Chapter 7
Clifden Castle was a few miles outside of downtown Clifden, known as the capital of Connemara. This time, Tara’s mood did not lift with the rising hills. She was finding it impossible to believe that the vivacious tornado of a woman who whirled into her shop the other day was gone. Just like that. Before Tara knew it, Sergeant Gable was parking in a car park across from a stone gateway, built in medieval style by the D’Arcy family with an arch and a tower. Blue-and-white guard tape was strung across the entry, and Gable lifted it, allowing them to duck under. “It’s a bit of a rocky walk, and there’s some muck from the rain,” the detective said, glancing at Tara’s hiking boots with approval. “Technically we could drive it, but I want us to take the walk. There were no fresh tracks from vehicles, so we believe our victim and her killer arrived on foot.”
“All the way from Ballynahinch Castle?” Tara asked. They’d passed the Ballynahinch Castle on their drive here; the fancy hotel was about twenty minutes away by car.
“Not necessarily. Although none of the cars in the car park belonged to her. Her driver said he was not aware she had left Ballynahinch Castle. We’re assuming she got a ride here. But visitors are not allowed to drive up to the Clifden Castle.”
“I don’t know how anyone could,” Tara said as she looked down at the narrow path, covered in rocks.
“The farmers manage to drive the path, given they own it. We could have brought a vehicle that could make the drive, and we probably will once we secure the scene. But for now, everyone is banned from driving it, including our farmers.”
Tara wondered how long they had to walk before they reached the castle; she saw nothing but pastures. The path rose up a small hill and curved around. There, on a fencepost, was a white poster board, with CAST written on one line, LE beneath it, with a crude arrow. She was starting to wonder just what to expect of this castle, with such a crude sign, when she glanced across the dipping pasture, first gasping at the Clifden Bay in the distance, and then spotting the castle nestled into a valley below. Even from here, it was an impressive building, a proper castle, like something out of a fairy tale. The hill started downward, and a pair of standing stones loomed ahead of her, one on each side of the path, at least ten feet tall. Tara read that the D’Arcy family had the stones placed on the property. Ancient gate markers. They were incredibly cool, and Tara had to tamp down her excitement; they were not here to be wowed.
The dirt path turned to stones, and then mud as they reached the final hill up to the castle. Once they plodded through, Detective Sergeant Gable pointed to a mat on the ground. More crime scene tape was blocking off the perimeter of the castle. Tara wiped her boots on the mat, and Gable handed her booties and gloves. The sun was out, but the temperature was in the low sixties. “It’s stunning,” Tara said. She meant every word of it.
Gable nodded and pointed to the bay. “That’s Clifden Bay. They built the castle facing south in order to take advantage of the view.”
“I don’t blame them.” The water sparkled in front of them. Tara could imagine herself standing in one of the castle’s multiple towers, gazing out at the bay. There was a round tower, a square one, and an entry tower with a pair of turrets. It was truly stunning, even in its ruined state. It was impossible to take it in without imagining the people who used to live there, wondering what kind of lives they led. The people who lived here had been through turbulent times, there was no doubt. She read there was a graveyard to the North near the road for three of the Eyre children who died in the 1880s. There was something so haunting about deaths so young. It was right up there with murder.
Gable pointed to the field beyond the castle. “To the west is a farmyard with the remains of an old grain store, workers’ cottages, stable, and cottages.”
“My word.” Tara wanted to see every inch of it.
“Unfortunately, you won’t be seeing them today.”
“I understand.” She did. They were not here to sight see. She wished she had made this trek earlier.
Gable looked at her intently.
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
Tara swallowed, put on her booties and gloves, and nodded. He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. “Don’t touch anything, and follow behind me.” He passed the front of the castle, walking along the side, heading directly to the back.
Tara found herself wishing she could peek in the doorways and openings they were passing, but was once again mindful they were not here on a sightseeing expedition. Along with its roof, the castle had long ago lost its floor and ceiling. Grass sprouted through pieces of old stone. They entered what looked like a courtyard in the back. The structure framed an L-shape around it with a main entrance straight ahead and smaller rooms laid out on the right. The detective pointed to the right. There, in a space just large enough for a twin bed and night table, with a tree growing into the stone wall, lay a woman’s body. Veronica’s body. She was on her back. Tara closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before opening them again. She made herself look.
Veronica O’Farrell had a presence, even in death. She was in a navy tracksuit, perhaps out for an early stroll. Just like Nancy Halligan. Tracksuits were the popular outfit for power walks among Irish women. But what were the chances of this? First Nancy Halligan discovered lying in the grass in a tracksuit, and now Veronica O’Farrell? But there was a marked difference between this body and Nancy’s, and Tara was having a hard time believing what she was seeing. Stones had been placed over her eyes, and mouth, and heart.
Red stones over her eyes, a green stone over her mouth, and a black stone on her heart.
“They’re pieces of marble,” Gable said quietly. Tara’s hand flew to her mouth.
Sticking out of her heart, just next to the black marble, was something metal. Blood pooled around it. Tara inched forward and peered down. It was the Tara Brooch. And someone had plunged it into her heart. Tara stood, then fled to the middle of the courtyard. She stared at the grass, then the sky, trying to breathe. Sergeant Gable gave her a few minutes.
“Are you ready for a few questions?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see stones on Nancy Halligan?”
“No. Nor was there a Tara Brooch stuck in her heart.”
Gable nodded. “We think someone snuck up behind her and plunged it into her. Then staged the body.”
“You mentioned Nancy. Do you think her death was also . . . murder?”
“We intended to re-examine her body. But she’s already been cremated.”
“Who requested the cremation?”
“We’re checking on that now. Also waiting to speak with the state pathologist. Hopefully her records of the body before cremation are thorough.” He took out a notebook. “I need you to take me through every detail of finding Nancy Halligan.”
Tara took a deep breath and nodded. She began her story, starting from finding the flyer and making the drive to the house. She tried to remember everything. “I didn’t see any other cars around. Only a small rowboat.”
“Was anyone in it?”
“No. And it was down the hill.”
She glanced at Veronica’s body again, and said a silent prayer. She turned to Gable. “Isn’t this the jurisdiction of the Clifden Guards?”
“We’re joining forces on this one. I have more experience with murder inquiries.”
“I can’t believe this.” Tara pointed to the stones. “Why did they do that?”
“A calling card. Or maybe a message. We’re dealing with something strange, alright.”
“She didn’t deserve this.”
“For the record. Is this the woman who came into your shop?” Gable’s voice had softened; he could see she was distressed.
She nodded. “And that.” She pointed to the brooch. “The Tara Brooch. She showed it to me. She suggested I try it on and take a picture of it. She said it fell off all the time.” She didn’t just suggest it. She urged you to try it on and take a picture. And like an eager idiot, you did. No wonder Gable brought her here. He wanted to see her reaction for himself. She was a suspect. Her fingerprints were on the murder weapon. How could this be happening? He didn’t really think she was a killer, did he? Had she passed his test?
Gable jotted down a few notes, then turned to leave. “Come on.” He hurried her out of the interior, and it wasn’t until they were back in front of the ruined manor house that she realized she was shaking.
“The stones,” she said. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”
He shook his head. “As I stated, they’re pieces of marble. Possibly from the Connemara Marble Visitor Centre.”
“Did Veronica have anything to do with marble?”
“We’re very early in the investigation.”
“Of course.”
“As I said. I believe it’s a message. Any ideas?”
“Me?” A nibble of worry turned into little bites. “Why would I have any ideas?”
He turned the screen of his smartphone to her. She was looking at the photo of herself holding the murder weapon with a big grin on her face. #KillerBrooch.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
Detective Gable swiped to the next screen on his phone. The photo of the manor house. #StormTheCastle. Her hand flew up to her mouth once as she shook her head. Posting pictures of the murder weapon and the crime scene before the murder. It looked bad. Really, really bad. Even she could see that. Did the killer get the idea from her postings? The thought was a horrific one. “Veronica handed me the brooch. Actually, it slipped off her scarf and when I picked it up she said to try it on.” Her mouth was dry. She swallowed. “That’s when she told me how it slipped off all the time. She wanted me to take a picture with it on. For Nancy, she said. I guess Nancy loved the brooch. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Why don’t you tell me again how it is that you discovered Nancy Halligan’s body?”
Again? She’d already told him, and so had Breanna, but she knew this was part of his method. To see if Tara’s story would change. “Someone left a flyer on the door to my shop. It was for the old stone farmhouse. It’s up for sale.”
“Are you in the market for an old stone farmhouse?”
“Who isn’t,” Tara blurted out.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“I’m not actively in the market. But as part of my new position, I am interested in older homes. I thought Danny O’Donnell left me the flyer.”
“Are you involved with Danny O’Donnell?”
Involved? That was kind of personal, wasn’t it? You could say involved, couldn’t you? She was aware that Danny might answer the question very differently. Did she really need to tell this detective that they were on-and-off lovers? If it were up to her they’d be more on than off. She’d love to see Gable posing this question to Danny O’Donnell. “It’s complicated. He works for my uncle. But we’ve gone out socially. Yes.” And he hasn’t called since he’s been away. Solve that mystery for me, Detective. She felt guilty for worrying about her petty problems at this moment and brought her mind back to focus. “He’s been encouraging me to see new places. I haven’t spoken with him to confirm it. I’m no longer sure it’s him who left the flyer. I think it’s the same person who left the book.”
“The book?”
“It’s back at my shop. I showed Breanna. I think it’s better you see it for yourself.”
“And how did Veronica come to be in your shop?”
“She said she saw an article written about me in the paper. She identified with the name of my shop. Renewals.”
At least that’s what she said. Could Veronica have known that Tara found Nancy’s body? Was that the real reason Veronica came into her shop? Was she only pretending to be shocked by the news of Nancy’s death? After all, she was having Iona Kelly watched. What if she was doing the same to Tara? Did Veronica think Nancy’s death was suspicious and Tara had something to do with it? It seemed outrageous, but Tara really didn’t know what to think anymore.
“The list of guests I turned over have notes from Veronica. One woman—Iona Kelly—Veronica was suspicious of.” Guilt thudded through her again. Was she actually tossing out names from Veronica’s list in order to defend herself?
“Suspicious how?”
Tara filled him in on what she knew. Gable took notes. “I’ll check it out. Anything else?”
“Her butler was with her. Bartley. I don’t know if he’s really a butler, but he was definitely in her employ somehow. She said he had a law degree. And her driver. Andy.”
“We’ve spoken with him briefly. He said he was supposed to drive Veronica to the castle for a meeting here at half nine. He claims he has no idea why she was here early or how she arrived.”
Tara made note of the word claims. She assumed it would be relatively easy to check whether or not the vehicle Andy was driving Veronica in left the hotel early that morning or not. But it wasn’t her job to do his job, and she certainly didn’t want to antagonize a guard, so she kept that to herself. “Her ex-husband is one of the guests as well. Eddie O’Farrell. He’s an artist. At first I thought he was the reason why she came to my shop—to try and get me to carry his sculptures—” She was talking a mile a minute, hoping to convince him that she was being roped into this somehow. “You need to talk to Bartley, and Andy, and the seven people on that list. They’re all involved.” Stop talking, Tara. What are you doing?
“Involved in what exactly?”
There was that word again. Involved. It was starting to sound like a horrible word. “I don’t know anything more than what I’ve already told you. But what if Veronica knew Nancy Halligan was dead? Maybe she was investigating. Everything else—hiring me—the artist portfolio—it could have been a ruse to question me.”
“You think she suspected you of killing Nancy Halligan?”
“I think—like you—she wondered how I found the body. I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure this out.”
Gable ran his hand through his stubble. “Did Ms. O’Farrell mention anything else?”
“She talked mostly about the amends she was here to make. She said a lot of things.”
“Did she mention any other locations?”
“Locations?” He seemed to know something and be driving toward it; she had no idea what. “You need to speak with Bartley. He is a big man who was dressed in black, carrying a satchel.” Her hands were sweating. She felt like a criminal. She could suddenly understand how innocent people confessed. This was a panicky, squeezing feeling, and she wasn’t even being railroaded or mistreated, but just the thought was churning up dreadful feelings. “I just can’t believe it.” Gable had taken her phone as well because of the voicemail. The call had come in just past midnight. “She was calling them all liars. Said she was going to expose them all. Something terrible must have happened after she left my shop yesterday.” Had someone been listening when she made that rambling call? Did they take the threat personally?
“We’ll certainly be looking into everything,” Sergeant Gable said.
Tara pointed toward the crime scene. “It can’t be a coincidence. Two older women lying dead in their tracksuits?”
Gable gestured to the exit. “Let’s get you home.”
Home. She barely knew where that was now. This had thrown her off-kilter. They were silent on the walk back to the car, which was a long way to be silent. She wished she had come here first as a tourist so she could simply marvel at the castle out in the middle of a pasture. With giant oval boulders marking the entry. The past so tantalizingly close, yet so far away. When they reached the car park, Breanna was standing off to the side with what appeared to be a forensic team. Breanna mainly handled clerical aspects at the Garda Station, and she was now organizing for this probe. That was good for her, a promotion of sorts. But it would mean there would be a distance between them until this case was solved. At least the body wouldn’t be left there too long. Tara tried to make eye contact, but Breanna did not lift her head in her direction. It wasn’t personal. She had a job to do. Tara hated how much she wanted her phone back in this moment. She had so many calls to make for her opening, but how could she be thinking about that now? Two women were dead. At least one murdered, maybe both, and she was freaking out about a phone?
Tara knew it was how the mind worked, how it was always trying to protect itself from this kind of horror, and it didn’t make her a bad person. It was self-preservation. She had nothing to do with either death, and there was no need to feel guilty on top of frightened, and incredibly sad. Yes, the woman had been like a tornado, swirling into her shop. But Tara also liked her. Formidable, but a definite character. Trying to make amends. Unless she was lying . . .
She followed Gable to the car, her mind and stomach churning. He chatted away on the drive home about everyday things, and even though she knew he was doing it to calm her nerves, it barely penetrated the surface. The green fields, and cows, and sheep, and mountains, and water, all framed the background. How could evil things be happening with such savage beauty all around them? “Savage.” She said it out loud.
“What?” Gable was on alert.
“Nancy’s pug.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know. If someone took her handbag, and phone—why not the pug?”
Gable nodded. “Maybe it ran away.” Yes. She hid. Somewhere in the old stone house. If Nancy Halligan was lured out there, and left in a vulnerable state to die, the pug knew who did it. “Even if something untoward happened to Ms. Halligan, it’s not like the pug is going to be tattling,” Gable added.
“Is it too late to find fingerprints on her collar?”
“With you and everyone else passing around the wee ting? Yes, I’d say it’s definitely too late.”
Tara nodded. Poor thing. If only she could talk. What happened that morning? Why was someone after two older women in sobriety? “Maybe Savage bit or scratched someone.”
“If we ever have a suspect with bites or scratches, I’ll keep dat in mind.”
She should keep her mouth shut. He didn’t want help on the case. He wanted to eliminate her as a suspect. She needed to rein it in. It wasn’t until the detective pulled up to the mill that she reminded him about the book.
“I’ll wait here while you fetch it.”
“Sorry. It’s at my shop.”
It took only minutes for him to drive there and double park in front of Renewals. Soon they were standing in her shop by the fireplace with Gable leafing through Places to See in Ireland Before You Die. “You think this has something to do with Ms. O’Farrell?”
“The timing is strange. I didn’t leave the book here. Minutes later she arrives on—you asked about places—maybe there is a connection.”
“You have no idea who left this?”
“None. When Veronica saw it—she commented on it—so I don’t think it was her.”
“What kind of comment?”
“Morbid.” Tara shivered. “She said it was morbid.”
“Who could have left it?”
Tara shook her head. “I’ve only had delivery people and . . .” The lads who hung her chandelier.
“And?”
She didn’t want to drag them into this. “There were two young men who hung my chandelier.”
“I’d like their names.”
“Curly and Moe.” Gable put his hands on his hips and gave her a withering look. Shoot. She held her hands up. “It’s not me. That’s what they told me. Uncle Johnny recommended them.”
“I’ll give Johnny a bell,” Gable said. “Ask who the sarcastic lads were that he recommended to hang your chandelier.” The description fit every Irishman Tara had ever met. “Was anyone else in the shop?”
“I’ve had deliveries. I can’t attest to every single one.” Tara’s reputation, having risen a little since the article was published, would probably slide again once word got out that the victim had visited her shop shortly before she was killed. Not to mention Tara’s posting a picture of the murder weapon. Oh God. And the crime scene. How could any of this be happening? She was supposed to be opening her shop, basking in the joy. Posed with marbles. She shivered as she remembered Rose’s warning. A bad vibe. A strange visitor. Indeed. Why didn’t she listen to Rose? She should have closed the shop for the day.
It could have been Andy. Or Bartley. Were they trying to frame her? Was she marked as an easy scapegoat? Stop it. She didn’t want anyone accusing her based on circumstantial evidence and she vowed not to do the same to anyone else. Veronica mentioned that the pin slipped off easily. She’d witnessed it herself. Maybe they could trace Veronica’s steps after she left the shop. The murderer must have found it. It seemed highly unlikely Veronica would have pinned it to a tracksuit. Not something that precious. And what of the book? Could it be a coincidence? A book was a book. That’s all. A book of lovely places to see in Ireland. Before you die.
“If this book is part of this—then doesn’t that suggest this had been planned far in advance?”
Gable cocked an eyebrow, raked his eyes over the book, and went on to survey her shop without commenting. “Do you have a camera? Security systems?”
“They’re being installed this week.”
“A little late.”
“I had no way of foreseeing any of this.”
“Of course.” He continued to stare at her. “Did you leave your flat at all last night?”
“No.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“You’re saying I’m a suspect.”
“I’m afraid that’s how an investigation works. I know the mill has a security camera, so if you don’t mind we’ll check those, and the coordinates of your mobile phone, and I’m sure we’ll clear you in due time.”
In due time. Which meant at her grand opening she would be a murder suspect. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“When you talk about this . . .”
“I won’t.”
He shook his head with a sad smile. “When you talk about this, do not mention the marble pieces.”
“Of course.” It was information that only the killer and the guards knew. Unless . . .
“May I ask who discovered the body?”
“A young couple. Out for a morning stroll.” From the tone of his voice she felt there was more to the story, but that was all he was offering. At least the body had been discovered quickly. Every second was of the essence. “Don’t leave town,” he said with a half smile and a tug on his garda cap.