Page 23

TWENTY-THREE

As I suspected, Carrie wasn’t happy with my request. I sat at the desk in my office, and her silence on the other end of my cell spoke volumes. Still, I needed her help, and I had a feeling if I made her as curious as I was, she might just do what I needed.

“Look, you’re a pro at getting information from people. I’m just asking you to reach out to her agent and ask how she died. Though, maybe not so bluntly.”

Still nothing.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“Mercy, you’ve asked me to do some strange things over the years, but I’m not sure what you expect with this. How do I make it so that I’m not some macabre lookie-loo trying to find out dirt?”

She had a point.

“Blame me,” I said. “Tell her agent I was a big fan and when I found out about Keeley’s death, I was heartbroken. And that I wanted to know what happened to her.”

Carrie sighed on the other end. “I thought you were supposed to be working on your book, not another case. You would think after nearly getting killed the last time that you’d stay out of police business.”

She had a point. My sister felt the same way.

But Sebrena, James’s agent, had been killed in our bookstore. Even though we weren’t suspects, I wanted the world to know we had nothing to do with her death. Also, someone had broken into our house and that made it personal.

That, and there was the fact that Kieran had asked for my help with the manuscript. Finding out more about the author would help our investigation, I just knew it.

“This time the detective inspector asked me to help. That’s why I’m curious about the book. We found what has to be an early draft of her last novel during our research. It’s strange that she waited so long to tell that story. The draft we have is at least twenty years old, probably more, given she went to the States in the late 1990s.

“So, it isn’t just morbid curiosity. You’d be helping with the investigation. And if you could find out any information about this last book she wrote, we’d be even more grateful.”

“Is this the super-hot detective Lizzie told me about?”

“When did you talk to Lizzie?”

“Last week, she said you were working on your book. I hope that is true.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been checking up on me. But why were you two talking about Kieran.”

She laughed. “Because I asked if there was anything distracting you from your work. And she said as long Mr. Hottie didn’t come up with a new case for you to investigate, that you should be solid. I should have known he’d come up with something.”

“I’d like to remind you that a woman died in our store. You saw some of the messages on social media. I just want to help find the real culprit to clear our name.

“And it’s not like that with Kieran. We’re just friends and professional colleagues.”

“Right.”

I sighed. She wasn’t going to believe me no matter what I said. Even though she was a jaded New York book editor, she was a romantic at heart.

I mean, Kieran was attractive, but our relationship was nothing more than two professionals putting their heads together. And yes, while neither of us would admit it, we enjoyed spending time together.

“So, you’ll call her agent for me?”

“Fine. But that book better be in by the deadline. Or I’ll come to Ireland and stand over you until it’s done.”

I laughed because she would absolutely do that if she thought it necessary.

“I knew I could count on you.”

We hung up. While I waited for her to call me back, I skimmed the novel that had been published. While there were similarities to the original manuscript, enough so that I knew she was the one who wrote it, the latest version was much more professional and polished.

It did focus on a group of friends who covered up a murder and got away with it for years. That is until one of the suspects found out he was dying and wanted to set things right. The others killed him to keep the truth from coming out, but they weren’t careful about it.

The detective in the novel figured out what they had done and was able to prove it.

I made notes. It was odd that the suspects were a professor, a politician, an author, and a famous chef.

That had to hit home with her group of friends. The book had come out just a few weeks before her death.

It was all too suspicious.

I called Kieran, but it went to voicemail.

I waited for the beep. “No rush, but when you get a chance, can you come to number three? I think I may have found a link, and possibly another murder.”

Hopefully, that message would make him curious to stop by soon.

An hour later, I was in the kitchen getting some coffee and a snack when my cell rang loudly in my pocket. The ringtone for Carrie was a giant foghorn, and it made me jump.

“What did you find out?”

“You owe me,” she said. “Now I have to take the agent out for lunch.”

“Order something nice?” I said and laughed. “Sorry.”

“You should be. Okay, so she said that Keeley’s heart gave out. That she’d had a birth defect, so it hadn’t come as a surprise. There was no autopsy, though.”

My jaw dropped.

“Did you tell her about what was happening here?”

“No. It wasn’t my place. I called on your behalf, and that’s what she believes. She’s actually sending me an autographed copy of the latest book for you. I hope you feel bad about that.”

I did. “She could have been murdered, and no one would be the wiser.”

“Is that your writer’s brain coming up with a story, or is it based on fact?”

“You know it’s an assumption, but I am going to tell the detective inspector that he should look into Keeley’s death. If she was killed, that means the murderer is on a spree covering up something. She would be his third victim, well, actually his first. And someone tried to shove the professor off a cliff yesterday.”

“Wait. What? Mercy, promise me you are being careful.”

“I am. I promise. I’m sorry I made you call the agent, but the information is incredibly useful, so thanks.”

There was a knock on the front door, and I might have jumped for the second time that day.

“Someone is here. I need to go.”

“Promise me you’re working on your book,” she said. Her tone was exasperated, and I didn’t blame her.

“I am. I won’t miss my deadline.”

I peeked through the peephole in the front door and was relieved to see Kieran. Not that I was expecting the killer to show up and knock.

“I’ve been helping wrangle the children in town, and I need to get back to it. This better be important,” he said quickly.

“It is. Do you want a coffee?”

“You know the answer to that is always yes.”

I laughed. He was just as big a caffeine addict as I was.

As I made him a cortado, I told him everything I’d just found out.

“You can’t jump to conclusions,” he said. “We need facts.”

“Right. I get that you need proof, but it’s too much of a coincidence, right? What I don’t understand is why the book would be the catalyst for all of this. As far as we know that group of friends didn’t actually kill anyone.”

“True,” he said.

“Unless, it was Keeley that was coming clean. She had a heart condition. Maybe she knew she didn’t have long, and she wanted the world to know what had really happened. The thing is you didn’t find any missing persons or suspicious murders back then.”

“No, we didn’t. And we did a thorough search after you told us what the book was about.”

Then it hit me like a rogue wave that slammed against the Irish cliffs down the road.

“Stay with me on this,” I said.

“Okay.” He stared at me expectantly.

“There is a lot of supposition, but what if the missing girl or boy didn’t happen during their high school or college years? They’d been friends since primary school, right? That’s where they all met. Maybe you need to widen your search to go back further in their history.”

His eyes widened. “You think something might have happened when they were kids?”

I nodded. “It’s worth checking out. And maybe you should alert the authorities in Arkansas.”

“Even in the States I imagine it would take more than we have at the moment for them to exhume and test a body.”

“Right. But you can at least put it out there. And can you check passports? Did one of the group go overseas to visit Keeley before her death?”

“I see where you’re going with this. There’s no harm to look into it.”

“If we can place one of them there—maybe it will be enough for them to test Keeley’s body for poisons.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He stood.

“I know, you need to go back to the kids. But will you let me know what you find out?”

“I will, as long as you make me a promise.”

I frowned. “What’s that?”

“That you won’t try to interview the suspects on your own again. Sheila saw you in the pub last night. She knew exactly what you were doing. If one of them is a killer, we don’t want you asking the wrong questions. This is a dangerous business, and you need to be careful. Remember what happened the last time.”

I sighed. “I hear you.”

“And be careful going anywhere alone. We found the tire tracks where someone tried to run the professor off the road. He told the truth about that.”

“You thought he was lying?”

“No. But in my business we need definitive proof a crime has been committed. What we can’t know for certain is whether that incident is related to our current case.”

“Did you question him thoroughly? Maybe he doesn’t realize he knows something.” I’d planned to talk to him the day he’d come in disheveled into the store. “I wonder if he knows that Keeley died.”

“That is something for me to find out,” he said. “You’ve given us some new leads to follow and I thank you for that. But I’ll take it from here. Stay out of it.” He wagged his finger at me.

I knew he worried about me putting myself in danger, but I still rolled my eyes. Not very mature for a woman my age, but I never liked anyone telling me what to do.

My phone buzzed with a text from my sister.

“I need to head to the bookstore,” I said. “Lizzie is slammed and needs someone to walk Mr. Poe.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

He waited while I grabbed my coat and umbrella as the rain still fell softly. The umbrella was more to keep Mr. Poe covered as we walked. I learned the Irish way of always wearing the hood on my mac.

They had a saying here: There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing . Or something like that. Rain and chilly winds were a part of life for those living on the coast of Ireland.

As we turned the corner onto Main Street, there were loads of little people in colorful raincoats and wellies.

“Be safe, and keep your eyes open,” he said. “We’re dealing with someone quite clever, and you’ve been asking a lot of questions.”

“I will. And you’ll let me know what you find out?” I asked hopefully.

“If it will keep you out of trouble, yes, I’ll let you know. Though, it may take a few days to find out about the passports.”

The store was packed with children, parents, and teachers. And it was much louder than normal.

“Excuse me just a moment,” Lizzie said to the woman she was checking out. Then she scooped up Mr. Poe and handed him to me over the counter, along with his leash. “After his walk, do you mind taking him home? He’s been such a good boy, but quite popular with the children. I sense he could use a break.”

I smiled. “Of course,” I said. The dog read my sister’s moods well and always seemed to know exactly what she needed. But she was just as tuned in to him.

There were ooohs and awwws from people standing in line when they saw Mr. Poe. He was quite an attractive pup with his fuzzy black fur, except for his white beard and mustache. I’d named him after one of my favorite authors, and it fit. He was a friendly, talented, and mysterious little fellow who we adored.

I clipped his leash on him when we stepped outside. I swear he sighed with relief. “Okay, little dude. Do you want to visit the sea or go home?”

He cocked his head, and then tugged the leash away from the sea and up the street toward our house on the court. We had to stop every few feet so children could pet and coo over him. And he was so patient with each of them. He’d gently lick their hands and make them laugh.

He really was a superb little being. It took us nearly fifteen minutes to make the short jaunt home and I wondered if I should have gone out the back door to avoid all the adoring fans for our dog.

But as we turned the corner to head to the court, he stopped and growled. Then he barked excitedly. He’d done that before when someone had been near our door a few nights ago. I nearly tripped over him. He turned so quickly, and lunged toward the street we’d just left.

I followed his lead, but when we rounded the corner, all I could see were children with adults.

“What is it, boy?”

He continued to growl. Then he stopped and stared at me.

“Mr. Poe, I have no idea what’s going on. I wish you could speak.”

Still, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather slid down my spine.

“Was someone watching us?” I asked him.

He cocked his head and then yipped.

“Oh, my. You really can understand humans.”

“Are they still out here?”

He stood and gazed down the street toward the sea. But before I could take a few steps in that direction, he turned and wanted to go toward home.

Whoever had been watching us was gone. But he’d sensed something. I was certain of that.

Kieran’s point about staying safe hit home. I shivered again. Before stepping through the secret door that led to the court, I glanced around.

The small pathway that ran behind the Main Street stores was devoid of people.

Still, I hurried through the door.

That unsettling feeling stayed with me for hours afterward.

Someone had been watching us. And what if that was the same person who had already killed two people and possibly a third?