Murder at the Monks' Table (29 page)

Detective Inspector White studied him for a moment. “And where exactly did you see this odd sheet?”

Reedy chuckled. “The Case of the Odd Sheet,” he said. “Sounds like a title for a thriller.”

White shot him a look that could have soured milk. “Where?” he repeated, more gently this time.

“On the clothesline at Lynch's house.”

“Lynch again, is it?” White seemed to be chewing on the thought. He took his notebook from his jacket pocket and jotted down something. Then he turned toward his partner. “And what was it you were trying to tell me, Brian, when we left the nuns' mews?”

“Just that.” Reedy ran his fingers through his short red hair. “It's Lynch's name, again,” he said with a half smile. “I was wondering if we shouldn't have a little meeting with our chairman. Ask him a few questions about his relationship with Mrs. Cox.”

Reedy sat on the edge of the desk. Liam heard it creak.

“Wouldn't that be the limit?” Reedy said, thinking aloud. “The Oyster Festival chairman turning out to be a murderer.”

“Stranger things have happened,” White said philosophically.

Liam couldn't help wondering when.

 

 

A sharp rap on the front door of the mews startled Sister Mary Helen.

“Who in the world can that be?” Eileen whispered. “Were we expecting anyone else?”

Mary Helen shook her head. The rap came again, this time more insistently.

“Whoever it is wants in,” she said, moving quickly to the door and opening it a crack.

At first glance she did not recognize the person standing outside. Whoever it was stood tall and wore a hooked fleece jacket, which covered his face and most of his hair. What the jacket didn't cover was wound in a green tartan scarf. Under
his arm he carried a large rectangular package carefully wrapped in brown paper and covered with plastic. Only when she saw his enormous blue eyes did she recognize Jake Powers.

“Come in, Jake,” she said, standing back to make room. “What brings you out on such a wet day?”

“Let me have your coat and I'll hang it by the heater,” Eileen said before he had a chance to answer.

Once his coat was hung and his scarf draped over a chair, Jake settled down on the couch, the wrapped package beside him.

Without even asking, Eileen brought him a cup of hot tea that he cradled in his blue-tipped fingers. “Can I bring you a little biscuit to go with that?” Eileen asked. Mary Helen could not get used to calling a cookie a biscuit. Maybe if she stayed longer….

“Ah, no. This is grand,” he said after the first long swallow and closed his eyes.

Mary Helen shot Eileen a quick inquisitive look. Was he just visiting, or was there some real purpose for his coming?

Eileen simply shrugged and sat quietly.

Finishing the hot tea in five big gulps, Jake put down the cup.
Poor man's throat must be on fire,
Mary Helen thought.

But if it was, Jake wasn't letting on. “Now,” he began after several moments of tense quiet in which everyone seemed to be searching unsuccessfully for an opening sentence. “You must be wondering why I'm here,” he said and reached for the package beside him. With a self-conscious grin, he handed it to Sister Mary Helen and waited expectantly for her to open it.

From its size and feel, she was sure it was a framed photograph. Carefully she removed the plastic and then the brown paper. She caught her breath. She had never expected anything so beautiful.

Jake's camera had captured a small piece of a rock garden with all its swirls and hollows. In shades of gray, he had caught
the beauty of its deep, ragged cracks and its polished surfaces. Nestled in a crevice, as if it were placed carefully in a vase, was one delicate bloom, its petals stretched wide.

“That's a
bloody craneshell
,” Jake said softly, pointing to the flower. “If it were colored film, the bloom would be a bright magenta.” He leaned back on the couch. “The Burren is alive with color and fragrance at this time of year,” he said, clearly enchanted with the place. “The sight is stunning. I'm sorry you missed it.”

“Paul, he's our driver,” Mary Helen explained, “told us that his wife loves the perfume that is made from the flowers that grow there.”

Jake nodded. “At the Burren Perfumery, no doubt. It was the first in Ireland, it was. They claim to capture the mystery of Ireland.” He gave a short, hard laugh. “More to the point, if you ask me, they're out to capture the money of the new Ireland.”

“Jake, this is truly beautiful.” Mary Helen's eyes went back to the photo. “Absolutely beautiful.” She turned it so that Eileen could see it.

“Lovely, indeed,” Eileen said after a few moments. Her voice was filled with awe. “It's as if I could actually reach out and touch it.”

Mary Helen wasn't sure, but she thought Jake's face colored. Was he blushing?

“I thought you might want to bring a piece of the Burren back to San Francisco,” he said, obviously pleased that they liked his photograph so well.

Mary Helen's heart dropped. He was right. She had wanted to bring one of Jake's photos back to the convent, but she had no clue of how expensive his pictures were.

Could she actually afford one? And if she couldn't, how in the world would she tell him without either sounding as if she didn't like his work or, worse yet, that she wanted it free?

“It would be a perfect gift,” she heard Eileen say.

“A perfect gift,” Jake repeated, sounding pleased. “It's a rare day anyone calls anything I do perfect.”

Wildly, Mary Helen wondered how Eileen was going to approach the price of Jake's work.

“To be really a perfect gift,” Jake was saying, “I'll have to give it to you.”

“Oh, no,” Eileen demurred. Jake insisted. Eileen protested one more time, happily not too vehemently. And Jake placed the picture in her hands. Then, refusing another cup of tea, he bundled up and left.

“An odd duck, indeed, that lad,” Eileen said as the two nuns watched Jake Powers go out into the rain.

“But a very talented odd duck, you must admit,” Mary Helen said, closing the front door.

“Did you see this?” Eileen asked, turning the framed photograph over she pointed to a small tag on the back of it. “The price is …” She paused as if to check to make sure she was reading it correctly. Her gray eyebrows shot up. “Two hundred and fifty euros.”

“Oh my,” Sister Mary Helen said as soon as she caught her breath. She studied the picture again. “And worth every cent of it,” she said.

 

 

Liam O'Dea couldn't help wondering if it was his imagination or if the two detectives were stalling. Not that he blamed them. To confront Owen Lynch, the chairman of the Oyster Festival and a prominent local businessman, was not an easy thing to do, especially if it turned out that they were wrong.

Detective Inspector White seemed to be memorizing today's
activities' schedule for the festival, while his partner checked and rechecked the weather outside the window to see if the rain had let up. It hadn't.

Both men seemed relieved when, after a gentle knock, the door opened and Hugh Ryan, a happy grin on his flushed face, stood there with a tray of sandwiches, several bags of crisps, and three pints of Guinness.

“Thought you lads might need a little something,” he said, putting the food down on the desk. “Enjoy.”

Without a word, the three men sat down to eat. “We'll work much better after a little nourishment,” White said, biting into his ham and cheese sandwich.

“Indeed,” Reedy agreed. “
Sláinte
!” he said, raising his glass and taking a swallow of Guinness. “Didn't Napoleon say something about an army marches on its stomach?”

His mouth full, White nodded.

Liam didn't add anything to the conversation. He just chewed and swallowed as if this might be his last meal, and indeed, he felt that way. Lynch would be furious when they confronted him. Sure, he'd want to know which
eejit
told the detectives. He'd demand to know where they had gotten this information. Liam took a swallow of his Guinness.

What would happen to him? he wondered. Maybe this really was a good time to go to America. Not to stay forever, but for a year or two, until the whole thing blew over. Who was he kidding? The Irish held grudges for decades, long after they had forgotten what the fight was about.

“That hit the spot,” White said, crumbling up his serviette. “Now, lad"—his dark eyes focused on Liam—”give Lynch's a ring.” White checked his wristwatch. “With any luck we'll catch him having a bite.”

“Unless he's taken the ride to the Burren,” Reedy inserted.

“Which is very unlikely,” White said.

“What shall I tell him, sir?” Liam asked. What he really wanted to ask was, “Why me?”

“Tell him to meet us here as soon as possible,” White said. “There is no bloody use in dragging this thing out.”

Liam's stomach rode up and down, and his hand felt hot and clammy on the receiver as he listened to the empty ring of the telephone. When he was just about to hang up, someone picked up. “Yes,” a voice said. Liam did not recognize it. Had he dialed the wrong number?

“Sorry,” he said. “Have I the Lynch residence?”

“Yes,” the voice said again. It sounded thick and far away. “This is Mrs. Lynch.”

Patsy! Liam couldn't believe his ears. Her voice had none of its usual strong, cheerful sound. Had he awakened her? Or was something wrong?

“I'm calling for Owen,” Liam said, after identifying himself. “Is he in?”

“I'm sorry, Liam,” she said, beginning to sound a little more like herself. “He's just left. I believe he said he was going to Bon Secours to see how Oonagh Cox is doing today. Maybe you can catch him there.” With that, she rang off.

“To hospital it is, then,” Detective Inspector White said when Liam related the message.

The rain had stopped, at least for the time being, and Liam spotted a rainbow on the horizon.
A good sign,
he thought, watching White and Reedy bundle up in their raincoats, just in case.

“It could still be raining in Galway City,” Reedy said.

Liam followed the two men out to the road. “Shall I stay here, sir?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager not to be present for the meeting.

“No, no, lad,” White said, holding open the door of the
police car. “Come along. It will be good experience. Besides, it is your lead.” He gave Liam a rare smile. “This might be all we need to solve the case. You'd want to be there for that, wouldn't you?”

At the moment, Liam wanted to be anyplace but, although he didn't dare say so.

 

 

After Jake Powers left the mews, Sister Mary Helen couldn't relax. She felt as if she had an itch just out of reach.

“What is it?” Eileen asked, noticing her fidgeting. “What is bothering you?”

“I'm not sure, really,” Mary Helen said, and she wasn't. “I've been looking at Jake's lovely picture with that delicate little flower and thinking about Paul's wife and the wonderful fragrance she wanted him to bring back for her from the Burren, and …” She paused.