by Zara Keane
My friend shot me a warning look.
“We’re considering it,” I amended.
“Well, you’re welcome to join us for a drink at the bar this evening.” Mick grinned. “Lenny and I promise not to talk business.”
“Ordering supplies is more Mum’s department in any case.” Lenny looked at me and smiled. “Unfortunately, we’re already committed to the Movie Club meeting this evening, but you’re welcome to come as our guests.”
“Movie Club?” Brendan snorted. “Is that the one run by the old bat who owns the café?”
My chest swelled with indignation. “Watch it, pal. The ‘old bat’ happens to be my aunt.”
Brendan’s sneer did nothing to enhance his homely appearance. “So?”
“So don’t insult my aunt.” I glared at the arrogant young man with ill-disguised antipathy. The guy might be a pro golfer, but his athletic prowess appeared to be his one redeeming feature.
Mick cleared his throat. “Well, uh, it was nice to meet you, Maggie—”
“I’d like to come to the Movie Club meeting,” Rob Malone cut in. “When do I need to be there?”
I exhaled in satisfaction. This was the in I’d been hoping for. “We start serving cocktails at eight, and the movie is due to begin at nine.”
Rob nodded. “Sounds good. What are you watching?”
“To Catch a Thief.”
“Ah, Hitchcock.” The man smiled. “I like his stuff.”
I shifted my gaze to Rob’s brother. “Would you like to join us?”
“Sure. Why not? It’s got to be better than listening to Mick and Dad go on and on about Brendan’s golfing stats.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner that took some—but not all—of the sting out of his words. “I’m more into Rugby myself.”
Lenny looked pointedly at his watch. “I’d better make tracks. I have to talk to Cormac about the chickens.”
“Is this for the infamous Chicken Night we keep hearing about?” Rob asked.
“Yeah. My granddad supplies the chickens each year, and Maggie’s going to be my assistant.”
This was news to me, but I rolled with it. By helping Lenny with the chickens, I’d have a chance to talk with whichever Malones didn’t make it to tonight’s Movie Club meeting. Not a bad plan actually.
Lenny and I parted company with the Malones and paid for our barely touched breakfast. Back in the lobby, I asked, “When is this Chicken Night happening?”
“Tomorrow.”
I bit my lip. “Noreen wants me to go to the Valentine’s dance at the town hall.”
“You can do both. The chickens don’t appear on stage until ten.”
“Darn. I was hoping for an excuse to bail on the dance.”
Lenny laughed. “No chance. Your aunts will make sure you and Julie go.”
The clock in the lobby chimed the hour. Eleven o’clock. “I’d better get to the café and help Noreen with the lunchtime rush.”
“No prob.” Lenny slung his backpack over one shoulder. “I need to nail down the details for tomorrow with Cormac Tate. Want me to help set up for the Movie Club meeting later?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Say around seven-thirty?”
“Okay. See you then.”
Lenny ambled off to discuss chickens, and I headed back out to the car, my head full of thoughts of missing diamond necklaces. With the revelation that three of Matt Malone’s grandsons were on the island, my pool of suspects had widened. My next move was to call Aaron and find out if Malone had left provisions for his grandchildren, and then it was time to negotiate an information exchange with Sergeant Reynolds.
Noreen was grateful to see me show up at the café in time for the lunchtime rush, and I was kept busy for the rest of the day, leaving me no time to call Aaron or Jennifer. I compromised by shooting Jennifer a quick text message, and her response was rapid.
No provisions for his grandchildren. Matt Malone split his wealth four ways between his children. In addition to the necklaces, they’ll each receive an equal share of the proceeds of the sale of the Malone farm.
In other words, Matt Malone’s grandsons might have a motive for wanting to steal one of the necklaces. While the children would want to make sure they were able to sell the necklaces for their true market value, a grandson strapped for cash wouldn’t care if he received less on the black market. But which one? I needed to find out how long the Malones had been on Whisper Island, and if any of them had a police record. And the only way to do the latter was through Sergeant Reynolds.
At seven o’clock, the café closed for the evening, and Noreen and I changed our clothes and began to set up for the Movie Club meeting. “You should have gone home after lunch,” I said, handing her a tray of freshly prepared sandwiches to arrange on serving plates. “I could have managed on my own.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to leave you. You’re still not one-hundred percent.”
“True, but I’m a lot better than yesterday.” I lined up cocktail glasses and checked that I had all the ingredients on hand to make tonight’s cocktail menu options. In honor of To Catch a Thief’s French Riviera setting, I’d chosen five cocktails to fit the theme: the Rose, the 1789, the Sidecar, the French Martini, and the French Connection.
As promised, Lenny showed up at seven-thirty and set up the projector and other tech equipment that would enable us to show the movie in the small movie theater at the back of the café. When he’d finished taking care of the equipment, Lenny joined me behind the counter. “Well, well. Look who’s the first to arrive? Looks like you have an admirer, Maggie.”
Rob and Darren Malone entered the café and made a beeline for the counter. I smoothed down my blue evening gown, grateful I’d made an extra effort for tonight’s meeting. Much to Noreen’s amusement, I’d even attempted to tame my wild red curls for the occasion, but soon gave it up as a lost cause and resorted to my usual messy up-do.
Rob gave me an appreciative once-over. “Hey, Maggie. Looking good.”
“Thanks. So are you.” And he was. His dark hair was slicked back, and his suit was obviously tailor made. Either Rob Malone had money to burn, or he had expensive tastes. His brother was slightly less formally attired and hadn’t bothered with a tie.
Darren glanced at his watch, clearly not happy to be here. “Do you have beer or just this girly stuff?”
“We only serve cocktails at club meetings,” I said, keeping my tone breezy, “but I can offer you coffee or a mineral water.”
Darren wrinkled his nose in displeasure and pointed to the cocktail menu. “If this stuff is all you’ve got, I’ll try a French Martini.”
“Sorry about my brother,” Rob said after Darren wandered off to look at the framed vintage movie posters that decorated the walls of the café. “He doesn’t get out much in polite society.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry about it. What would you like to drink?”
“I’m driving, so I’ll stick with that mineral water you mentioned.”
I poured him a glass of Ballygowan and shoved it across the counter. The café was starting to fill up with club members, and Lenny took care of most of the orders, leaving me free to chat to Rob.
“I was sorry to hear about your grandfather.”
“Yeah. He was a nice old geezer.” He caught my look of surprise and laughed. “I didn’t know him all that well. We’d only met twice, and the last time was when I was fourteen. He and my dad weren’t that close.”
“Right. What does your father do in Australia?”
“He runs an import and export business for electronics. Similar to what Mick does over here, but my dad’s business is on a larger scale, shall we say.” The smug smile dented his laid-back attitude. Either Rob liked the fact that his father was the more successful brother, or he was sick of Mick’s boasting about Brendan’s golf career and wanted to stick up for the Australian branch of the family.
I refilled his glass and fixed a Sidecar for another club member. Rob made no
attempt to mingle, seemingly content to lean against the counter and chat with me. The conversation drifted to Rugby, a topic in which I had no great interest, but I let him prattle on while I shook cocktails and sliced fruit to decorate the glasses. By the time Julie arrived, I was heartily sick of my new friend. Rob was good-looking, sure, but he knew it, and his three favorite topics were me, myself, and I.
My cousin reached the counter at the same time as one of the other members, Günter Hauptmann, a weird German dude who lived on a houseboat all year long. “Ladies first,” Günter said in his thick German accent.
“I’ll have a French Martini,” Julie said to me, before turning to Günter. “I was serious about what I said. You can’t stay on the boat tomorrow night. There’s a storm forecast.”
Günter shrugged. “I’ve experienced island storms before, and my boat was just fine.”
“This one is supposed to be big.” Julie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Men. They always think they’re invincible.”
“A storm’s forecast?” I asked. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, yeah,” my cousin said, looking at me as though I were crazy. “It’s been the island’s main topic of conversation since yesterday. How did you miss hearing about it?”
“I was sick in bed. I guess I didn’t get the memo.”
“Oh, that’s right. Mum mentioned you’d taken to your bed.” A sympathetic look crossed over my cousin’s face. “How are you feeling now?”
“Much better, thanks.” I held up my glass of mineral water. “But I’m sticking to tea and water for the next couple of days.”
Julie nodded. “Smart.”
Darren Malone lumbered over to his brother and gave my cousin an unsubtle once-over that brought a flush to her freckled cheeks. “Hey, gorgeous.” He stuck out his hand in greeting. “I’m Darren Malone.”
Before my cousin could respond, a jangle above the door indicated the arrival of more people. I looked up and swallowed hard. Jennifer Pearce swept in, her head held high, and her fiancé at her side.
“She’s got a nerve,” Darren Malone growled. “That woman stole my dad’s inheritance.”
6
A stunned silence descended over the café. Two red spots appeared on Jennifer Pearce’s cheeks, but she made no attempt to engage with Darren Malone.
“Pretty ironic her showing up to watch To Catch a Thief,” Darren continued with a nasty laugh.
“Shut up, you fool,” Rob muttered to his brother. “We’ve got no proof that she stole the necklace.”
Darren rounded on him. “Who else could have taken it?”
“You, for one.”
We all jerked our heads around to stare at the newcomer. Sergeant Liam Reynolds stood in the doorway, flanked by a reserve policeman on one side and a purple-faced O’Shea on the other.
“I find it interesting that neither your uncle nor your father mentioned their sons were on the island.” Reynolds stepped inside the café. “Care to explain why?”
Darren shot Rob a panicked look, and his brother took the hint. “Why would they tell you we were here?” Rob asked. “It’s not like we’re inheriting anything from our grandfather’s estate. We only care about the stolen necklace because it affects our fathers and aunts.”
“Let’s discuss this at the station,” Reynolds said. “There are a few questions I’d like to ask you.”
“Surely this isn’t necessary,” Sergeant O’Shea broke in, his complexion growing redder by the second. “I’ve known Mick Malone for years. His nephews wouldn’t steal.”
“Is that so?” Reynolds fixed Darren with a hard stare, and the young man flushed.
Interesting. My pulse raced. I yearned to get hold of whatever dirt Reynolds had dug up on Darren Malone.
“We’ll come to the station,” Rob said hastily. “No need to make a fuss.”
“There’s every need,” O’Shea shouted. “This is outrageous. The Malones have been members of the Whisper Island Golf Club for years.”
“I suppose,” I said in a saccharine tone, “that club members confine themselves to murder, not theft.”
This remark elicited a titter of laughter from the club members. O’Shea did not share their amusement. His piggy eyes bulged and his hammy fists clenched. “Keep out of police business, Ms. Doyle. We don’t like meddlers around here.”
“This meddler solved a murder last week,” Reynolds said softly. “One committed by a member of this club and the golf club. Or have you forgotten?”
O’Shea’s fleshy lips opened and closed. “Of course not. I just—”
“I don’t care who’s a member of the Whisper Island Golf Club, and I don’t care if your cronies are offended. We’re here to do a job, so let’s do it.”
With obvious reluctance, Sergeant O’Shea accompanied Reynolds, the reserve, and the Malone boys out to the waiting squad car. After they’d driven off, the Movie Club gathering buzzed with gossip about the stolen necklace. I was relieved to see that no one appeared to take the accusations against Jennifer seriously. On the contrary: she was the night’s star attraction.
After graciously battling her way through the crowd and fending off a barrage of questions, a flustered Jennifer reached the bar. I slid her a freshly made French Martini. “You look like you could do with refreshment.”
“Thanks, Maggie.” Jennifer inclined her head in the direction of the door. “Well, that was dramatic. I wonder what Reynolds has found about Darren Malone.”
“It’s got to be something to do with a robbery,” I said, reading between the lines.
“Yeah. That was the impression I got.” Jennifer raised her glass to her lips and took a sip of her cocktail. “I had no idea who he was when he started attacking me.”
I frowned. “Wait…are you saying you’d never met Darren Malone before tonight?”
“Yeah. I had no idea he was on Whisper Island until you told me about it. My work only concerns Matt Malone’s heirs.”
“Then how did Darren know who you were?”
Jennifer paused in the action of lifting her glass for a second sip. “I don’t know. Someone at the club meeting must have told him.”
I shook my head. “That’s not possible. He identified you the instant you walked through the door. Is your photo on the Nesbitt and Son website?”
“No. On my request, we opted not to use photographs. I value my privacy. And in our case, there’s no need. We get our clients through word of mouth on the island.”
“Darren must have seen you somewhere and had you pointed out to him.” I frowned, a dark suspicion forming in the back of my mind.
“That must be it,” Jennifer said, “but I don’t see why it’s relevant.”
“It would be very relevant if he happened to see you with those necklaces. Who knew you were taking them to the mainland to be appraised?”
“Just Aaron and me.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t even tell Nick. He’d have blown a gasket if he’d known I was tasked with carrying two-million-euros worth of jewelry to Galway and back.”
“Weren’t you worried about transporting the necklaces?”
She blinked. “Well, yes, but it was my job.”
A job that Jennifer took seriously. Too seriously, some might argue, which made me even less inclined to believe her capable of stealing from her clients. My eyes strayed to the door of the café. I seriously needed to learn more about Darren Malone, and I intended to do it tonight.
7
At eleven o’clock on Friday night, I peered over the bushes of Mamie Byrne’s garden. “Still no sign of Reynolds.”
“Are you sure a stakeout’s necessary?” Lenny asked between mouthfuls of fish and chips. “And wouldn’t we be more likely to find the sarge at the station rather than Mamie’s B&B?”
“This is more likely to be a Sergeant O’Shea-free zone,” I pointed out. “How can I interrogate Reynolds about the case if O’Shea’s skulking in the background?”
“Speaking of skulking,” said
a familiar deep voice behind us, “what are you two doing spying on Mamie’s place?”
I whirled around to face a bemused Sergeant Reynolds. Arms folded across his broad chest, his fair hair appeared blonder under the glare of the streetlight.
Aware of his scrutiny, I felt my cheeks grow warm. “We were waiting for you.”
Reynolds’s mouth twitched. “Since when does waiting for me involve scaring my landlady into thinking you were burglars casing the joint?”
“Oops,” I said. “Sorry about that.”
“I told you I saw a curtain twitch,” Lenny said, stuffing another chip into his mouth.
“You’d better come in before Mamie decides I’m in imminent danger of being murdered.” Reynolds opened the gate and gestured for us to walk up the path.
Sure enough, the proprietor of Apple Tree Lodge Bed and Breakfast was hovering just inside the door, armed with a rolling pin. She slow-blinked when she saw Lenny and me. “Oh, it’s you two. I thought the place was about to be ransacked.”
“Sorry about that, Mamie,” I said, shame-faced. “We didn’t want to wake up you or your guests so late.”
The older woman lowered her rolling pin. “Sure, I have no guests this time of year, excepting the sergeant.”
“And I’m very grateful you were willing to take me in until my cottage is ready,” Sergeant Reynolds said dutifully. “Sorry about the late night visitors. They’re helping me on a case.”
Slightly mollified, Mamie’s lined face relaxed, and she brushed invisible lint off the polyester pantsuit that had been fashionable circa 1976. She eyed Lenny and me with a dubious expression. “I suppose you’ll be wanting tea.” Her gaze dropped to the fish-and-chip container in Lenny’s hand. “And a plate for those.”
My friend beamed at her. “Thanks, Mamie.”
When his landlady bustled off to the kitchen, Reynolds ushered Lenny and me into the bed and breakfast’s communal living room. “You’d better keep your voices low,” he warned.
“Yeah,” Lenny said loudly. “Mamie listens at doors.”
I exchanged a look with Reynolds and rolled my eyes. “Okay. As you’ve probably guessed, we’re here to get the dirt on Darren Malone.”
