considered this conundrum for a moment. Valuable jewelry was tough to shift, and a bad choice for a criminal looking to make a quick buck. “Why did O’Shea latch onto Jennifer as the culprit? Why not you?”
“Because Jennifer was the last person to handle the necklaces. On the request of one of Matt Malone’s daughter’s, she brought all of them to a jeweler in Galway last week to be formally appraised, but she swears she put all four necklaces back in the safe the moment she got back to the office. I believe her. Why risk her career for half a million euros? It might seem like a vast sum of money to many people, but Jennifer comes from a wealthy family, and she’s engaged to a wealthy man. Why would she jeopardize everything for a necklace?”
Why indeed? I didn’t have Jennifer down as a thief or an embezzler, but I’d be a fool to rule her out this early in the investigation. And I wasn’t ruling Aaron out yet, either.
“If the necklaces were insured, I assume they’d already been valued by a professional. Why did Malone’s daughter want it done again?”
“The Malone siblings aren’t close. At least, the sisters don’t speak to the brothers, and vice versa. Jane expressed concern that the four necklaces might not be of equal value, and she requested a second opinion on the necklaces’ respective values.”
“That sounds reasonable.” I eyed Nesbitt carefully. “Do you have any idea why the Malone siblings dislike each other?”
“I don’t know the precise ins and outs, but Jane mentioned one of her brothers cheating her out of her savings. Suffice it to say, there’s no love lost between them.” Aaron cast me a pleading look. “So will you help us? I don’t trust Sergeant O’Shea, and you can ask questions where we can’t. We’ll pay you for your services, of course.”
“I don’t exactly hang out a shingle for my services, as you put it,” I said dryly. “I’m an ex-cop who works at her aunt’s café.”
“You solved a murder. You caught the killer with your own hands.”
That wasn’t quite how the situation had gone down, but I didn’t feel like going into the details.
“You’re ideal to dig up dirt on Matt Malone’s children, and anyone else who might have known about the necklaces,” Aaron continued. “We want to hire you to be our unofficial private eye.”
4
On Wednesday morning, my plan to begin my investigation into the disappearance of the diamond necklace was derailed by a high fever. So much for Mack’s medicines. I groaned and rolled over in my bed, and then groaned some more when the room spun around me in drunken waves. The day passed in a feverish blur. I was vaguely aware of Noreen bringing me soup and something to drink, and I recalled Poly staring resentfully at me for taking up too much space in what she considered to be her bed.
I was barely conscious of Wednesday rolling into Thursday, but when I woke up on Friday morning, I felt a million times better. I checked the date on my bedside clock and sat bolt upright in my bed. I’d lost two whole days that I could have spent investigating Matt Malone’s missing diamond necklace, not to mention my shifts at the Movie Theater Café. For all I knew, Sergeant O’Shea had charged Jennifer Pearce with the crime. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and groped on the nightstand for my phone. I hit Jennifer’s number.
“Hullo?” She sounded sleepy, and I checked the clock again. Five o’clock in the morning. Oops.
“It’s Maggie Doyle. Sorry if I woke you.”
“It’s okay. I need to get up soon anyway.” I heard a door close and assumed she’d moved her location to take this call.
“I’m sorry I haven’t started looking into the necklace business. I’ve been sick.”
“Noreen told me,” Jennifer said between yawns. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing new has happened since you spoke to Aaron on Tuesday. Sergeant O’Shea is still determined to pin the blame on me, but he hasn’t charged me yet. Mainly, I suspect, due to the influence of Sergeant Reynolds.”
“The sooner Reynolds takes over as the official head of police on Whisper Island, the better,” I said. “He, at least, has a functioning brain.”
This made Jennifer laugh. “Sergeant O’Shea reminds me of PC Goon in Enid Blyton’s The Five Find-Outers series.”
“I don’t think I read that series,” I said, casting my mind back over the books I’d borrowed from Julie during childhood summers spent on the island. “Wait a sec…the fool of a policeman who’s always outwitted by the gang of kid investigators?”
“That’s the one.”
“Okay, what do you need me to do?” I asked, turning the conversation back to the investigation. “After losing two days to the flu, I’m not sure where to start. Are Malone’s sons still staying at the hotel?”
“Yes, but they seem to spend more time on the golf course and at the golf club bar than at the hotel.” Jennifer’s voice held a hint of acid. “For two men who claim I’ve stolen a considerable portion of their inheritance, they appear to be remarkably calm.”
“Right.” I rooted through my closet for clean clothes. “I’ll jump under the shower and head for the golf course.”
“It’s five in the morning, Maggie,” Jennifer said dryly. “Even the most dedicated golfers won’t be out before dawn.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” I took a cautious sniff under my arms and recoiled. Two days without washing didn’t make for a pretty smell. “Either way, I’m hitting the shower.”
Jennifer yawned again. “And I’m hitting the bed until my alarm goes off.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Thanks, Maggie.” Jennifer’s voice softened. “I appreciate you doing this for Aaron and me.”
“No problem. I owe you one, after all.”
I put the phone back on my nightstand and had a luxuriously long shower, after which I, too, collapsed back into my bed for another two hours. When I emerged from my room for the second time that morning, Noreen had left a basket of fresh scones waiting for me on the kitchen table and a note saying she’d hitched a ride into town with Paddy Driscoll and left me the car in case I was feeling better and wanted to get out of the house. I sent her a text message to say thanks, and then added a question about her golf club membership. Her response was swift.
I’ll give them a call and tell them to let you in as my guest. I’ve been a member long enough that they owe me that much. Take it easy, love. You’re supposed to be recuperating, not playing golf!
Me playing golf? I laughed at the idea. The only reason I knew one end of a golf club from the other was from a murder investigation I’d worked on back home.
Uncomfortable in the knowledge that I was yet again depriving my aunt of her car, I drove in the direction of the Whisper Island Golf Club. If I wrapped up my oh-so-subtle questioning of the Malone brothers quickly, I’d head to the café and let Noreen take the rest of the day off.
The lady at the Whisper Island Golf Club’s reception greeted me with a warm smile. “Come on in, Maggie. Noreen told us to expect you.”
The chatty woman was easy to coax into indiscretions about the golf club’s guests, and only too happy to inform me that Enda and Mick Malone were having a late breakfast in the club’s restaurant. I took this as my cue to express my desire for food and followed the receptionist into the elegantly appointed restaurant.
And ran slap bang into Lenny Logan, my old friend, and Movie Club buddy. We stared at one another, open-mouthed. “What are you doing here?” we demanded in unison.
“Ladies first,” Lenny said. “You’re not exactly the golf club type.”
“Neither are you.” I lowered my voice. “I’m trying to accidentally on purpose bump into Matt Malone’s sons.”
“And I’m here about the chickens,” Lenny added as if this information was self-explanatory.
“Chickens?” I gaped at him in bewilderment.
The receptionist cleared her throat, reminding me of her existence, and motioned to a free table. “Will your friend be joining you, Maggie?”
“Yes, he will.” I grabbed Lenny’s arm and dragged him to the free table. “You can explain about the chickens over breakfast.”
“I’ve already eaten,” he protested when the receptionist had gone.
“So have I. We can order a slice of toast and share it. I need to brainstorm something, and you’re the perfect person to do it with.” I grinned at my friend. “Besides, I need to know about the chickens.”
To the waitress’s disgust, Lenny and I ordered toast. I added freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of coffee to our order, which mollified her somewhat.
“So,” I said the instant she was out of earshot. “What’s all this about chickens?”
“Granddad keeps chickens. Every year, the golf club borrows them for Chicken Night.”
Okay, then. Yet another crazy island tradition that I knew nothing about. “You said ‘borrow,’ so I’m assuming Chicken Night doesn’t involve chicken fricassee?”
“Oh, no.” Lenny’s face was a picture of horror. “We don’t eat the chickens. We dress them up in little green costumes, and they perform a dance.”
I checked my friend for signs he was pranking me, but his bony face wore a serious expression. “Why on earth would anyone want to watch chickens dance? And why would the chickens cooperate?”
“Drunk golfers are weird,” Lenny said pragmatically, “but they pay well for the chickens, and Granddad’s been their official supplier for years. As for the chickens’ motivation—” he shrugged, “—as long as they’re fed, they’re happy.”
Our order arrived, and we fell silent while our waitress placed a rack of crisp toast and an array of jams on the table. After she’d left, Lenny leaned forward. “So why are you looking for the Malone brothers? I heard you were in bed with the flu.”
“I was, but I’m feeling better.” I cast a look around the room, but I couldn’t identify Matt Malone’s sons from the restaurant’s patrons. There was one table occupied by two men, but they looked like father and son. “Do you recognize the Malone brothers from this crowd?”
“Sure. Second table by the window.”
I took another look and my eyes widened. Five men sat at the table Lenny had identified. Two looked to be the right age to be Matt Malone’s sons, and the other three were much younger but bore a resemblance to the older men. “Wait a sec…are those Malone’s grandsons?”
“Yeah. The two with tans are Aussies, and Brendan Malone lives in Galway, like his dad.”
I processed this information. “So Crocodile Dundee is the Australian son, Enda, and the Hemsworth brothers lookalikes are his sons.”
Lenny snorted with laughter. “Yeah. The lads are Rob and Darren if I remember right. They’re a few years younger than us.”
“Then the other guy in his fifties must be Mick Malone,” I continued, “and the grumpy-looking dude next to him is his son.”
“Correct. Mick Malone imports electronic equipment and sells it wholesale. He’s one of my parents’ suppliers.” Lenny’s family ran Whisper Island’s only electronics store, and my friend worked there in addition to fixing computers on the side. “Mick’s son, Brendan, is a pro golfer.”
“Hence their obsession with the golf course.”
“Exactly.” Lenny fixed me with a curious look. “Why are you so interested in the Malones? Does it have something to do with that necklace Jennifer Pearce is accused of stealing?”
“Yes, but keep it to yourself. Aaron and Jennifer have asked me to do a bit of digging.”
“Awesome.” Lenny’s face lit up. “Can I help?”
“I’d appreciate your assistance, but I’m not sure how you can help.”
My friend’s grin widened. “But I am. You need a way to bump into the Malones and they hardly ever leave the golf club.”
“Yeah…” I said, wary of what harebrained scheme was cooking in Lenny’s mind.
“And I just so happen to be a member of the golf club, and I’ll need an assistant for Chicken Night.”
I eyed him with suspicion. “You need an assistant to dress up chickens in little green costumes?”
“Heck, no. It’s an excuse for you to tag along.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re a member of the golf club.”
“It’s not like I actually play,” he said, horrified that anyone should accuse him of being a golfer. “At least, not when I can help it. Mum’s on the board of directors, and she insisted I learn the basics. A dreadfully dull game, but she loves it.”
“How do I find out more about Matt Malone’s grandsons?”
“Persuade one of them to attend Chicken Night as your date,” Lenny said as though this solution were self-evident.
“How? I’ll be helping you. Besides, they’re all younger than me—”
“Only by a couple of years. You’re twenty-nine, right?”
“Yeah.” I’d turn thirty in September, but I was blocking that impending milestone from my mind.
“Rob Malone’s around twenty-six or twenty-seven. Perfect for you.”
I glanced back at the two beefy Australians, and one caught my eye. Heat stained
my cheeks, and I cursed my lack of poise around the opposite sex. I forced a smile, hoping the minimal makeup I’d applied before leaving Noreen’s house hid the worst of my post-flu pallor.
“What did I tell you?” Lenny said with a laugh. “Rob likes you. All you need to do is persuade him to hang around for a drink after you’ve helped me and the chickens do our stuff.”
I jerked back and turned to Lenny. “How do I go from a sort-of-sultry look across a restaurant to landing a date with the dude?”
“Leave that part to me. First, we need to introduce you.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Come on. I’ll do the intros.”
5
The Malones looked up when Lenny and I approached their table. Mick Malone, the brother from Galway, stood and shook Lenny’s hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you keeping?”
“Ah, I’m grand,” Lenny said in his habitual easy manner. “And yourself?”
“Some old, same old, you know? It’s nice to have a golfing break with the lads.” Mick gestured to the other men. “You know Brendan, but have you met my brother and nephews?”
A round of introductions and hearty male handshakes followed. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, hyper aware of the testosterone dominating the proceedings. Lenny turned to me and winked. “This is Maggie, Dermot Doyle’s daughter.”
Mick Malone’s smile was genuine, but his brother, Enda, focused on my chest. I took an instant dislike to the man.
“I was at school with your father,” Mick said. “How’s he doing? Still rising in the ranks of the San Francisco Police Department?”
“Yes,” I said, and silently added, but not as high as Mom.
“Are you two here for a round of golf?” Mick asked.
“Yes,” Lenny said at the same time I said, “No.”
