Chapter Thirteen
After yet another shitty, restless night—surprise, surprise—the smell of smoke jolted Lassi out of her dreams the next morning. Lying on her belly, she rose to her forearms and turned her head this way and that. Blackish brown smoke coiled from the mattress. My sheets! My sheets are on fire! She rolled out of bed, seizing the glass of water she’d left by the side of the bed. Okay. No flames, but definitely smoke.
She threw back the covers, flung the water on the mattress, and doused her burnt sheets. She stared, aghast, her heart nearly running for its life. There, as clear as if she’d sketched it herself, was her scorched outline burned into the sheets like the Shroud of Turin.
“Gah!” Hurriedly, she pulled the covers over the outline. She beat against her temples with her fists and scrunched up her face. “What’s happening to me?” she whimpered. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get back to Dublin.” Her dreams last night had all been bizarre fuck-fests where she rode lightning bolts like a rodeo queen or held light bulbs, channeling electricity to them with her bare hands so others could see. Maybe they weren’t dreams. She stared at the burnt outline, utterly speechless. Finally, she blew out a rush of breath and said, “Tea. I need tea.”
After yanking on her robe and jamming her feet into her slippers, she flicked the wall switch to check for power, grateful the overhead lights came on.
“Unless, of course, I’m the power source.” She scoffed. Stumbling down the hall, she made her way to the kitchen.
She filled the electric water kettle, happy the metal faucet handle didn’t spark. No red rust colored water spewed out the faucet. Strange. Maybe I hallucinated the foul water yesterday. Maybe even being here is one huge hallucination. I had been feeling poorly before I came to Bally.
Mr. Meow came slinking into the room. He rubbed against her legs, as if to say, “I’m a good kitty, aren’t I?”
“What did Cillian do to you, you raggedy old cat?” Her mind became possessed by thoughts of the rugged-looking, ripped-as-hell priest. And that orgasm. I didn’t know I could come that quick or that hard. She leaned over and scratched the kitty’s head.
He backed away and hissed, swiping at her with his sharp claws.
She yanked her hand away. “Go on. Get.” She nudged him out of the way with her slipper. “It figures Great-Aunt Roberta would have a bipolar cat.”
As she waited for the tea water to boil, she stared out the window at the ceaseless dark clouds and ever-present wind. “This place is awful. I can’t wait to get out of here. A good night’s rest, a night at the pub with my friends, and I’ll be good as gold again.”
The kettle dinged, indicating the water was the perfect temp.
She retrieved a tea bag from the pantry and rinsed a mug out in the tap. Once again, nothing sparked. I’d think I was merely raging with the fever were it not for the scorched sheets. Before preparing her tea, she took a tentative sip of water. It tasted fine, same as last night. She strode toward the kettle, hung the bag of fragrant tea in the mug, and poured the hot water.
The scent of steeping Black Irish tea instantly soothed her. She eyed the darkening liquid as the leaves released their essence. When it was the perfect caramel color, she raised it to her lips and took a welcome sip.
Bang, bang, bang.
She jerked at the fecking rapping on the door.
Bang, bang, bang.
She threw back her head and groaned. She slammed her tea mug onto the counter, splashing it everywhere. Only...
Her eyelids pulled at the edges of her eyes, as if they couldn’t open wide enough. The tea wasn’t landing on the floor like proper water droplets should do. Instead, the drops quivered, mid-air. She fell back into the counter, knocking the mug from the surface.
The tea cup dropped in a slow-motion arc to the floor. She reached to grab it, her hand meeting with scalding water. The cup shattered. The remaining tea hung in a weird stasis, floating like clouds. Her hand bore no marks or sensation of burning. She began to pant, like some hysterical birthing mother.
Bang, bang, bang. Whoever was pounding the door was going to shatter it if she didn’t get to it in time.
She backed out of the room and scurried down the hall. Wrenching the antique door knob, she flung the door open wide. “Liam?”
He stood, eyes wide, an expression of absolute shock or terror or maybe both on his face. His clothes hung dripping wet and wrinkled like he’d rolled in the rain.
“What the feck? You look like shite that’s been out in the rain for three days.”
“She’s...she’s dead.”
Her hand clutched the glass knob. “Who’s dead? Siobhan? Penny?”
“No, it’s...it’s...” He lowered his chin, his face dropping to his hands. “It’s Ailis,” he said into his palms.
Lassi chuffed out her breath. “Well, there’s her alibi.”
Liam’s head popped up. “What did you say?”
“And why the hell didn’t you use the telephone? The darn thing still works,” she snapped, ignoring his question. She made a sharp circle in the air. “You all come to my cottage to inform me of the goings on in your town like I might give a flying feck about who’s doing who or who’s dead.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. She closed her eyes briefly. I need to be able to finish my cuppa in the morning for once. When she opened them, Liam stared at her, open-mouthed.
“The phone?” he said, clearly dumbfounded.
“Right. We no longer send carrier pigeons or whatever the feck they used to do to communicate.” She started to close the door in his face.
“Roberta might have had a phone in the house, but it hasn’t worked for the last thirty-five years since she decided to stop paying the bill.”
“She what?”
“The phone,” Liam said, wringing his hands together. “They raised the rates by two-pence, which was bloody larceny as far as she was concerned. So, she stopped paying.”
“Right,” she said, her hands beginning to tremble. Then who called while Cillian was attempting to make me come?
“You’re an out-of-towner,” he said, giving her a wan smile. “How would you know?”
“Right,” she said again, hoping she didn’t appear as pale and shaken as she felt.
“So,” he said. “Ailis. She’s been murdered.” He said this polite and civilized this time, like he’d had a chance to get his wits about him.
“That’s awful,” Lassi said, responding appropriately this time. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know. But Inspectors Brown and Conway would like to ask you a few questions. I came to fetch you.”
“Bloody hell. I can’t even catch my breath let alone deal with these fecking murders,” she mumbled. “Let me get dressed. Come on in and make yourself some tea. At least one of us should enjoy a cuppa.” She stepped aside to allow him to enter.
He did so, after wiping his boots off on the welcome mat.
“You know where the kitchen is.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’ll head to my bedroom and join you in one hot second.” She turned and strode down the hallway.
Liam shuffled behind her, his footfalls sounding like those of a soldier after a long battle.
When she got to the bedroom, she froze. You bloody idiot! There are drops of water hanging in the air! She whirled and scurried toward the kitchen expecting to find Liam in a dead faint.
When she stood in the doorway, the tea lay in a puddle on the floor like normal spilled tea. The cat lapped the liquid.
Liam crouched around the broken bits of cup. He swept them into a dust pan she didn’t know she had, using the brisk, precise movements of a man who has spent his life cleaning up broken glass behind the bar.
Lassi stared at the floor, grateful the tea wasn’t acting weirdly enchanted. But still...did I imagine it? That must be it. Even the scorched sheets. I’ll bet I was still dreaming. Everything is stressing me out. Or, it’s PTSD from all the shite happening since yesterday morning.
After Liam had swept all the pieces into the dust pan, he rose to standing. “All taken care of.”
He hefted the bits of mug. They clinked and clattered in the bin.
“Thank you.”
“You look the same as you did a few moments ago.” He opened one of the half-filled plastic garbage bags resting on the floor and dumped the broken pieces.
She looked down at herself. “Oh, I... I forgot something in here.”
“I see.” He rested the dust bin on the counter. “What did you forget?”
She scanned the room, searching for ideas. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be right back.”
Inside her bedroom, she whipped on her jeans and a soft, long-sleeved shirt. No way will I pull down the sheets and see if I was hallucinating. She entered the bathroom and combed her snarled locks, then gave her reflection a nod. A shimmering burst of light danced at the edges of her irises.
“Oh, come on.” She blinked furiously. When she looked again, the light was no longer visible. “I’m losing my mind. Seeing things that aren’t there. Hallucinating.”
She exited the room, hustled past the bed, and made her way into the hall.
“Let’s go. I’m ready,” she called to Liam. She retrieved her coat from the closet, donned her Wellies, and exited this bloody, freak-show of a cottage, with Liam close behind.
Outside, they strode down the driveway, their footsteps squishing through the muddy ground. Lassi took the lead, her arms and legs pumping.
The air was cool and misty but the usual dark clouds hung heavy, like they might fall from the sky given a nudge.
At least there’s no fog. She expected to march straight to the village, but a few yards down the driveway, Liam seized her upper arm.
She whirled and yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me!”
He put his hands up. “Shite, woman, slow down. You’re going the wrong way.”
He pointed at a small path.
She shook out her arms. “What’s that? A shortcut?”
He studied her, puzzlement crisscrossing his face. “It’s the way to the rectory. Where Father Ward lives.”
She stared at a small cottage up the hill. She turned toward great-aunt Roberta’s cottage. Then, she looked back toward the cottage again. How could I not notice? He has a direct line of sight to my great-aunt’s cottage. Which means...he has a direct line of sight to me. Shivers and whirls blossomed in her belly at the thought. Does he watch me through the window? He sure came quickly to my rescue the first time Liam showed up at my door. Unsure of whether she should feel stalked or cared for, she turned and tromped up the small path.
At the stone rectory, she stood outside its blue door. The place gave her a sense of calm, even though the wind howled and rain threatened to pour. While waiting for slow-poke Liam, she fingered the bright door.
A minute later, Liam huffed and puffed behind her.
“That’s not the right door. Follow me,” he said, panting.
“What’s back there?”
He shook his head, perhaps too breathless to speak, and trundled ahead.
She followed along a sidewalk lined with Heather and bog rosemary. Does Cillian tend these? The garden looks so cared for.
Windows lined this side of the rectory. She glanced inside to see the two Dungarvan Inspectors sitting around a small table with Cillian. At the sight of him, her insides exploded with forest-fire heat and volcanic desire. Her limbs began to shake. Oh, this can’t be good. I’ve got to appear calm.
Liam disappeared into a side entrance. “Everyone is in here,” he called.
She hurried toward the door, took a couple of deep breaths, and pasted on a serious face before entering.
“Gentlemen,” she said when she stood near the table.
The two inspectors gave her a cursory nod.
She glanced around the clean room, sparse of any furnishings except for the essential table and chairs for dining, and recliner for relaxing. The room gave off an inviting vibe, all muted browns and gray stone. Intricate seashells lined the mantel. Perhaps Cillian likes the sea as much as I do.
“Where’s Father Ward? He was here a minute ago.”
“We’re investigating, Miss Finn,” Inspector Brown said curtly.
“Of what?”
“A murder. Didn’t Mr. O’Donnell tell you?”
Lassi glanced toward Liam but he had disappeared. “Yes, he did. What can I do for you?” And why is Cillian being investigated?
“Sit.” Inspector Brown commanded her like she was a German Shepherd. She pointed to the chair between her and Conway.
“I’ll stand,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Conway cleared his throat. “Tell Inspector Brown everything Ailis said to you over the phone the day before.”
A notepad lay on the table before him.
She glowered at Conway. “Didn’t you tell her? You were sitting right there when it happened.”
“We’d like to hear it in your own words,” he repeated in his squeaky voice.
“Well...okay.” She recapped the conversation.
Brown fixed her beady eyes on her. “Did she say anything else?”
“No, that’s what I remember.”
“Did she tell you why she wanted to call Siobhan of all people?”
Lassi frowned. “No, why would she? Most people don’t explain why they chose the person they wanted to speak with. Especially if they supposedly had dinner the night before with the dead husband of the woman they’re calling.”
Brown pushed her chair away from the table and stalked toward Lassi. “So, did she tell you why she went to Waterford City?”
Lassi glared at her. “We’re not exactly close, Inspector. And I picked up at Siobhan’s request. I did as I was told. I was only a middleman, if you will. Can you tell me please why, exactly, you’re grilling me like a steak on the barbecue? The only reason I’m here is to deal with my departed great-aunt’s property and then I’ll be headed back to Dublin.”
“I told you she wouldn’t be much help,” Conway mumbled in his stupid, teenage voice.
“Fine,” Brown said. “I’ll see to Father Ward.” She huffed out a lungful of breath and turned to stride away.
Conway stayed put.
She stared at Inspector Brown’s back, wishing the woman hadn’t left. As imposing as she was, Lassi’s unease spiked at the idea of being alone with the ferret-faced Garda.
“So, what’s your impression of Ailis?” Conway asked. He picked up his pen and held it over the notepad.
Red flags began to wave in her mind.
“What’s my impression? I barely know the woman.” She leaned her hip against the table.
“That’s exactly why we’re asking. You’re the fresh eyes we need.”
Cautiously, her head cocked to the side, she replied. “She seems, um...very...hard-working. Ambitious, maybe? Knew everyone in the village it seemed.” In a biblical way but never mind.
Conway tapped his pen against the paper. Then, he asked, “Do you think there was anything going on between Dylan and Ailis?”
What? No! He adored his wife. She kept her expression neutral and said, “I honestly can’t say either way. I only met each of them two or three times. Dylan and Siobhan seemed genuinely happy, but you never know. Ailis seems like a man-eater, but then again, you never know. Assumptions from a stranger, namely me, hardly seem the best place to gain an accurate impression.” That sounds...safe enough.
Conway shrugged. “I thought maybe...as a nurse, you would have a good, quick way of sizing people up.” His mouth opened as if to add something but he snapped it closed.
Her eyes narrowed. What was he about to say?
“Are you done with me? I’ve got a load of things to deal with.” She stepped away from the table.
“For the moment.” He closed his notepad and glared at her. “But don’t be leaving town.”
“I’ll be leaving when I’m finished, Inspector. But first I have a question for you.”
“What’s that?” he said.
“Why on earth are you questioning Father Ward?”
Conway got to his feet.
She took a step back.
He lifted his hand and pointed out a small window. “Do you see the roof of the cottage over there? The one through the bushes?”
“Yes, so?”
“And do you see the stone wall through the foliage?”
“Yes.”
“Father Ward lives next door to Ailis O’Neill.” He crossed his arms over his chest, appearing smug.
Her heart began to race. She tried to appear all cool and calm. “People live next to all sorts of people, Inspector.” But her insides told her another story. Could Father Ward be both a philanderer and a murderer? There weren’t enough expletives in the world to express her distress.