23

Noel Tate’s cottage reminded me of my aunt Noreen’s: whitewashed walls, bright red half-door, and windowsills covered in colorful blooms. In contrast to my aunt’s ramshackle residence, Noel’s cottage was impeccably maintained. When Liam and I opened the front gate, we stepped into a lush garden that, like the Poison Garden, showed no signs of having suffered from the bad weather of the previous weeks.

We’d taken no more than two steps when we spotted the man we’d come to see. Noel Tate was an older, craggier, less fashion-conscious version of his brother. Although, to be fair, it was hard to cut a swath in gardening clothes. The man was hard at work pulling weeds from his immaculate lawn, but the creak of the gate had alerted him to his uninvited guests. He peered at us from beneath a floppy hat. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Tate?” Liam stepped forward and offered the man his hand.

Noel Tate regarded it dubiously and raised his dirt-streaked gardening glove. “Not sure you want me shaking your hand, son.” The man got to his feet, wincing as he stretched his back. “I suppose you want to borrow a key to the Poison Garden.”

I darted a glance at Liam before responding. “We do,” I said, “but that’s not the only reason we’re here.”

Noel removed his floppy gardening hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. A streak of dirt replaced the sweat, but he didn’t appear to care. “Are the pair of you from the film crew?”

“We’re extras for a few of the Dolphin Island scenes,” Liam said. “I’m the sergeant in charge of Whisper Island Garda Station. And this is Maggie Doyle. She runs Movie Reel Investigations.”

“Ah.” The older man’s craggy face split into a merry smile. “I thought you two looked familiar. I didn’t recognize you out of uniform, Sergeant. And as for you, Maggie, the last time I saw you was when you exposed your backside during the St. Patrick’s Day Runathon.”

Heat crept over my cheeks. I’d tried hard to forget the indignity of my running pants splitting during a charity race. Before I had a chance to muster a semi-appropriate response, Liam swooped in and rescued me.

“She split her pants,” he said, “while racing to catch a killer. Now that’s dedication for you.”

“I suppose it is,” Noel said, still chuckling. “Now, if it’s not just the Poison Garden key you’re after, how can I be of service?”

“A woman collapsed during filming yesterday,” I said, regaining my composure. “She ran a summer food truck on Whisper Island.”

“Theresa Crawley. I heard she died.” Noel’s eyes swiveled toward Liam. “Is that why you’re here? Was her death suspicious-like? Are you looking for poison?”

“What makes you ask that?” Liam countered, keeping his tone neutral.

Noel guffawed with laughter. “I didn’t come down in the last shower, Sergeant. Apart from the director, every person I’ve met from the film set has complained about mysterious accidents. Do you think Theresa’s death was connected?”

“I don’t know,” Liam admitted, “but I have to consider the possibility.”

Noel removed his gloves and tossed them onto a bench in front of his cottage. “How can I help shed light on the subject?”

I glanced at Liam. “I don’t know that you can, Mr. Tate—”

“Call me Noel, please.”

“Noel,” I amended. “We have a few questions about the Poison Garden.”

The man inclined his head. “Fire away.”

“Who looks after it?”

“I do,” he said with a beam. “Always have, even when the rest of the castle gardens ran wild.”

I frowned. “I thought you were Dunfarrig Castle’s caretaker. Does that include gardening duties?”

Noel guffawed. “In all the years I’ve worked on Dolphin Island, caretaking at the castle has only included gardening. Until the renovations were completed, I didn’t go into the castle itself. Too dangerous. My job was to keep the gardens from getting completely out of hand, but they’re too big to be a one-person job. I concentrated on the Poison Garden and did the minimum for the rest.”

“So, you know every variety of plant growing in the Poison Garden?”

He nodded. “That I do.”

“Would you be able to provide us with a list?” I asked.

“Not that we’re saying Theresa’s death had anything to do with the Poison Garden,” Liam hastened to add, “but we need to consider every possibility.”

Noel’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “You think the woman was poisoned, don’t you?”

“We’re not saying that,” I replied, trying not to sound cagey, but failing. “Her death was sudden.”

“And dramatic, from what I’ve heard.” Noel scratched his temples. “There are twenty-one varieties of poisonous plants growing in the garden, but not all are poisonous year-round. If you give me an address, I can email you a list once I wash up.”

“That’d be great.” Liam withdrew a card from his wallet and handed it to the man. “We appreciate you taking the time.”

“No problem.” Noel’s jovial expression clouded over. “Between you and me, I’m not at all happy with the film people traipsing in and out of the Poison Garden. It’s not a novelty theme garden. Those plants are beautiful but deadly. I said as much to the council when they gave permission for filming at Dunfarrig Castle. I was overruled.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Traipse in and out? Do you mean the gate’s kept unlocked these days?”

“It’s not supposed to be left unlocked, but that’s what keeps happening.” Noel grunted. “These Hollywood people have no respect for the place.”

“What’s the key situation?” I asked. “We understood that you control the keys to the Poison Garden. Is that not the case?”

“These days, it’s only partly true. There used to be just the two keys. I kept one on my person at all times. The other was a spare for tour guides to use. We never let random tourists into the garden unsupervised.”

“And now?” Liam prompted. “How many keys are there, and who has them?”

“The film crowd insisted on extra keys being cut, for their convenience.” Noel’s delivery was biting, indicating just what he thought of this demand. “And the council let them, despite my objections.”

“Ouch,” I said.

“Ouch is right. Their idea of a compromise was telling the film crowd that I should control the keys.”

“How’s that working out?” I asked. “From your expression, I’m guessing, not well.”

A reluctant smile broke through Noel’s dour expression. “You can say that again. There are now four keys to the garden in total. The rule is that anyone wanting a key needs to sign it out. Unfortunately, the film people don’t seem to think the rule applies to them. One of them will sign out a key and blithely hand it over to a friend. And that director fellow still has two keys that he never gave back to me.”

Liam frowned. “In other words, you can’t keep track of who has what key and when?”

“Exactly. All I know is the name of the person who signs out one of my two keys, and the name of whoever returns it. The number of people who had access to the key in the meantime is anyone’s guess. The director ignores me whenever I remind him to return the two he checked out days ago, so I have no idea who he’s given them to.”

“That’s a cop and a private eye’s nightmare scenario,” I said with a groan. “We have no way of knowing who had access to those keys.”

“I know. I don’t like the situation any more than you do,” Noel’s face darkened. “Blame the council. They set this in motion.”

“I’ll have a word with the council about following proper safety protocol,” Liam assured him. “I understand it won’t be complete, but when you email me with the list of plants, can you include a list of everyone you know has borrowed the keys since the film crew arrived on Dolphin Island?”

“If you wait a moment, I can give you that information now.” The caretaker shuffled across the lawn in the direction of his front door, indicating we should follow. “I have everyone sign their name in a book.” Noel fumbled with the door latch and disappeared inside his cottage. A moment later, he reappeared, clutching a leather-bound notebook. He handed it to Liam.

“Thanks.” Liam opened the book, angling it so I could also see the pages.

According to the list, Con had borrowed a key twice since he’d arrived in the area a couple of weeks ago. Harper had taken a key two times and still had one in her possession. Seeing her name brought me malicious pleasure. I was happy to keep her on my suspect list. I was less thrilled by the sight of the next name in Noel’s book. “Coco borrowed a key the day before filming started, and returned it that same evening. I hope she’s not involved. I like her.”

“So do I, but she’s got the brains to pull this off.” Liam tapped a finger on the signature under Coco’s. “Who’s Kesha Ray?” Liam asked. “I don’t recognize the name.”

“She’s one of the makeup artists working on the set,” I said. “I spoke to her briefly yesterday. Seems nice enough.”

Liam glanced at Noel. “Is it okay if we snap a picture of this list?”

“Go ahead.” The caretaker frowned. “Why would any of these people want to kill Theresa Crawley? Most of the film crowd are American and have never been to Ireland before.”

Liam handed me the book to hold open while he took a photo with his phone. “I have no idea. We’re hoping Theresa died of a heart attack or another natural cause. Maggie and I are just being proactive and considering all possibilities.”

“And if the people signing this book aren’t the only ones using the keys,” I added, “then that opens up a whole new set of possibilities.”

Noel grunted. “I guess so. I just can’t imagine anyone killing her.”

“She had a reputation for getting into arguments, though,” Liam countered. “Did you know her well? Maybe from ordering her food?”

“Nah. I only ate stuff from her truck once, and that was enough for me. I much prefer the food from that Magnum fella.”

“Why did you say you couldn’t imagine anyone killing her?” I asked. “Was it just a general observation because anyone being murdered on Dolphin Island seems out there?”

“I don’t know anything about her arguments with other people. Anytime she was here, she was nice to me.”

I shot a look at Liam before turning my attention back to the caretaker. “Are you saying Theresa came out to Dolphin Island regularly?”

He nodded. “Every month or so. She and her fella liked to visit the bird sanctuary, and they often asked to borrow a key to the Poison Garden.”

“Her fella?” Liam pounced on this tidbit of information. “Theresa came here with a boyfriend?”

His gaze clashed with mine. I couldn’t imagine Theresa dating anyone, but the possibility threw up questions we couldn’t ignore. If she had a boyfriend, was he someone we knew? Could he be on Dolphin Island? I turned to Noel. “Did you recognize him?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know if he was her boyfriend. All I know is he was with Theresa whenever she stopped by to borrow a key.”

“Do you have a name for this guy?” I flipped back through the pages of Noel’s notebook, now interested in dates preceding the start of the film shoot.

“No,” Noel replied. “Theresa always signed the book herself.”

It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. “There,” I said, tapping a triumphant finger on a signature. “Theresa signed the book on June 12.”

Liam snapped a photo of the entry. “You said she came every four weeks, Noel?”

“Roughly.”

“And always with the same guy?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Noel screwed up his forehead. “The other thing I noticed about her visits is that they were during the week, not at weekends.”

I continued to flip back through the notebook. “You’re right. Theresa always visited during the week.”

Liam snapped all the dates of Theresa’s visits, stretching back almost a year. “Can you describe the man who accompanied her?”

The caretaker shrugged. “Not well. He waited for her outside the cottage gate. I’d put him in his mid-fifties, or thereabout. Gray hair. Well built. Average height. Pretty nondescript, all told.”

“This is still great info, Noel,” Liam said. “Thank you.”

“Do you think it’s relevant to her death?” the caretaker asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s worth following up.”

I still held the notebook, thinking hard. “Isn’t it odd that Theresa visited Dolphin Island outside the summer season? She’s only on Whisper Island for around four months a year. At least three of the dates we noted are between mid-September and mid-May.”

“Seeing as ferries don’t come to Dolphin Island between November and March,” Liam added, “that leaves us with two periods of time Theresa came to the island when she wasn’t normally in the area.”

“We get visitors from all over, though,” Noel pointed out. “The Galway ferry comes out during the summer months and brings thousands of tourists.”

“Where does Theresa live when she’s not running her truck on Whisper Island?” I asked.

“I understood she lived in Dublin the rest of the year,” Liam replied. “Which is why it’s strange she’d come all the way out here when she’s not staying in the area. That points to her mystery man being local.”

“If they were frequent visitors to the Poison Garden,” I added, “Perhaps the man has knowledge of poisonous plants.”

“If the fellow was local, I’d probably recognize him,” Noel said, not sounding wholly convinced. “That said, I don’t get back to Whisper Island much these days, and there are newcomers. As for Theresa coming here out of season, it’s not all that unusual. We get a lot of regular visitors to Dolphin Island. Amateur bird enthusiasts love the island. We also get professional ornithologists coming out here to study the birds in the sanctuary. You’d be surprised at the number of familiar faces I see.”

“How many of these regular visitors ask to borrow a key to the Poison Garden?” I asked, flipping through the notebook again, this time looking at names other than Theresa’s.

“Well, now, let me see…” Noel considered my question for a moment. “There’s a horticulturist from NUI Galway. Parker, I think he’s called. His signature should be in the book.”

“Found him.” I tapped a spidery scrawl from June 8. “Let’s take photos of as many of these pages as we can, Liam.”

With my assistance, my boyfriend patiently photographed every page going back to the start of last summer. When we were finished, I handed Noel back the notebook. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem.” The grooves on the man’s lined forehead deepened. “Something just occurred to me. It’s probably not relevant, though.”

“I’m hoping our entire visit isn’t relevant,” Liam said. “Shoot.”

“Here’s the thing—the notebook contains signatures from visitors who borrow a key from me, including tour guides who go with groups. What it doesn’t include are the names of the people I show around the garden.”

“Do you personally take many people to visit it?” I asked.

“Not many, but a few. My brother and nephew, for example. They often help me during summer weekends.”

“To clarify, you’re referring to Cormac and Oisin?” Liam asked.

“That’s right. They come out from Whisper Island to get a break from everyday life. They both like fresh air and nature. We have plenty of both out here.”

“Apart from Cormac and Oisin, who else have you taken into the garden recently?”

“One of the dancers—Terry or Merry, I think her name was—asked for a personal tour. Apparently, she loves gardening and was fascinated by the plants.”

The same Merry who’d had an argument with Judd yesterday outside the Poison Garden. I filed away this information for later consideration. “Anyone else?”

“Well, John, of course.” Correctly reading my confused expression, he added, “John Bellamy. We’ve been friends since we were at school.”

Liam snapped his fingers together. “The guy who runs that great fish restaurant next to the library?”

Noel inclined his head. “That’s the one. He loves coming out to Dolphin Island on his boat when he has a free weekend. When he’s here, he helps me in the Poison Garden.”

“Thanks for your time, Noel. We appreciate it. Can you give me your phone number in case I have follow-up questions?”

“Sure. I’m happy to help, Sergeant.” Noel fished in his pocket and drew out a couple of crumpled business cards. He handed one to each of us. “I keep these handy in case tourists need to contact me. Half the time, mobile phone reception doesn’t work on Dolphin Island, mind. The best way to reach me is to leave a message on my landline.”

“Thank you.” I shoved the card into my pocket.

“Now let me get you that key before I forget.” Noel disappeared into his cottage again, and returned with an old-fashioned key and the notebook. “If you’ll sign the book, you’re good to go.”

Liam pocketed the key, and I took the book. I filled out my name, address, and signature against today’s date. Once again, I returned the notebook to Noel.

I snuck a quick look at my watch. We needed to make tracks, or I’d be late for my scene. “I have one last question before we go.”

The caretaker nodded. “Go ahead, Maggie.”

“Before Theresa collapsed, she went very red in the face, sweated profusely, and made sudden jerky movements. I can’t say for sure how long before her collapse she ate and drank. I do know she had drinks in the marquee tent roughly thirty minutes beforehand. Can you think of a plant capable of causing that kind of reaction?”

Noel drew his brows together. “How long after her collapse did the woman die?”

“Four hours,” Liam supplied, “give or take.”

“Any hallucinations?” Noel asked. “Did she seem drunk or drugged?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t get that impression. Her eyes were wide open. She seemed aware she was ill but powerless to control her limbs.” 

“Any vomiting?” Noel asked. “Or diarrhea?” 

“Not that I saw.”

“Later, yes,” Liam said. “Apparently, she had violent vomiting and diarrhea right before she died.”

The caretaker fell silent for a moment, clearly considering what we’d told him. “Those symptoms can be caused by any number of plants we have in the garden,” he said after a pause. “This time of year, though, my money’s on hemlock.”

Despite the warm day, my limbs turned to ice. “I noticed hemlock in the garden yesterday. It’s the plant with the tiny white flowers, right?”

“Correct. It’s particularly dangerous when it’s in bloom.”

I sucked in a breath. “Which it is at the moment.”

The caretaker’s lips pressed into a grim line. “Exactly.”

“That’s great info, Noel.” Liam patted his pocket. “I’ll try to get this key back to you before this evening.

Depending on developments, I may have to question you formally.”

The older man waved a hand in a careless gesture. “Keep the key as long as you need it, Sergeant, and ask me whatever you want to know. I had nothing to do with that poor woman’s death, but I hope she wasn’t poisoned by one of my plants.”

“So do I, Noel. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

Liam’s careworn eyes met mine, and a silent communication passed between us. Neither of us believed Theresa had dropped dead of a heart attack. Discovering more about the woman’s past was vital, especially the identity of her male companion—assuming he wasn’t a figment of Noel Tate’s imagination. Noel seemed like a decent guy, but I wasn’t prepared to let him off the hook for being helpful. I’d encountered plenty of eager to please perps in my time. For now, our primary concern was asking the pathologist to look for signs of hemlock poisoning.