Whispers in the Mist (19 page)

“Nothing happened. Nothing is happening.”

“So you say.”

“I shouldn’t have to say anything about her to you, or anyone. She was a witness and victim in my last investigation. You imagine some attraction between us, so that makes it bright and bonny for you to shag someone else, fine. That’s your delusion.” He slammed the jewelry box shut. “Don’t forget. I’m picking up the children tomorrow night.”

“Fine.” She shoved the diary into her robe pocket. “You’d know who gave me the earrings if you’d bother to observe, detect, put two and two together—do what you do so well with your work.”

Touché.

Monday

The gods visit the sins of
the fathers upon the children.

Euripides

THIRTY
-
ONE

M
ERRIT PUSHED AWAY HER
seafood chowder, for once having eaten less than Liam. “Almost time to get back to the plaza,” she said.

Liam sat with the matchmaking ledger in front of him. He jotted a note beside one of the names, but most of his gaze was aimed at a woman who sat next to the fireplace. Merrit remembered her. A music teacher from Cork. Unlike some of the festival participants, she’d seemed at ease with the process, ready to be pleased rather than disappointed. A man pulled up a chair next to her. They leaned toward each other, laughing over a private joke. “I put the bug in his ear to talk to her.” Liam eased the book closed. “Sometimes they don’t need me at all.”

Merrit smiled, but her thoughts were on Gemma, who sat curled up beside Bijou as usual. She noted how Gemma tensed when the door opened or when a customer made a sudden move. Yet her vigilance softened when Alan came into view or when his voice rose above the general chatter and clink inside the pub.

“Now,” Liam said, “please enlighten me about what’s troubling you.” He glanced at Gemma. “And never mind sorting out the vandalism or Gemma. Those are nice preoccupations, but not the heart of it.”

Dang him. He wasn’t going to let it go. Merrit could tell by the way he gazed at her, that penetrating look he used on the lovelorn during the festival.

“What’s bothering me is that we need to find John McIlvoy,” Merrit said.

The day before, Merrit had managed to lead trembling Gemma back to the comforts of Bijou after their foray into Pot o’ Gold Gifts. Other than letting herself be led, she hadn’t responded to Merrit’s appeals for more information about the man behind Firebird Designs. John McIlvoy, her mother’s killer, if Dermot was to be believed.

“
We
do not need to find McIlvoy,” Liam said. “Talk to Danny. You ought to mend those fences anyhow.” Liam waved at someone behind her. “Speaking of. Danny-boyo,” he called.

Merrit sighed. Village life. She still wasn’t used to the closeness of it.

Danny approached from the entrance, bringing the scent of fog with him. He wore a jacket and tie under a black trench, all of which fit him on the loose side. Ellen must have bought the suit because its dark chocolate hue mimicked the depths of Danny’s eyes. He didn’t seem the type to care about that kind of thing.

“Fancy this good timing.” Liam patted the chair beside him. “Sit down.”

Merrit sipped her coffee, all too aware of the not-so-furtive glances coming from the locals in the room. Even Alan had paused to take in their threesome.

Danny sat where Liam indicated. “Old troll.”

Liam acknowledged his son Kevin’s nickname for him with a nod. His smile dimmed but the crinkles remained around his eyes.

Danny swung his glance toward Merrit and then out the window. “I need to follow up on the graffiti.”

“O’Neil got the details already,” Merrit said. “He didn’t seem too worried about it.” Her nonchalance was a sham, and she knew that Danny knew it. She continued before he could reply. “I found out something that might interest you. About Dermot and Gemma.”

“Of course you did.”

Merrit ploughed on. “According to Gemma, the man who killed her mom also made my necklace. John McIlvoy—”

“Yes, I have heard of him.”

“—and he’s a jewelry maker. Firebird Designs, to be exact. The jewelry in Malcolm’s store.” Merrit felt for her moonstone’s comforting smoothness. “Malcolm must know McIlvoy’s details, so maybe you could help Dermot and Gemma resolve their mom’s death.”

“That’s a helpful fact,” Danny said, “but I need you to quit meddling in Dermot and Gemma’s affairs.”

“Why?” Merrit said. “They came to us—or rather to Liam.”

“How about because their affairs are Garda business, not yours.” Danny addressed Liam. “Do you remember buying Merrit’s necklace from McIlvoy? Any insights into the man would be welcome at this point.”

Something else was going on related to McIlvoy, Merrit realized, something that had Danny jumpy. She could see it in the way his gaze kept twitching toward a bird that flew back and forth under the eave.

“I remember the man well enough,” Liam said, “but I have no idea what he was called or what became of him. He lived out of his van like a bloody traveller. We’re sure he’s the same man who married Siobhan McNamara?”

“According to Gemma, yes,” Merrit said.

Liam ruminated aloud about the jewelry maker who appeared each year for the festival, with his long hair and paisley shirts. This was the 1970s, after all.

“How old would he be now?” Danny said.

“Late fifties?”

“And twenty years later, when Gemma’s mom arrived for the festival he was still living out of his van? That’s a long time to be on the road.”

“I don’t have a clear memory of him after the early 1970s. The further back in time, the clearer my vision.”

“I can ask Gemma if she remembers a van,” Merrit said.

Danny leaned forward, his voice unequivocal and stern. “You need to stop. Right now.”

“Oh, is that right?” Merrit clenched her hands together on her lap. “I’ve taken an interest in Gemma, and I mean to help her. There’s something about her, struggling with her anxieties the way she does. Anyhow, it’s something I can do.”

She didn’t need to remind him about her panic attacks. Comprehension flickered before he looked out the window again. “My mom used to say that bad luck came like the Morrigan triple goddess—in threes. True to the old ways or not, I don’t know, but she also used to say the Morrigan was a purveyor of death, and once she took root there’d be more to come.”

He shifted forward to the edge of his chair, close enough that Merrit smelled mint on his breath. “Back to the graffiti. I didn’t come over to talk to you about the McNamaras. Something’s still undone, and that something could pertain to the graffiti on your car. So far, three public declarations, and so far, two people confirmed dead. I need to know what you might have to do with these events.”

Danny’s grim certainty settled over Merrit like a caul that she pictured enshrouding the Morrigan, or Grey Man, or both together, the best of friends spreading death in their wakes.

“If Gemma hadn’t ripped off my necklace, I wouldn’t know anything except through the newspaper and gossip like everyone else.”

“Still, there’s no ignoring the graffiti pattern. Malcolm’s shop, where Brendan worked. A grass field, where the victims died. And before everything, your car. The only thing that comes to mind is that you work with Liam, whom Dermot accused of killing his mother.”

“That seems a bit hazy.”

“Indeed.” His unsettled gaze followed another bird in flight. He stood, checking his watch. “Do me a favor and stick to matchmaking.”

His abrupt leave-taking left Merrit so deflated that she longed to join Gemma on the dog pillow. The pub’s chatter and clink pressed at her from all sides. In her corner, Gemma’s usual stillness showed signs of wear. She twitched about on the pillow, causing Bijou to sit up.

“Would you mind if I took a couple hours off right now?” Merrit said.

“I keep telling you I’m fine.” Liam gazed out the window at Danny’s disappearing form. “The boyo’s perturbed. You mark him, Merrit—whatever he’s sensing is close by. Take care with yourself.”

“I will.”

“And I’ll not forget you never explained what’s troubling you.”

“I’ll figure it out.” She squeezed his hand goodbye and approached Gemma. “Want to come along on another errand? I’ve got some questions about paint.”

THIRTY
-
TWO

M
ALCOLM’S NEW SHOP GIRL
blinked back and forth between Danny and O’Neil. She wore a dozen sparkly clips in her hair and a confused expression. Merrit had looked much the same by the time Danny had left the pub. If scaring her kept her from meddling further, all the better. He couldn’t outstep his uneasiness even as he’d gathered up O’Neil and headed to Malcolm’s shop to follow up on Merrit’s helpful fact about Firebird Designs. Every bird flutter brought Toby Grealy back to mind, blinking up at him, pleading with him to see the connections. But which connections?

“Never mind,” he said to the hapless girl. “We can find our way upstairs on our own.”

“But Malcolm’s after telling me that I’m not allowed to let anyone up to his flat,” she said. “That’s a way to get me arse canned.”

“Ah, but then we’re the guards,” O’Neil said. “You can’t be expecting us to obey Malcolm’s rules.”

The girl wavered, then shrugged. “Right then. Good luck to you.”

Danny led the way to the back of the shop, where Waterford crystal gleamed within glass cases. “You’re so full of shite your skin’ll turn brown.”

“Aw, now, don’t be jealous because I’ve got a way with the lassies.”

In the back corner of the shop a door opened onto a corridor with a rear exit and a staircase at the opposite end. Danny led O’Neil along a Turkish runner in bright greens and yellows. Shop sounds faded, allowing them to hear footsteps creaking overhead. A door opened and murmuring voices approached.

“And now,” Malcolm said, “we have nothing but equality between us. We all know this makes for a fit and lasting friendship.”

Whoever he spoke to responded and two sets of feet descended the stairs. Malcolm appeared first. Seamus stepped down behind him.

“Danny!” Malcolm said. “Today’s the day for guests, I must say. Before I know it my new girl will be letting anyone through unannounced. I train them with care, you know, and these young pups never fail to take advantage of my good nature.”

Seamus clenched his jaw in response to Malcolm’s remark. In the last twenty-four hours Seamus had aged a decade. Deep creases divided his forehead and punctuated his mouth. He hadn’t shaved and a sickly yellow film coated his skin. By comparison, Malcolm looked like he’d emerged from a germ-free bubble, bright-eyed and wrinkle-free.

Danny addressed Seamus. “Can you excuse Malcolm and us?”

Seamus steadied himself and pushed through them without acknowledging Danny or saying goodbye to Malcolm. He stank of mildew, like damp clothes left in the washer for days.

“Odd,” O’Neil said. “Him with no questions about our progress.”

“He can hardly walk, much less talk,” Malcolm said.

“What was that you were saying about equality?” Danny said.

“My goodness, pub politics. He seems to think I’m out to usurp his place as lead crow. Why that should be important at this juncture, I don’t know.” Malcolm clapped his hands together in an
isn’t this fun?
fashion. “Now how can I help you today? Jewelry for your wife, perhaps?”

“Let’s sit down. Easier for O’Neil here to take notes.”

Without word, Malcolm led the way up to a cozy flat. They entered in the kitchen area with scrubbed hardwood floors and ceramic spice containers lining shelves above the sink. Beyond, the living and bedroom areas overlooked Lisfenora’s main street.

“Nice place,” Danny said.

Malcolm aimed his smile around the flat. With the finesse of a magician demonstrating that his disappearing box was indeed solid, no tricks here, he swung open a second door to display a room crowded with storage shelves, file cabinets, and pristine work counters. “The inner sanctum, where I keep the expensive inventory. The Waterford, the Lenox, the jewelry.” He picked up an etched crystal champagne flute and sighed. “Everyone should surround themselves with beauty.”

O’Neil motioned Malcolm to be seated.

“I hope you have news on the vandal who defiled my window?” Malcolm directed his question to Danny as he locked up the room behind them.

“Not yet. We have many questions about Friday night, believe me, and we’re hoping you can help us with anything you observed.”

Malcolm pinched at the crease in his dress pants. “About that boy, you mean? It’s amazing how much I manage to retain despite being run ragged by my employees and the general public. He had the most grubby fingernails, for example.” He shuddered. “Encrusted and black.”

O’Neil coughed into his hand. His cough sounded like a smirk.

“No,” Danny said, “this would be this past Friday night or early Saturday morning when Brendan disappeared. Your front windows overlook the street. Did you see or hear anything unusual?”