Chapter Sixteen
Lassi followed Penny down the village street, heading for her great-aunt’s cottage, with her head in the clouds—which wasn’t hard since the bloody puffs of condensation seemed to smother the village. Like, all the fecking time. She turned behind her, wondering if she should chase after Inspector Conway and get all in-his-face dramatic, demanding, “What do you mean mid-rampage?” How does he know it’s mid anything? Does he know more than he’s letting on? She shook the sludge from her brain. You’re tired. Don’t go getting all paranoid. Rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger helped ease some of the strain.
Passing the church, her thoughts drifted toward Cillian. Where is he now? What is he doing? Erotically charged sensations swirled through her body. Is he down in the rectory? Is he covering his tracks? Is he...?
“Girl, are you listening to me?”
Lassi blinked.
Penny had stopped and stood with her hands on her generous hips.
“I’m sorry, what?” Lassi blinked a few times.
“I was asking how you liked it here in Ballyna-wonderful, our charming village.” A pleasant smile crossed her lips.
Lassi blinked some more. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her smile. She’s almost...pretty. She returned the smile. “I’ll let you know once some tea has crossed my lips. I haven’t been getting my cuppa in the morning.”
Penny nodded and they continued toward the cottage.
As they strode down the hill, with Penny nattering on about how “Mrs. McGowan’s sheep were refusing the ram like they’d taken to feminism or what not,” and “Mr. O’Leary’s pigs would make tasty sausage this year, what with the feed he’s been giving them,” Lassi’s mind fuzzed over with nostalgic leanings. It might not be so bad living in a place where everyone knew everybody’s business. She pictured herself living in great-aunt Roberta’s cottage, serving the local community’s labor and delivery needs. Maybe popping off to Dublin a couple of days a week to work the big city. Living down the hill from Cillian.
Waves of desire shook her from head to toe. She kicked a rock, sending it flying. Right. Me and the murderer. I could visit him in jail after finding more dead cats and God knows what underneath the piles and piles of crap in the cottage.
When they got Great-Aunt Roberta’s, Lassi threw open the door.
Mr. Meow came flying from some hiding place on the porch, shooting past her legs through the door.
“Gah!” Lassi exclaimed.
“Oh, there’s Crusty McKitty,” Penny said. “He was always Roberta’s favorite.” She reached down to scratch his furry head. “He likes the cheese, this one does.”
He lets her scratch his head, he lets Cillian hypnotize him to sleep...but he hisses at me. Perfect.
“Oh, he’ll eat most anything,” Lassi grumbled.
Penny wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?” She stamped her feet on the Not-Welcome mat.
“What smell?” Lassi asked, hanging her coat on the hook.
“It smells like you got the iron too hot on the sheets and burnt them. Horrible smell.” She waved her hand in front of her nose.
Lassi cringed, picturing her scorched outline on the sheets. “Who knows. I’ve disturbed a lot of debris since I arrived.”
The implications of that statement didn’t escape her. The grave, Cillian, Great-Aunt Roberta’s hidey-hole in the wall—I could go on and on.
She trundled down the hall and into the kitchen. Then, she grabbed the tea kettle and stood before the sink, staring at the faucet. Cautiously, she reached out to turn the handle. No sparks. She filled the kettle and trekked toward the wall socket. She managed to plug the kettle in without anything shorting out. Her gaze fell to the rotary wall phone. She picked up the handset and pressed it to her ear. Nothing.
I wish whatever weird shite keeps happening around here would fix the fecking phone. I’d love to call some of my friends in Dublin. We could all have a good laugh about my time in Ballynagaul.
A long sigh left her lungs.
“So, Liam was out for a bit last night,” Penny said from the kitchen doorway.
“Excuse me?” Lassi’s attention yanked back to the moment.
“He was out, doing whatever Liam does. Probably walking to clear his mind. He does that. He gets muddle-headed in the pub.”
Lassi leaned against the counter. “Doesn’t that seem odd given the fact that Ailis was killed last night? You’re not worried?”
“What? Liam’s harmless enough.” Penny let out a giggle. “He would never leave me or do anything to me. My family is from this village. Liam is the outsider. Everything we have is in my name.”
Lassi lifted her gaze to Penny. I’d think that would give Liam every reason to off Penny. And why isn’t she the least bit tweaked I’m basically accusing Liam of being a murderer?
“What fool would bite the hand that feeds him?” Penny continued.
Lassi eyed Crusty McKitty, who sat near a pile of papers, grooming himself. That one.
“Oh!” Penny’s hand flew to her bosom. “Speaking of Liam, I remembered something I need to attend to. I must get back to the Laughing Rat.”
“But we haven’t had tea yet,” Lassi said, with a whine to her voice.
“Tea can wait,” Penny said, swirling her hand in the air. “I’ll let myself out, girlie.” She pivoted and plodded down the hallway, leaving Lassi alone in the kitchen.
The water kettle dinged. Lassi got a mug out of the cupboard. She picked up the stainless steel kettle and cautiously poured water into it, watching for signs of anything unusual. Nothing. She fished a tea bag out of the box where she’d left it this morning, and dunked it into the mug.
Loud banging erupted from the foyer.
“Gah! For fecking bloody hell!” She slammed the mug on the counter and marched toward the front door, taking satisfaction in each pounding footstep. Flinging open the door, she barked, “This had better be fast.”
“Or, what?” Inspector Brown stood at her door, wearing a slate gray raincoat to match her gray hair.
Lassi jerked back. “Or, my tea will get cold—again.”
She swished her hand toward the kitchen and smiled, hoping for levity to erase her outburst.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions. May I come in?”
Lassi hesitated. Can I say no? Will refusing to let her in make me look guilty? She huffed out a quick, deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Of course. Whatever you need. But I doubt I know more than I did this morning.” She moved away from the door.
Brown wiped her feet on the Not-Welcome mat and strode into the foyer, like she owned the damn place. Droplets of rain shook from her as she ambled inside. She retrieved a notebook from her roomy pocket and pulled a pen from the coils holding the paper together. Then, she flipped the cover until she got to a blank sheet.
“This won’t take long. Were you with Penny O’Donnell just now?” She flashed a sharp-edged gaze at Lassi.
“She stopped by for tea, yes.”
“I thought you said the tea was getting cold?”
“What? Yes, it is. Penny remembered something she had to take care of at the pub.” Lassi drew her arms behind her back and clasped them, hoping to calm her beating heart. If she crossed her arms over her chest she’d appear defensive.
“Is that right?”
“I said it was, so I guess it is,” she snapped.
“You guess or it’s the truth?” Brown lifted her badger-like gaze to Lassi.
“It’s the truth. Why would I make up something dumb like that?” She clutched her hands to keep from wringing the Inspector’s neck. Deep breaths, Lassi, deep breaths. “I’m sorry but I’m as tense as the next person. There’s a murderer in our midst.”
“Is that your professional assessment, your personal assessment, or your opinion?”
Lassi’s face scrunched. “What? It’s the reality of this fecking village.”
“You don’t like Ballynagaul much, do you?” Brown tapped the pen on the notepaper.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Lassi’s arms fell to her sides. Her hands balled into fists.
“When we don’t like something, we often do something else to relieve the discomfort.” Brown’s gray eyes narrowed into slits.
“Like accuse innocent people of something they didn’t do?” Lassi folded her arms in front of her chest. I don’t care if she thinks I’m defensive or not.
“We’re only trying to find the underlying cause of things, Miss Finn.”
“Well, why don’t you speak to Liam? Or...” Cillian. She choked his name away with a throat-clearing cough.
“We’re very thorough with our investigation, Miss Finn. We’ll get to all suspects.”
“Am I a suspect?” Lassi spluttered.
“I’m not saying anything affirmative or negative.” Brown closed her notebook.
“But you’re questioning me like I am.”
“Guilt is in the eyes of the guilty, Miss Finn.”
Lassi threw up her arms. “Look. All I want to do is clean up my great-aunt’s estate and get back to Dublin and keep delivering babies and caring for mothers. That’s it.”
“So, you don’t care what happens to the people of Ballynagaul?”
“Good Christ, how you came up with that notion out of me wanting to go home is a mystery to me.” She glared at Inspector Brown.
Brown held her gaze. After a few long, tortured seconds, she dropped the notebook into her pocket. “I think we’re done here.”
“Good. I’d have invited you in for tea but as you know, it’s cold by now.” Lassi, hold your sharp tongue before you get into trouble.
Brown eyed her in one long, lingering gaze that made Lassi’s skin crawl. Then, the Inspector took her leave.
Lassi closed the door, pivoted, and leaned her back against it. She let her head fall against the wood with a thunk. “Good Christ, what I would give to get the hell away from Bally. I’m going to end up in jail. I didn’t do it!”
Crusty McKitty sauntered toward her down the hall, making weird, triumphant meows. He moved toward her bearing a rat in his jaws.
“Uh, is that for me?” Lassi pushed away from the wall.
Crusty dropped the horrid gray rodent on the floor.
The varmint skittered away.
Lassi yelped. She threw open the front door, hoping to shoo the small creature from the house.
The rat scooted under the sofa.
Crusty McKitty chased after him. He crouched next to the couch and batted at the rodent with his paws.
Lassi raced down the hall toward the kitchen. She retrieved a broom from the pantry and hurried back to the front room. She lowered to her hands and knees, shoved the broom handle underneath the couch, and began swiping at the rat. The handle kept getting caught on something solid so she had to sweep, lift over solid-thingy, and sweep. Sweep, lift over solid-thingy, and sweep again.
Finally, the rat shot out from underneath the sofa.
She leaped to her feet and chased after the fecking thing, swinging the broom. Crusty McKitty was in hot pursuit right behind. Managing to catch the rat in the straws of the broom, with one huge swing, she sent it hurtling out the front door, along with the cat.
Slamming the door, she declared, “I need to get out of here.”
Without further thought, she grabbed her coat and stormed out the front. Striding toward the rectory, she caught sight of Cillian heading in the direction of the beach.
“Cillian. Wait up!”
The wind snagged her words and sent them flying in the opposite direction. She scurried after his rapidly retreating, long-legged stride.
As he approached the gravesite, his footsteps quickened.
Why is he going there? Is he the one defiling the grave and accusing me as a ploy to cover his actions?
Twilight began its descent, its darkness crashing around her like the waves which power-blasted the shore. The wind shrieked in howling screams. Her hair whipped around her head, lashing her cheeks and eyes.
When a short space stood between her and Cillian, she yelled, “Cillian!”
He whirled around. “What?”
His face appeared as dark and brooding as the landscape.
She hopped backward. “I....I wondered...”
“What did you wonder?” He loomed over her, his black attire matching the sky.
She steadied her stance and leaned into the wind. “What are you doing here?”
“My business,” he snapped.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Okay...” She tried again. “I’m worried about Penny. I think Liam might be the killer.”
“Why would you think that, you who doesn’t like it here and barely knows anyone?”
He’d never acted unkindly toward her, ever. Why is he being a twitchy asshole? “What the bloody hell is your problem? Why are you snapping at me?”
“Because I’m pissed, that’s why.” Sharp angles shadowed his cheeks. “I’m being questioned like I’m a suspect, people are dying...and you’re the one who had to rearrange these stones.” His arm whipped toward the grave.
“Hey! I didn’t defile it. I only made it tidy out of respect.”
His mouth pressed into a tight line and he shook his head. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
He grabbed her elbow and whirled her about.
“Quit manhandling me.” She tried to yank away but his grip proved too strong.
“It’s not safe.” He began marching her up the hill. “You need to stay put.”
“Cillian! What’s going on?” Icy chills rippled along her skin.
He stayed silent as he continued to usher her up the incline.
There’s got to be more to this story. She fumed as she let him haul her toward the cottage. I’m going to dig through all my aunt’s belongings in the morning. I’ve got to find some answers.
When they stood at Great-Aunt Roberta’s front door, she fumbled for the key. Once she found it, she slid it into the lock and turned it.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her close. “Lassi, love. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
She stiffened.
He kissed the top of her head.
The warmth of him melted her snippy mood. She twisted in his embrace so she could face him.
“You seem to know more than you’re letting on. What’s going on, Cillian?” Her words emerged in a whisper.
He shook his head slowly, a haunting, melancholy expression coloring his features. “There’s more to this than I could ever reveal.”
Before she could utter a protest, he inclined his head and brought his lips to hers.
For several delicious seconds, Lassi let herself be swallowed up in sensation.
Cillian stirred passion and longing like no one had ever done. He disintegrated her staunch resolve to put her career first, to be wedded to her job and not a fecking man, and to never let anyone too close—all sentiments she declared after Donny Murray broke her heart in nursing school by secretly dating Susie O’Shey.
When he released her, his voice came out husky and raw. “Please keep all the doors and windows locked tight. Promise me.”
He gripped her jaw with his hand.
She pushed his hand away. “I promise. But would you please tell me why? Why all the mystery? What the hell is going on?”
His eyes held desperation, as if willing her to not probe too deeply. “Promise me. I’ve waited such a long time for you. I’d hate to have any harm come to you.”
Shivers danced along her skin, as if the finger bones of a skeleton were dragged up her back.
Cillian kissed the top of her head again. “Get inside the house. I won’t leave until I hear the door lock tight.”
The shiver became a shudder. “You’re freaking me out here.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“I can’t tell you. I can only implore you to do as I ask.”
Anger warred with fear, cinching her belly tight.
“Why can’t you tell me anything?” She threw her arms up.
“Because I can’t.” He gripped her shoulders fiercely.
“You’re going to draw blood,” she hissed.
He released his fingers and glanced to look behind. When he turned back toward her, his face was lined with worry.
“Now go.” He reached behind her, twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open.
She stumbled into the house, shut the door, and locked the deadbolt. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for Cillian’s footsteps.
A few seconds later, they crunched along the driveway, growing softer and softer. The passion he’d stoked faded, replaced by terror.
“Good Christ,” she said, turning to scurry down the hall. “No wonder Penny’s not afraid of Liam. I’m growing increasingly convinced that Cillian...the man I can’t stop thinking about...is the one we should all be terrified of. I may have doubted it before, but now, I’m certain Cillian Ward is the murderer.”