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Felicity paused her fingers on the laptop’s keyboard. She was posting an update on the blog about her investigation, but of course, it was all a bald-faced lie. Sighing, she questioned her journalistic integrity, knowing this was because she cared about Niall a lot more than she wanted to admit, and she needed to believe he was telling her the truth. She was pretty sure he was, because he could’ve easily hidden what he was and wiped her mind of everything.
She closed the laptop and then slipped into the pair of sandals tucked partially under the foot of her bed. She grabbed her purse before going downstairs and headed for Father Cleary’s house. Felicity breathed in the air as she made her way down the dirt road. Today was sunny and bright, contrasting with the stormy emotions swelling within her.
The priest’s house was right behind a small stone church, and the brisk walk helped clear her head. She was kind of glad Cyn had slept in, since she’d teased poor Father Cleary when he’d welcomed them to the island. Felicity followed the flower-lined pathway that led to his home and knocked on the door.
Father Cleary opened the door to greet her. “Aye, welcome. Come in and make yerself comfortable. Would you like some tea?”
“That’d be grand,” she said as she followed the priest into a tiny kitchen.
“Have a seat.” He gestured toward a metal table and chairs. “It’s nice to have company come for a chat.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Father.”
“Aye, the pleasure is all mine. Anything I can do to help you with your investigation. I’m sure you’re eager to return to London.”
Felicity nodded. “Yes, but I’ll be sticking around for the week.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay on our island.”
“The community is very welcoming. Everyone has been quite friendly.”
Father Cleary nodded. “Aye, that it is.”
She folded her hands on top of the table’s surface. Felicity’s thoughts wandered as he moved about the kitchen to make tea. His cottage was quaint, and he kept it neat. A large fireplace took up most of one wall. It wasn’t lit, but it was littered with ash. She imagined it was quite cosy to sit in the rocking chair and read one of the books from the stack that almost overflowed an end table overlooking the hearth.
Father Cleary set two cups of tea on the table and took a seat across from her. “Now, what is it ye be wanting to know?”
Felicity smiled. “You cut right to the chase, Father.”
“Of course, if you’d rather craic about something else, but I see no sense in beating around the bush.”
“Right, then. Where did the island legend about the púca come from?”
He took a sip of his tea. “It’s a story passed down through the generations for as long as I can remember. I first heard it bouncing on my da’s knee when I was just a wee child. His father told him the story before that, and so on and so forth until the very beginning of our island’s history.”
“And the islanders...do you think they truly believe it?”
“Aye, especially farmers whose families have worked the land going back several generations.”
Then it made sense that some islanders might believe it was true. Especially with the warning carved at the construction site and the worker with a head wound who’d burst through the pub door. Even the least superstitious of the bunch could be made to believe the rumours. Now she’d found out it was true, but she wasn’t about to tell Father Cleary. There had to be a reason someone wanted to get everyone on the island riled up—surely for their own advantage. She was determined to find out what it was.
“Is there anyone else who’s had to give up land because of that resort being built?”
“The church is being relocated and two small farms were bought out. It was all settled right and fair. No reason anyone should have a complaint.”
Felicity pulled a small notepad and pen from her purse. “Which two farms?”
“The McSharrys sold first, and the Tierneys shortly after.”
She jotted down the names on her notepad. “And how did they feel about the resort being built?”
“Both were given a right good offer, but it’s hard to say how they felt about it.”
“Are they still on the island?”
“The Tierneys moved to Galway, they have people there. But the McSharrys are still here.”
Felicity wondered if the McSharrys were somehow involved. Maybe the offer they were given wasn’t good enough to give up family land. She could see the motive, but doubted their plan would deter Mr. Archer from building the resort. Not with time and money on the line. It’d probably take a lot more than a few missing tools, a warning, and a bloke with a busted head.
“I’d like to talk to them,” Felicity said.
“I’ll arrange a meeting then.”
“That would be grand. Is there a historian or someone who could tell me the origins of the púca legend?”
“If anyone could tell ye a thing or two, it’d be the bartender over at Tí Joe Watty’s. Her family has the deepest roots, and she knows the legend of the púca better than any other.”
Felicity sipped her tea. “Thank you, Father. Perhaps I’ll pay her a visit.”
She was supposed to meet Niall at noon for lunch at the pub anyway.
