Chapter 1
The stunning drive through Connemara made up for the month Tara Meehan feared for her life (and those around her) during her driving lessons. Roundabouts, jerky stops and starts, and the instinct to drive on the other side of the road had proven formidable obstacles, but now, taking the curving roads on N59 in her shiny red Jeep, surrounded by a mountainous paradise, she was grateful for facing her fears. Just do it. A delicious bit of advice. The scenery literally made her mouth hang open. Massive round mountains stacked in the background, rolling green pastures dotted with fat rocks (and sheep, and cows, and horses, and donkeys), a glistening bay twinkling in the distance, and patches of vibrant wildflowers completed the postcard-perfect scenes. There was no other word for it, she was experiencing pure joy. Nature was the antidote to feeling sad in this world.
She’d been wondering if moving to Ireland had been a mistake and feeling homesick for New York City: the hubbub of Central Park on a Saturday afternoon, toasted everything bagels with cream cheese and tomato, exchanges with the flirtatious Spanish men in her corner deli; but now it was all forgotten as she concentrated on the curving roads. According to her handy navigation app, the old stone house she had come to see was within a few miles. She needed to find a place to pull over. Her phone dinged that she had reached her destination, and just then she looked up to see it—the remains of an old stone house sitting at the apex of a hill. The sun shone directly behind it, almost setting it aglow. Dated to the 1800s, and supposedly up for sale, she was dying to have a look around it. She wasn’t sure if she had Danny O’Donnell to thank for leaving the tantalizing flyer at her soon-to-be-open shop, but someone had definitely steered her right.
Up ahead, gravel delineated a tiny parking lot at the side of the road, (or at least that’s how she was going to interpret it), so she pulled over, hoping if she was wrong she could still get away with parking here for a spell. The beauty of being in the middle of nowhere was the conviction that no tow trucks would be sweeping by here anytime soon.
The Jeep shut off with only a slight shudder, as if it knew they were in for another day of punishing heat. Unusual for Ireland, August had been tortured by the sun and nobody here knew how to handle it. She’d tried to make it here before noon, but she’d been too afraid to speed on these winding roads, so it was already half past. She grabbed her camera, took one more swig from her travel mug of coffee before pulling a bottle of water out of the glove compartment and dropping it into her backpack. She looped the strap of her camera around her neck, and nearly squealed with joy as she set off for the old stone house. The sign was only visible when she was halfway up the hill. It appeared homemade, a scribble on poster board: FOR SALE with a mobile number, taped to a piece of wood stuck in the ground. Must be the owner. She snapped her first photo of the beautiful, abandoned house.
How much would it cost to rebuild this stone masterpiece on this achingly beautiful hill? More than she could afford, that was for sure. But it was never too early to dream. She snapped more photos, already imagining one blown up and hanging on the wall of her loft in Galway.
She was nearly to the remains of the doorway, and admiring the variety of gray and blue shades in the stones, when a yelp rang out. She stopped short. An animal—but what, and where? It was a tone that in any language was a cry for help. The yelp sounded again. A dog. Obviously injured. “Hello?” Her voice carried into the air, sweat trickled down her face. Was the poor thing just suffering from the heat? She was ready to share her water. “Hey there.” She scanned right and left for a dog. The yelp turned into little barks. Help, help, help, help. “I’m coming. I’m here.” Where are you? The barking morphed into a heart-tugging whine. She reached the entrance to the remains of the old house and there, just inside on the dirt and grass floor, a terrified pug quivered.
“Hi, baby.” She sank to her knees and reached for the bottle of water. He was the color of sand, and his tiny body was vibrating. Tara held out her hand. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay.” The pug lifted its big brown eyes to her sky-blue ones. Had some horrible human being abandoned it here? Danny O’Donnell wasn’t trying to give her a dog, was he? It wasn’t his style. Had someone else left the sale brochure and map underneath the lion’s-head door knocker to her shop?
“It’s okay,” she cooed as she inched closer, taking it slow so the poor thing wouldn’t dash away. Instead, it lifted its right paw as if reaching for her. She nearly melted on the spot. It had been a long time since something little and vulnerable had needed her, and she eagerly scooped the dog up and held it to her chest. Its heart beat rapidly against her as she stroked it. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you. What happened?” It was wearing a bright pink collar. She continued to stroke it as she held the water bottle up to its mouth. She glanced and discovered the it was a she. “Poor girl.” She drank greedily.
Tara was used to such heat back home, especially in August, but her Irish friends and family had taken to spending much of their day indoors, occasionally lifting the blinds with a bewildered curse, then retreating into the shadows like vampires awaiting nightfall. Tara gently checked the pug for injuries but found none, and the yelping had stopped. The poor thing was simply frightened out of its mind. She examined the pink collar. In the center, crystal letters spelled out a name: SAVAGE.
“Savage?” The pup swiveled its head and locked eyes. Tara laughed again. “Are you? Savage?”
An owner who buys a glitzy pink collar and gives a dog an awesome name like Savage hardly seemed the type to abandon it in the middle of nowhere on a blazing day. Savage happily tucked in her arm, Tara stood and traversed what used to be the inside of the old house, now missing a floor and a roof, and stared out at a magnificent view of the bay. She wasn’t sure what bay this was, so many of them in this area, all leading out to the Atlantic Ocean. Imagine waking up with this view every day. It was a small house, but what did she need with a big one? She was already rebuilding it in her head: dark wood floors, a fireplace crackling with a basket of peat, fresh wildflowers in an old pitcher brightening the room up, and an old farmhouse sink underneath the massive window overlooking the water and the mountains.
She plodded to the other side of the space, bypassing what must have been the bedroom to the right, for she wanted to move closer to the water, where there was a bit of shade from a large tree. If there was anyone around to see her except the pug and farm animals, she knew she looked quite the sight. Boots and shorts, and a tank top. A bandana around her forehead. Sunglasses. An overeager explorer. Today was a good day to get dirty. She exited the house on the opposite side, eager to see the view. Instead, she got the shock of her life.
A woman was splayed out on her back in the grass, and Tara had nearly tripped over her. As Tara cried out, Savage peddled frantically in her arms, scratching to get down. She leapt to the ground and began racing around the woman as Tara knelt next to her. “Hello?” Was she passed out? Tara fumbled for her backpack, talking to her as she dug through it for her cell phone. She’d forgotten to charge it and only a little power remained. As she dialed 999, she noticed the woman’s lips. They were blue. Oh no. Tara’s hand shook as she tried to find a pulse on the woman’s neck. The skin was stiff and cold to the touch. She leaned down to see if she could sense any breath coming from her. No. Tara found the woman’s wrist, knowing she was gone, but wanting to make sure. There was no life left in her. The woman was gone, and from the stiff, cold feel of her, she had been for a while.
She appeared to be in her late sixties or early seventies, with short dark hair streaked with white. Her purple and white tracksuit looked too heavy for the heat. Had it been cooler when she ventured out here? How many days had this heat been raging? Savage continued to scramble around the woman, barking right next to her ear. “She’s your owner,” Tara said, the pieces clicking into place. Savage whined, pawing at the woman’s face. Tara’s heart tugged as she gently tried to keep the pup back.
Tara scanned right and left, desperate to see another human being, then realized she hadn’t connected to 999. She dialed again. An operator promptly answered and asked her location and what services she needed. As Tara stared into the eyes of a large cow, she explained she needed an ambulance, then clumsily announced the woman had already passed, and stuttered as she fumbled for the flyer so she could give them the address. The operator assured her help would be there shortly. Several feet away, sheep and a donkey moved closer, as if drawn to the drama.
Tara checked the woman’s pockets, but found nothing. Not a scrap of paper, or a coin, or even a stick of gum. She had no jewelry, no rings, or earrings, or watch. What had happened to her? Had she come with her dog to look at the old stone house and died of a heart attack? Was she robbed? There were no injuries, no blood, no blunt instruments tossed in the grass. Tara gazed out at the bay in the distance, but apart from a small rowboat bobbing near the shore, there wasn’t another soul in sight. “I’m sorry,” Tara said. Had someone left her the flyer in hopes she would find the body? Tara shook her head as if to toss out the thought. There was also a map. Leading her right here. It was just an odd coincidence. The flyer came with a map because who would find this house in the middle of nowhere otherwise? She thought again of the very unprofessional for sale sign stuck in the ground. Was it all a ruse? Had someone lured her here? Outlandish. No one could have known for sure that she would decide to make the trip. The heat was warping her thoughts. The guards are on their way. Do not panic. Tara stood, staring out at the mountains, wishing the hills really did have eyes, so they could spill all of their secrets. What was going on out here? This section of Connemara was a gorgeous but lonely place to die.