Sitting on the high stool, she tapped a coin on the counter. When Steve O’Carroll eventually came out to serve her, she said, ‘Where’s your new barman?’
‘No idea. What can I get you, love?’
‘I’m not your love. Gin and tonic. Hendrick’s if you have it.’
She watched admiringly as he bent down to get a glass. When he stood, she saw his shoulder muscles flexing beneath the tight-fit white shirt.
‘Not many around tonight,’ she said. Small talk. He deserved no more.
‘No.’
‘And no wedding crowd to tend to after that Heffernan girl was killed. Must be bad for business.’
He placed the gin and a small bottle of tonic water in front of her. ‘Anything else?’
‘I’m sorry about Cara,’ she said, counting out coins from her purse.
‘Yes, bad luck.’
‘You think so?’
‘What are you implying?’ His eyes narrowed as he dragged the coins into his hand.
‘Just thinking, you were together for a long time.’
‘Not that long.’ He appeared nervous, twitching his stupid ponytail. Who did he think he was, going around like that in Ragmullin?
‘Still, you must be devastated.’
‘I’m not.’
‘That’s a bit harsh. She was a good woman. I was grateful when she told me about the vacant apartment next door to her.’
‘Another two euros.’
‘What?’
‘You’re short two euros.’ He jangled the money in his hand before closing it in a fist.
‘Sorry.’ She searched her purse, not wanting to break a note, and found some coins wrapped up in a receipt. ‘Here you go.’
He placed the money in the till and made to return to the office.
She said, ‘It’s a murder, you know.’
‘What is?’
‘Cara’s death. The guards are all over the place. You can’t move without bumping into one of them.’
‘Really?’ He came back to the bar.
She had his attention now. ‘Oh yeah. Very grisly. I found the body. Awful.’
‘You found the body?’
‘I did. I’m still not the better of it.’
‘Did they ask about me?’
‘Who?’
‘The guards.’
‘Yeah. A woman detective. All legs. Too thin, if you want my opinion. Probably doesn’t have time to eat. Can’t remember her name now.’
‘Must be that Parker one. She’s a detective inspector.’
‘If you say so.’ Eve had little recollection of the conversation, never mind the name.
‘What did she talk to you about?’ More nervous twisting of the ponytail, and Eve noticed a ribbon of perspiration bubbling on his upper lip. It wasn’t that warm in here, she thought.
‘You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?’
‘I would.’
‘And I’d like another one of these. On the house.’
‘Hendrick’s again?’ Now he seemed eager to please.
She smiled, showing off her dental work. ‘Sure thing.’
As she drained the gin through the black straw he’d placed in the glass, she thought she might get more than a free drink out of Steve O’Carroll tonight.
Trevor Toner watched the night close in on itself as he stood outside the door to his flat smoking a spliff. It had been a funny sort of day. Not funny ha-ha, just weird. If he didn’t buck up and get his act together, his show might be pulled. It was shite anyhow. He had to admit his interest had disappeared out the theatre door with little Lily Heffernan. But he needed to make the show work. If it was a success, more and more parents would sign their little darlings into his classes, hoping he could transform two left feet into ten twinkle toes. He promised he would make them stars with one hand, while pocketing their cash with the other.
He looked up at the dark windows above his head and pulled up the collar of his jacket. He’d have a pint first.
He walked up Main Street until he reached the Railway Hotel. He wondered who might be working tonight. Not Steve, surely. Not after Cara’s death yesterday. Then again, knowing Steve, anything was possible. He pushed open the door to the lounge bar and peered inside.
Not too many here tonight. A couple down at the end and one man on his own at the table under the window. A woman was deep in conversation with Steve at the counter. No sign of the new barman. As he took a step onto the black-tiled floor, the woman turned her head sideways.
Edging backwards, Trevor was through the doorway and out on the street before he caught his breath. As he fled, he felt like someone had walked over his grave.
Lily was so tired, even though it seemed like she’d slept for hours. She had no idea where she was, and she felt too weak to move her legs. She’d not heard a sound all day.
She wondered where her mummy was. Sometimes she was late picking her up, but Lily always waited for her. Never ran off home on her own or got into strange cars. Not until yesterday. But it wasn’t a strange car. It wasn’t a stranger. And that was what upset her the most. None of it was fair. Tears stung like needles at the back of her eyes. But she was a big girl now, and big girls weren’t supposed to cry.
A fluttering sound made her hold her breath. What was that? Her heart beat against her ribcage and her stomach growled. She was hungry and couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. Not proper food like her mummy cooked. A pang of something she couldn’t describe hit her, and she had a terrible feeling she might not see her mummy ever again. No!
Trying to sit up, she found she could only move one arm. Her head was sore, her hair felt sticky and her mouth was dry. She had never felt so scared in all her life. Not even when Johnny Burns had pulled her hair in junior infants and spat in her orange juice and … She couldn’t remember what else Johnny had done to her that first day at school, but she knew her mummy had had to buy her a new cuddly toy to get her to go in the next day. Was it Peppa or Winnie-the-Pooh? She tried hard to remember which toy she’d got because she thought it was important to remember little things like that. But she couldn’t remember and that made her even sadder.
Listening, Lily heard the sound again. At least it wasn’t a mouse, she thought. Her mummy hated mice and had screamed once and jumped up on a chair when one ran out of the cupboard she’d just opened. Lily thought that was so funny. Not now. She didn’t want to have to jump up on a chair. Because she could not move.
The fluttering got stronger and closer, like footsteps.
Lily screamed as something soft touched her forehead.
In the yard, the man stood as still as the rising breeze allowed. The squeal of pigs was ear-splitting. He raised his face to the heavens, welcoming the fresh crispness of snowflakes, something to clear his palate. His body trembled as rain surrounded him in a damp misty fog.
Her car wasn’t around. There were no lights on in the house. If it wasn’t for the animals, the night would be silent.
Talking careful steps on the slimy cobbles, he moved to the window beside the back door. Peered into the darkness. Nothing. Maybe he’d go inside and wait for her to return. As he walked towards the door, the darkness was lit up by the shimmer of lights from the front of the house. He listened. The thrust of an engine, gears changing down, the shriek of brakes.
She was home.
He felt a stirring in his groin.
She had the most beautiful hair.
Long and shiny.
Beth Clarke was just who he needed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lottie idled the car outside her mother’s house. The lights were on. Rose was still up. Or perhaps it was Leo. She had to talk with him. To see why he was colluding with her daughters behind her back. She had to do something to forget about Boyd. Switching off the engine, she got out of the car and found the key to the door.
Inside, the sound of laughter echoed. Damn you, Leo Belfield, she thought. How can you get on with my mother while I hav
e to wade through a battlefield to have a normal conversation with her? She shook the thoughts out of her head and pushed open the door.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Leo stood up and pulled out a chair for her. Ignoring it, Lottie sat on another.
‘What brings you out on this miserable night?’ Rose said, her arms folded as she sat on an easy chair by the stove.
For some inexplicable reason, Lottie felt an anxious twist in her chest. She recognised it as jealousy. She was jealous of the friendship that had blossomed between Rose and Leo. Leo, who was not Rose’s blood relative but who was Lottie’s half-brother. All her father’s doing.
‘Just passing,’ she lied. ‘When are you flying home, Leo?’
‘In a few days.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
She noticed how he’d developed an Irish accent in the weeks he’d been in Rose’s company. She wondered what other habits he’d picked up from her mother.
‘It’s wonderful that Leo’s agreed to accompany the girls.’ Rose beamed a smile so bright Lottie thought she might pass out from the dazzling false teeth.
She felt the blood drain from her skin. It was all Rose’s doing. The girls going to New York for Christmas. It had to be. But she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting she knew this.
‘Are you going straight back to work?’ she said to Leo.
‘I’m taking another month or two off. My lieutenant is okay with it.’
‘Good for you.’ Lottie could taste the sarcasm dripping from her words. ‘Any holidays planned?’
‘I’m going to spend some time showing Katie and Chloe a good old New York time.’
‘Like fuck you are!’ Lottie shot out of the chair.
‘Charlotte Fitzpatrick Parker! Language.’ Rose put out a hand. ‘Sit down.’
‘No, I won’t.’ She leaned towards Leo. ‘What are you playing at, eh? Trying to wheedle your way into my life through my girls, is that it?’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Leo said.
‘Of course you do. First you try to buy me off with Farranstown House, and then you go behind my back contriving for my family to be decimated at Christmas. What game are you playing?’
‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Rose said it would be a good idea.’
Lottie turned to her mother. ‘You’re never happy unless you’re controlling my life. Well listen here, the pair of you. I am Katie and Chloe’s mother, and I say if they can travel and who they can travel with. Not you.’
‘Sit down and calm down.’ Rose stood, pointing to the chair.
Lottie brushed by her. ‘I’ve had a bitch of a day, and so far, a bitch of a week, and I can do without conspirators conniving behind my back.’
Without a backward glance, she ran from the house, wondering why on earth everyone and her mother was against her. Rain fell on her head like a dark, damp shadow. With her hand on the car door handle, she shivered uncontrollably. Were things about to get worse? Surely not. But then again, she was Lottie Parker and her protective shield against evil had worn away to a fine filament.
Driving home, blinded by tears of frustration, she craved a friendly arm around her shoulder, a tender kiss on her cheek and maybe a few comforting words whispered in her ear. Boyd? No, she’d burned that bridge tonight.
She let herself into her house, in darkness and silence. Everyone was asleep. She went to the cupboard in the kitchen. Grabbed the bottle of wine. All night she’d been thinking of opening it. Downing it. Wallowing in the acrid tang of it. She knew what it tasted like. She lifted the bottle to her nose. Inhaled the sharp scent she knew was there without opening it. She wavered. Her hands trembled.
Could she live with herself if she drank it?
Could she unravel all that she’d built up, in one night of weakness?
Could she hell.
Cynthia Rhodes was like a dog with the proverbial bone. She held the bottle of red in one hand and knocked with the other. As she waited for the door to be opened, she tapped her boot on the ground.
‘Hello, handsome,’ she said, wriggling in past him. ‘Fancy a nightcap?’ She took a corkscrew out of her pocket. ‘I came prepared.’
‘Jesus, Cynthia, do you know the time?’
‘I learned it in primary school, so yes, I do.’
She smirked, put the bottle on the small coffee table and handed him the opener. Taking off her leather jacket, she kept her eyes on his and followed his gaze as they travelled over her sheer white blouse. She smiled as his mouth opened. Wearing the red bra beneath it had been a class move, even if it was a cliché and two years old from Primark.
‘Are you going to open that or offer it up?’ she said.
‘Eh, em …’
‘Let me do it,’ she said, and took the corkscrew from his hand. ‘What about some nice music? To put us in the mood.’
‘I thought you only came here for information,’ he said, and sat on the couch.
‘Oh yes, I want that too.’
‘I think you need to stop persecuting Lottie. It doesn’t look good for the force.’
‘You mean she’s not making the force look good, darling.’
‘Honestly, you should just attend the press conferences and give up doorstepping her.’
She didn’t like his tone. They were losing the mood she’d worked to create. Inching closer to him, she handed over a glass.
‘Let’s not talk about Lottie Parker.’
‘Let’s not,’ he said.
She sipped her drink and thought about how she was going to get the information she wanted.
But she knew.
It was a long night that did not bring her some reward.
With the bottle in hand, Lottie checked her phone as she walked from the kitchen to the sitting room. Missed call. She squinted at it. Maybe she needed spectacles. No way could she afford them. She recalled the conversation with Leo, the prick, about Farranstown House, and wondered about the length of time it would take the money to hit her account once she signed the papers. If she signed.
The phone vibrated again. She answered.
‘Lottie, I’m sorry it’s so late, but I wanted to check in with you. You know. To see how you’re coping.’
‘Father Joe.’ She flicked on a lamp. ‘Why do you think I can’t cope?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘I just thought you looked a bit harried yesterday. I care for you … for your well-being and all that.’
‘And all that.’ She laughed and sat on the couch. Placed the bottle in the centre of the coffee table and stared at it.
‘So how are you?’
‘I’m fine.’ I’m not, she thought, but she didn’t want to tell him that. He was too nice. Too caring. A good friend. She couldn’t confide in him right now. The unopened bottle mocked her.
‘How is Boyd?’
‘Why are you asking about him?’ She wished she’d brought in the corkscrew. Wished the bottle had a screw top.
‘You’re full of questions with no answers.’ His voice was carefree. No admonishment.
‘Answer one for me,’ she said, delaying the urge to drink. She pulled her legs up on the sofa and nestled her ankles beneath her.
‘I’ll try.’
‘What can you tell me about Father Curran?’
‘Not much,’ he said without preamble. ‘He’s been around a lot longer than I have.’
‘I gathered that.’
‘He’s a good man, Lottie.’
‘I never said he wasn’t.’
‘You implied you don’t like him just by asking about him.’ He paused, and she waited in the silence for him to continue. ‘He’s good to the sick. He visits the abbey.’
‘Anyone in particular that he visits?’
‘Now that you mention it, whenever I’ve stepped in, there is one patient who always asks after him.’
‘Sister Augusta?’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes. She’s of his vintage, so perhaps they knew each other before she was hospitalised.’
‘Was he always based in this diocese? Do you know where Sister Augusta hails from?’
‘Lottie, what are you getting at?’
‘I don’t know, to be honest.’
‘I can nose around.’
‘Thanks. Father Joe—’
‘Joe.’
‘Joe, do you think Father Curran could have had anything to do with either Cara Dunne or Fiona Heffernan’s deaths?’
‘Wow, that’s a big leap. I informed him of Cara’s death. The bishop asked me to do it. Father Curran used to be on the board of management of Cara’s school.’
‘How long ago?’
‘I think he retired about a year ago.’
‘Can you find out more?’ Lottie said.
‘I’ll snoop around.’
‘Thanks. Did you know either Cara or Fiona?’
There was a long pause. ‘I meet many people.’
‘Fiona was a nurse at the abbey. Surely you saw her there?’
‘What difference would it make to your investigation?’
Why was he being evasive? Or was it just her exhausted brain seeing things that were not there? ‘I thought you could give me an insight into the type of person she was. I need to find out why someone killed her.’
‘I’ll rack my brains and get back to you. She was a good nurse and a nice person. That’s what I know from the few times I … met her. Anyway, you’re sure you’re okay?’
‘Boyd asked me to marry him,’ she blurted out.
‘Wow. Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.’
‘I eventually said yes, but now …’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘I think he might be seeing someone else. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Why don’t you talk to him about it?’
‘It’s not that easy. What would you do?’
‘I’ve never been in that position.’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 21
