Page 5

FIVE

After James’s service, I found Lolly seated in the front row. Since she’d known James as a boy, she could maybe give me some background. Though, I had to be careful. If I asked her anything too pointed, she’d tell her grandson, Kieran, and I’d be in trouble.

She was talking to Rob and Scott about something. Scott handed her a file folder, and she opened it.

“Hey, guys. I didn’t expect to find you here,” I said.

Rob shrugged. “The literary committee felt we needed to be here in support. You just missed Lizzie. She had to get back to the store.”

“Well, it was nice of you to come,” I said.

“We’ll need to have a meeting of the court soon,” Scott said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

He pointed to the file folder in Lolly’s hand. “We have the names from the town lottery for house number one. We’ll need to divide them up and vet them before we make a final decision.”

Living where we did came with a great deal of responsibility, which the residents took quite seriously.

One had to inherit one of the homes to live on the court. If there were no heirs, then a lotto was held for Shamrock Cove residents. It was a way to keep the court full of people who cared deeply about the area and keeping up appearances with the gardens and the six homes in the castle’s bailey.

It was like a homeowner’s association on steroids but with way more restrictions. Living here came with a giant binder of rules, some of which we were still learning.

We’d inherited our house from a grandfather we’d never known. That said, every day we were here, Lizzie and I had grown more grateful to the man for leaving us our wonderful cottage and the bookshop. Yes, the restrictions were sometimes annoying, but I wouldn’t have traded our neighbors for anyone.

House number one had been vacated and there were no heirs, so we had to choose the new owners from a lottery that was thrown for the Shamrock Cove residents.

The judge’s home had been left to Lolly after he was murdered on his doorstep. She gave the house to her grandson Kieran, our local detective inspector. He’d moved in about a month ago.

“What do you mean by vet? I thought we just picked a name out of a hat like a real lotto.”

They all smiled at me like I’d lost my mind.

“We take those who entered,” Lolly said. “Then we vet them. The top five choices are then put in a hat, and we draw. We need to know they are the right fit for the court.”

It wasn’t as exclusive as she made it sound. The residents on the court came from all walks of life, but they had one thing in common. They believed in community and keeping things beautiful. Even I’d had to learn how to garden. And by garden, I meant mowing. My sister wouldn’t allow me anywhere near the flowers.

“Well, just text us when you need us to do our bit, and Lizzie and I will help,” I said. “Lolly, I actually came over to ask you some questions. Can I walk you home?”

“That would be lovely, dear.” Her Irish wolfhound, Bernard, waited for us just outside the door to the church. He was never far from her side.

The church was at the top of the hill on Main Street. From this high, the whole town, with its historic buildings and views of the roiling sea, looked like a picture postcard.

Once we were away from the crowds, she turned to me. “You’re going to ask about James, aren’t you? Because you’re curious, and that eejit grandson of mine won’t tell you anything.”

I smiled. “It’s like you know us both a little too well. I was curious, though. I had no idea James had been born here.”

“Aye, he was. That was one of the draws of asking him to the festival. I knew his parents. His mother was a fine history professor at the university, and his father did something with medical research. Kept themselves to themselves. She did not want much to do with the community, except for being a part of the gardening club.

“I suppose she thought she was above it all. At least, that was the attitude I remember. I’m old, and I sometimes forget things, but I believe James went away to university in England, and I don’t think he ever returned. He had a falling out with his father over something. At least that was the village gossip.”

“Were his parents living here when they died?”

“No. His father, yes. But when he passed away some time ago, his mother moved back to Dublin. She died a few years later. They were both so young. Only in their sixties or so.”

I smiled. Sixty was young to Lolly.

“Did he have any friends or anyone he was close to here?”

She shrugged. “He did. It’s been some years, but he ran with a group of youngsters. Back then, I was taking care of my dear husband, who was quite ill. So, I did not know him well.

“You might ask the mayor. I believe they were in the same class for a while. I can say we’d asked for years for him to come as the guest of honor of our festival, and this was the first time he agreed. Full of himself, he was. Didn’t care about helping out our wee community.

“And, aye, I know it isn’t nice to speak ill of the dead, but he made everyone on the committee miserable, including your sister.”

“Did he anger anyone enough for them to kill him?”

She frowned. “Now, why would you think that? Kieran says it was an accident. The bookshelf was as old as the cottage and fell on him. ’Tis terrible what happened. There’s no need to go making trouble where there isn’t any,” she chastised.

I had to back off or she’d say something about my nosing around to her grandson.

I smiled. “I’m not. It just felt odd when I was at the scene.” I told her about the extra cup and the manuscript.

“Well, he was a writer.”

Everyone kept saying that. I needed to get home and look over the manuscript pages on my phone. I’d compare it with his other books. But an initial glance told me he didn’t write it.

“Thanks for talking to me, Lolly.”

“’Tis nothing. Anything else you need?”

“Several people from the festival and town attended the memorial service. Are you sure you can’t think of anyone who may have been his friend?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t say. He was years behind my children and ahead of Kieran. But as far as I know, there was no reason for someone to kill him.” She stopped. “Well…”

“What?”

“In his later teen years, he got into some trouble. I can’t remember exactly but it was over a girl. He’d been accused of bullying a young girl. His parents threatened legal action against the school, and the matter was dropped. You’d have to ask Henry Charlton about that. He was headmaster back then.

“Again, though. Why stir up the past?”

“Let’s say it’s created an idea for a book,” I said. It wasn’t really a lie. I might never use true crime stories, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be inspired by them. My instincts told me there was something wonky about his death. It was too on the nose that a bunch of books killed an author.

It made me think that someone was trying to make a point about James.

“Henry lives in the care facility down the street from the church,” she said. “He’s still sharp as a tack, but I do not know if he’ll talk about one of his students. He likes to keep things close to the vest.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

Had James stirred up the past by coming to Shamrock Cove?

Maybe a grudge from long ago had been brought to the surface.

People had been murdered for less.