Chapter Eight
Tara sat across from the solicitor in his very organized office, feeling her anxiety grow as he pulled out a sheet of paper. He appeared to be in his late sixties with salt-and-pepper hair slicked back and a light rust-colored suit that was perfect for fall.
“May I ask you a question?” The solicitor eagerly leaned forward.
“Of course.”
“How long have you known Val Sharkey?”
Tara shook her head. “I wouldn’t say I knew him at all. I only met him one time.”
He fussed with a stack of papers on his desk. “You’re lucky to have such a generous uncle.”
“Uncle Johnny?” Tara wanted to slap his hand, stop him from futzing with the papers on his desk and talk to her. “What does he have to do with any of this?”
“You really don’t know?”
“The only reason I’m here is because you sent me a letter.”
He nibbled on his bottom lip before catching himself. Then he smoothed down his already flattened hair and resumed fussing with papers on his desk before letting out a sigh. “Val Sharkey has left you his entire estate.”
“What?” Tara sat up straight. There had to be a mistake.
“There’s not much. His shop. And the items within. He doesn’t own the shop, but his lease is paid for the next four months. His debts will be paid off by his bank account, but I wouldn’t say they’re considerable. You should get a nice check. It will take several months to sort it out, but in the meantime you are permitted to go through the space and his items—I understand you own a shop and you sell secondhand things as well?”
“I’m more of an architectural salvage shop. But between myself and my Uncle Johnny I think we could take it on.” She hesitated. “But I must admit, I’m terribly confused. When did Val Sharkey name me as the beneficiary of his will?”
The solicitor turned the pages of the will. “Three months ago . . .”
“Three months ago?” Tara was already shaking her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Apparently, he owed your Uncle Johnny from a bet they made a ways back. Val called Johnny and expressed a concern about his group. That one of them was harassing him over a recently acquired item, but he wouldn’t say which one. He thought they were all trying to get “his fortune.” He told Johnny he’d leave him his estate. Johnny suggested he leave it to you instead.”
“I see.” And yet Val didn’t say a word about it when Tara came into the shop, not to mention Uncle Johnny. “Do you think Val Sharkey was of sound mind?”
“He was when he drew up that will. That’s what matters.”
“Are you saying lately he wasn’t of sound mind?”
“He had become erratic. He truly thought someone was after him.”
“It seems he was right.” She hesitated. “Did he have any idea who it might be?”
The solicitor hesitated. “He did a bit of gambling with wealthy men. One of them was the owner of Cue Chemicals.”
“Cue Chemicals,” she repeated. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Why would ya? Anyhoo, he did take a lot of money off the CEO of Cue Chemicals in a poker game, but there’s no way he’s our culprit.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he passed away last month.”
“Was there . . . foul play involved?”
The lawyer shook his head. “He’d been sick for quite some time.”
“Did he die owing Val money?”
“According to Val he paid in full.” Another dead end. Did Val keep any kind of journal? Write any letters? Maybe she’d be able to find something in his shop. Her shop now. It was surreal.
“Perhaps you might not want to announce that you’re his beneficiary until . . .”
“His killer is caught,” Tara said.
The solicitor nodded. “And although I wouldn’t advise removing anything until the dust clears, as I said, you are free to go through his inventory at the shop.”
“Have the guards finished processing it?”
“They have.” He slid an envelope across the table. “The key to the shop.”
Another key. She glanced in the envelope. This one was nothing like the bronze key she’d found in the cupcake. Did it fit something inside the shop? “Thank you.”
The solicitor shrugged. “I’m not sure whether to say congratulations, or I’m sorry.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Tara said.
“Good luck to ya!” the solicitor said with a large, pasted-on grin and boosted voice. As she left his office she swore she could hear an add-on: “You’re going to need it.”
* * *
Tara had just left the solicitor’s office and was headed to Uncle Tony’s pub. She needed lunch and she wanted to see about that green mask. And if anyone had the goods on Val Sharkey, it would be Uncle Tony. He was Old Stock in Galway and he’d seen and heard everything. The biggest problem was that most publicans didn’t talk outside school, so if she wanted Uncle Tony to spill the beans on Val Sharkey—and more importantly anyone he might have crossed paths with—she was going to have to finesse it. She was just about to enter the pub when she heard voices behind her.
“There you are,” a female voice said. “Tara?”
She whirled around to find Hannah Dailey and Ella Boggan trailing her. “Hey,” Tara said. “How are you?” The two were smiling as if this was a happy run-in. But Tara didn’t buy it. First Riley, now these two.
“We’re grand, we’re grand,” Hannah sang.
“I can’t believe we ran into ya,” Ella said. “We were on our way to your shop.”
“Just to have a look,” Hannah said.
“How sweet,” Tara said. “Rose will be happy to help you.” Rose was watching the shop for Tara, and probably advertising her tarot readings to any victims who wandered in.
“Rose?” Hannah said.
“One of my employees,” Tara said. She genuinely wanted Rose’s take on these two. “And my uncle’s wife.” She made eye contact with Hannah. “I think you and Rose have a lot in common. She’s a psychic.”
Hannah nibbled her lip. “We were actually hoping to have a chat with you.”
Ella nodded. “We weren’t able to speak freely in the meeting—and then you ran out—and we’re so sorry about Riley.”
“He’s a right eejit,” Hannah said.
“Honestly, I’m about to have lunch and I’m starved,” Tara said. “I’m going to Uncle Tony’s pub.”
“Do you mind if we join you?” Ella said. “The kind of talk we need to have with ya goes better with a pint.”
“Or six,” Hannah added.
Tara was torn. Part of her wanted nothing to do with this group. Then again, if she wanted to learn anything useful, she was going to have to chat with them.
“Why not,” Tara said, as a million answers to that question swam in her mind. “The more the scarier.”
“Don’t you mean merrier?” Ella said.
“Right,” Tara said. “Sorry, I have Halloween on my mind.”
Hannah laughed. “Good,” she said. “I was hoping it wasn’t because of who I am.”
“Who you are?” Tara said.
Hannah nodded. “Lucy calls me a spiritualist because she’s afraid of the stigma.”
“She’s a witch,” Ella said. “Literally.” She grinned. “Now, how often do you get to say that about your bestie without a slap to the face?”
* * *
Uncle Tony’s pub, a traditional Irish pub near the bay, had been decorated to the hilt. It now looked more like a haunted house. He had a replica of Frankenstein standing at the door, and it wasn’t until you passed the mannequin that it moved. Its eyes lit up green, and smoke came out of its nostrils. Next came the sound of thunder and lightning, followed by an evil laugh. Inside, there were pumpkins, and orange and black lights, and a broom dancing through the floor as if by magic. In reality, Tara could see it had been attached to the top of a robo-vacuum. Ella laughed and clapped her hands. “There’s your ride home,” she teased Hannah.
Carved pumpkins sat on the bar and the standing tables. Hannah shuddered. “I can’t help thinking of poor Mr. Sharkey.”
Tara studied Hannah. Had details of the stolen pumpkin-carving knife been leaked? She was staring at a carved pumpkin as she said it. “I know,” Tara said. “It’s been traumatic.”
Hannah gasped. “I nearly forgot you were there when he was murdered,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Hannah was already making her way to a table.
“I’m going to sit at the bar,” Tara said. “Sorry, it’s my habit.”
“No worries,” Ella said, grabbing Hannah’s elbow and swinging her around. “Wherever you’d like.”
Once they were seated at the bar, they were immediately greeted by a female bartender in a green face mask. She was holding three identical ones. “Would you like a disguise?” she said.
“What are you supposed to be, like?” Ella asked. “Are ya from outer space?”
“Nah,” she answered playfully. “But most of my customers are.”
Hannah and Ella grabbed for a mask, and Tara reluctantly took the third. “How long have you been giving these out?”
“All month,” the bartender said. “Uncle Tony accidentally had them ship a hundred instead of ten for the staff.”
A hundred masks. It would be impossible for the guards to trace it. Nor was it out of the question that someone had bought one in a shop or ordered the same mask online. This was a dead end. “Is Uncle Tony in?” Tara asked hopefully.
“He’s off today, love. He’ll be back in tomorrow. Now, what can I get ye?”
“Three pints, and three shots of Jameson,” Hannah said.
The bartender nodded and walked away before Tara could protest. “I’m just going to have a mineral.”
“No worries,” Hannah said. “But you’ll probably change your mind when you hear what we’ve got to say.”