“She’s lying,” Alanna said. “You’re a liar.”
Alanna lunged forward and shoved Tara. Tara stumbled, then fell. Her face hovered over the cliff. Time stopped. The jagged rocks, the height, the ocean ready to receive her. Maybe she should just let go. See Thomas again. Her mother.
“Stop,” Danny yelled from above. Tara began to inch away from the cliff. She felt a shoe on the back of her neck. “Stop,” Danny pleaded with Alanna. “What are you doing?”
“I didn’t mean for anyone to die,” Alanna said. “Emmet was crazed.”
“Tell us what happened,” Danny said. He knew he had to keep Alanna distracted. Keep her talking. If she was going to confess to anyone, it would be Danny.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Tell me what happened,” he repeated.
It was odd to lie on the ground with a foot pressed to her neck, listening to Alanna’s pleas to Danny. But it was working. She had let up some of the pressure. Tara concentrated on staying calm. “Emmet put it together that I was stealing from Johnny.”
“How did he put it together?” Danny pressed.
“I suspect he snooped in my room at the mill or he saw me bringing items into the retail shop. That was careless of me.”
“Why didn’t he just tell Johnny you were stealing from him?” Danny asked. “Or me?”
“He saw the cast-iron pig wasn’t in the shop. I told him I was doing Johnny’s bidding. That I didn’t know what happened to his pig but I promised him I’d find out. He was so obsessed with getting it he was willing to wait. He didn’t know who to trust. But then I couldn’t find it fast enough! He wouldn’t stop hounding me. I don’t know what happened to his pig. But he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop, Danny.”
Alanna was making herself sound like the victim. She didn’t feel the same pity when Johnny was framed for Emmet’s murder. Or when she wrote Tara’s name on the wall in the blood of the man she’d murdered. Framing other people was a game to her. Alanna was still counting on Danny believing her sad stories.
“Carrig stole the pig,” Tara said. It was difficult to speak, but Tara managed to get the words out. Alanna’s foot twitched.
“What?” Alanna’s voice wavered above her.
Danny picked up the thread. “Carrig thought it was Johnny blackmailing him.”
“I didn’t know any of that was going to happen,” Alanna said. “How could I know?”
“How did you manage to collect the payments?” Danny asked Alanna. “Make Carrig think it was Johnny blackmailing him and not you?”
“I sent typed letters. The drop-off point was at the mill. I made sure Johnny was never in for the drop-offs. He paid in cash.”
“Clever,” Tara said. Alanna must have told Carrig she had his granite slab to keep him happy. That’s why Carrig was so squirrely about the granite slab. He didn’t want to admit to being caught up in Alanna’s web of deceit.
“But why?” Danny’s voice was laced with horror.
So she could be with you—run the mill and have the man of her dreams. “For you,” was all Tara could say.
“Shut your gob,” Alanna yelled. Her foot pressed harder into Tara’s neck.
“Let her go,” Danny said. He took a step forward.
“Stop, or I’ll crush her neck,” Alanna said.
Tara believed her. Danny must have too, for he came to a halt. “Called . . . guards,” Tara uttered. “It’s over.”
“Why don’t you want to be with me?” Apparently, Alanna was still stuck in the past.
“Carrig?” Danny said. His mind was still on the murders. “You killed him too?”
“He had the pig. All this time. He’s the one who turned me into a killer. Johnny was supposed to be accused of stealing the other items and arrested. That’s it. Nobody had to die. But Carrig couldn’t keep his nose out of it. Carrig thought he could turn it all around but all he did was turn Emmet into a raging lunatic. Over a pig! A stupid, cast-iron pig! I still don’t even know where it is!”
You didn’t give Carrig a chance to tell you, Tara thought. You stabbed him in the back. Carrig never spent the night at the inn. Alanna is the one who had stashed the murder weapon in room 301. But Tara entered soon after. She noticed blood on the key. She could attest that Alanna wouldn’t allow Grace to let her stay in room 301. Because room 301 was a bloody mess. It’s where Alanna had stashed the murder weapon, most likely showered and changed her clothes after the murder. Then returned to the scene of the crime to fetch the head of the pig. Murdered Carrig to frame him as the killer. The only witness who could have refuted her story. Poor Carrig. Poor Emmet. “You switched the prop knives with a real one,” Tara said. She was getting more confident at speaking with the foot on her neck. If Alanna wanted to crush her, she was going to do it whether Tara talked or not.
“How did you know that?” Tara could hear the rage in Alanna’s voice.
Truthfully, it was a shot in the dark. Even though the chef’s training wasn’t her idea, she would still have a set of sharp knives. And framing Magda/Hamlet for the murder fit into Alanna’s devious pattern. “You just confirmed my suspicion.”
“Think you’re so smart, do you?”
Or maybe she should have kept her mouth shut.
“Was Hamlet aware of what you were doing?” Danny cut in, sensing that Tara had just wound Alanna up again.
“I thought she didn’t have a clue. But she must have betrayed me too. Helped Carrig steal the pig.”
“We can talk about this later,” Danny said. The shoe pressed harder. Tara kicked as hard as she could and wiggled, trying to move away from the edge. Danny grabbed Alanna around the waist and pulled her back. She clawed and kicked. Tara scrambled to her feet.
“It’s over,” Tara said. Alanna leaned down and bit Danny. He let go with a yell. Alanna rushed toward the edge and turned around. She glared at Tara.
“This is your fault. And your uncle’s.” She spit on the ground, pure fury stamped on her face. “I’m going to jump,” she screamed. “But not alone.”
She grabbed Tara’s arm and pulled. Tara stumbled and tried to pull back, but Alanna succeeded in yanking Tara too close to the edge for comfort. Don’t look down. Whatever you do, don’t look down. “Thomas,” she whispered.
“Alanna, don’t do this,” Danny said. He lunged and grabbed Tara’s other arm. The crowd moved in closer.
“Stay back!” Alanna’s voice carried through the wind. “Or the three of us go over together.” The crowd stopped. Cameras around her clicked.
“I was so close,” she said. “I can’t go to prison.”
“Nobody is going to prison,” Danny said. “Whatever this is, we’ll work it out.”
A tug of war began, with Tara in the middle.
“I’m sorry,” Alanna said. “I would take it all back if I could. I love you, Danny. I did it for you!”
“Stop talking,” Danny said. “We’ll go get a cup of tea, sit down, take a few breaths.”
“I just wanted to run Johnny out of business! I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Danny, you have to believe me.”
“Where is the original pig now?” Danny asked. Tara knew he didn’t really care, he was grasping at anything to keep Alanna’s focus.
Hamlet...
“The light,” Tara said.
“What?” Poor Danny, he alone was in the dark.
“I think Carrig hid the pig in the theatre light,” Tara said. “First he wanted to get it out of the way. But when he learned a replica pig was the murder weapon, he knew the original was now precious evidence. That’s why he was so desperate to get the light back.”
“He didn’t suffer,” Alanna said. “He never even knew it was coming.” She glanced behind her, taking in the same dramatic view of the drop, the ocean below.
Danny stepped closer to Tara and the three inched that much closer to the edge. This time Tara did look. The jagged rocks, the steep drop, the ocean thrashing below.
“Be
careful,” Tara whispered.
Alanna eyed Danny’s hand. A pair of security guards were making their way toward them, keeping the crowd behind them.
Alanna took another step toward the edge. One more and they would plummet three hundred feet.
The guards stopped.
“You’ve always had to fight for your place,” Tara said. She wasn’t going to tell her that it was all going to be okay, or that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life in jail. “You have to face this,” she said instead. “You have to face it.”
“What do you know?” Alanna said.
“I know how it feels to lose the most important thing in your life.”
“What?” Alanna shouted. “What have you ever lost?”
“My son,” Tara said. “My three-year-old son. His name was Thomas.”
Alanna faltered. Tara caught Danny’s eye, and together they stepped away from the cliff. One step, two steps. At three, they flanked Alanna and took her to the ground.
Chapter 32
Sergeant Gable met the Aran Island guards at the ferry. Danny and Tara remained behind to fill George in on what had happened. They stood in his kitchen near the theatre light.
O’Malley crossed his arms. “I don’t want to break it just to see if there’s a pig inside.”
“The pig could fetch up a ton of money at auction,” Danny said.
Now that the pig was part of a murder mystery, it’s worth had probably skyrocketed. Human beings never failed to perplex Tara.
George grabbed a broom and wheeled over to the light, as if he was going to knock it down.
“You could end up breaking both,” Danny said. He approached the light. “If you have some tools I can take it apart properly. Would you like that now?”
“Ah, sure, look it.” George wheeled over to the cupboard beneath his sink and came out with a toolbox. Danny used the tools to open the light, stick his hand in, and remove the item. It was a cast-iron pig, once owned by a princess.
* * *
On the ferry ride back, Tara filled Danny in on how she put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Once I stood back and looked at the timeline and my vision boards, I could see the common denominator was Alanna. The place used to be a mess—a junk heap. You even mentioned how Johnny’s dishes were piled in the sink.”
“And?”
“Alanna was cleaning the counters at the inn when I first met her. Her cooking instructor remarked how organized and clean she always was, and everyone said the mill used to be a junk heap.”
“Alanna organized it.”
“Yes. Alanna cleans compulsively. It sounds ludicrous she would do the dishes after a murder but that’s the power of a compulsion.”
Danny stared out at the churning water. “What did Alanna have over Carrig?”
“Apparently he had a reputation of being handsy with male actors. None of them would work with him. Alanna threatened to expose this to reviewers and ruin his all-female production of Hamlet.”
“I can’t believe you pieced all this together.” Danny sounded impressed.
“There were other clues.”
“Go on.”
“Alanna was the one with access to the stationery—she wrote a nasty note to Rose, pretending it was from Grace. She typed the letter that was left on the mill door, luring Emmet to Johnny’s cottage. I bet the guards will find a typewriter in Alanna’s apartment.”
Danny nodded. “We often had antique typewriters in stock.”
“Johnny must have had an appointment that morning and Alanna knew he wouldn’t be around. Or maybe he was in his office at the mill and never knew that Emmet was reading a note sending him to the cottage. It was Alanna who got a tattoo of a rose and an engagement ring—”
Danny flushed scarlet. “I thought it was just a harmless crush.” He bowed his head. “I kissed her once. I had no idea she would become obsessed.”
Tara thought as much. She put her hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault. Alanna isn’t well. If not you, she would have obsessed over someone else. This is not on you.”
“You saw it right away. You mentioned it so many times. I just thought you were jealous.”
“My name on the wall was the one clue that couldn’t have been done by anyone else.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Emmet used his last moments to try and write the name of his killer on the wall.” She removed a brochure from the Aran Islands and a pen from her purse. She started to write: Alan.
“Alan?”
“He didn’t have time to finish.” Tara began to scribble over it, replicating the look of Tara on the wall.
Danny gave a low whistle. “She turned Alan into Tara.”
Tara nodded. “That’s why the letters are so weird. Capital T—a giant one—then a capital A to change the L, and on down the line.”
“My God.” He stopped. “She was trying to frame you next.”
“I do believe that’s where she was headed. And I’m sure folks around here would have preferred it was the awful American.”
Danny stepped closer. “Not all of us,” he said. And then he kissed her.
* * *
The next ten days passed in a blur of reunions and police interviews. When Grace Quinn summoned Tara for a cup of tea, she accepted. Now that justice had been delivered, Tara decided to forgive the imperfections of those around her, including Grace and her uncle. She had even opened the letter from her mother, the announcement of the birth of her grandchild, Thomas Meehan. Tara could now look at the picture without breaking down. He had been here. It was only a short time, but Thomas Meehan had been here, on this earth. And he would live in Tara’s heart—and now in the tattoo on her back—the rest of her days.
Grace rocked, and knitted, and seemed eager to talk. “Johnny was a shy boy. Your mother always protected him.”
“Protected him from what?”
“From whom. Your grandfather. He wasn’t the nicest man when he drank. And he drank a lot.”
“Is that why my mother left?”
Grace kept knitting, and rocking. “Your grandfather is buried behind the cottage, did you know that?”
“No. I didn’t know that.” There’s no headstone, no marker.
“They said it was an accident.”
“They?”
“Johnny and your mother. They said Thomas was cleaning his gun and it went off.”
“Maybe it did.”
“I guess we’ll never know. After that your mother left for the States and Johnny took over the business.”
She was also pregnant when she left. Tara was pretty sure Grace knew that too. Her mother hadn’t looked back because there were too many secrets, too much pain. Instead of working through it, Johnny and her mother just stopped talking altogether. It hadn’t been out of anger. It had been out of sadness. Shame. Sibling dynamics were complicated even without factoring in past trauma. Perhaps they each secretly blamed themselves for their past and harbored resentments at the same time. Maybe, over time, Johnny could shed more light on it. They had time. Precious, precious time. Tara stood. “I’d better get to the retail shop. We’re having an official opening today.”
“When will you be going home?”
Tara stopped at the parlor doors, turned, and smiled. “I am home,” she said.
* * *
Johnny Meehan popped the cork on the champagne and poured glasses for the four of them. They stood in the garden of the retail shop, Johnny and Rose, Danny and Tara, and toasted. Between the current inventory and Emmet’s widow selling them back everything her husband had purchased, they were well stocked for both the mill and the shop.
“Sláinte.”
“Sláinte,” they all repeated as they clinked glasses and drank.
Tara handed out the long-stem roses. They would set off for the bay and say a proper goodbye to her mam.
The sun was rising as they made their way toward the water, causing droplets to dance on top of the Galway Bay like diamon
ds. A boat horn sounded in the distance. Danny took her hand. A sense of belonging wound around her like a protective shawl. Somewhere along the way, Hound had slipped in behind them, and joined the procession. “I feel love all around,” Rose said. Tara smiled; so could she. She could feel her mother walking beside her, hand in hand with her grandson, all proceeding to the edge of the bay, the ever-changing, wild, unpredictable, Galway Bay.
Murder in Galway Page 26
