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TWELVE

“I had a feeling you’d say you couldn’t tell us anything,” Rob said across the table. “But why would you have questions for us? We didn’t know either of the poor people who died.”

“Lolly, did,” I said. “I was doing some research last night, and I wondered if you might remember a case where a young woman went missing in 1995?” I turned to Lolly. “She went to Dublin with a group of friends – James, the mayor, the chef catering our events, oh and Professor Finneas Hughes – but never returned to Shamrock Cove.” I found it odd that two of those men were on my suspect list.

Lolly frowned. “Aye, the young woman was Keeley Boyle. Her family moved away years ago. The story isn’t what you may have read about it, though.”

“Oh? Do you remember why they didn’t suspect the friends?”

“It was kept quiet, but they found her not long after she went missing,” Lolly said.

“They found her alive?” Lizzie asked before I could. I hadn’t told her anything that I’d discovered. That was her natural curiosity bubbling to the surface. She liked to say I was the only one with a nose for trouble, but she was just as bad.

“Aye. She ran off to America with her boyfriend. If I remember correctly, he’s her husband now. Her home life with her da, who liked his drink, wasn’t very pleasant. The friends helped her to run away. Since she was an adult, there wasn’t much the family could do. As far as I know, she’s still living in America somewhere.”

“Oh,” I said confused. That was not at all how the mystery I’d read had gone. I’d been so focused.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

I told them about the book. I didn’t think that would be sharing too much information since it was obviously a work of fiction and not based on the facts of the case.

“Do you think James wrote it?” Lolly asked.

I shrugged. “The writing is so different. I don’t know.”

“Hmmm. Years ago, I remember some original manuscripts by Irish writers going missing from the library,” Lolly said. “If I remember, the same group of friends was implicated in the theft. They were in secondary school back then, and nothing was ever proven.”

“But this wasn’t anything special—not that I like to say that about anyone’s writing. I just can’t see why someone would bother stealing it. There was no name on this manuscript, and it was missing a title page. I’d think if it were one that was kept in the library, it might be more identifiable or stamped in some way. The one I read only had page numbers and nothing that identified the author or title of the work. What I don’t understand is whether it was one that was taken years ago or an early one of James’s. And why did he have it out with his own manuscript?”

Or was there something in there that he didn’t want others to know? I needed to read through it again. When I read it the first time, I thought I’d be looking for clues about a missing woman. But apparently Keeley had been found safe.

When investigating, going in with preconceptions was never a good thing. I needed to look at the manuscript objectively.

“Lolly, is there anything you know about James and his family that might help the police with their investigation? I mean, I’m sure your grandson has asked. I’m just curious,” I said.

She shook her head. “They kept themselves to themselves,” she said. “The whole family was not overly friendly. At least, as far as I can remember. They moved away when he was in university. His ma was in the garden club. Grew a lovely chrysanthemum that one, but was always prickly, like my summer roses.”

I smiled. Gardens were everything to Lolly. Her back and front yards were beautiful oases on the court. Well, everyone on the court had beautiful gardens. It was a rule that they had to be kept up. Luckily, my sister had a green thumb.

“Speaking of flowers, what do you know about Doctor Finneas Hughes?”

Lolly laughed. “When he was a young one, he was quite the troublemaker. None of us ever believed he’d amount to anything. Now, he’s a professor and a scientist. He’s been a recluse since he left the university.”

“He seems young to have retired.”

Lolly nodded. “He left to take care of his wife. Brought her here to the seaside for her health. Bless her, she passed a few years ago. He never went back to teaching. Though, from what I understand, he still does research and writes books. He’s a highly regarded botanist, not just here but across Ireland. He’s won several accolades for his discoveries.

“We very seldom see him in town, though. He has an assistant, housekeeper, and butler who handle anything he might need. I’ve only seen him once or twice in the pub since his wife died. I was surprised when he agreed to speak at our event. We’ve been reaching out for years.”

I, too, wondered why he did. Though I had a feeling it had to do with his publishers. While those in the world of academia didn’t have the same sort of success quotient as other writers, they were still expected to participate in signings and such when the opportunities arose.

“Is it just me, or does this group of friends seem to have more trouble than most?” Scott asked. “I mean, one is murdered. Another had to run away from a bad family. The third’s wife died tragically.”

“Who else was in their friend group?” Rob asked.

“The mayor, Thomas Gilfoy,” I said.

“And there is Patrick, who is our caterer this weekend,” Lolly said.

“Next year, it will be me,” Rob said.

Lolly nodded. “Yes, it will. You should have put a bid in earlier.”

Rob nudged Scott. “I had to convince this one that it was a temporary gig and that I wouldn’t get stressed out.”

Before they’d moved to Shamrock Cove, Rob had a couple of successful brick-and-mortar restaurants. He’d had a breakdown from the stress and scared his partner to death. Scott was extremely protective of the talented chef and insisted he keep his workload manageable.

“Part of that promise is that you will hire a complete team to help out, and you won’t try to do it all on your own,” Scott said.

These two loved each other so much it gave me hope that relationships could work.

That was something I’d never been successful at when it came to dating and men. My sister said I had a homing device for narcissistic jerks. She never understood how someone as smart as me could end up with men like that.

In all honesty, I was equally perplexed. So much so, that I’d given up on dating several years ago to focus solely on my career. Back home, I’d go out with friends or meet in fun places with my various writer buds, but I didn’t date.

“Oh, is it true that Chef Patrick used to be married to the woman who died, Sebrena?” Rob asked. “I read that on one of the gossip sites. I may have been looking up dirt on him. I don’t necessarily like his food.”

“It has been sort of bland,” my sister said. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

We laughed.

“It’s just after tasting your food, there is no comparison,” she said.

“Well, part of that is he’s cooking for a large Irish crowd,” Lolly said. “We did ask that he make the food palatable for many people with special dietary needs.”

“Doesn’t mean it has to be flavorless,” Rob said. He gave us a mischievous smile. “There are ways to get flavor in without adding heat.”

“Well, we will be lucky to have you next year,” Lolly said. “But to answer your question. Yes, he was a part of that small group of friends. From what I remember, yes, he was married to her.”

“And James stole Patrick’s wife, who then became James’s agent,” Lizzie said. “Unfortunately, from what my sister has learned, Patrick had some sort of alibi for her demise.”

I’m surprised my jaw didn’t hit the floor in shock. “Have you been reading my notes?”

She shrugged. “When you pass out at your desk and leave your notebook open, I may have trouble not looking at what you’ve written.”

Everyone laughed.

“Do you know why Sebrena was at your store when she died?” Scott asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “She’d been there earlier in the day, but no. There’s no telling when we would have found her if it hadn’t been for Mr. Poe.” She glanced at her watch. “He’s due his walk. I left him at the store with Caro since he was asleep. I should get going.”

We thanked Rob for the food and took our leave.

“Where are you headed next?”

“I’m going to Doctor Hughes’s class on poisons,” I said.

She gave me the eye.

“What?”

“Just be careful. What if he’s the one killing people?”

“I’m just going to learn about poisons. A mystery writer can never know too much.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

I put my hand on my heart. “I won’t get myself murdered.”

“I wish you’d take this seriously,” she said. “You know how dangerous it can be if you poke the bear.”

“Okay, no poking the bear or perhaps, in this case, the botanist.”

But I did have some questions for the bear, and I was going to ask them.

I wasn’t sure if it was the professor’s monotone voice or if I’d eaten one too many pork tacos, but I had a tough time keeping my eyes open during his lecture.

The slightly balding man wore a tweed jacket and a plaid shirt. None of which went together. I found him to be a cliché of the absent-minded professor. He’d pause briefly and shuffle through his mess of papers on the podium before continuing with his lecture.

Most of the poisons he covered were ones I already knew about. My mind wandered, while I waited to ask my question about the poison that Kieran had mentioned earlier.

“Now, Agatha Christie was quite fond of…”

At the mention of Christie, I tuned back in, but wasn’t surprised when he mentioned she was a big fan of cyanide.

“Doctor Hughes, we are nearing the end of your time. We need to take some questions,” the moderator for his class cut in during the last ten minutes.

He frowned, but then nodded. “Right. Questions?” He said the words as if they were a challenge. No one raised their hand except for me.

His eyebrows went up. “Yes?” he said brusquely.

“I was curious about a specific poison and where it might be grown,” I said.

“And that is?” he asked with no patience.

“I’ve been researching plants found in Ireland, and I was curious about cuckoo-pint.”

He jerked his head back as if I’d slapped him.

Why did he react like that?

“What do you want to know?”

“I guess how it works,” I said. “As a writer, I’m always looking for new ways to kill people.” I tried to make a joke of it.

Several of those in the crowd laughed.

“The toxicity of arum maculatum is quite high,” he said. “It is sometimes called lords-and-ladies, as well. The plant should be handled only by professionals, and is extremely dangerous to animals and humans. It is, however, not toxic to the birds who eat the berries and propagate the seeds. It is an invasive plant but only found in a few places in Ireland. One of which is the cliffs of Shamrock Cove.”

It grew here. That was interesting. “So, it’s rare?”

“That’s what I said. The roots, and tuber, were sometimes used as a starch for linens, but that is no longer true. There have been a few initiatives to eradicate it, as it is so dangerous. It can sometimes be found in hedgerows but should be left alone.”

“Would it be possible to hide the taste in food or drink?” I asked. I smiled, as if I were only asking for a book.

“The roots can be harvested – again, as a starch. The berries, which are quite poisonous, have an acrid taste. And would most likely make the mouth tingle if they were consumed.”

“Other questions?” he asked. Looking around the room.

No one put their hand up. So, of course, I did.

He wasn’t happy about it, but he nodded toward me. “Right? One more?”

“Would something like peppermint tea hide the taste?”

He frowned. “If it were heavily sugared, perhaps. I cannot say that I’ve ever tried it, as I’m standing before you today.”

“Thanks,” I said.

After the class was over, I had a break. I tried to find Dr. Hughes, but he disappeared. As in by the time I made my way through the crowd to the front of the room, he was gone.

I hurried outside but didn’t see him.

Darn .

I did see Chef Patrick, though. He wore his chef coat and was hurrying toward the big banquet hall at the church. This evening’s event was black tie, and more awards would be given to writers who hadn’t been published yet. I’d been on the committee to help judge the entries and had been surprised by how good they were.

I didn’t have anything to do until it was time to get ready, so I followed the chef. But when I arrived in the banquet hall, I only found those who were setting things up.

Scott and Rob were there putting out tablecloths and centerpieces.

“Hey, Mercy,” Rob said. “You’re early for the events.”

“I was looking for Chef Patrick. I thought I saw him come in this way.”

They shook their heads.

“He didn’t come in here,” Scott said. “Maybe he’s in the kitchen?”

“Thanks, gang. Carry on with your magic. You’re doing a beautiful job.”

I was headed to the kitchen when a man stepped out of one of the side rooms, and I smacked into the back of him.

“Ooof, sorry.”

“Are you okay?” He reached out to steady me. It was Chef Patrick. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His black hair dipped down, almost covering one eye. He was unusually tan, as if he spent as much time outdoors as he did in the kitchen.

His bright blue eyes were laser focused on me.

I blinked, trying to remember why I had been chasing him.

“Yes, thank you for keeping me from doing a face-plant.” He had a pound of flour in his other hand and smiled down at me. He really was quite good-looking.

“It is not a problem. You’re the famous writer, Mercy something. I’ve seen you at some of the events. I’m sorry, I’m not much of a reader.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” I said, sticking out my hand. “I’m Mercy McCarthy. It’s nice to meet you. I must say, I’m surprised that you’re still working.”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were married to Sebrena, right? Terrible what happened. My sister and I were the ones who found her,” I said quickly.

“That must have been awful for you,” he said it as if he genuinely meant it.

“It was. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Aye. I’m still processing,” he said. “That’s the reason I’m working. We weren’t close anymore. I had not seen her in years, but ’tis strange that she’s no longer in the world.”

“That must be so tough. Someone you once loved being murdered like that.”

“So, it was murder?” He seemed shocked.

Darn it, Mercy . Kieran would kill me if he found out I’d said something to a suspect. It was something in the chef’s eyes like I wanted to tell him everything about myself.

I shrugged. “I know probably about as much as you do. I just assumed foul play since Sebrena and James died within a day of one another.” I hoped that was a good enough cover. I really had to get better about keeping my mouth shut.

“Do the police still think it was one of James’s fans who was upset?” he asked. “I’ve been reading reports online that have been saying it might be. I believe you were mentioned in a few of the articles.”

Ugh . Was everyone on social media?

“I can assure you—it wasn’t me. I didn’t know either of them well enough to want them dead. Why do you ask about a fan?”

“Well, first it was you who supposedly killed them, right? But I don’t think anyone really believes that. Like I said, some of the rumors I read online were that it was a crazed fan. It’s scary to think there are people like that running around in the world.”

“It must be so difficult to lose someone you were married to, though. I can’t even imagine what that must be like for you.”

“Sebrena was—one of a kind, you might say. We’d made our amends. So, yes. It is tough. I will help the police in any way I can to find her killer. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Were you still married when she went off with James?”

Great segue, Mercy . I did an internal sigh. I had a lot to learn when it came to questioning suspects.

His smile dissipated, and his eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t realize it at the time, but he did me a great favor by taking her off my hands. Like I said, it was long ago, and we had made our amends.”

Was that true? His former wife seemed more the type to rub things in his face rather than make amends. But again, that was just an assumption. I had no way to prove he wasn’t telling me the truth.

“Now, if you will excuse me. We’re running behind in the kitchen.”

“I—uh.” But before I could ask him a question, he took off.

He didn’t seem like a killer. And how would he know about the cuckoo-pint? From what the botanist had said, handling the flowering plant at all could be quite dangerous. The poison had been mixed in the tea, which meant someone would have had knowledge of the dangers. Or they themselves might end up dead.

Could it have been Sebrena and she accidentally killed herself? But I just couldn’t see the picky woman traipsing around the countryside, carefully collecting plants to kill her most profitable client.

I was no closer to an answer.

It had to be someone who knew how to handle the poison. The meek Dr. Hughes popped into my brain. He seemed the one person who would know how to handle the plant that killed our victims.

But why would he kill James and Sebrena?

This case was so confusing. I hoped Kieran had better luck than I did.

Solving cases was much easier when one made up the motive, facts, and clues.