Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery (22 page)

June 24, 2008

Mr. Matchmaker, you cocksucker,

Pardon my pinched penmanship. I bullied Merrit into running a
useless errand, and now I’m finding it hard to maneuver the pen around the oxygen
tube. Yes, I’m on my last gasps, and all I think about is your clinging presence in
my life. It’s my death’s bed wish to have the last say—at last. Call this a tug from
the other side because I’ll be dead by the time you receive this.

I know your daughter Merrit well, but how could I not after years of
observing her. Merrit’s was a difficult birth. Julia was so tiny, she couldn’t carry
my children afterward. You can imagine my disappointment.

I drift, but without apology. To reiterate, I know Merrit, and she
can’t handle conflicts that impact her most cherished notions, especially about her
mother. I’ve already furrowed the seeds by asking her to help me die. She refuses.
She maintains a daughterly sense of duty despite my indifference, even rancor. But
then, I haven’t yet pushed her past her infernal panic attacks. What shall I say to
breach her meticulous boundaries, to push her past the brink of sanity, you ask?

I imagine if I tell Merrit that my dear Julia was a whore and that
Merrit was a colossal, unwanted mistake, she would see me off to the land of
morphine easily enough. This, Liam, is how I plan to have the last word.

All these words come down to this: I am sending your daughter to
you. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble recognizing her. She’s not the end of the fun,
though. Behold, an act worthy of a standing ovation:

Kate Livingston, a.k.a. Kate Meehan, a.k.a. your other bastard
daughter. Money buys much information, and I have found her for you. I’ve seen
pictures of her, and she’s all yours. With the letter I just finished, Kate will
come find you. Believe me, she will, because my private investigator tells me she
tried to discover your identity through that orphanage we dumped her at. In fact,
seems she’s ruthless when it comes to getting her way. Genetics, a natural
miracle.

I trust this summer will bring you a joyous family reunion. You have
much to answer for: daughters without their mothers. I’m sure they’d like to know
why.

Now, I sign off as these letters must leave with the hospice nurse,
Merrit none the wiser.

Have yourself a nice summer,

Andrew McCallum

• 44 •

Merrit let the letter drop from her benumbed hands, which had shifted from sweaty to icy in the space of a minute. This, she hadn’t expected. Not this sucker punch straight from the grave. She could see Andrew now, the way he’d lain there with alert eyes on a face that had started to cave in on itself, knowing how ripe she was for a meltdown after months of caretaking and days filled with verbal abuse. So methodical and relentless the way he’d used her panic attacks against her. She’d sniffed then as she sniffed now against tension building behind her nose and pushing up against her throat.

“Oh boy,” she said and felt a sting as if she’d inhaled water. She dug her inhaler out from beneath the seat cushion.

Liam rose and retrieved the letter from Merrit’s lap. “Think about what you want to ask me while I see to tea. Strong, black tea.”

Merrit squeezed the inhaler between her hands and concentrated on her breathing. There had to be a purpose for all this—what?—this mess of entangled lives and feuding male egos. At the very least, a purpose for her.

On the positive side, she’d survived reading such a letter. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t used her inhaler. And, after reading such a letter, what more could there be, right? Surely the universe had no more tricks up its sleeves. Maybe now she could relax. A little at least. She hadn’t forgotten Kevin with his quick temper out in his studio.

By the time Liam returned five minutes later, Merrit had her game face on again and was ready with a question. Still, her voice quavered as she asked, “Why didn’t you retie Marcus’s shoes when you returned them?”

If surprised, Liam didn’t show it. He busied himself with tea bags and hot water. “Connected more dots, did you?”

“Marcus’s dots actually.”

“Ah Marcus,” Liam murmured, “the man no one but you would care to believe. And sobriety, the one factor I never considered.” He passed her a cup, then the cream and sugar. “Your turn to talk. I’m curious about your dots.”

She sipped her tea, starting slowly. Liam nodded now and then as she explained how she worked through her confusion. Did someone really make off with Marcus’s shoes only to return them later? Or did a prankster merely untie them? Did a slice of birthday cake really appear then disappear? Finally, that morning, after waking from a long sleep, she had decided to take as fact all of Marcus’s ramblings. Clarity had arrived in short order.

“I was thinking so hard about the disappearing shoes and cake that I failed to see the significance of something else he’d mentioned. Earlier you had brought him dinner, which seemed a kind gesture, so I thought nothing of it. In reality, you brought him food as an excuse to move him to the isolated bench on the far side of the plaza, away from the party. During the party you got the idea to use the afghan because you and Kevin had examined it earlier. This is another fact Marcus mentioned that didn’t mean anything at first. So the second time you visited Marcus, you moved him, fed him, and completed his inebriation with a hot toddy. Now you were set for the proper timing. Later, you used the cake as an excuse to leave the party again. If anyone asked, you were bringing Marcus dessert.”

“It wasn’t as if I had a well-thought-out plan,” Liam said. “Cutting that bloody piece of cake was the trickiest bit, truth be told, because if Mrs. O’Brien had seen me at it, she’d have whipped up a song and endless toasts. But I managed it and mingled my way out the door and clapped backs with a few revelers near the lane and then went on my way.”

“I’m surprised no one commented.”

“Every year it’s the same chaos with these parties. Everyone knows I get annoyed with so much bother and might wander into another pub for a break. Or sneak out the back door for fresh air. And even Mrs. O’Brien can’t be everywhere at once with that prying nose of hers. I wasn’t acting furtive, you know. I’m not that daft. Besides, the party was in full broil by then.”

Merrit returned the smile that upended his lips. Then recalled why, after all, she was here and dropped her gaze to the fireplace. “You felt safe enough when you wrapped the afghan around yourself, except that it was too short so you needed Marcus’s silly shoes. Oh, just Marcus, anyone would think, if they noticed at all. Most people look right past him, don’t they?”

Liam grunted agreement.

“In fact, when Mrs. O’Brien said she saw Marcus lurching about on the plaza, she saw you.”

“Maybe that bloody woman
is
everywhere at once.”

“From there, you sauntered over to Internet Café. On your return trip to Marcus you ditched the afghan, it being bloody”—she hesitated at his squint, but he didn’t deny it so she continued—“but why take the cake away after returning Marcus his shoes?”

“Because I realized my fingerprints were on that plate and also the dinner plate and the glass I’d left earlier. I threw them away on my way back to the party.” He mused a moment. “I suppose this consideration caused me to forget to tie his shoes.”

Merrit sank her head into the impression of Kevin’s upper back in the chair cushion. She still cradled the little black box in her hands. Firelight brushed it with a touch of Van Gogh’s orange. She kept picturing her mom’s tears on the day she died.

“If my only goal in 1975 was to preserve my relationship with Julia,” Liam said, “then so it goes now with Kevin. He’d never forgive me, not so much for causing and then covering up Adrienne’s death, but for abandoning Kate only to turn around and adopt him. And he’d know me for a fraud too. I didn’t adopt him because I longed to be a father but for reasons that only made sense in the moment. His world of hurt rammed into my world of hurt, and the decision chose me.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but surely—”

“I lost Julia, didn’t I? The way she looked at me for the last time on the plaza still haunts me. So much pain and so much disillusionment. I refuse to cause the same for Kevin. Once in a lifetime is enough. I couldn’t—can’t—risk it. I know Kevin too well. He’s a man of convictions, which means that when his truth shatters, he shatters. He’s put his faith in me—too much faith—and his belief in me, in my goodness, wouldn’t survive the reality of who I am. In other words, this time around I wasn’t going to lose another relationship to the vagaries of chance—and by the thinnest of circumstances, I’ve succeeded.”

“Vagaries of chance?”

“That I should happen to receive a letter that propelled me into Lonnie’s shop to confirm Andrew’s death. That Lonnie was just the type to be intrigued. That Lonnie happened to have a computer whiz at his side.” He tapped his teacup a little too hard against its saucer. “More senseless than a headless chicken to go to Lonnie’s shop, but I couldn’t think what else to do to avoid Kevin’s questions. He was already too curious about the bloody letter. I tried to forget the letter, believe me, I did. But it clawed at me for weeks until I finally had to know if Andrew McCallum died as he’d planned.”

He grimaced into his teacup. “A little whiskey? I’m in need.”

She waved him down and trotted into the kitchen. “To the right of the sink,” he called. She found the liquor cabinet easily enough. Reaching for the bottle, she peered through the window above the sink toward a tidy little building with the same green trim as Liam’s house. Kevin appeared in one of its lit windows and then disappeared only to reappear in another. He sat down and hunched over an object Merrit couldn’t make out. Kevin still might interrupt them at any moment. She didn’t relish facing him in his own territory. The hospital was bad enough.

Back in front of the fire, Merrit handed Liam the bottle. He poured a shot into his tea while Merrit held her cup out for a slosh. He continued talking as if she hadn’t left the room, telling her that on the day of the party Lonnie had threatened to go to Kevin with the information about Adrienne Meehan.

“I hadn’t heard that name said aloud in thirty-three years. Imagine my shock. I had paid him his €500 because Kevin didn’t need to know about sisters and start rooting around in my past. All annoying enough, but then Lonnie demanded €1,000 because he’d landed on Adrienne’s death. Would he have told Kevin about her death? Maybe not. But then maybe. I couldn’t have that, but I didn’t start the evening with anything in mind either. Marcus had mentioned you were Lonnie’s date, so I watched out for you with interest. Noticed you well before you knocked my presents over. That was a precious moment, by the way. Quite the entertainment.” He yawned back in an almost laugh before continuing. “It wasn’t until Lonnie whispered in my ear about you that I knew he had you under his thumb also.”

“What did he say?”

“He reminded me that we had an appointment later that evening, and mentioned that by the way, you had also paid him for my sins. Unfortunately, that’s when the ball really dropped for the little sod. If he could get money out of you for that reason, he’d have no qualms going to Kevin if the mood struck him. I had to take back control. It didn’t help that seeing you on Lonnie’s arm rekindled memories of Julia on Andrew’s even down to Lonnie’s smug and self-entitled smirk.” Liam’s face settled into an expression of wry self-deprecation. “Like a fool, I fancied I could rescue you from Lonnie’s grasp as I couldn’t your mother from Andrew’s.”

He paused. Firelight bronzed his skin, colored in his wrinkles.

“So,” Merrit said.

“So, yes, I made do with what was on hand. Unfortunately, the first thing that popped into my head was your afghan. The next thing, the knife. I took Marcus his dinner as you said. I needed him passed out so I could borrow the afghan.” He waved a hand. “You guessed the rest.”

Merrit held out her cup for another tipple, thinking about Kevin in his studio, possibly unaware of the extent of Liam’s love. “About Kevin—”

“Yes, Kevin. This conversation must come back to him. He was four years old when I visited the orphanage a few days after the festival ended.”

Merrit almost stopped his recitation because she’d only meant to ask him what time he expected Kevin in for dinner. Instead, she sipped and tried to be OK with her Goldilocks presence in Kevin’s chair.

“I had a mind to satisfy myself that baby Kate was safely tucked away,” Liam said. “That’s all.”

He was lost in words now, back to the day he met Kevin. Melancholic envy jabbed at Merrit, the taste of it sour in her mouth. Ridiculous to hope that some of their closeness might rub off on her and that she might have a reason to stay longer. Theirs was a whole bond not readily cut into bite-size pieces for donation to the stray on their doorstop.

“Sometimes,” Liam said, “I think about the small miracles that can occur in our darkest moments. Are they only coincidences? Or are they destiny? There I sat in the waiting room with a couple who waved their completed paperwork and raved about the cutest mite they’d ever seen. He was the sunniest most affectionate little boy and ran to them when they visited. I sat there mired in my misery while they flipped through an orphanage album. If I’d only taken the album when they’d pressed it on me, if I’d only pulled it from their grasp and cooed over the pictures of Kevin, they’d never have continued flipping and thus landed on the photo of the newest arrival. Kate.” His expression turned sour. “Get her now before she’s snapped up!”

He tossed doctored tea into the fireplace and the fire hissed. “They called in a nun to discuss Kate while another nun led me to the nursery to view her. She looked healthier than ever, and, believe me, I was glad for that. I was hardly there two minutes and already on my way out when the couple barreled in with ferocious expressions like they wanted to rip Kate from my arms.”

Merrit held her breath, and Kevin the man came into focus with his curious mixture of reticence and pugnacious loyalty. Liam glanced at her and nodded.

“Right you are. They nearly trampled over Kevin in their haste to get to Kate. To them, he no longer existed. His lost look as they passed him by, it about broke my heart again. This too was my fault.”

“You were there in the perfect moment for both of you.”

“Maybe so.” Liam grabbed his knees in a tight grip. “You Merrit, can allow me peaceful times with Kevin. Or not. If you want me all to yourself all you have to do is explain the story behind his adoption.”

She shook her head, confused and feeling the whiskey now. The more she shook her head, the more he nodded by contrast until at last he said, “Come now, this is a grand opportunity.”

“For what?” Merrit angled herself in the chair so that she faced him. “You vowed you’d never let yourself be railroaded again so why give me power over your relationship with Kevin? It doesn’t make sense, especially because I could turn you into the Garda. They’d figure out your part in Lonnie’s death.”

“As if I care about them. I have nothing to lose except Kevin.” His gaze turned inward. “Rest assured that I have a reason for everything I say.”

“Oh, please, what a crock of Irish shite.”

“So it would seem, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re now in a position—like Kate was—to get what you want out of me.”

Merrit swallowed the last of her whiskey. Her yearning must be transparent, leaking out of her like a needy, despicable creature that would trade on Liam’s vulnerability and Kevin’s finely tuned sensibilities.

“No,” she said. “I’m in no position to judge you. Try granting power to someone who likes it—someone more like you.”

Or someone more like Kate, she didn’t say, but once again he seemed to know her thoughts because he said, “Less like me is better, I think.”

The fire sizzled and behind her a grandfather clock ticked Merrit forward in time whether or not she cared to go. Kate. One hard-starting bite of air, no cutie-fying her name. Kate, who died in eerie mimic of her mother. A cranky rumbling sound approached the house, interrupting Merrit’s next question.

“Ah,” Liam said, “that would be Danny.”

Merrit rose. “I’d better go.”

“No, stay. There’s no going back now.”

Merrit lowered herself onto the chair, woozy from the whiskey. In a way, she was glad for the interruption. Her brain was so full of Liam’s words they were about to dribble out her ears.