Chapter 12
Leisureland, in the seaside town of Salthill, was abuzz with sugar and grease, and laughter and screams, and colorful blinking lights and rides that twirled and jerked, all encapsulated by a single word: summer. All the folks on Tara’s list had agreed to the day out, including Rose, who had sat at the back of the small bus they had chartered and hadn’t engaged in any conversation. Tara was determined to change that by the day’s end.
Alanna was dressed in a short skirt and tank top, and Tara had a pretty good idea why. Her eyes were a heat-seeking device and the target was Danny. If she was dating another woman, she was doing a good job of pretending to be infatuated with Danny O’Donnell.
And if Alanna had accidentally cooked a piece of salmon with a shard of glass in it, she was certainly waiting a long time to apologize. Maybe Danny hadn’t mentioned it to her. Otherwise, shouldn’t she be receiving something along the sorry-I-almost-killed-you lines? Tara made a mental note to never turn her back to the girl.
Ben Kelly went straight for a carnival dart game, followed by muscular young men from his boxing ring. They were all such compact athletes, so much bounce. Tara wanted to take a nap just looking at them. She noted how they excluded Alanna, who could probably outpunch all of them.
Tara slipped in behind Ben Kelly when Danny was preoccupied. She wanted to observe the suspects without anyone’s watchful gaze.
Ben Kelly threw dart after dart, hitting the bulls-eye. His crowd of aspiring boxers whooped, and the kid manning the booth grew more petrified with each cheap stuffed animal he was forced to turn over.
“You’re really good at that,” Tara said, stepping up.
His eyes flicked over her. “T’anks. You wouldn’t be wantin’ one, would you?”
She stared at the hideous blue gorilla. “I’m good.”
A group of young women strolled by and Ben Kelly tossed the stuffed animals to them. They screeched and giggled, and Ben grinned and nodded, his eyes trailing them as they swished away, all hips and hair. Tara wondered what Alanna would think of her father, not only not saving one for her, but shamelessly flirting with women young enough to be his daughters. And he was accusing Johnny Meehan of being a letch? Hello, pot, kettle here . . .
“I stopped by your boxing ring the other day,” Tara said. “I left you a note.”
Ben Kelly didn’t make eye contact with her. “I’m going to get a burger. If you want to follow me and have a chat, I won’t stop you.”
Her stomach growled at the mention of a burger, and she followed, silently reprimanding herself for reacting like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Then again she hadn’t eaten all day, unless coffee could be counted as a food group. She had decided to pace herself with the blueberry scones that were as big as a baby’s head. She only had one set of clothes with her, and she wasn’t keen to size up.
The line was sufficiently long to allow Tara to chat up Ben Kelly. Tara was trying to figure out how to get his alibi without the cliché Where were you on the morning of . . .
Maybe she’d start with the question he didn’t seem to want to answer. “Did you get my note the other day?”
This time Ben Kelly did make eye contact, and his look was so searing Tara took a step back. “You’re actually going to cop to it?”
“Excuse me?”
“You think sticking gum to a man’s door is a polite thing to do?”
“I’m so sorry.” Darn. She’d forgotten about that. Ben Kelly certainly held a grudge. “I didn’t want the note to get lost.”
He shook his head. “What do you want?”
“I’ve heard from a lot of people that you weren’t happy with my uncle. And that you’ve been trying to get him to sell the mill.”
He stared straight ahead at the men flipping burgers inside the truck, his fists clenched at his sides. “It’s the perfect spot for a boxing school. I offered him good money.”
“Were you angry that he wouldn’t sell?”
“Angry enough to kill him, is that what you’re getting at?”
“Why would you say that? My uncle is a missing person, not a murder victim.” Unless you know something we don’t? A shiver ran through Tara despite the midday heat.
Ben Kelly wiped his brow with his hand, then wiped his hand on his shorts. “Yes, I was angry. He was a stubborn old man.”
Tara started. “Was?”
Ben sighed. “Don’t go reading into that. Is. He is a stubborn old man.”
Had it been an innocent error, or did he know something sinister had happened to Johnny? “How are you any different?”
He registered the dig with a calm blink. “He could move that warehouse of junk anywhere. With the money I was offering he could have retired.”
“It doesn’t sound like he wanted to retire.”
“He was just doing it to spite me.”
“Was he now?” Ben Kelly was one of those people who thought everything was about him. “Have you been to the warehouse? You might be surprised that it’s well organized and vibrant.”
“Are you joking me? It’s a junk heap.”
“It’s hardly a junk heap.”
“That’s the American point of view, is it?”
He was getting under her skin. “Who do you think you are to demand someone else move their established business?”
“Now just a minute—”
” One my family has owned for a very long time.” Tara didn’t know where it came from, this passion, this family connection, but it bubbled up in her as real as anything she’d ever known. Perhaps that was the power of family, a connection forged by blood and DNA, a bond that held even if you’d never met face-to-face.
“Who do you think you are? You show up out of nowhere, Miss America, and think you have a right to speak to me like that?” He shook his head. “Bugger off.”
Lovely. Tara was starting to feel sorry for Alanna.
“Where were you the morning Emmet was killed?” Sometimes a cliché developed for a reason. He didn’t seem in the mood to give much up.
He laughed, then stopped when he saw she was serious. “I was at the ring. If you want, I can give you the names of ten lads I was training.” He stepped forward into her personal space. “I have a sweaty, unshakable alibi.”
“Were all your students in attendance that morning?”
“What is it you do for a living, Ms. Meehan?”
Tara took a deep breath. “I’m an interior designer.”
“I’m afraid I have no need for your services. But if you keep questioning me like you’re a detective sergeant, we’re going to have a problem.”
“I’m trying to find my uncle. He could be hurt, or not in his right mind.”
“Oh, rest assured he is not in his right mind.”
“What if it were a member of your family who was missing?”
His cold eyes flicked over her. “When this business is all over, I’ll extend the same offer to you. It’s a solid price.”
“I hope you’re not actually suggesting I sell the mill right out from under my missing uncle?”
“Your uncle is a murderer. He’s not going to come back. If he does, it will be in handcuffs.”
“Why are you so sure he did it?”
“Because, unlike you, I know the man. He was losing his mind. And Emmet Walsh was furious. He stormed up the hill that morning and Johnny must have panicked.”
They were next in line. Tara paid for Ben Kelly’s three cheeseburgers and curried chips, plus one of her own. Instead of thanking her, he glowered. “Why are you doing that?”
“To make up for the gum.”
He barely grunted, then shoved a cheeseburger into his mouth. Tara watched in horror as he finished it in two bites before starting on the next one. He laughed. “Start boxing and you too can have this metabolism.” He started to walk away.
“Why is Alanna living above the mill?” she asked.
He turned, and from his scowl he wasn’t happy about it. “I told her to stay away from that man.”
“Was she keeping an eye on him for you?”
“You heard me, did you not? I wouldn’t be wanting her anywhere near him, now.”
“Because she told you he was leering at her?”
“If you know so much, why are you talking to me?”
“I’m just trying to get my facts straight.”
“I guess you didn’t bring us here to get to know us.”
That one hit its mark. “I did,” she said. “I’m sorry. Enjoy the fair.” She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She took a bite of the cheeseburger. It was perfect. Maybe she should just relax and enjoy the fair too.
While her uncle was out there somewhere. Alone, and probably afraid. Without a family member left in the world but her. After that, the burger lost most of its taste.
* * *
Carrig Murray was tossing coins into the mouths of tiny bottles. His aim was spot-on. Didn’t he claim to have problems with his sight? He wasn’t wearing glasses. Had that been a lie?
“Great aim.” He whirled around and stared at Tara. It took him a moment to place her. “Ms. Meehan.” He grinned. “This was a wonderful idea. T’ank you.”
“You’re welcome. I thought you were nearsighted.”
“Pardon?” He began to blink rapidly.
“You couldn’t read the print in the notebook I tried to show you—the D, or G, next to my uncle’s note about going to Inis Mór? But here you are successfully tossing coins into the tiny mouths of bottles from several feet away.”
He squinted but this time out of confusion. “I’ve been to the eye doctor since,” he said. “They sorted me out.”
“What’s the name of the eye doctor?”
“Why?”
“I could use a checkup.”
“I’m terrible with names. I’ll be wanting to get back to you on dat.”
“You’re not wearing glasses.”
“Contact lenses. Little miracles they are.”
“It’s odd that for a director, who I assume needs to read scripts all day, you only recently sorted out your eyesight.”
“What does my eyesight have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“Can you please answer my question about why Johnny wrote the letter D, or as you suggested, G, in his notebook after Inis Mór?”
“I suggested, did I? Probably just trying to be polite. Why on earth would I have any idea what your uncle was trying to write?” His blinking continued. Drops of sweat beaded on his broad forehead.
Tara closed the step between them. “Who were you talking to that day on the phone?”
He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I don’t remember. Why?”
She shrugged. “I was just curious. It sounded like a heated argument. I believe you said his name was George.” She was taking a risk, pushing him, but he was hiding something, and she was curious.
He glared at her. “Previously you stated you hadn’t heard a word of it.”
Shoot. He had her there. “I didn’t want you to think I was purposefully eavesdropping. It’s not my fault if you have a booming voice.” She shrugged. “Can’t help that I’m curious.”
He suddenly straightened up, his face hardening. The fear was gone, and now he was going to act tough. Which man was the real Carrig Murray? The nervous one with bad eyesight, or the seething director? Why did she get the feeling there was more than one production he was directing?
“Don’t get too curious,” he said with a wink. “Just remember what it did to the cat.” With that he strode away from her without so much as a backward glance. One thing was clear. The mysterious friend he had been speaking to on the phone could most likely be found on Inis Mór.
* * *
Tara was cutting through the crowd, trying to spot Rose when she felt a hand on her waist and a male voice in her ear. “There you are.” Danny.
God, that Irish accent. She could see why it was named Sexiest Accent in the World, like every year in a row. It was hard not to melt. Even as a young girl she was furious she didn’t have her mother’s beautiful lilting accent. I don’t sound like you! Many a night she literally threw a fit over it. Ah, pet, you don’t want to sound like me. You sound like you. Feisty, wonderful, you. Now put the kettle on and leave me to a bit of peace, will you, pet? The memory made her smile.
She turned to see Danny, dimple flashing in the sun. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not really here to have a good time?”
“I am,” she said. “I ate a cheeseburger.”
He laughed. “You had a cheeseburger with Ben Kelly, and then had a heated chat with Carrig Murray.”
“Heated?”
“I could see the steam comin’ off him from over here.”
“Just being neighborly.”
“What did you learn about our suspects?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Am I a suspect?”
She made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him. There was a twinkle there, and a bit of a challenge. And then there was that other thing—that current. She found herself looking at his mouth, still sporting an easygoing smile. God, that zing, that tug of desire reflected in his eyes. It could get a girl in trouble. She took a physical step back and looked away.
“Why don’t we go on a ride?” he said.
Was that meant to have a double meaning? Or was she losing her mind over his handsome face and cute Irish accent? A player. Oh my God. I’m losing it. Thank God Grace Quinn wasn’t here to witness it. Tara turned red as she remembered Grace Quinn actually was here. Her head whipped around to see if she could spot her. Was she hiding behind a puff of cotton candy, spying on her?
Oh, no. Was I smiling? Every time she was around Danny her mouth spontaneously stretched open. It was embarrassing. But it wasn’t her fault. It was his. That charm of his was a deadly weapon. “That’s okay. I just ate.”
He grabbed her hand and started pulling her along. “The dodge-ems.”
“The dodge-ems?” She looked ahead where colorful cars were slamming into each other. “Oh. Bumper cars.”
“Bumper cars,” he said, making fun of her and lightly bumping her hip. “Your stomach can take that at least.”
From the glint in his eye, Danny wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “I’m a terrible driver,” she joked as he led the way.
“I’m counting on it.”
* * *
She had to admit, the bumper cars, or dodge-ems, were fun. There was nothing like slamming into complete strangers to get out a little aggression. Danny, she noticed, liked to sneak up and slam into her at the last minute. She turned the wheel, preparing to get him back, when suddenly Alanna was in a car coming straight for her. The look in her eye was unmistakable: unadulterated rage.
Tara’s car took the blow, her head snapped back, and her ears started to ring—or was that just the sound of Alanna’s laughter echoing through her head? Alanna zoomed her little car after Danny. Tara stepped on the gas, even as her brain told her not to be so childish, and she made a beeline for the back of Alanna’s shiny red bumper car. She slammed into it at the top speed allowed. “Good one,” Danny said, flashing a smile, and forcing Alanna to laugh it off. “She needs to get you back for that sliver of glass in the salmon.”
So he had mentioned it. Alanna’s eyes widened as she stared at Tara. “Sliver?” Tara said. “It was a shard.” Alanna continued to stare without a word. Adrenaline pumped through Tara. She was not going to get into it with the girl here and now. Did she try to kill me? She maneuvered her car to the exit and stepped out on wobbly legs. She glanced back at Alanna, who was zooming in on Danny again. The girl was absolutely obsessed. Did Danny realize the extent of it? Had they seen Fatal Attraction out here? That girl was one pot away from boiling a bunny. Maybe it was time Alanna found a new place to live. Tara didn’t want to deal with her jealousy. Would it do any good to tell her that he just wasn’t into her?
Probably not. Was it as simple as her being young and in love? Or had she been mucking about the mill at night? If so—why?
Her alibi would be easy enough to check—she claimed to be at cookery school. She remembered Johnny’s notation in his book. Tara was going to have to visit her instructor, find out if Johnny had done the same thing, and why.
Danny caught up with Tara again, and tried to get her to go on the Ferris wheel. Tara looked up at the seat resting at the very top, swaying gently, and she thought about heights, and she thought about falling, and she thought about her son. She jerked her hand back, startling Danny. “No,” she said. “Never.” I wasn’t there to catch him.
He took it all in, the flash of pain across her face. “Okay,” he said. He put his hands up. “Sorry.”
“Are you scared of heights?” Alanna belted out. Suddenly they were all standing behind her—Carrig, and Ben Kelly, and Alanna, and Grace, and Rose, and Danny. It was her turn to feel under the spotlight, to have sweat gathering on her brow.
“Leave her be,” Danny scolded her. Alanna was stung, you could see it, but she didn’t say another word. Tara was so grateful. Grief still had a way of grabbing her and squeezing hard, and even she was surprised at how it manifested. She felt always on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Now with her mother’s death and the murder—
“I’m sorry,” Alanna said, stepping forward. She took Tara’s hand. “I’ve been so mean. I don’t know why I’m like this.”
It sounded honest. Had Tara been too hard on the girl? “That’s okay.”
Alanna put her hand on her heart. “And I’m so mortified about the piece of glass in your salmon.”
“Oh,” Tara said. “It was quite a shock.”
“I was drinking a glass of wine. It shattered while I was cooking. I guess one of the pieces fell into the fish without me knowing.”
“That’s what Danny thought.” Exactly. Had they rehearsed the details? She had to sit down on a nearby bench. She felt dizzy. It must be the heat. And that twirling Ferris wheel. Make it stop.
“I’ll sit with you,” Grace Quinn said. “Off with ye.” Grace waited until everyone was gone to slip her something. Tara looked down. It was a letter. Tara started to open it. She felt Grace’s fingers dig into her hand.
“Don’t read it here,” she said. “Put it in your handbag for later.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the last time I heard from your mother,” Grace said. Tara’s heart began to tap dance. Just the thought of a new letter written by her mother was like a little gift. Unless it wasn’t a happy letter. When was it written? What did it say? Tara slipped it into her purse and scanned the fairgrounds.
“Thank you.”
“What are you going to do if he doesn’t come back? How long are you going to stay?”
Tara turned to Grace. “I hope you don’t think me rude. But every time an Irish person asks me that—it feels like rejection. Like you can’t wait for me to go home.”
Grace sighed. “Your mother wasn’t happy here,” she said, patting Tara on the knee. “And you are your mother’s daughter.”
Tara was figuring out how to respond, and what Grace’s true agenda was, when she saw a flash of long salt-and-pepper hair disappear into the fun house. This was her chance to talk to Rose.
“Nice speaking with you, Grace,” she said. She gave a friendly wave and took off for the fun house.