Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery (20 page)

Julia Chase’s notebook

What I overheard from inside lovely, diabolical Kilmoon’s walls. It can’t be. But it is. It was. Stupid, stupid, not to have realized the obvious about Adrienne’s baby, not to have seen beneath Liam’s engaging facade, not to imagine worse betrayals. All because he cast faerie dust in my direction.

Andrew and I hid inside the church walls. Sound travels far in the silent Irish night, and we heard two cars arrive. First, Adrienne’s, then Liam’s. My heart pounded so hard I thought I’d be sick.

I can’t bear to think about the noises, but they won’t go away. Their voices rising in a kind of sick passion, the wind whistling through the church’s medieval windows, the pounding, the squealing, the damp fall of their bodies to the ground, a breathless sigh.

You take yourself back to the hotel, Andrew whispered. There’s a girl. I’ll let Liam know it’s over between you two. You never have to talk to him again.

I fled with Andrew’s car keys like the fake I am.

I’m a coward, that’s what I am, and all I can do is pack my bags because I hate myself for loving the man anyhow. But I won’t be betrayed by love again, which means I’m doomed to become my mother’s daughter. Perhaps it won’t be so bad—safe at least.

• 40 •

In Interview Room 2, Kevin slouched over his knees in an attempt to fight off a fluorescent-light headache. He shifted to ease a kink out of his back and listened to the buzzing overheads. Frenzied activity earlier that morning hadn’t roused him from his state of dazed listlessness, not even when he recognized Clarkson’s strident voice through the walls. Kate Meehan. Dead.

And all he’d thought was, thank Christ the Garda had his alibi on record. No way could they blame him for her death after putting him through a sleepless night and another long day of questions.

Kevin tensed as a knock sounded. The door opened to admit Liam not-so-fresh from a day on the plaza and looking thinner all of a sudden. He stepped toward one of two desks that sat near the front of the room. He laid out brown bread and white cheddar, and beckoned Kevin to scoot his chair toward the food. “Where’s the solicitor?” he said.

“In, out, useless.” Kevin shook his head. He didn’t care anymore. “How’s the hip? You were limping as you came in.”

“Stumbled again.” Liam gazed around the room. “Why the devil did Clarkson call me in?”

Kevin plucked a chunk of bread out from the middle of a slice and dropped it into his mouth with no more thought of food than of Aegean vacations. Upon swallowing, however, hunger overtook him and he broke up hunks of cheese to eat with the bread while Liam looked on with an absent frown.

“Saw Emma while she worked the booth today,” Liam said. “She said she came to check on you, and Clarkson was kind enough to let her through.”

“Kind, my ass. We both know he wanted to wind me up about Lonnie. I’d wager he was hoping I’d let something slip.”

“How did your chat with her go?” Liam said without his usual teasing glint when it came to women.

“Not well.”

Through the long, flickering night and long, flickering day, Kevin’s thoughts had strayed back to Emma. In fact, he’d have driven his head against a wall by now if not for the fleeting but penetrating sense that something good had passed between them the night of the party. Within the cozy shadows of a shop doorway, in a darkened lane away from the festivities, whispers he remembered, and if not what they’d said to each other then at least the distant comfort of sound like waves within a conch shell.

“Out with it then, what did Emma say?” Liam said.

Clarkson entered the interview room before Kevin could answer.

“Unfortunately,” Clarkson said, his tone clipped, “under Section 4 of the Criminal Justice Act of 1984 we no longer have enough to keep Kevin. You are free to haul him away, Mr. Donellan. At the moment, we have no men available to chauffeur your son home.”

“Why the sudden reprieve?” Liam said.

“New developments. Let’s leave it at that.” He frowned at Kevin. “You’re still on the suspect list, but the DPP is unwilling to make a case against you at this time. You are free to leave.”

Kevin stood. “Hell, yes, I am.”

“The DPP has yet to decide on the breaking and entering, so don’t get too cocky.”

Kevin retrieved his belongings from the duty guard and trotted ahead in his haste for fresh air and natural light. Lowing cows, a yell, and a honk from the nearby cattle crossing sounded like heaven to him. He preferred the bovine aroma to the Garda station’s conditioned air. He tilted his head toward the sun and closed his eyes to savor late-afternoon heat just this side of cool. He’d always loathed being cooped up. One of Liam’s greatest kindnesses upon adopting him was to let him run wild outdoors until he dropped from exhaustion. In that respect his life hadn’t changed much since childhood.

“You drive.” Liam landed a light swat to the back of Kevin’s head on his way to the passenger side. “But take note that I drove myself here without a hitch.”

They got caught in tourist traffic as they approached the plaza. A few satisfied couples already strolled arm-in-arm, no doubt ready to share their successful experiences with those still pining. Liam smiled and waved as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Kevin thought back to Julia Chase’s journal, which had revealed half the story from 1975 and without a proper ending at that. It seemed to him that Liam had been the one to let his guard down the most, falling for her with what amounted to childish bravado. How quickly he must have matured when she suddenly refused to see him anymore. Surely Julia Chase wounded him in ways that penetrated deeper than the busted hand.

“Are Merrit and Kate why you started blathering on about retiring from the matchmaking?” he said.

“Not exactly, no.”

“Then it’s about the letter you received, isn’t it?

“Not exactly, no.”

Liam splayed his bad hand as if taking stock of the damage done. Kevin remembered Liam’s scabbed fingers sticking out of the plaster cast, and he now knew from Julia’s notes that she’d left Ireland just days before Liam’s arrival at the orphanage. His hand must be a constant reminder of his loss.

“Odd as this may sound,” Liam said, “for a while there I thought to pass the matchmaking reins down to you.” He smiled. “Then you hit adolescence.”

“Miserable little shit, was I?”

“That, but more importantly, you’re not wired for matchmaking, and I realized soon enough that it can’t be taught. I can sit with a person and concentrate until I feel their shoes on my feet. It’s a gritty sensibility, and you, my son, overthink instead of trust your intuition. You grow impatient. You need physical outlets to ground you. Also, you’ve got too much of the Catholic in you. You’re all twisted up inside about what to believe.”

“You’ve never told me this or a fuckload more besides. There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

“You know the two most important and best things about me. Everything else is—everything else, simple as that.”

“That a fact? The matchmaking is one of the two, of course.”

Liam’s searching gaze warmed the left side of Kevin’s face. His hand settled over Kevin’s with skin aged soft as well-washed jeans. “Hovering magpie.”

“Old troll.”

“But you’re still needing to marry. Don’t think I’m off that track.”

They settled back into silence as they passed the plaza and Kevin spied Emma closing down the information booth for the day. Ignoring Liam’s glance, he nodded in response to her hesitant wave.

• Part III •

Monday, September 8th – Tuesday, September 9th

“Never mind old age and illness, regret is the true enemy.”

—Liam the Matchmaker

Clare Challenger, 17 Mar 1980

Kilmoon Church Unburies its Dead

Garda Seeks Information About a Missing Woman

In a shocking discovery in our quiet midst, the skeletal remains of a woman were found in the local historic site called Our Lady of the Kilmoon Church. Official inquiries began last week after torrential rains, the worst in decades, uncovered what appeared to be a human knee joint.

“I was about my business with the dogs,” said Tommy O’Donnell, local shop owner. “Give them a bit of a run through the pastures at the end of the day. We cut through the churchyard. The ground was soggier than a baby’s nappy, that it was. Couldn’t miss the bone because I stumbled over it.”

The investigation remained hushed until today so that officials could rule out grave-raiding, vandalism, and cultlike activities before the news went public.

Today, officials revealed details in the hopes that locals might shed light on missing persons. The remains appear to be those of a Caucasian female in her twenties who most likely went missing within the last decade.

Officials would not reveal the cause of death.

Anyone with information that might lead to the identification of this missing person should contact Detective Inspector Sean Mallory through the Garda station at 7 Priory Lane.

• 41 •

At last, Merrit stood before Liam’s front door. It was a nice door with green trim and an owlish sprite for a knocker, a solid mass of an entrance that hung square on its hinges. Merrit inhaled until her chest and stomach expanded. So far, so good.

She’d parked down the lane and walked the rest of the way to the house so that Liam wouldn’t hear her car. She told herself she wanted to surprise him, but the truth of it was that she wanted an easy out in case she lost her nerve at the last second. Now, on a long exhale, she raised her hand and grasped the knocker. She concentrated on calming images such as the empty lane behind her, and the bleating sheep, and the smoke plume rising from the chimney. The setting sun lengthened her shadow toward beveled glass panes and settled an orange glow around her like a floating expectancy. She’d never written Liam the letter. The time for letters was past.

From inside the house a crash plus muffled oath preempted her knock. A vision of Liam’s inert form compelled her to try the door. She wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. She stepped into a room infused with the smells of peppermint, lemon-scented cleanliness, and cozy peat warmth. Liam faced away from her, staring down at a soggy teabag and china shards. His walking cane also sat near his feet. She was struck by the sight of the sturdy length of wood, but then again, she didn’t need to see this evidence of his weakness to know that Liam wasn’t who he appeared to be to his adoring public.

“Hello?” Merrit said.

Liam huffed up to his full height and turned with an awkward twist that, even so, hinted at his youthful self, the man who had entranced then devastated her mom. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Walk in on faerie feet, do you?” He stared at her for a moment, then caught himself. “It’s a grand pleasure to meet you at last, Merrit Chase McCallum. You take your time for a lass who’s come thousands of miles. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Merrit’s heart skipped a beat. She had a sudden sense that he was a spider, patiently waiting for her to entrap herself in his web. She blew out a hard breath. “You could have visited me anytime in the village. Everyone knows where I’m staying.”

“Oh no, this is your journey, after all.” His tone turned self-mocking. “Besides, don’t you know I’m an arrogant SOB, and I’m used to people coming to me?”

Liam held out his hand, perhaps as a peace offering. His hand was dry and lumpy against her own as they shook. She read welcome in the parentheses around his upturned lips, and she relaxed. A little.

“And how are you feeling after your hospital stay?” he said.

“I slept for two days straight. Thanks for asking.”

Thanks for asking?
Merrit felt heat gathering in her cheeks. She pulled her hand away and waited under Liam’s scrutiny, scanning the room rather than meeting his piercing gaze. Finished wood floors glowed around the edges of a rug woven with a foliage motif. Shelves behind a well-worn armchair held dated memorabilia boxes and an odd assortment of trinkets. This was a real home. But then what had she expected, a wizard’s lair—dark, unsettling, tinged with danger?

Unfortunately, Liam’s serene home didn’t ease her nerves. Her stomach churned and a wash of seasickness overwhelmed her. Slippery tides, standing here. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Maybe she didn’t want to know the whole truth. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough.

She scrabbled in her purse for her inhaler. She clutched it hard in an effort
not
to pump a preventative measure into her lungs.

Liam ignored her distress and instead murmured that he would clean up the spilled tea later. He pointed her to an easy chair. He spoke in a reassuring tone. “I take it by your appearance today that you got wind of my new schedule. Kevin’s doing, blast him. For the first time in my career, I shall be taking Mondays off. It’s a blow to my ego, to be sure.”

“Kevin—” she said. “He’s not here, is he?”

“He’ll be in his studio for a while yet.”

Which meant that Kevin could walk in at any time and start his badgering like at the hospital.

With a grunt, Liam bent toward the fire.

“Let me,” Merrit said.

She took her time wrestling the lid off a wrought iron canister, using the moment to steady herself. Fresh peat pellets roused the flames into a small firestorm that smelled of subterranean depths—dark, oily, secure. Merrit lowered herself into the chair he indicated. Liam’s malformed hand lay inert upon his armrest. Merrit tried not to stare at it.

Liam smiled. “Ready, are you?”

Merrit realized she was still clutching her inhaler. She set it beside her on the chair cushion. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’m ready. Have been for a while now. I’ve got a story to tell, and, like it or not, it’s a story of hatred.”

This didn’t bode well. Here Merrit had thought to surprise Liam by launching into his past straight away, but—no. Instead, something was going to drop on her. She could feel this something deep under her diaphragm, the way it wanted to shove itself up against her benighted lungs.

Liam blinked toward the flames. His voice turned introspective. “I have my reasons for choosing to trust you. Think of it as payment in kind for what I’m eventually going to demand.”

Merrit swallowed disappointment. “I didn’t come here to be manipulated, just so we’re clear.”

“Believe it or not, I hope you’ll at least tolerate me, which is another reason to tell you the truth.” He smiled. “Besides, all social interaction is manipulation of one kind or another.”

Great, Merrit thought. In other words, his truth was suspect.

With a heave and a huff, Liam pushed himself toward the front of his armchair. He stretched hands toward the fire and his words melted into the hiss of the peat pellets. “Andrew and I were too much alike, which is the only way that I can rationalize Julia’s feelings for him. That said, it was really Kate’s mother who set the course for all of us.”

“Yes, I know. I
know
.”

Liam’s head cocked at her tone. “How do you know about Adrienne Meehan?”

“My mom’s journal from that time together with a newspaper clipping about skeletal remains—a woman—found at Kilmoon Church in 1980. I found the article at Kate’s rental place. Given my mom’s journal, it seemed pretty obvious that the body belonged to Adrienne Meehan, and it seemed pretty obvious that somehow Lonnie had figured it out also. He must have been holding her death over someone. You.”

“With enough dots, the line gets connected?” he said.

Liam stood. Merrit rotated with him as he circled behind her chair. She crouched backwards with knees on the seat and elbows on the head rest, watching as Liam picked up an abalone shell with a
Thank You, Liam!
scratched into its opalescent sheen. He set the memento aside and reached for a small marionette complete with purple cape and a tuft of bright hair. Liam jangled the marionette in front of Merrit. “Look at this. I used to detest it. Me? A puppet on a string? Never.”

He set it on the shelf among the other trinkets and continued along the wall, tapping the dated boxes as he went. His fingers stopped at a box marked
1975
. Merrit stretched an arm toward it. Let me see, she wanted to say. I want to see what’s inside, please? She leaned so far over the head rest that the chair clicked backwards into its reclined position. Liam nudged her upright, and by the time Merrit resettled, he was seated with the box on his lap. He dropped the lid on the carpet and pulled out a stack of handwritten notes in envelopes of every color, some bright as tie-dye, others creamy and elegant.

“Letters from people I matched that year. Even Andrew sent me a snide note that I burned upon receipt. It’s the cruel gestures that keep hatred stoked through the years.”

Liam gazed into the box, the interior of which Merrit couldn’t see from her position across the hearth. His fingers dangled over the rim. “Just like you, Lonnie thought he’d connected my dots. I suppose I’m to blame for his ignorant assumptions because I’ve said nothing all these years.”

Liam lifted out a small black box. He stretched toward her, and Merrit caught the box in her cupped hands. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Tiny hinges squeaked when Merrit flipped up the top of the box. “Oh,” she said, saddened more than she could express in words. Instinctively, her hand went to the moonstone that dangled at the base of her throat. Inside the box, a matching set of earrings glimmered blue-gold in the firelight.

Liam nodded toward the necklace that Merrit wore. “It’s said that if you give your lover a moonstone on the full moon—which I did—you will always have passion for each other. Also, it can reunite lovers—so I was told.”

“Oh,” Merrit said, faint with understanding. Her heart swelled with sadness for the love Liam and Julia might have shared, for the childhood she might have had. “Mom only wore the necklace when Andrew wasn’t around.”

Liam sagged back into his chair. “Christ, there’s something to be said for ignorance.”

Merrit brushed thumbs over the earrings’ pearly surfaces and listened to Liam’s story of hatred, starting with a fateful night in 1975. From his rendering, she imagined a moist chill that presaged winter rains and a low-slung moon hovering before finally crossing away from daybreak. A romantic kind of evening except that Liam had blown off Julia hours earlier so that he could meet Adrienne, Kate’s mom.

Sadness crept into Liam’s voice. “Julia had the bright idea to pretend that I’d matched her to Andrew so that she could write up a funny little piece about the matchmaking festival. Andrew must have planted the idea in her head. So there was Andrew on one side, and then on the other side, Adrienne, who had cornered me earlier that day, making me promise to meet her at 2:00 a.m. at Kilmoon Church.

“I’d been simmering for days anyhow, trying to keep a lid on my fury over Andrew and Adrienne. To put it plainly, I was in a pisser of a mood by the time I met Adrienne. She insisted on goading me about Julia while I wanted to set her straight that there’d be no marriage—not to me anyhow. She laughed as if it were the most enjoyable game. Unfortunately, she also brought Andrew into the conversation. ‘You arrogant prick,’ she said. ‘You think your American will like finding out about my baby girl, your daughter? Besides, she fancies Andrew as much, if not more. They are peas in a pod those two.’ ”

Liam shook his head, lost in thought for a moment. “I still wish she hadn’t said that.”

Merrit tightened her grip on the box as he continued his story of hatred.