Read The Irish Cairn Murder Online
Authors: Dicey Deere
The Irish Cairn Murder (22 page)
A
knock on the cottage door. Or was it the wind rattling a branch against a windowpane? It was late afternoon, a cold, brisk wind curling around the cottage, but in the kitchen there was the warmth from the fire.
knock on the cottage door. Or was it the wind rattling a branch against a windowpane? It was late afternoon, a cold, brisk wind curling around the cottage, but in the kitchen there was the warmth from the fire.
Alone in the cottage, Torrey had just finished packing her carry-on and brought it into the kitchen. She'd packed the essentials first: jump rope. A Georges Simenon in Hungarian. The peacock bandanna. A peanut butter sandwich and a couple of chocolate bars for the flight, because who knew? Then the rest, including dangling black jet earrings and the fake diamond necklace and sleeveless black dress in case of a diplomatic dinner, and jeans and sneakers in which to roam Budapest.
She put the carry-on beside the kitchen dresser. She would travel in her warm but lightweight parka, under it her tailored suit and white shirt, on her wrist the man-sized Timex with date, day, and world-time sweep hands, too big for her narrow wrist, but vital to her business. At six o'clock tomorrow morning, Jasper would drive her to the Dublin airport. Then he'd continue north to Cavin, some sort of political agitation.
There, again! Definitely, someone knocking, though light, light. She crossed to the door and opened it.
“Well, hello!” In pleased surprise, she looked down at her small visitor. “Your hair! How lovely!”
Lucinda no longer wore the billed cap, her head lice must be gone. With her burnished-looking curly brown hair, she was pretty to see. Sweet little chin and sea green eyes looking innocent as sea shells.
“Come in, Lucinda. I'm glad to see you.”
Standing in the kitchen, Lucinda didn't even take off her mittens. “I have my piano lesson. I only came by because Dakin said that ⦠that if it weren't for you. You know. So, thank you.”
“Thank
you,
Lucinda. If it hadn't been for you ⦔
you,
Lucinda. If it hadn't been for you ⦔
“Well, good-bye.”
Windy and cold as it was, Torrey watched from the open doorway as Lucinda skirted the pond and went through the hedge. Then she closed the door and went and stood close to the fire. She smiled. She was hearing Jasper say, as they lay in bed a week ago, his arm under her head, “My compliments. You played it fast and loose. But what if Kate Burnside hadn't spoken up that she'd been making love in the meadow with Brenda Plant's lover? Admittedly, you brought that horse to water. But it was pure luck that it drank.”
At that, drowsily, she'd said, “Luck? Oh, no! If Kate Burnside hadn't spoken up, I'd have had to drag in Lucinda to tell that she'd seen them making love. I hated the thought of using Lucinda. Though maybe she would've liked it. I never can tell with kids.” She'd nestled closer to Jasper, he was so warm and solid.
“So ⦠You and O'Hare. Between you, with a nudge here and a shove there, you forced Brenda Plant into a corner.”
“It wasn't easy. About on a par with the Hungarian subjunctive.”
Jasper had suddenly hugged her close. “Kudos to you, my pretty.”
Kudos. From the Greek
kydos.
Praise. But it had been scary. All though the meeting her heart had been thumping: Because she hadn't actually known. The frightening part was that it
could
have been Kate Burnside who'd killed the blackmailer. The only way to know that it hadn't been Kate had been to play it out, she and her enemy, Inspector O'Hare. It had been agonizing.
kydos.
Praise. But it had been scary. All though the meeting her heart had been thumping: Because she hadn't actually known. The frightening part was that it
could
have been Kate Burnside who'd killed the blackmailer. The only way to know that it hadn't been Kate had been to play it out, she and her enemy, Inspector O'Hare. It had been agonizing.
“How did youâ?” she began, then stopped. Jasper wouldn't tell her; he never did. How he had gotten access to what musty hospital files she was never to know.
Now, after Lucinda's visit, she stood gazing into the fire. Risky, heart stopping. But it had worked out. What
norac! Norac.
Luck. One of her Romanian father's words, he had believed in luck, had left North Hawk in search of it.
norac! Norac.
Luck. One of her Romanian father's words, he had believed in luck, had left North Hawk in search of it.
But of course, with her, it wasn't
norac.
Always she'd made her own luck. Only she called it persistence. Jasper called it her stubbornness.
norac.
Always she'd made her own luck. Only she called it persistence. Jasper called it her stubbornness.
She stretched and took a deep, satisfied breath, then looked at the clock. Jasper would be coming back from the village with the lamb chops and zucchini, he'd gone on foot, wanting the exercise, saying he'd begun to look like something in a fun-house mirror.
She put on a heavy sweater and went outside. The wind had lessened, there was a moon, it made the dark woods silvery, and cast a gleam on the pond. She thought of the family at Sylvester Hall and she thought of the Dublin-to-Cork bus driver and his
Get off my bus with yor fookin' drugs!
to the two skinny Dublin boys with pipe stem legs, and how lucky for her that Dakin had appeared ⦠Dakin who later came to make her a window frame.
Get off my bus with yor fookin' drugs!
to the two skinny Dublin boys with pipe stem legs, and how lucky for her that Dakin had appeared ⦠Dakin who later came to make her a window frame.
Then she went past the pond and through the hedge onto the road to meet Jasper.
The Irish Manor House Murder
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The Irish Cottage Murder
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Available From
St. Martin's/Minotaur Paperbacks
St. Martin's/Minotaur Paperbacks
THE IRISH CAIRN MURDER
“Shows off some intricate plotting and a cast of eccentrics, including Jasper, Tunet's overweight gourmand boyfriend, and her rival, the inept and vengeful Inspector O'Hare.”
â
Publishers Weekly
Publishers Weekly
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THE IRISH MANOR HOUSE MURDER
“Good writing, all the twists and turns of a complicated plot, peopled with well-rounded characters ⦠should satisfy the most discriminating mystery lover.”
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The Tampa Tribune
The Tampa Tribune
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“Interesting characters keep one moving through the labyrinthine plot, and the local color is the green and silvered gray of Ireland.”
âBooklist
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THE IRISH COTTAGE MURDER
“There are easily enough plots, subplots, and full-bodied characters to supply a half-dozen novels. An excess of riches, then, in a most promising debut.”
â
Kirkus Reviews
Kirkus Reviews
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“Every page has a new discovery, a surprise, a twist, a new character revelation. And the solution to the mystery is as convincing as it is unexpected.”
â
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
THE IRISH CAIRN MURDER
Copyright © 2002 by Dicey Deere.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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eISBN 9781466821323
First eBook Edition : May 2012
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Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001057712
St. Martin's Press hardcover edition / May 2002
St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / March 2003
St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / March 2003
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