Eight Mystery Writers You Should Be Reaing Nowwww

by Michael Guillebeau

  “Well, here you are,” Mrs. O’Brien said.

  The women held fast, and the people stream parted around them. They gazed at Merrit expectantly, so she raised her shoulders with what she hoped was friendly confusion. In reality, she longed to duck into the pharmacy.

  “I was after telling my girls that you plan to be here for a while.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s girls looked to be pushing their forties. In the rush of introductions and floral cologne, Merrit didn’t let on that she knew them by name already: Mariela, Eloisa, Constanza. Why the Spanish names? she’d asked, to which Marcus had replied that Mrs. O’Brien fancied herself descended from Spanish high society—aristocrats, not deckhands, mind you—who had sailed to Eire and stayed. According to him, there was a reason they were all single, and that reason was their ghastly mother, who’d nag the devil out of hell itself. Merrit had avoided the O’Brien women because of Marcus’s warning. “The mouths on them, you wouldn’t believe. Gather flies, the lot of them. You’d better be sure Mrs. O’Brien will take an interest in you.”

  As if to prove his point, Mrs. O’Brien said, “You’re staying in Mrs. Sheedy’s upstairs flat for the month. She’s the sort to watch over you, but she’s hardly in a position to help you meet people. In fact, I have a brilliant idea.”

  Merrit had a nasty feeling about Mrs. O’Brien’s so-called brilliant idea and tried to exit stage left, right, or backwards, but she couldn’t because the daughters had her surrounded.

  “I’ve got a prescription waiting,” she said.

  “We must visit my son,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “He’ll be the one to introduce you to the nicer elements of Lisfenora. You don’t mind my saying that you ought to keep better company, and our lad, he’s charming. I’m sure you’ve seen his business headquarters, the flagship as they say. Such an odd word really. Flagship. What could it possibly mean?”

  Merrit caught herself patting her chest against tension gathering around her lungs. She drew in a deep breath as the women pushed her forward. “I need to run into the pharmacy,” she tried again, but by then they had arrived at the Internet café.

  “’Alloo,” Mrs. O’Brien called as she opened the door.

  Ivan sat behind the counter. At the sight of the women, he tugged on an earlobe and bolted into his workshop, but not without first aiming a tentative smile in their direction.

  “The Russians are such a cowardly lot,” Mrs. O’Brien said.

  “He’s Belarusian of Russian descent,” said one of the daughters from behind Merrit. Which daughter, she couldn’t tell. They all sounded the same to her. “Do the favor of getting it straight if you’re going to malign him.”

  “Oh, do stop. Belarus, Russia, it’s all the same. He speaks Russian and that’s enough for me.”

  The powerful momentum of the O’Brien women propelled Merrit across the room, around the service counter, and into Lonnie’s office. His monitor faced away from the door, but even so, he clicked his mouse once before stepping around the desk to greet them. “And what’s this?”

  “I implore you to rescue Merrit here from that Marcus,” Mrs. O’Brien said.

  Lonnie relaxed. A smile popped into place. “Just Merrit’s luck to have met us then.” He turned to Merrit. “As I recall, you’re here for family research. Any luck?”

  “What you’d expect.” She matched his bland smile with one of her own. “No help at all, some people. In fact, some people aren’t worth knowing.”

  “This is my point exactly,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “People worth knowing. Remind me, Merrit—your surname?”

  Merrit hesitated, glancing at Lonnie, then said, “Chase.”

  “Solid name but no Chases in this area. Unless you’re here to look up your mother’s lineage?”

  Lonnie grinned. He knew well enough that Chase was her mom’s lineage and that Merrit had officially changed her last name. Merrit rubbed her fatigue-laden eyelids. To think, she’d first entered this shop because she was having trouble with her wireless connection. Lonnie had suggested she leave her laptop for a few hours. His man Ivan would figure it out, he said, but just then he was busy. Lonnie’s offer seemed kind at the time, but now she puzzled over how he knew within two minutes of meeting her that he’d find something interesting on her laptop’s hard drive. She’d left laptops with technicians plenty of times and thought nothing of it.

  “Well?” Mrs. O’Brien prodded. “Your mother’s surname?”

  Merrit spoke up against the daughters’ side chatter. “My mom’s side is well-documented back to the eighteen hundreds. They came over from County Cork, and every last family member emigrated.”

  “Oh. Cork. Now, where was I?” Mrs. O’Brien clapped her hands within inches of Lonnie’s face. “Are you listening? Merrit must be your date to Liam’s birthday party. How else is she going to meet the people who matter in Lisfenora?”

  “What birthday party?” Merrit said.

  “Quite the annual event for us, Liam being Liam. And best yet, this year his birthday falls on a Saturday. Tomorrow night, mind you. Over at the Plough and Trough. You’ll have fun, I have no doubts, especially with my Lonnie to escort you.”

  Lonnie spluttered into a laugh, causing Mrs. O’Brien to aim an uncertain blink in his direction. “I don’t know why this should be so funny. Everyone will be there.”

  “Of course,” Lonnie said. “I had it in mind to get to know Merrit better anyhow.”

  Mrs. O’Brien patted Lonnie’s cheek. “That’s grand. You will escort Merrit.”

  Within seconds, the O’Brien women were gone. The electronic snore of dozing computers filtered into Lonnie’s office. He fingered a thin braid that hung to his shoulder. Merrit longed to take scissors to the puerile affectation. Instead, she said, “Your mom’s a real piece of work.”

  “And lucky fecking me.” He settled himself on the edge of the desk. “Actually, this is a fascinating development. Mustn’t disappoint Mother, mind, or she’ll give me a bollocking for sure. What time shall I pick you up for the party?”

  Merrit swallowed hard against galloping nerves inside her chest. This was exactly what she didn’t want. Being railroaded. Not to mention the dubious distinction of being Lonnie’s “date.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “but I’ll go on my own.”

  “Private party, only locals and their dates allowed. Old Liam’s one stipulation, and even you won’t get past the barricade.” He held up a hand before she could protest. “Believe me, you won’t. However, if you come with me, I’ll announce you to Liam myself.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “I’ll introduce myself to Liam on my terms, not yours. And definitely not in front of the whole village.”

  “You and I both know you’re itching to go.”

  She stared at him, loathing him for being correct. She was more than itching to go—compelled would be more like it. At the very least, she longed to observe Liam the Matchmaker from afar, to get a sense of whether he’d welcome or reject her.

  “How much is it worth to you to ensure I keep my mouth shut during the party?” Lonnie said.

  Merrit had considered scuttling back to California rather than deal with Lonnie, but that would have been yet one more sign of her weakness. Some might have called Andrew’s end a death with dignity. But she knew different. Powerless against a tidal wave of fury and despair and exhaustion, she’d snapped. Now she had to live with the horrid truth of it: she was capable of taking a human life. Lonnie might or might not know something about the darkness that lurked within her. He might or might not decide to reveal her darkness to her real father just because he could.

  “You are such a—” Merrit yanked her wallet out of her purse, then the cash out of her wallet. She threw the wad at him. “I’ll go to the party with you, but you’d better keep your mouth shut about me.”

  Lonnie’s smile turned gleeful just before he bellowed. “Ivan, fetch us coffee, will you?”
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br />   “Oh, that’s right,” she said, “we’re such good friends. Screw you.”

  “Why so uptight?” he called after her. “You could probably do with a good shagging after all that.”

  *****

  Ten minutes later, Merrit reclined on her bed clutching a battered spiral-bound notebook with a psychedelic rainbow and “September 1975” on the cover. She’d found it in Andrew’s nightstand just like he’d said. After reading it, her shock had been so profound that she’d barely survived the next weeks of funeral arrangements and legal turmoil. She was better now. She hoped. At the very least, she wasn’t using her inhaler every ten seconds anymore.

  She fingered the notebook’s tattered cover. Above the rainbow, her mom’s precise block lettering spelled out “Ireland Article.” Within the notebook, the pages revealed scribbles, cross-outs, and journaling that bore witness to her mom’s increasing distraction back in 1975. Julia Chase had started out earnestly enough with initial research for her first big travel-writing assignment. Quite a coup for a woman, given the times, but the travel piece went unfinished due to the source of Julia’s distraction. None other than Liam the Matchmaker. A man her mom had called Liam the Lion.

  One sentence always filled Merrit with sadness. I’m a coward, that’s what I am, and all I can do is pack my bags because I hate myself for loving the man …

  Merrit’s life, her mom’s life—how different they would have been if Liam had fought for her mom. But he hadn’t, and Merrit had to know why. Since childhood, she’d yearned to fill the void where the unsaid and the murky festered beneath her mom’s smiles. Merrit couldn’t recall when she’d realized that her mom was a woman who hid her unhappiness well most of the time. Nor could Merrit recapture the moment she first noticed that Andrew treated her like a houseguest who’d overstayed her welcome, only that it hadn’t mattered until after her mom’s death. All she knew was that the answers lingered along Lisfenora’s cobbled lanes, along which Liam had walked arm-in-arm with her mom.

  SNEAK PEEK EXCERPT:

  Whispers In The Mist, A County Clare Mystery #2

  Author Note: As I write this introduction, I’m putting the finishing touches on Whispers in the Mist, which will be published in August 2016 by Midnight Ink Books. So what you’re seeing here is an almost-ready-for-publication version of Chapter 1. Fun stuff! You’re seeing it before anyone else!

  This novel continues the stories of Merrit Chase and Detective Sergeant Danny Ahern from Kilmoon. As we left Danny in Kilmoon, his personal life was in turmoil. Now we see him a year later in Chapter 1. I’ve included the prelude that sets the tone for the novel.

  You can order Whispers in the Mist from online retailers or through your local booksellers.

  *****

  There was always a voice within the fog, from ancient times its wet hiss could cajole, could fool an innocent into the Grey Man’s grasp. The Grey Man brought death, every one knew that. Locals in Lisfenora village, County Clare, had always known what haunted the fogs that rolled in off the Atlantic.

  So it went without saying that on a Wednesday afternoon, mid-September, locals marked the day Grey Man spread its moist shroud over sheep, rock walls, and pocked limestone along the Irish coastline. Local lore about the dark faerie that oozed its way onto land when the fog rolled in sent children to their mammy’s beds in fright for their lives. In the fogs that lay thick over the land anyone might catch a glimpse of a figure with cloak made of swirling mists. It might arrive anytime to cling to the land with sinister tendrils, waiting for the right moment to snatch an innocent soul into its gloom.

  Later, the most superstitious of the locals claimed to have felt a tingle along their spines and a few hairs risen on their necks.

  And later still, all of them would ponder the grey man within their midst.

  ******

  Chapter 1

  2009

  A breeze buffeted dank mist against Danny Ahern, sinking a chill deep into his bones where regret had already started to calcify. Standing at the threshold of the house into which he had carried his bride and later their wee ones, he wavered, closing his eyes. This, the scene of the slow, corrosive death of his marriage.

  On a silent exhalation, he opened his eyes and pushed open the front door to the sound of wailing from one of the bedrooms and screeching from the kitchen. Mandy ran into the living room, her gaze clouded with panic.

  “Mam!” She skidded to a halt upon seeing Danny. “Da, you’re here!”

  “You bet I am. Every day, all the time.”

  Mandy had called Danny to inform him that her ride to school had cancelled and Petey was acting scared and Ellen had rolled over instead of getting out of bed.

  One of Ellen’s bad days, in other words. They might both be to blame for the failed marriage, but he was the culprit for Ellen’s current mood. He’d moved out a year ago, and he was certain Ellen remembered the date as well as he did. September 8th, 2008. After two long years of turmoil and anger and waning patience on both their sides, he’d finally admitted that he was the reason she wasn’t healing. His very presence rubbed her the wrong way, intensifying her guilt over their youngest daughter’s death. Beth had fallen from a jungle gym—an accident—but the extended emotional aftermath had worn out their marriage.

  September wasn’t a good month for either of them. Beth had died in September.

  “I’ll drive you to school, sweetie.” His son’s wailing still echoed from the back of the house. “Why’s Petey crying?”

  Mandy leaned against him. “He had a nightmare and went to bed with mam. He won’t come out of her room.”

  Jesus, the look in his daughter’s eyes. She was only nine years old, for Christ’s sake. Her gaze shouldn’t be dulled by worry and fear that she was doing everything wrong. He knew the feeling well, but she must not end up stuck on that sorry path.

  “You did everything right,” he said. “Just perfect.”

  Her chin wobbled. His heart breaking, Danny knelt and hugged her to his chest.

  “Are you feeling bad?” he said.

  She nodded against his shoulder. “My tummy hurts.”

  “That’s no good,” he said. “In fact, that’s a fat bloody wad of cowshite.”

  “Da,” she sighed, but she smiled as she raised her head. “That didn’t even make sense.”

  Danny carried his daughter back to the kitchen, poured cereal, milk, and orange juice, and told her to brush her hair. He found Petey standing beside the windows in Ellen’s bedroom, hiccupping on snotty breath and peeking outside from between the edges of the closed curtains. Ellen sat on the bed with her head resting on raised knees. Danny picked up Petey and carried him out of the room. His initial sadness gave way to concern when he felt Petey’s feverish forehead.

  “You get to stay home from school today, little man. How do you like that?”

  Petey landed in his own bed in a jumble of limbs, his hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead. Danny swiped at the reddish-brown hair that his children had inherited from Ellen and tucked Petey’s lanky limbs—Danny’s contribution to the gene pool—under the covers.

  “I’ll be safe at home, won’t I?” Petey said.

  “Of course you will. Mandy said you had a nightmare—?”

  Petey grabbed his stuffed flamingo. “Because yesterday I saw him. You know.”

  Danny didn’t know but he nodded, keeping his expression neutral.

  “He came out of the fog right in front of our house. He had a big cape like you see the baddies wear on the telly, and he was dragging someone behind him. Sucking her up. She tried to run away, I saw her, but then he held out his hand and his evil Grey Man powers made her come back to him. But when she came back she was all curled up like her stomach hurt.”

  Danny sat on the edge of the bed, inhaling the sweet scent of child sweat and trying to come up with a comforting response. Petey, at five, was prone to nightmarish fancies on the best of days—and today wasn’t one of those.

  Pete
y gazed up at him, imploring him to believe that he’d seen Grey Man, the predatory faery that haunted the fogs that rolled in off the Atlantic.

  “Did you see a swallow?” Danny said. “Swallows always follow Grey Man when he’s lurking about.”

  Petey shook his head. “There was too much mist.”

  “That’s true. Here’s what I think. I think that Grey Man passed our house without stopping for a reason, and that reason is because he knows I’m a Detective Sergeant, and I’ll capture him and I’ll throw him in jail.”

  Petey rolled away. “But you don’t live here anymore.”

  Danny rolled him back over and kissed his forehead. “Grey Man knows I’m around, just a few miles away. He knows I protect everyone in this house. Now, how about you think about the great day you’ll have doing a bunk from school?”

  Petey semi-settled, Danny checked on Mandy in the kitchen, and then returned to Ellen. He exhaled hard in an attempt to dislodge the knot that always affixed itself to his rib cage when it came to his wife. The bedroom smelled fusty, like too many unbathed skin cells settled on every surface. Danny flung back the curtains so that the rings clanged against the curtain rod.

  Ellen lifted her head. Dark circles dragged down the skin beneath her eyes. Her hair lay tangled around her shoulders rather than in its usual sleep-braid. “I know,” she said.

  “Have you been taking your meds?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Leave it. I had a bad night, that’s all. I’m awake now, and I’ll see to the kids. I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure? I could—”

  “I said.” She tossed a pillow in his direction. “I’m fine.”

  This was the way of it between them now. Petty jolts of annoyance at every turn.