Chapter 27
She wasn’t two seconds out the door when an orange Mustang zoomed by, engine revving, tires squealing. Eamon Foley’s car.
She hopped on her scooter, dialing Macdara as she revved it up. She got his voice mail. “Dara. Chasing after Eamon Foley’s car leaving Sarsfield.” She clicked off, then dialed 999 and gave the operator the same message before pulling out after the car. Although she couldn’t match its speed, it was so bright she’d be able to track where it went until the guards could catch up. Who on earth has possession of his car? Is it Rose? Whoever it was, he or she was driving it like they stole it. And unless it was Rose Foley, that’s exactly what the person was doing.
But why draw so much attention? It was like the person wanted to be chased. The car left the Ballygate entrance. By the time Siobhán was driving under the stone archway, it was just in time to see an orange tail disappear around a curve. Her mobile was ringing. Most likely, Macdara, but she was going too fast to answer safely. The car disappeared around the curve. Still, no sirens behind her. There were more curves ahead of that car. It had better slow down. Siobhán had the scooter at top speed and she wouldn’t even take the curves. She slowed down as she neared the first one, actively fighting her own adrenaline. Just as she came around the curve, the excruciating sounds of a crash rang out. Brakes screeching, metal smashing. Black smoke shot into the air. Siobhán cursed. Her instinct was to keep up her speed, but if she did, she, too, would wreck. Seconds later she came out of the curve and spotted the orange car on the side of the road. Its front end was smashed into a tree, crumpled like an accordion. Flames shot from the boot. Was the driver still alive? Sirens sounded, they were on their way, but by the time they arrived, it would be too late. Siobhán had no protective gear, but there was no time to waste. If she had her uniform on, she would at least have her baton. She ran for the driver’s-side door. She saw a blond head slumped over the wheel. “Hey. Wake up. Wake up.” Siobhán pounded on the window. The driver did not respond.
The smoke was starting to swirl out, angry and dark. Siobhán covered her mouth with her arm and yanked on the door. It wouldn’t budge. She yanked again. No movement. She scoured the ground and lunged for the biggest rock she could find. She pulled her sleeve over her fist, and holding the rock she punched the window. On her third try she cracked it, and on the fourth she shattered it enough to stick her hand inside.
Please let the lock be easy to reach. She had to lean against the hot car and bend down until the tips of her fingers touched the handle. She prayed, then shoved her hand farther and grabbed the latch. The flames were too close. She yanked her hand back up, reinforced the sleeve. Just do it. Fast. Hard. She shoved her hand in, grabbed the latch and lifted. The door creaked open. Thank God. She pried it open as far as it would go. The woman was wearing a seat belt. A petite blonde, face planted into the air bag. Please let it have saved her life. There wasn’t time for anything, but to get her out. It took three tries, but Siobhán finally released the seat belt, grabbed the woman from behind, and began to pull her out. Guard cars and ambulances were here now, pulling up behind her. “Siobhán!”
It was Macdara, but there was no time to turn around. She began to walk backward, dragging the woman as fast as she could from the flaming car. She was grateful the woman was so petite. By the time Siobhán reached a safe distance from the car and laid the woman down, she had worked out who she was. Their missing waitress.
* * *
Siobhán sat on the back of the ambulance with an oxygen mask on her face, watching as another ambulance pulled away with the young woman. She was still breathing, but unconscious. She did indeed appear to be their missing waitress, but they wouldn’t be sure until she woke up. If she woke up. Siobhán had been praying nonstop. Macdara was pacing in front of her, she’d never seen him so worked up. The fire was out, the volunteer firemen finished reeling in the hose, announcing a tow truck was on its way. They’d take the car to the local mechanic shop and go through every inch of it.
Siobhán removed the oxygen. That was enough, she was fine. “Dara. Please. You’re making me dizzy.”
“You could have been killed.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You should have waited.”
“The car was going to explode.”
He turned, stared at her. “Exactly!”
“You would have done the same thing. And you know it.”
“Don’t talk.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please, just a little more.” He put the oxygen mask back on her.
She hoped he wasn’t just trying to shut her up.
“I want you to go home for the rest of the day.”
Not a chance. She shook her head.
“We’ll cover the wake.”
She took the mask off. “Enough. I’m fine.” She threw the blanket off and stood. A wave of dizziness hit. She sat back down.
“See?”
“It’s all this oxygen. Stood up too fast. I’m fine.”
“You need to go to hospital.”
“I do not.”
“I’m calling James.”
“Dara.” She touched his arm.
“You’re a hero,” he said.
“I was just doing my job.”
“Please don’t ever do it again.”
Were those tears in his eyes? She would pretend not to notice them. “How about this. I’ll wait at the mechanic’s shop to see if there’s anything in the car. That will also give me some rest.”
“That’s your idea of rest?”
“Take it or leave it.”
He sighed. “I’ll take it.”
“And maybe you can send someone to keep me company.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Trigger?”
She laughed. “No.”
“One of the six?”
“They’re busy. I was thinking of Amanda Moore.”
“You want to interview her during your ’me time.’ ”
“We never did get her side of the story. And she was there that evening.”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Any word on the widow?”
He shook his head. “Maybe this waitress knows where she is, or . . .”
Siobhán finished it for him. “Or foul play may have come to Rose Foley.”
* * *
Siobhán was propped in the waiting room at the mechanic’s when Amanda Moore arrived. Siobhán bought them Cokes and crisps from the vending machine. She waited until they were a few sips in to lay the piece of rope on the small coffee table in front of them. As Liam identified, it was the same type of rope they bought, the same rope used to hang the Octopus.
“Recognize this?”
“It’s rope,” Amanda said. “The kind we buy for our horses.”
“When I was out at your farm the other day, you said you hadn’t purchased any new rope.” Amanda stared into her Coke. “Liam said you bought rope Friday morning before the players came to town.”
“It’s gone,” Amanda said. “I got caught up in the festival after I bought it. I left it at the festival.”
“Do you remember where?” Amanda nodded. She wouldn’t make eye contact. “Tell me.”
Amanda slid something out of her backpack. Sister Slayer. “I put it down at Eoin’s tent to look at this. It’s really good.”
Was this another secret Eoin and Ciarán were keeping from her? Did one of them bring the rope to Sharkey’s that evening? Or did someone else take it from the table after Amanda left? “And yet you didn’t think to tell the guards about this?”
“It’s only a rope,” Amanda said. “Not diamonds.” Is it just a coincidence she mentioned diamonds? Or is the story out that Tom’s shop had been broken into? “It’s that woman. Rose. She probably killed him. Then she has the nerve to try and take my horse. She’s evil!”
Amanda Moore was ready to blow. Normal teenage hormones coupled with the love of a horse? Or is she capable of violence? “Do you think the rope I bought is the rope that he used?” Siobhán could see true pain in her eyes. That was a good sign.
“I don’t know, luv. But if it is . . . it’s not your fault.”
“But if I hadn’t bought it, if I hadn’t left it . . .”
“It may have happened some other way, but it still would have happened.” She was not going to let this girl blame herself for a grown man’s death. Unless she’s the killer . . . But if she isn’t the killer, letting a thought like that roll around in her head could damage her forever. “Look at me.” Amanda looked up, her lip quivering. “You bought rope. You left it at a festival. Does that sound that bad?”
Amanda shook her head. “Not when you say it like that.”
“Exactly.” She patted her on the shoulder. “You’re alright, pet.” Someone cleared his throat. Siobhán looked up to find the mechanic waiting for her. She thanked Amanda and sent her on her way.
“Did you find anything in the car?”
“Not a thing,” he said, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. “But there is news.”
“Do tell.”
“I know why the car crashed.” So did Siobhán. Those deadly curves at top speed. She relayed this. The mechanic shook his head. “That may be so, but it would have happened anyway . . . eventually.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The brakes make me say that. The lines were cut.”