Chapter 17
There wasn’t much rolling to be done. George lived in a flat behind a souvenir gift shop, just down the path from the pub. The back entrance to his dwelling had been outfitted with a ramp, and it was a cheerful space, albeit a tad cluttered. Despite the gorgeous scenery, Tara bet there were days on end with nothing to do, especially if you weren’t able to get physically active. She wondered why he stayed; there would be better services for people in wheelchairs in Galway, she guessed, but the answer was most likely simple: This was home.
He put the kettle on for tea and retrieved a box of chocolate digestives, and soon they were all sipping, nibbling, and staring at one another.
“He wanted that,” George said suddenly, jerking his wheelchair around and pointing up. There, above the door to the restroom was a light the size and shape of your typical globe, set in wrought iron. “It’s out of an old theatre in Dublin. Carrig Murray just sold it to me, then he turns around and wants it back. Insane! Haven’t even had it long enough for a speck of dust to cover it. I wouldn’t sell it back to him. Until he suggested a trade . . .” He wheeled his chair back around. “No trade, no light. No is no!”
“You told him you’d trade it for a stone slab,” Tara said. “Granite with a female face carved into it.”
“What?” From the tone of his voice, it was obvious Danny didn’t like being left out.
George sighed. “There’s a stone slab I want alright. Carrig got me to agree to a trade. Johnny told him he had a lead on it. I said that’s a trade I would do and I meant it.” He opened his arms. “But if Johnny had a lead, it must not have panned out. No slab.” He seemed to invite them to look around as proof. “No slab, no light. Last time Johnny was here on behalf of Carrig, I told him so m’self.”
So many folks were either waiting for objects from Johnny or missing them. This was important, Tara could feel it. She just didn’t know how it fit in to a bigger picture and what, if anything, it had to do with Emmet’s murder and Johnny’s disappearance.
“Did Johnny get upset with you?” Danny asked gently.
“With me?” George wheeled back to the table. “Who would get upset at an old man in a wheelchair?”
“When did he pay you this visit?” Tara asked.
“It was a Friday. He showed up at the noon session. Wanted to see if there was any other way to get the light. As you know, he left empty-handed.”
The day before the murder. How badly had Carrig wanted this light? Was he angry enough to kill for it? Why sell it and then turn around and want it back so desperately? It didn’t make sense. And even if he wanted it bad enough to kill—it wouldn’t have been Emmet he wanted to kill. He would have killed George for it. Every time Tara felt like she had just picked up a thread to this mystery another one unraveled. “Are you sure Johnny made the ferry back?”
“I didn’t follow him out to the boat, mind you. But I didn’t see him again. If he’s hanging out here, luv, someone would have spotted him.” George’s hands began to tremble. He smacked his lips. He was nervous, but maybe he just didn’t like strangers in his flat.
“When’s the last time you spoke with Carrig Murray?” Tara’s voice came out more singsong than she meant it to. Danny shot her a look. They hadn’t exactly agreed on their approach to this question.
George rolled his eyes up and around as if turning the pages of a mental calendar. “I’m not sure. Why?” His eyes narrowed.
Danny cleared his throat. “Tara overheard a recent conversation between Carrig and yourself. Carrig warned you not to say anything to her.”
George’s eyes were now barely slits. Tara didn’t know the human eye could do that. Now she wasn’t sure they should do that. “How did you know he was talking to me?”
“I saw your number flash on his screen.” Actually, Hamlet found his number in Carrig’s phone, but George didn’t need to be bogged down in the minutia.
“How did you know it was my number?”
“It’s a smartphone,” Danny said gently. “Your name was programmed into the phone.”
“Outrageous!” George said. “Big brother is watching! Too much drama. I live all the way out here to avoid drama.”
“We meant no disrespect to your privacy. Tara is trying to find her uncle.”
“Please,” Tara said. “What is Carrig hiding?”
George wheeled away from the table to a nearby window. He parted the curtains. The view looked out on a hill, the path from the ferry, and the thrashing sea. “That wild batch of water is all the drama I need.”
“I’ll keep looking for the slab of granite,” Tara said. “And you can keep your theatre light.”
“Emmet Walsh has my slab of granite,” he said. He caught himself. “Had.” He rubbed his chin. “I reckon it’s in his fancy castle.”
And just like that, a little piece clicked into place. Perhaps Carrig had murdered Emmet. Maybe they argued over the granite slab. Was it possible? Danny and Tara exchanged a look. “How do you know Emmet has it? Had it?”
“Because he was heard bragging about it one minute, then claiming it was missing the next. Emmet Walsh was a snake of a man. He should have been run out of Ireland by Saint Patrick himself.”
Tara was starting to see where this was going. “Emmet either couldn’t hand over the slab because it was missing, or he wouldn’t hand over the slab because Johnny hadn’t given him his pig,” she said. It all came back to the blasted pig.
George nodded. “Can ye imagine? All this over a little piggy.” He shook his head. He looked at the sky. “A storm is coming in. The two of you best be on the next ferry.”
Danny stood. Tara did too, but reluctantly. “I still don’t understand. What’s the big secret?”
George folded his hands into a steeple and looked thoughtful. “Did ye know Carrig is doing an all-female version of Hamlet?”
“Yes,” Tara said.
“Imagine that.”
Tara waited.
“He brought in some fancy talent out of the Edinburgh Festival. And he’s hired a fancy set director.”
Tara glanced at Danny. “I thought you painted his set.”
George’s head jerked to Danny. The two men stared at each other for a long time.
“What’s going on?” Tara said. The spell broke, the men backed away and averted their gazes. In that instant it was clear, the two of them were now keeping a secret. Tara stepped forward. “Danny?”
“I did paint his sets,” Danny said. “He never mentioned another set designer.”
“’Course he didn’t,” George said. “Except on paper.”
Tara sighed. Why didn’t people just get to the point? Why was Danny lying to her now? Or was she misreading the room? “So Carrig is inflating his budget. What’s that have to do with Johnny?”
George turned and challenged her. “Is that the question you should be asking?”
Tara chewed on it. Inflating his budget. Collecting more money than he’s spending. “What’s he doing with the money?”
“Yes, chicken,” George said. “What is he doing with the money?”