Better Together (27 page)

She stopped off at the deli before going to the house and picked up a bottle of wine. Although she’d come to an arrangement with Nina about paying for any dinners (because she didn’t think it was right to sponge off the other woman’s generous nature), the price Nina had suggested didn’t reflect the fact that last time they’d guzzled a bottle between them.

The guesthouse was, as ever, warm and cosy, but Sheridan thought that Nina was distracted as she served up an aromatic shepherd’s pie.

‘Is everything OK?’ she asked eventually.

‘Sure,’ said Nina, who then retreated into silence again while Sheridan studied her covertly. She thought the older woman looked stressed, and eventually said so.

‘Ah, I was just reminiscing,’ said Nina. ‘Thinking about life here a long time ago.’

‘It must be strange to have lived in the same small town for your whole life,’ remarked Sheridan.

‘Not for me,’ Nina said. ‘But maybe for Sean.’

‘Did he go away?’

Nina told her about Sean’s years in Dublin, of his struggle to be an actor and of how he eventually returned to Ardbawn.

‘So that’s why you think he’s living the dream now? And why you’re prepared to forgive him for Lulu Adams?’

‘I’ve always felt . . . that I held him back,’ admitted Nina. ‘I trapped him into the sort of life that he wasn’t really suited to.’

‘Hardly trapped,’ said Sheridan.

Nina looked pensive.

‘Sean’s failings are his, not yours,’ Sheridan said. ‘You shouldn’t feel that him having an affair is your fault. That’s ridiculous.’

‘I wish I was as strong as you,’ said Nina.

‘You are,’ Sheridan reminded her. ‘You threw him out in the first place.’

‘Yes, I did.’

Sheridan desperately wanted to tell Nina not to take him back. But, she told herself, she knew nothing about their relationship. It wasn’t up to her to tell Nina anything at all.

After dinner, Sheridan sat in the residents’ lounge with her laptop and a cup of coffee. Nina said that she had things to do in the kitchen and left her alone. Sheridan had found out the name of the police sergeant who’d investigated Elva O’Malley’s accidental death, and she was planning to set up a meeting with him to ask him about it. Vinnie Murray was now a superintendent based in Kilkenny. Sheridan hadn’t yet
decided how she’d explain her interest in the old tragedy, but she was good at getting people to talk to her, and she hoped the policeman would have snippets of information that weren’t already public knowledge. She was now absolutely convinced there was something worth writing about when it came to Paudie O’Malley’s private life. The only thing that surprised her was that nobody else seemed to have beaten her to it.

After a while she stopped looking at her laptop and gazed into space instead. Without even meaning to, she was thinking of Joe again. She had to keep reminding herself that the most attractive man she’d ever met in her life had asked her on a date. A proper date, in the posh restaurant of the Riverview Hotel. She didn’t usually do posh restaurants. She frowned slightly as she considered her wardrobe, which was certainly not posh-restaurant friendly. But you don’t have to get tarted up, she reminded herself. People don’t, these days. Not unless it’s a seriously glam affair. You’re only going to dinner. With a man you want to impress. She realised, with a shock, that impressing men wasn’t something she’d tried to do much of before.

Now you’re being silly, she said, under her breath. He’s a man, not some kind of being you have to dazzle. Cop on to yourself, woman. You can wear jeans and a nice top and you’ll be fine.

She turned to her laptop again, but she was still thinking about Joe. The trouble was, she wanted to be more than fine for him. She wanted to be special. She wanted him to be pleased that he’d asked her out. Proud to be with her. She didn’t care if that made her seem shallow. It wasn’t shallow to want to look your best. Was it?

She twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. It could do with a cut, she thought. Maybe a conditioning treatment too. Perhaps . . . No, she told herself firmly. No way am I getting a full body treatment at the spa before meeting him. No matter how soft and smooth Ritz promises I’ll be afterwards. I can’t afford it. And I’m not going to turn into the sort of woman who thinks she has to spend hours primping and preening herself before going out. I’m not. Absolutely. I’m fine the way I am.

I still need a new dress, though, she murmured. Maybe I’ll check out the shops at the weekend. After all, I haven’t bought anything but fleeces in ages.

Sheridan picked up a copy of the
Central News
on her way to Kilkenny the following Saturday morning. She scanned her piece on the land dispute, which she thought was very even handed (it had been a major challenge to explain the opposing points of view of both parties because they were both reasonable yet mutually exclusive); she also saw that DJ hadn’t changed her amendments to Des’s sports reports, which pleased her (she wondered if Des himself noticed them; they were even more radical than the previous week). Her Ask Sarah column, which advised an angst-ridden girl against stalking a previous boyfriend, sounded both calm and sympathetic and she hoped that the girl herself would think so too. She finished up with a look at the horoscopes, hoping that Nina would take her advice about putting the past behind her. As for her own – her life had improved immeasurably since telling herself that she was back to winning ways. She totally was. Absolutely. Even if her winning ways were entirely related to having a date with the sexiest man in Ardbawn.

Despite the fact that the main reason for her trip to Kilkenny was to talk to the garda superintendent who’d been involved in the investigation into Elva O’Malley’s death, she also
planned to see if she could find a suitable dress for her night out – though without Talia to advise her she wasn’t entirely sure she’d succeed in achieving the wow factor she aspired to. All the same, she was hopeful of finding something a little more upmarket than her wardrobe currently contained.

I’ve got to stop thinking about clothes and make-up, she told herself as she swung into the grounds of the garda station, at least until I’ve interviewed Superintendent Vinnie Murray and got the low-down from him on Elva’s death. After that I can embrace my inner feminine side. If I can find it.

She got out of the car, locked it and went inside. The superintendent, a genial man who looked to be in his late fifties, was ready for her. Sheridan had been slightly surprised, but also relieved, when he’d readily agreed to talk to her. She’d told him – without mentioning Paudie or Elva – that she was just looking for background information on a past case he’d been involved in. Vinnie Murray had reminded her that there was a press office that could help her with whatever she was writing about, and Sheridan had replied that she was just trying to get a feel for the subject and that her piece wasn’t about the case as such but it would be great to talk to him all the same.

Martyn Powell had always said that one of Sheridan’s greatest assets as a sports reporter was in persuading even the most reluctant athlete or manager to open up to her. When Vinnie Murray told her he could spare her half an hour, she was relieved she hadn’t lost her touch.

‘We’ll go out for a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘My office is a mess.’

They walked as far as the Hibernian Hotel, where Sheridan
ordered a cappuccino for herself and a tea for the garda and explained that she was interested in the Elva O’Malley case.

‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘Every so often someone with an interest in Paudie asks about it. It was a tragedy for him, of course.’

‘There’s very little concrete information. I wondered if there was more to it than came out at the time.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Sheridan. ‘I suppose I was hoping for a juicy murder mystery.’

The superintendent laughed. ‘I’ve only investigated one murder in my life and this wasn’t it. Ardbawn isn’t Midsomer, you know.’

Sheridan chuckled. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t have liked to think I could be struck down at any moment by a member of the church choir or something.’

‘Hopefully there are no homicidal maniacs in the stalls waiting to hit you over the head with a candlestick. You said you’re working with the
Central News
. A bit of conflict, don’t you think, in investigating Paudie?’

‘I’m not investigating him,’ protested Sheridan. ‘I’m trying to put a story together. It’s not for the
Central News
. It’s just a profile piece on him and his life.’

‘Have you spoken to him at all yet?’

‘Not yet,’ admitted Sheridan. ‘I wanted to know as much as possible about him before I did.’

‘Have you spoken to anybody in Ardbawn?’

‘Only Nina Fallon. She’s the owner of the guesthouse where I’m staying.’

Vinnie Murray nodded and added a heaped spoonful of sugar to his tea.

‘Look, I’m curious, that’s all. He’s such a successful man and there’s so little about him. The whole thing about his wife is interesting. Defining, maybe.’

‘Defining?’ The garda looked thoughtful. ‘Probably. It certainly changed his outlook on life.’

‘So what exactly happened?’ asked Sheridan.

‘Elva O’Malley fell out of an upstairs window, hit the ground below and died instantly,’ said Superintendent Murray.

‘How did she fall?’ asked Sheridan.

‘We could never say for sure what caused it.’

‘Was it an accident?’

The garda spooned more sugar into his cup.

‘There was no one else involved.’

‘Was she drunk? Or on drugs?’

‘There was alcohol in her blood, and we found a half-empty bottle of wine on the kitchen table.’

‘Oh. I didn’t see anything about that in the stuff I read.’

Vinnie shrugged.

‘So it’s possible that alcohol contributed to it.’

‘Possible.’

‘Was it suicide?’ asked Sheridan.

‘There was no note. Suicides, tragically, are something I’ve seen a few times. And every time there was a note.’

‘So you think it was simply an accident?’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘You’re very sure about that.’

‘There was nothing to make us believe otherwise. There was no break-in and no burglary, so we had no reason to think that she surprised an intruder. Her husband – and you know how it is in the best detective novels, we always suspect the husband – was at a meeting with three other people when
she died. Cast-iron alibi.’ The superintendent looked intently at her. ‘In real life when people have cast-iron alibis it usually means they’re in the clear. It’s not like the movies, where they’re involved in some elaborate and frankly implausible plot.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sheridan shook her head. ‘There’s plenty of unsolved cases around. Or ones where years later you find out that someone’s got away with what seemed the perfect crime.’

‘Not this time.’ Vinnie Murray was definite.

‘All the same, there was big, big insurance payout afterwards.’

‘That’s why we investigated it thoroughly. We might be in the sticks but we’re not morons, you know.’

‘Had she been upset or worried in the days leading up to the accident?’

The garda smiled. ‘You’re a right little Miss Marple, aren’t you?’

‘Not really,’ said Sheridan. ‘I’m not trying to solve anything here. Apparently you know what happened. But it’s a sad story.’

‘It was sad for everyone.’

‘Could Paudie have hit her?’ asked Sheridan, after a moment where neither of them spoke. ‘Maybe earlier in the day or something? And she could have had concussion, which led to her falling out of the window.’

‘There were no signs of injury on Elva O’Malley that weren’t consistent with a fall.’

Sheridan sighed. ‘OK. OK. So maybe she was simply drunk . . . Did she have an alcohol problem?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘So why the wine in the middle of the day?’

‘It wasn’t that much,’ the garda said. ‘A couple of glasses. Perhaps she’d drunk them in the garden earlier, relaxing. It was a glorious weather.’

‘All the same . . .’ Sheridan considered things a bit more. ‘Any chance Paudie was having an affair?’

‘If he was, the woman didn’t turn up in his life afterwards,’ Vinnie pointed out.

‘I heard that there
was
a woman.’ Sheridan looked suddenly hopeful. ‘I even saw her picture in the paper.’

But the superintendent shook his head. ‘Rose O’Reilly, from Castlecomer. More than three years later. And it didn’t last.’

‘Perhaps they were playing a waiting game. Maybe Paudie knew that Elva was a bit flaky and was trying to drive her to it.’

Vinnie Murray laughed. ‘You’ve definitely been watching too much TV,’ he told her.

Sheridan looked dejected. ‘You’re making it very difficult.’

‘I’m just saying that perhaps you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ said the garda. ‘Elva’s death was a tragic accident and Paudie had to work hard to get over it.’

‘It’s the money part that makes it interesting,’ Sheridan confessed. ‘Mid-level businessman becomes multimillionaire after his wife dies. So it’s not surprising people were suspicious.’

‘Of course they were,’ said the superintendent. ‘We were too. We’d have been negligent not to have been. But I can tell you here and now that Paudie would’ve preferred to have his wife than the insurance money. He loved her, and he was truly devastated when she died.’

‘He could’ve been a great actor.’

‘No,’ said the garda. ‘His grief was genuine.’

‘Fair enough.’ Sheridan slumped in the seat. ‘I guess I wanted it to be dramatic and exciting, but things don’t always work out the way you want. I should bloody well know that by now.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘Ah, you know, it’s probably a good thing.’ Sheridan smiled at him. ‘I’m trying too hard to find mysteries where there aren’t any.’

‘We did a thorough investigation,’ said Vinnie Murray. ‘Paudie wasn’t the big businessman that he is now, but he was still a well-known figure in the town. If there’d been something untoward, we would have uncovered it. We’re not stupid.’

‘I didn’t think you were.’