St. Patrick's Day Murder (19 page)

“It’s still there?” asked Lucy, incredulous.

Doc Ryder nodded. “I didn’t dare touch it. This is one for the experts.”

Moira, who had gone quite pale, sat down and crossed herself. “May the saints preserve us,” she said, clasping her hands together and looking over her shoulders. “Evil forces are at work here.”

Lucy grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Moira, if you know what this is about, you need to tell the police.”

Moira shook her head. “The police can’t do anything. My poor Dylan is in a fight for his soul, just like King Conor.”

“Who’s he?” asked Lucy.

“King Conor Mac Nessa? A saint. He was hit in the head, just like my Dylan, and the doctors left the projectile in place, fearing it would be fatal to remove it. So there it stayed, and King Conor was fine until one dark day, when the Druid priests came and told him they had seen visions of a truly good man crucified on a cross of wood. It was Christ, you see. And the tale so horrified King Conor that his head exploded and he died.”

“Well, never fear. There’s no danger of that happening to your husband,” said Doc Ryder in a disapproving tone. “We’re keeping him under anesthesia.”

“King Conor was a handsome man, just like my husband,” said Moira. “Will my Dylan be disfigured?”

“That’s the least of his worries right now,” said the doctor, bluntly. Then, remembering his bedside manner, he added, “It’s amazing what these plastic surgeons can do nowadays.”

“That’s a relief,” said Moira, with a sigh.

“Would you like to see him before we move him?” asked the doctor.

Before Moira could answer, Dave Reilly came through the door, holding little Deirdre by the hand. At the same time, a couple of uniformed cops who Lucy had seen at the house exited from the elevator, carrying paper cups of coffee from the hospital cafeteria.

Jumping to her feet, Moira ran across the waiting room and snatched her daughter from Dave, dramatically clasping her to her bosom. Finding her rather heavier than she’d expected, she dropped her and, raising her arm and pointing at Dave, screamed, “Murtherer! You tried to kill my husband!”

All eyes—the cops’, Doc Ryder’s, Lucy’s, Deirdre’s, even those of the women at the admissions desk—were on Dave, who stood frozen in place, with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Don’t pretend!” shrieked Moira, shaking off Deirdre, who was attempting to hug her. “You were jealous! Admit it. You knew he’d never let me go, so you killed him!”

“He’s not dead,” reminded Doc Ryder.

“You’re crazy,” said Dave, addressing Moira.

“Look, buddy,” said one of the cops, “mebbe we better have a little talk.”

Chapter Fifteen

“S
he’s crazy,” protested Dave. “I don’t even know what she’s talking about.”

“Let go of my child, you murtherer!” shrieked Moira.

Clearly terrified by all the screaming, Deirdre clung tightly to Dave’s hand. He bent down and whispered in her ear, urging her to go to her mother, but she only stepped closer to him. This enraged Moira even more, and she flew at the child, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away from Dave. The tug-of-war continued, with Deirdre hanging on to Dave and Moira pulling her other arm, until she finally succeeded in yanking her free. She then enfolded the mute child in her arms and began to sob dramatically into her hair.

“My precious! I dread to think what might have happened!” cried Moira.

The cops looked at each other, seemingly unsure what to do. They were saved from having to take action by the arrival of Detective Horowitz, who huddled with the two officers, questioning them and glancing in turn at Moira, Dave, little Deirdre, and finally, Lucy.

“Come with me,” said Horowitz, pointing at Lucy. “You two, and the child, can take a seat,” he continued, speaking to Dave and Moira. “And don’t get any ideas about leaving, because these two fine officers have orders to keep you here until I tell them otherwise.”

Dave settled down, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hands, but Moira protested at the top of her voice. “This is outrageous,” she screamed. “You can’t expect me to stay here with the man who murthered my husband!”

“He’s still alive,” Horowitz reminded her. Then he took Lucy’s elbow and steered her down the hallway. “Is she always like this?” he asked under his breath.

“She’s an actress,” said Lucy. “She has a flair for the dramatic.”

“But not for calling nine-one-one when she finds her husband unconscious and bleeding?” he asked.

“I think she really thought he was dead,” said Lucy. “She was wailing and cradling him in her arms when I found them.”

“I think the lady doth protest a bit too much,” said Horowitz. “What’s the deal with the longhaired guy?”

“Dave Reilly? He’s the leading man in the church show,
Finian’s Rainbow
. Moira, of course, is the lead female. They’re lovers onstage, and it’s pretty clear Moira would like to take the affair offstage, too, but I don’t know if Dave is all that interested. He plays in a rock band. He can pretty much have any girl he wants—and they’re a lot younger than Moira.”

“Meow,” said Horowitz, a twinkle in his eye. “Do I detect a bit of cattiness?”

Lucy felt her cheeks warming. “I wish I’d never gotten involved with that woman, or her little kid. She’s convinced my Zoe that fairies and leprechauns and I don’t know what all lurk under every tree. We haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since they arrived.”

Horowitz scratched his chin. “So why exactly did you go to their house this morning?”

“It was a stupid idea, probably, but I was hoping to convince Moira to tell Zoe that the fairies were make-believe, that they were just storybook characters. I thought if Zoe heard it from the source, instead of her parents, she’d come around and give up all this nonsense and get back to normal.”

“And did she agree?”

“I never got a chance to ask her. She was holding Dylan in her arms and wailing, and I took one look and called for help.”

“Do you have any idea how long he’d been like that?”

“It couldn’t have been too long, because he was still bleeding.” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t even know what time it was when I got there.”

“You didn’t see anybody else?”

“Sorry,” she said. “Not a soul.”

Horowitz nodded. “Not to worry. You’ve been very helpful.” Then he turned, starting to go back down the hall, but Lucy put her hand on his arm, detaining him. “How come you’re being so nice to me?” she asked.

“Well, for once, you’re not playing the amateur detective, and you did the right thing. You called for help.” He grimaced. “You probably saved his life.”

Lucy smiled. “Will I get a medal?”

“Don’t push it,” he growled, marching off down the hall.

Lucy followed, casually taking a seat on the opposite side of the waiting area and hoping no one would notice she was there. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and opened it, pretending to check her messages while she listened in on Horowitz’s conversation with Dave and Moira.

He began by questioning Dave. “Where were you this morning?” he demanded, getting right to the point.

“At home.”

“And where’s that?”

“The new condos on Bumps River Road.” At this, Lucy perked up. The condos were just down the road from Old Dan’s place.

“Oh yeah, the affordable housing?”

Dave nodded. “I entered the lottery and got one.”

“That’s not far from the victim’s home, right?”

Dave nodded.

“Handy, especially if you’re having an affair with the victim’s wife.”

Dave laughed. “Affair? I don’t think so. I was the baby-sitter.”

“Baby-sitter?”

“Moira came banging on my door around nine this morning. Woke me up. I had a gig last night, didn’t get home until three, and then with one thing and another, it must’ve been close to four when I got to bed. So I was sound asleep when she starts pounding on the door and ringing the bell. Said she wanted me to take the kid ’cause she had something she had to do. Then she shoved the kid through the door and was gone before I had a chance to say anything.”

“That’s ridic—” sputtered Moira, but she was silenced by a glance from Horowitz.

“So what’d you do then?” he asked Dave.

“I put the TV on for the kid while I took a shower and got dressed. Then I made some coffee and I watched a few cartoons with the kid and then I decided to take her back.” He glanced at Moira. “I was sick and tired of being used like that. But nobody was home when I got there, just a cop who was putting up yellow crime-scene tape. He told me they were at the hospital, so I came here.”

“Okay,” said Horowitz, turning to Moira. “What was the hurry? Why did you take your child to his place? What were you going to do this morning?”

“I had a hair appointment.”

Horowitz hadn’t expected this. “What?”

“You woke me up so you could get a haircut?” demanded Dave.

“Not just a hair appointment, an appointment with Jean-Pierre,” said Moira.

In her corner, Lucy was impressed. It was practically impossible to get an appointment with Jean-Pierre himself, who owned a salon in the fancy new galleria that had been built just a few exits away on the interstate.

“I knew I couldn’t be late, and my usual babysitter had quit, so I really didn’t have any other option, did I?” said Moira.

Lucy had a feeling she was the “usual baby-sitter” Moira was referring to, and she didn’t like it much. The woman had a lot of nerve, referring to her like an employee, when she had simply offered to let Deirdre play with Zoe when it was convenient for both families.

“Your husband couldn’t have stayed with the child?” asked Horowitz.

“Oh no. He’s directing a play, and he couldn’t be distracted.”

“So you left the house around nine?”

“Right. The appointment was at ten, and I’m not familiar with the area, so I wanted to leave plenty of time to get there.”

Horowitz consulted his notebook. “But at some point you went back to the house. How come?”

“I remembered I forgot my credit card, so I went back home to get it, and that’s when”—she dabbed at her eyes and sniffed—“I found my darling husband.”

“What time was that?”

Moira’s eyes blazed. “I don’t know what time it was! My husband was lying on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I thought he was dead, for pity’s sake.” She paused dramatically. “I didn’t check my watch.”

Horowitz raised his eyes, meeting hers. “You didn’t call for help, but you did remember to cancel the hair appointment.”

Hearing this, Lucy’s jaw dropped in shock.

“I never did!” exclaimed Moira, self-righteously.

“Someone used your cell phone to call the salon,” said Horowitz. “We checked the phone records.”

“All right,” admitted Moira. “I didn’t want to lose the appointment, especially if there was going to be a funeral and everyone would be looking at me.” She sniffed. “Jean-Pierre was most understanding. Very sympathetic.”

“Right,” said Horowitz, snapping the notebook shut. “That’s all for now, but I wouldn’t advise either of you to leave town. I’ll need official statements, so I’ll be contacting you later today or tomorrow.”

Dave was on his feet immediately, heading for the door. He didn’t even pause to say goodbye to Moira. She made a beeline for the elevator, with Deirdre in tow, apparently heading for the basement cafeteria.

Horowitz turned, pocketing his notebook, and spotted Lucy. “Ah, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t realize you were there.”

“I feel a little shaky, and I didn’t want to drive until I felt better.”

“You were eavesdropping.”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” she said.

“Well, good, because then I won’t have to remind you that anything you might accidentally have heard is strictly off the record. Got that?”

“Got it.” Lucy stood up and crossed the room, meeting Horowitz in the middle. “I can’t believe she called her hairdresser instead of nine-one-one.”

“It must’ve been a hair emergency,” said Horowitz.

Once again, Lucy’s jaw dropped in amazement. “I had no idea you actually have a sense of humor,” she told him.

Phyllis had the same reaction when Lucy recounted the story at the office.

“Will wonders never cease?” mused Phyllis. “Horowitz cracked a joke.”

“I don’t know what’s more amazing,” said Ted. “Horowitz making jokes or Moira canceling her appointment with Jean-Pierre?”

“I definitely think she could have called nine-one-one first,” said Lucy.

“Well, Lucy, people have different priorities,” said Ted. “Right now my priority is getting the paper out. Could you call the hospital and check on Malone’s condition?”

“He really has a rock in his head?” asked Phyllis. “How could that happen?”

“Beats me,” said Lucy, yawning as she flipped through the Rolodex for the hospital number, a task that suddenly seemed beyond her.

“Slingshot,” said Ted. “That’s my guess.”

“Probably some kid,” grumbled Phyllis.

“I don’t think so,” said Ted. “Kids don’t play with slingshots these days. They’re too busy with video games and instant messaging and posting blogs on the computer. And if they have a violent bent and video games aren’t exciting enough for them, they get real guns and shoot up their school.”

“Not all kids,” protested Lucy. “Plenty of kids have part-time jobs and compete in school sports and science fairs and do their homework because they’re worried about getting into college.” Finally locating the number, she picked up the phone, yawning again and blinking as she struggled to make out the digits. “You do have a point, though. I don’t see why some kid would fire off a slingshot at Dylan, unless it was absolutely random and accidental.”

“Which is unlikely considering what happened to his brother,” said Ted.

Lucy got a busy signal and hung up. “You think somebody wants to kill both Malone brothers?”

“It sure looks that way,” said Ted.

Lucy got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. Now that her body was no longer pumping out adrenaline, she felt completely exhausted. She needed something to help her stay awake. Setting the cup on her desk, she sat down and stared at the computer, intending to write an account of Dylan’s injury. Her mind was jumbled, however, and she wasn’t sure what she could include and what Horowitz told her was off the record. The longer she sat, the blurrier the words and letters became. Her eyes fell shut, and she jerked herself awake, typed a word or two, and felt her eyelids growing heavier until they shut again.