by Zara Keane
“True, but never anyone I knew. Even at a shoot-out where a fellow police officer was killed, I hadn’t known the guy. Discovering Sandra’s body was a shock, especially finding her on Noreen’s premises.”
“Maggie…” Julie trailed off, as if unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say. “Lenny told me you saved the contents of Sandra’s cocktail glass. Surely you don’t think there was something wrong with the cocktail? I mean, everyone was saying she’d died of a heart attack.”
“She probably did. I bagged the glass and its contents on autopilot. It’s what I would have done had I been a police officer on the scene, and that idiot O’Shea was showing no interest in what Sandra ate and drank before she died. Crazy as it sounds, I need you to convince me that I’m paranoid.”
Julie exhaled audibly. “That’s assuming I can breathe once we start running. We could go back to Noreen’s and chat over coffee.”
I grinned at my cousin. “Don’t sound so hopeful. You asked me if I’d train with you, and I agreed. Let’s go do this thing.”
Julie pulled a face. “All right. I apologize in advance for my super-slow pace. I have a feeling that you and Bran are going to be way ahead of me.”
“No need to apologize. Go as slow as you need to, and I’ll try to get Bran to cooperate.” “Try” being the operative word. The dog tugged on his leash, impatient to increase his speed.
We reached the end of the lane that separated Noreen’s land from her neighbor’s. I led the way to a trail I’d spotted when I was scouting the area for potential jogging routes. “I’ve been looking forward to our run. I haven’t had a chance to explore the island in daylight since I arrived. It’s even more beautiful than I remembered.”
The frost-tinged fields rolled before us, stretching all the way down to the cliffs. In summer, the fields would be a lush green and dotted with sheep and cows. In the cold of January, the animals were nowhere to be seen. A group of modern cottages broke the monotony of the rolling hills, and a farm was located beyond them.
“We get so few hours of light this time of year,” Julie said, huffing and puffing in her effort to keep up with Bran and me. “I leave for work in the dark and come home in the dark. And yeah, it’s gorgeous here. It’s one reason I decided to return after I got my teaching qualification. The drawback is a shortage of eligible men, at least among the permanent population.”
“How’s the men situation during tourist season?”
Julie winked at me. “Much better, but they leave at the end of summer. What about you, Maggie? Are you ready to start the dating game again?”
“Ugh,” I said with a shudder. “Definitely not. If I’ve learned one thing over the last few weeks, it’s that I have lousy taste in men.”
“You’ve been unlucky,” Julie conceded, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll never find a good man to settle down with.”
“You sound like Noreen. She’s determined to hook me up with an Irishman.”
Julie laughed. “Of course she is. She’s plotting ways to convince you to stay. She loves having family on the island.”
“That’s sweet, but this is a temporary stop for me. I want to use my time on Whisper Island to do some thinking and decide what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“And then you go and stumble over a dead body a couple of days into your holiday. That sucks.”
“It sucks even more for Sandra Walker,” I said dryly. “Come on, let’s take the path to the left.”
We took the winding trail that led from my aunt’s property to an area of woodland. Reluctant to make Julie run through woods where she’d have to navigate branches and slippery leaves, I skirted the trees and followed the path past a neighboring farmer’s wall. It was the old kind constructed out of stacked stones. As a kid, I’d been afraid to walk next to those walls in case they collapsed, but they were sturdier than they appeared.
Bran spotted something of interest further along the track and strained at his leash.
“Are you ready to sprint for a couple of minutes?” I asked. “If so, I’ll set the timer for our intervals.”
“No,” Julie puffed, “but I’ll do it.”
“Okay. Ready, set…go.”
I let my cousin set the pace, and deliberately slowed down to make sure she didn’t try to run faster than she should. After two minutes, my timer beeped, and we slowed to a walk.
“Well done,” I said. “We’ll walk it out for a couple of minutes and then try another sprint.”
“Ugh,” Julie said with a groan. “What possessed me to sign up for the Runathon? I must have been insane.”
“A sexy guy you have a crush on,” I reminded her. “Just think how good you’ll feel when this is over.”
My cousin blew out her cheeks. “By the time this is over, I’ll be auditioning for the cast of The Running Dead.”
I laughed. “You’re not that bad. Now quick before our next running interval—what do you think happened to Sandra? Am I crazy for questioning the doctor’s assumption that she died of a heart attack?”
“Can you identify why you have doubts?” Julie asked. “Would you feel the same if one of the other Movie Club members had died under the same circumstances?”
I frowned and considered my cousin’s questions. “No, I don’t think I’d have jumped on the idea of foul play as quickly if someone else had died last night. Sandra had a talent for upsetting people. And another thing: both Melanie and Lenny insisted that Sandra wasn’t much of a drinker, yet I could have sworn she was drunk when she ordered the second cocktail from me.”
“Wait, Sandra ordered two cocktails last night? For herself?” Julie’s brow creased. “That doesn’t sound right. Sandra always boasted about never having more than one drink when she was out, and I never saw her drunk.”
“Did she have a drinking problem? Maybe she fell off the wagon.”
“By having two drinks as opposed to one?” Julie cocked her head to the side, and then shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t buy it.”
Neither did I. The timer beeped, indicating the need for speed. During our next running interval, Julie concentrated on breathing, while I turned the Sandra Walker conundrum over in my mind. Far from convincing me I was paranoid, Julie’s confirmation about Sandra’s drinking habits had turned up the alarm bells in my head.
“Okay,” I said when we slowed down to a brisk walk beside a lake on the far side of the woods. “Let me go over this again. Sandra didn’t tend to drink more than one alcoholic beverage a night, yet she appeared to be drunk when she ordered the second cocktail from me. Could she have been ill, and the symptoms mirrored a drunken person’s behavior? Or was she on medication that interacted badly with alcohol?”
“I can think of a number of choice adjectives to describe Sandra Walker’s character,” Julie said dryly, “but ‘stupid’ isn’t among them. I can’t see her mixing meds and cocktails. The most likely explanation is what you mentioned before: Sandra was unwell, probably from the onset of her heart attack, and you mistook her slurred speech and unsteady walk as the effects of alcohol.”
“It’s possible, but I have this nagging doubt that I can’t shake.” I rubbed my achy forehead. “Maybe I’m paranoid and seeing suspicious circumstances where there are none.”
The timer beeped, indicating our next running interval. Julie squeezed my arm. “Come on. Put Sandra Walker out of your mind, and let’s finish our run. The sooner we get through this, the sooner we get showers and coffee.”
We completed four more alternating run-walk intervals and circled back to Noreen’s.
Julie leaned against her car and gave Bran a final pet. “Thanks for coming with me, Maggie.”
“No problem. Want to meet again next week?”
“Sure. How does Monday morning sound? It would need to be early, though.”
“I can do early. Wanna say five-thirty?”
“Sounds good. If I don’t see you before then, please don’t worry about Sandra. I’m sure it was as t
he doctor said—a heart attack and nothing sinister.”
I forced a smile. “Sure. I’m going to put it out of my mind for the rest of the weekend.”
“That’s a smart idea.” Julie’s expression turned serious. “Listen, I have a stack of self-help books if you’re interested. You said you wanted to do some thinking about what to do with your life. Maybe they’ll give you some guidance.”
I loathed self-help books and scoffed at every form of pop psychology, but Julie’s offer was kindly meant. “I’m good for reading material at the moment,” I said diplomatically, “but thanks.”
“Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.” My cousin waved goodbye and got into her car.
After Julie’s car had disappeared down the road, Bran and I trudged up the path to the cottage. I was more than ready for a shower and coffee, and Bran was doing his I’m-hungry-style whine.
Before I went into the house, I found Bran’s supply of dog food in the barn and filled both his food and water bowls. He treated me to an enthusiastic lick, and I stroked his fur. “You love having someone to drag around at breakneck speeds, don’t you? Just don’t get used to it. I won’t be here for long, and poor Noreen definitely doesn’t want to take you for a run.”
Bran gave me one last lick before turning his full attention to his food. I went into the cottage and washed my hands. Time for that shower I’d been craving.
When I entered the kitchen, my aunt was sitting at the table, rummaging through her purse. “Should you be up, Noreen? There’s no need for you to go to the café today. I can handle it.”
My aunt gave a crack of laughter. “I’m sure you can. With a little help from the fire brigade.”
I bit my lip. “Yesterday was unfortunate, but I’ll have it all under control today.” And if I didn’t, hopefully, Kelly—the girl who helped out on Saturdays—would be capable of avoiding fire. “Seriously, go back to bed. You look exhausted.”
“Don’t worry, love. I’m on my way back to bed. I just got up to take my medicine.” Noreen extracted her container of pills from her purse and shoved her glasses into place. As she stared at the container, frown lines appeared on her forehead. “That’s odd. There are only a few pills left.”
8
I sucked in a breath, and the wheels turned in my mind faster than I could speak. “Are you sure? Did you miscount?”
“Maybe the lid came unscrewed. This has to be a mistake.” My aunt searched her purse before sitting back and shaking her head. “No stray pills fell into my purse.” She examined the container for the second time, and then poured its contents into the palm of her hand and counted the pills. Her mouth grew tight. “An entire day’s worth of pills is missing, Maggie. I know I was tired yesterday, but I certainly didn’t take double the prescribed amount.”
“Sister Pauline said you had twenty-four Solpodol to be taken over the next three days.”
“Exactly. I’ve taken two doses of two pills each since I left the hospital yesterday. There should be twenty pills left, not ten.” Uncertainty crossed over my aunt’s face. “Do you think the hospital pharmacy counted them incorrectly?”
“And gave you fourteen instead of twenty-four?” I examined the container. “Was it full when you got it yesterday?”
Noreen nodded. “To the brim.”
“Looking at the size of these pills, the container wouldn’t have been full with only fourteen pills in it.”
“I’ll have to phone Dr. Reilly to see if he’ll write me a prescription for more.” My aunt sighed. “I hope I can get hold of him on a Saturday.”
A memory nagged at me, something to do with the pills… “Wait a sec. When you came over to get a glass of water before the movie started, you commented on the number of pills in your pill container. You said something along the lines of there being more pills in the container the last time you’d looked. That implies that the pills went missing before the movie began.”
My aunt frowned. “I was groggy last night, but now that you mention it, I remember saying something like that.” Her expression brightened. “If I was that tired, I must have dropped the pills somewhere. Maybe they spilled in the café.”
“I didn’t notice any when I was cleaning up last night.”
“But you’d just discovered Sandra’s body. You were distracted.”
“True,” I said doubtfully, “but Julie didn’t mention finding pills anywhere, and she helped me clean up.” A thought occurred to me, unwelcome but logical. “When we were kids, Lenny had a reputation as a stoner. You don’t think he took them?”
“No,” my aunt said emphatically. “Lenny isn’t a drug addict. He might smoke the odd joint, but I doubt it goes farther than that these days.”
The weight that had been pressing on my shoulders lightened. I liked Lenny. I didn’t want to think of him stealing prescription drugs. “All right, but you can understand why I asked you about him.” I leaned over and gave my aunt a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go get ready to leave for the café. Don’t worry about the pills. I’ll stop by the pharmacy and see what they can do.”
But first, I thought grimly, I’d pay a visit to Sergeant O’Shea.
When I arrived at Whisper Island’s police station, the front door was locked. I pressed the bell for the second time, but no one appeared on the other side of the frosted glass door.
An old man walking an equally elderly terrier stopped on the pavement before me. “If you’re looking for Sergeant O’Shea, he’s getting in a last few rounds of golf before the snow comes.”
My nose twitched. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who’s in charge of maintaining law and order on the island while he’s working on his handicap?”
The old man shrugged. “Ah sure, there’s not much to do this time of year. He has a couple of reserves to help him, but they’re both eejits.”
“A ringing endorsement,” I said dryly. “Is the golf club still attached to the hotel?”
The man inclined his head a fraction. “Yes. The clubhouse is on one side of the course, and the hotel is on the other.”
“Thanks for the info.” I got back into Noreen’s car and drummed the steering wheel. O’Shea was going to lose his cool if I showed up and interrupted his game. Did I care? Heck no. I was looking forward to winding up the arrogant police sergeant. With a sigh of satisfaction, I fired up the engine.
I found Sergeant O’Shea lining up a shot on the sixteenth hole, a cigar clamped between his teeth. He looked ridiculous in his tweed golfing cap and matching pants, teamed up with an incongruously puffy winter jacket. The policeman was with a group of friends—all male, natch—and a sour-faced caddy.
The sergeant swore fluently when he caught sight of me and narrowed his beady eyes. “What do you want, Ms. Doyle? Did you find another corpse in your aunt’s café and decide there’s a serial killer on the loose on Whisper Island?”
O’Shea’s golfing cronies guffawed with laughter.
I ignored them and focused my attention on the police sergeant. “I preserved Sandra Walker’s cocktail glass and its contents. I’d like you to have it tested.”
The sergeant stared at me for a long moment, his beady eyes bulging. Then he forced another hearty guffaw. “Are you still on about that? The idea that someone spiked Sandra’s glass is preposterous.”
“Is it?” I asked, keeping my tone calm and cool. “No one knew anything about Sandra having a heart condition, including the doctor, and she wasn’t exactly Ms. Popularity.”
“But murder?” The sergeant’s walrus mustache twitched. “That’s absurd. We don’t have murders on Whisper Island.”
One of Sergeant O’Shea’s golfing buddies cleared his throat. “Well, there was that Australian who threw his wife off their yacht a few years ago and tried to make it look like an accident.”
The policeman rounded on him. “They were tourists, Dick. Permanent residents don’t do things like that.”
I rolled my eyes. Was the guy seriously that naive? If Sergeant
O’Shea was what passed for law enforcement around here, Sandra Walker didn’t stand a chance at having her death properly investigated. I changed tack. “Even if Sandra wasn’t murdered, did it occur to you that she might have spiked her own drink?”
The sergeant’s bushy eyebrows drew together to form a hairy V. “Suicide, you mean? Out of the question. Sandra wasn’t the suicidal type.”
On that point, we were in agreement, but I pressed on. “It makes sense to have Sandra’s glass tested by a toxicology lab.”
Sergeant O’Shea’s grip on his golf club was so tight that his knuckles were turning white. His ruddy complexion, in contrast, was beet red. “If I thought for one second that there was anything unnatural about Sandra’s death, I’d have called in the forensics team. But I don’t, so I didn’t. For heaven’s sake, woman. The district superintendent would have my hide if I wasted our limited budget on every islander who died of a heart attack.”
If I’d suspected Sandra had taken her own life, I’d be less inclined to press the issue, but we couldn’t rule out the possibility that she had been murdered. “All you need to do is—”
“Enough,” O’Shea bellowed. “Go back to burning scones, Ms. Doyle, and let me continue my game.”
I sighed. I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this lazy lump of lard. “Please at least consider testing the contents of Sandra’s glass. Tests are standard procedure in the U.S., and I can’t imagine your system is different in Ireland.”
Judging by the sergeant’s furious expression, I’d said the wrong thing. “In case it’s escaped your notice, we’re not in the U.S.. We’re not even on the Irish mainland. You have no experience policing a small community, and no jurisdiction here. Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
I let my gaze drift to his golf club, which was still clutched in one of his meaty hands. “I’ll let you get back to doing your job, Sergeant. Nice outfit, by the way.”
With this parting shot, I trudged back to the parking lot, fuming at the policeman’s blatant disinterest in getting off his behind and doing his job. When I reached the car, I paused before opening the door and let my gaze drift over the impressive facade of the Whisper Island Hotel. Maybe I could go in and talk to Paul and Melanie. If they pushed for tests, Sergeant O’Shea would have to relent. My stomach churned at the thought of facing them, but it had been ten years after all. What did I care about a broken heart that had healed long ago? My feet felt like lead. Maybe I cared too much. I squared my shoulders and forced my legs into motion.
