CHAPTER 22

Megan got a text from Aisling while they were having breakfast, a note with an access code and the explanation that the house was closed for the day, so they were welcome to come in through the back gate. Everybody else will be, Aisling wrote. Even if “everybody” is gonna be weird without Mam and Uncle Adam . . .

“No wonder she wants all of us to come,” Megan said to the phone, then lifted it as if her friends could read it across the table. “There’s a wake-funeral-thing for Seamus planned in a few hours. Ais asked if we’d all come. I’m going to go, because I’ve got this paperwork for her if nothing else, but if you’d rather not—”

“Oh, no, we’re coming,” Sarah said firmly. “Partly because the poor kid needs support, but also because every time we go anywhere with you, something interesting happens.”

“See,” Megan said to Rafael, “it turns out I need to date somebody like her.”

Rafael’s eyebrows slammed together and then shot upward in a brief wrestling match across his forehead while Megan put her face in her hands and Sarah began to laugh. Megan said, “Um,” into her hands, and Sarah’s laughter pealed higher, filling the hotel restaurant as Megan, to her own surprise, blushed furiously against her palms.

“I have no idea how to respond,” Raf said through Sarah’s unbroken giggles. “I never thought we had the same taste in women, Megs. I mean, I have to admire your taste, in that case, but, uh, this one’s taken?”

Sarah’s laughter shot upward again, and the tableware rattled slightly as she pushed her plate aside to thunk her head on her arms, laughing into the paper place mats. Megan lifted her face from her palms, caught a glimpse of Rafael’s still-bemused expression, and started giggling herself, although hers was more tinged with embarrassment. Hoarsely, through laughter and self-consciousness, she said, “I swear I wasn’t trying to steal your girl, Raf, I just, oh my God. I mean. She’s not even—you’re not even—really my type, Sarah, I’m sorry—”

“Oh, no, that’s okay!” Sarah assured her through another gale of laughter. “No, oh my God, I’m, I cannot imagine the awkwardness of, I’m sorry, it’s just Raf has told me what a disaster you two dating was, I just can’t imagine you two both dating me—!”

“Also we’re married!” Rafael protested. “Ideally we’re not dating anybody else!”

“Sure, that too.” Sarah, eyes bright with laughing tears, tipped over to kiss her husband while Megan tried to remember how to not blush.

“I just meant, someone who came around to thinking it was interesting when my life got weird, instead of thinking it was awful! I didn’t mean actually dating Sarah!”

Sarah wiped her eyes, still giggling. “I know. We know. But that was really funny.”

“I’m just going to die,” Megan informed the table, as if it was interested in her love life. “Oh, God. Thank you,” she added as she looked up, face still hot even though she was regaining her equilibrium. “Thanks for understanding what I meant instead of what I said. Right, so, um, where were we? Going to Aisling’s. I have no idea what’s appropriate to wear to a druidic funeral, so we’re gonna have to wing this one, I guess. And ask the hotel to dog sit, because I don’t think anybody needs Jack Russells at a funeral.”

“There’s got to be somewhere at that house you can put a couple of small dogs for a while,” Sarah said. “Text Aisling and ask, and we’ll go figure out what to wear. Ask her about that, too.”

“You’re a very smart woman,” Megan told her. Sarah gave a stage-worthy little bow, mostly with a flourish of her fingers, and Megan texted to ask about both of those things as they left the restaurant.

Aisling answered before they’d even made it to their rooms. “ ‘Wear anything,’ she says, and there’s a dog run behind the security outbuilding they can stay in for a while. Too bad I didn’t think to ask about that the other day. They could have had a much more fun afternoon than hanging out in the car.”

“Ah, yes,” Rafael said dryly. “That’s healthy, imagining you can think of literally every possibility that could ever stand a chance of presenting itself to you.”

“Saaaaaraaaaaahhhhh, he’s being sarcastic at me.”

“If you two don’t cut it out, I’m leaving you both here and going to the funeral myself.”

Megan giggled and ducked into her own room as they went into theirs, and half an hour later, they met at the car, everyone as presentable as they could be. Megan herself had defaulted to her driving uniform, which she tended to always bring with her and which was at least black. Raf had on dark-blue jeans and a deep-red button-down shirt that made his color, already improved in the days he’d been in Ireland, much better. Sarah wore a brilliant green blouse with wide sleeves and a matching wrapped skirt, enhanced with beads and necklaces, and a rich orange rectangular shawl thrown over one shoulder. The entire ensemble set off her dark-brown skin flawlessly, and Megan stopped with a whistle. “No, never mind, you should go without us. We’re just going to make you look bad. Wow.”

“And there she was telling me, don’t pack a suit, it’s not like I’ll have anywhere to wear this anyway,” Rafael said to Megan, ruefully. “Next time I’m packing a suit.”

“Yeah, I think you’d better. Don’t let the dogs shed on you!” She meant it to both of them, but Sarah made a fuss moving her skirt aside, as if the carrier might suddenly explode with dog fur, and sat in the front seat next to Megan for the drive to the Rathballard House’s back avenue. Raf hopped out of the car to open the gate, and Megan pretended to drive off without him, “because apparently I actually am twelve again when I get to hang out with you,” she told him happily when he got back in the car.

“It’s great,” Sarah said. “You’re both idiots, but it’s great.”

One of the staff, someone Megan hadn’t met before, took the dogs when they got to the house, and told them Aisling was waiting for them in the foyer. The three of them made their way through, not around, the mansion, to find a considerable gathering of people in the enormous open entry room. The doors stood open, too, showing that the gathering spilled out onto the broad front steps, and across the long drive. Megan, approaching Aisling to offer the paperwork her great-uncle had signed, said, “Ian told me Rathballard House employed half the village, but I didn’t entirely think he meant it until now. This is wonderful, Ais. I’m glad so many people are here.”

“Me too.” The young woman wore a rather pretty black dress that would have been flattering if her eyes weren’t so sad and tired. As it was, she looked drained, and Megan offered a hug that she accepted. “Thanks. I knew Da’s pagan friends would come, but I didn’t realize so many other people would be here. I’ve got ribbons over there to the side,” she said hesitantly. “We’ll be going out to the rag tree, to his altar, and I’m asking everybody if they might tie a ribbon and make a wish, even if it’s just for peace,” she whispered, trying not to let her voice crack.

“We’d be happy to,” Megan murmured. “I’m glad this is settling down, Aisling. It’s been way too much for you to deal with, but you’ve been a champion.”

“I’d not have made it through without you. I know you only met me three days ago, but you’ve been a star, Megan. Thank you for everything. And thank your friends for coming too. It was such a scene yesterday, I didn’t know if they would.” Aisling smiled weakly, and Megan tried not to laugh.

“I think after yesterday’s scene, they wouldn’t have missed the rest of it for the world. Although I just thought—how far is your dad’s, er, altar? I don’t know that any of us have the shoes for a long walk through the woods.”

“Oh, he paved it,” Aisling said with a sniffling smile. “Big paving stones, set up out of the earth so he didn’t have to slog through the muck. It’s a kilometer or so, but none of it’s messy. The rest of the estate is gone to wild, but not that path. Someone rang me this morning to come out to look at the waste spill, so they can figure out what damage has been done and how to clean it up. I think because it’s vandalism, the estate won’t be responsible for the costs, but I’m not sure yet. There’s so much left to do.”

“I know. But you’ll manage it. And Ian and Nora and the others will help. They like you. It’ll be all right.” Megan gave her another encouraging hug, then stepped back to let other people talk with her, and to go get ribbons for the rag tree. The table they were laid out on had clearly been dragged in from the tearoom, and there were plates of small foods and a genuinely impressive amount of alcohol laid out on other tables around the edges of the room. With Sarah and Raf in her wake, Megan began to follow the crowd out the door, working their way toward the paved stone path that eventually led to Seamus Nolan’s . . .

“Grotto,” Megan said, when they arrived. It actually was a grotto, or a folly—a purposefully built “ruin” that had been all the rage among the aristocracy for decades in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. This one had been built as a cave, a half circle that greenery had crawled over and partially destroyed over the years. Trees had broken through in places, or grown up within it, but its original shape was visible, and a small, still-running fountain sat at the back, spilling water in a quiet, pleasant burble. A Brigid’s cross was affixed to the back wall of the grotto, wrapped with prayer beads, and people were walking up to those and touching them, often murmuring something before they stepped away again.

The rag tree, a hawthorn that Megan could only identify because there was a small sign posted near it with its genus and common name listed on it, sprawled gently over much of the grotto, blocking part of its open face, but making for a comfortably protected space within. Megan went inside to tie her own ribbon as high up as she could reach, hoping it would bring Aisling, if not Seamus, some measure of peace, and left again to watch other people move quietly through the same space.

“Told you,” Rafael murmured as he and Sarah came to join her in watching people. “Well-centered holiday. If that counts as a well.”

“I think it’s a spring,” Megan murmured back. A chill ran down her spine, nothing at all to do with the temperature, and she found herself staring at the little spring and the cross above it. “Well-centered.”

“That’s what I said. Because I’m funny.”

She breathed an obliging laugh, but didn’t speak, trying to grasp thoughts that were bouncing around inside her head without any particular order to them. “No, well-centered. Um. She said. Carla said. A druid I talked to yesterday. She said there had been several deaths centered around Brigid’s wells, all over the country. People who worshiped Brigid, pagans, had died in a bunch of stupid accidents.”

Sarah whispered, “Ooh. That’s awful. That must be very hard for the community.”

“She said it was, yeah. But . . .” Megan turned away from her friends, standing on her toes to see if she could find Aisling in the slowly moving gathering of mourners. Then she took her phone out, pulling up the news articles she’d first read about Seamus, immediately after finding his body. “Those aren’t his prayer beads on the cross up there,” she said slowly. “I mean, they probably are, but they’re not the ones from this picture, not the ones he wore. He wasn’t wearing them when I found the body.”

“They probably fell off in the well.” Rafael and Sarah both ducked their heads over Megan’s phone as she expanded the picture, trying to get a better look at Seamus’s prayer beads. Raf tilted the phone toward himself. “Although . . . are they wood? They look like it. I guess they should have floated.”

“Not if somebody took them.” Megan’s eyes were closed as she tried to bring an image to mind. “The same person who put the bike in the hedge. Crap. Crap! Excuse me!” She didn’t know whom she was talking to, really, because Sarah and Rafael both followed her, of course, as she hurried back up the path, trying to get away from the larger group of mourners as she scrolled to the recently called numbers on her phone, and dialed.

Garda Farrell picked up with an amused, “What’s the murder driver want with me now?” but Megan was already talking, trying to keep her voice down despite agitation making her want to lift it.

“Detec—Garda, Garda Farrell, did you get any prints off the bike? I don’t know how long that even takes?”

“Not yet. They’re going through the system, but no hits. Why?” The young man’s voice sharpened. “Have you got something? Did the ex confess? Or the uncle? Doyle said it was a mess there yesterday!”

“I bet he didn’t mention the part where he’s working as an enforcer for some illegal bookmaker,” Megan said, not quite beneath her breath. Farrell made a startled noise, but Megan barreled on. “No, it’s not Jenny or Adam. It’s Father Colman, Det—Garda. It’s Colman, and Seamus Nolan isn’t the only pagan he’s killed over the past five years. Talk to Carla—crap, I didn’t get her last name, but Healy? No, Haughey, Peader Haughey, the radio announcer, he’ll have it—but I’ve been in Colman’s house, and Seamus’s prayer beads are wrapped around a cross in his living room!”

Farrell went silent a long, long moment. Long enough for Megan to look up, teeth in her lip, to find Sarah and Raf both staring at her, wide-eyed and silent themselves. Then Farrell said, “If you’re right about this, I’ll be Detective, and if you’re not, I’ll be laughed out of the guards, Ms. Malone.”

“I’m right.” Megan’s heart was hammering so hard she could barely stand. “I thought it was a rosary, but it hasn’t got a cross pendant. It’s got a circle with a carving on it. A tree of life, like Carla’s. I didn’t notice, or I noticed but I didn’t notice until I saw the one in his grotto on the estate. They’re the same. And I’m betting—Colman’s got other crosses, other stuff, on the wall there in the house. I bet some of them are trophies too. I’m right. I’m sure I’m right.”

Another silence met her, before Farrell finally said, “I’ll buy you a drink with my first pay rise if you are,” and hung up.

Megan folded her phone against her chest, meeting the Williamses’ gaze with her own until Rafael, audibly awed, whispered, “Is that how it works?”

She gave a short, high-pitched laugh. “That’s more like it than yesterday, yes. Except I don’t usually get to send the guards after them, I’m usually right there in the room with them, and sometimes they’re trying to kill me.” To her absolute horror, her voice broke on the last words, and tears suddenly burned her eyes.

Raf, without speaking, stepped forward to drag her into a hug, and a heartbeat later Sarah’s arms went around both of them. Megan choked on a sob, trying to hold it back, before a rush of overwhelmed emotion dragged the tears from her, and she stood crying in her friends’ arms for several ragged moments.

“Come on,” Raf said eventually, as her tears started to dry up. “Let’s go back up to that big house and eat all their petit fours and scones.”

Megan blurted a giggle. “Okay. That sounds great. Thank you.” She meant the words for more than the suggestion of food, and Raf gave her a fond look that said he understood.

“Por supuesto, mi amiga mejor. Vamos, ándale. Necesitamos comida, or at least sugar bombs.”

Megan giggled again, leaning on Sarah as they walked back up toward the house. “I was gonna say, I’m not sure petit fours count as food. Tea, too, maybe. Or coffee. Coffee is better than tea. And maybe puppies to hug.”

“They’ll shed all over your uniform,” Sarah warned. “And I’m not letting them shed all over this dress.”

“No, it’s too beautiful. Just like you are.” Megan, still sniffling but feeling considerably better, followed them into the big house and laughed as Rafael swept down on the snack tables and started piling plates for them. “He’s a good guy,” she told his wife, who smiled.

“I kind of like him. You doing okay now? You’re sure about Father Colman?”

“Yeah.” Megan nodded. “Yeah, I am, and . . .”

“And it helps?” Sarah asked when Megan didn’t finish the sentence. “With everything about your ex, I mean?”

“I think so. I think so, yeah. I’ll feel better when Farrell calls me back to verify it, but . . . yeah.”

Sarah chuckled. “Are you sure he’s going to?”

Megan blinked, then stared at her. “Well, Paul would! Oh my God! I should text them!” She pulled her phone out to do so, but as she did, Aisling, halfway across the foyer, shrieked and sat down hard on the marble floors.

Everyone nearby rushed toward her, but cleared a path as she said, “Megan? Megan, are you here? Megan, go to RTÉ News! No, you’re here! Look! Here! You were right! Oh my God!” As Megan had done a little while earlier, Aisling burst into tears, then threw herself into Megan’s arms as she knelt next to her. Aisling’s phone played a live feed from Naas, County Kildare, in Megan’s ear, a news reporter saying this was mobile phone footage from a local in Naas capturing the moment when Father Richard Colman was arrested on suspicion of murdering Seamus Nolan, the “Irish Druid.”

After a minute, Aisling, still in tears, fumbled the phone around so she and Megan—and thirty other people, although they were turning to their own phones for ease—could actually watch the footage through a mixture of hugs and tears. Garda Shane Farrell, who should have said “no comment”—Megan knew that much by now—told the amateur reporter that the guards had received a tip from a concerned citizen, which sent Rafael and Sarah into a spasm of slightly hysterical glee, whispering, “That’s Megan, that’s her, she’s the ‘concerned citizen,’ ” to each other, and behind him, a flush-cheeked, visibly furious Colman was escorted away.

“He loves Brigid,” Megan said almost sadly, watching the priest’s arrest. “The Catholic version of her, anyway. So much that he couldn’t stand people drawing so much attention to the old goddess idea. What a waste. How stupid and sad.”

She nearly jerked out of her skin as her own phone rang, and answered, completely stunned to hear Farrell’s voice on the other end of the line. “You were right. I asked about the bicycle. He saw it and knew Seamus was there, he said. He put it into the hedge and went to kill the man, malice aforethought. I think he might have been half out of his mind with some kind of religious fervor, but it’s what he did. You saw him leaving the second time, after he’d thrown the bicycle away and shoved Seamus into the well.”

“Oh my God,” Megan said faintly. “I didn’t think of that. That was the part I couldn’t make work. But oh my God. Thank you for telling me.”

“Don’t tell anybody I did,” Farrell said with sour amusement. He hung up, and Megan gave another little shrill laugh, then looked up at Sarah and Raf.

“We heard.” Raf plunked down on the floor with Megan and Aisling, pulling them both into a hug, then adjusting to include Sarah in it when she knelt with a dancer’s grace. “We heard. You did it, Megs. You figured it out.”

“You did everything,” Aisling said through tears. “You saved my whole life here.”

“Well.” Megan shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure about that.”

Aisling, stubbornly, said, “Did too,” and Raf leaned like he would knock his shoulder against Megan’s if they weren’t all tangled up in a hug.

“Take the win, Megs. You earned it.”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try.” Megan unwound from the hug, helping Aisling to her feet. “It’s gonna be okay, Ais. Now, go talk to Ian, all right, sweetie? He’s over there trying not to explode from wanting to check in on you.”

The girl glanced toward the gardener, smiled through her sniffles, and hugged Megan one more time before going to get a hug from Ian, too. The young man put his arm around her shoulders protectively, and Megan, helping Sarah to her feet, said, “I think she’ll be okay.”

“She will,” Raf said as he got up. “And as for us, how about we get through the rest of our vacation without any more murder mysteries, huh?”

Megan laughed. “All right. Well. I make no promises, but I’ll think about it. And maybe we’ll just stay away from any holy wells.”

“Or golf courses,” Sarah said.

“Or restaurants, or churches, or big, old manor houses,” Rafael suggested. “Or whiskey distilleries, for that matter.”

“Right, so basically we’re going back to my house and not leaving it for the next eight days, is that what you’re saying? And then we’ll end up killing each other because we’ll have gone stir-crazy, so that won’t work out at all.”

“Okay, fine. In that case,” Sarah said, “I propose that Raf and I go into everywhere first, in order to prevent you from being the person who walks in and finds a body.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works . . .”

“Oh, I am. If somebody else takes the lead, nobody dies. That’s pretty clear.”

Megan held up her hands, conceding. “All right. Okay, come on, then. Let’s go find more adventures, but you guys go first.”

Rafael took Sarah’s hand, kissed it, and led her out of the manor house, Megan trailing behind with a smile.