Irish Parade Murder Read online

  “I hope you’re not too upset,” said Lucy, who knew the months after childbirth were often an emotional minefield, fueled by raging hormones.

  “I have to admit, I’m kind of excited about the whole thing. I love mysteries. I read them and watch them on TV.” She bent her neck and nuzzled her baby’s silken head. “I especially like true crime.”

  “Well, it seems you’ve found a crime, since I don’t think she buried herself.”

  “I know. I’ll be looking for the story in the paper. Will I be in it?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind. Can I take your photo?”

  “Yeah, and be sure to put the dog in, too.”

  “Got it,” said Lucy, snapping the photo.

  The baby was beginning to stir in the carrier, and Mickey started jiggling a bit, in hopes of soothing the child. “Do you think I need to stay?” she asked Lucy.

  As far as Lucy could tell, the investigators were ignoring Mickey. “Did you give your name and contact info?”

  Mickey nodded, now swinging back and forth from her hips as the baby’s cries grew louder.

  “Then I don’t see any reason why you can’t go.”

  They walked back to the parking lot together, where Mickey carefully placed the baby into a car seat and drove off in an aged Subaru wagon. Lucy settled herself in her SUV and sat for a moment, chewing her lip. She hadn’t heard of any missing girls, at least not officially, but she wondered if Melanie Wall might be the young woman buried in the marsh. Everyone had assumed that she had simply moved on in her life, but maybe her life had ended. Lucy decided to ask Sara if she remembered anything special about Melanie, and whether she had any distinctive jewelry like a big silver skull ring.

  Sara didn’t answer, and Lucy’s call went to voice mail, so she put her phone down and started the car. She’d just turned out of the parking area when it rang and Sara cheerfully asked, “What’s up, Mom?”

  “I was just thinking and wondering if you remember whether Melanie Wall had any special jewelry. Do you remember anything in particular?”

  “Oh, yeah, Mom. She had this big old silver skull ring; she always wore it. She was into a rock-and-roll sort of look, chokers and leather, some lace, too. And she had some major tattoos.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, they’ve found a body in the Great Bay Reservation, and I think it might be Melanie.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s not official, so maybe it’s someone else.”

  “I hope it’s not her, but I guess I shouldn’t say that. It’s terrible. I feel bad for whoever it is.”

  “So do I, sweetie. And it goes without saying, you stay safe, okay?”

  “You bet, Mom.”

  Back on the road, Lucy suddenly felt tearful and let out a huge sob. She didn’t know Melanie, not really; she’d only seen her around, but she certainly didn’t deserve to end up in a shallow grave. What really bothered her, she decided, was the way Melanie had seemed to drop off the face of the earth and nobody seemed to care. The girls had gotten that email after she’d left town, but hadn’t followed up. They simply weren’t that close, and they were busy with school and their own lives.

  It seemed that something had brought Melanie back to Tinker’s Cove, and whatever it was had resulted in her death. It was horribly depressing to think about, the way these girls on the margin of society were practically disposable. They broke free from their families for whatever reason, ended up with crappy jobs and dabbled in drugs, were taken advantage of by predators, and, all too often, ended up dead.

  She felt overwhelmed by it all, starting with her failure to see Rob. She didn’t believe for one minute that he’d done anything that required discipline in prison; he was smart enough to realize that it would be much better for him to behave himself and be a model prisoner. This whole discipline thing was simply a screen, a way to keep family and friends from seeing him. But why? Was he being mistreated, or were they simply toying with him, letting him know who was in authority? It gave her a queasy feeling, and she remembered her interview with Allie Shaw.

  The ones with all the power are going to take advantage of the ones with no power . . . It’s always there, the threat . . . they can do whatever they want to you. That’s what Allie had said, and she was right, unless a more powerful agent, like a judge, could be persuaded to intervene. The sheriff was all about power, getting it, keeping it, and using it, and he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

  That was the challenge, she decided, reaching the crest of Red Top Hill and turning into her driveway. But how on earth were they going to expose the truth about him?

  An unfamiliar car was occupying her usual spot by the porch stairs, so she parked next to it, wondering who it belonged to. Maybe one of the girls had a visitor? Or was it Edna?

  When she entered the kitchen, she discovered the visitor was Kate, and she was engaged in giving Edna a very warm embrace.

  “It’s been so lovely. Thanks for having me,” said Kate, giving Edna a squeeze.

  “Oh, it’s been my pleasure,” enthused Edna, beaming at Kate. “I hope we can see each other again soon.”

  “Absolutely, I’ll be in touch,” said Kate, turning to Lucy. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by to see Edna . . .”

  “Oh, no,” said Lucy, who minded a whole lot. “This is her home while she’s visiting, and she’s welcome to have visitors.”

  “I knew you’d feel that way,” said Kate, giving Lucy’s hand a squeeze. “Well, I must run. Hope to see you all again real soon.”

  The door had no sooner closed behind Kate when Lucy turned on Edna. “Really? Don’t you see what she’s up to? She’s like a cuckoo, trying to replace us, your real family.”

  “My goodness, Lucy,” said Edna, growing rather agitated. “That’s a terrible thing to say. She’s not trying to replace you all; she wants is to join us and be part of our family. She never had a father or a real family. She told me that when she was a little child in school, she used to make up stories about why she didn’t have a father. He was a soldier, she’d say, pretending, or even a superhero, saving civilization.”

  “I’m not surprised,” sneered Lucy. “From what I can see, she’s a very good storyteller indeed, and you shouldn’t believe everything she tells you.”

  Edna stared at her, her cheeks glowing, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned and walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs, straight to her room. Standing below, in the kitchen, Lucy heard the door click shut.

  Damn, it had to be said, she told herself, throwing her bag down on a chair and taking off her jacket. It was too bad if Edna didn’t want to hear the truth. Seniors got swindled every day, and Edna was a tempting target for a con artist, and that’s what Lucy suspected Kate really was. It wasn’t the possibility of losing a small fortune that bothered her, she told herself; it was the hurt that Edna would endure when she realized she’d been taken advantage of and realized that Kate hadn’t really cared for her at all. Of course, she admitted with a sense of shame, it really was about the money, too.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, Lucy was surprised when Edna dragged her suitcase down to the kitchen and announced that Kate had invited her to stay with her in her vacation rental.

  “She has plenty of room, and I don’t want to be a burden,” she explained, with a brave little smile, buttoning up her coat. “It seems as if I’m a bit in the way here.”

  Lucy felt as if she’d been gut-punched. “That’s not the case at all, Edna. We love having you here.”

  “I know, dear, but you are all so busy with your lives. With Kate, I’ll be able to get out and about; she’s eager to see all the sights, so it will be more interesting for me. She’s got a whole itinerary planned—trips to Camden and all sorts of wonderful places. Why, today we’re going to have lunch at the Whitehall Inn, where Edna St. Vincent Millay worked as a girl. She tells me they have a display there with photos and things. I’m really look
ing forward to that. You know, I was named after her. My mother adored her poetry.”

  “I know we’ve been neglecting you,” admitted Lucy, as Edna went over to the window to see if Kate had arrived yet. “I guess we’ve taken you for granted.”

  “Nonsense, dear. I’ve enjoyed being here.” She took in a sharp little breath and raised her shoulders. “Ah, she’s here, and I’m off.” She pulled up the handle on her roller suitcase, slipped the straps of her handbag onto her shoulder, and yanked open the door. “I”ll stay in touch,” she promised, zipping out onto the porch.

  Lucy looked through the curtained window on the door and saw that Kate was already hurrying up the path with a big grin on her face, ready, willing, and able to help Edna with her suitcase. Lucy opened the door, not willing to let Edna leave without a proper good-bye.

  “Here already,” she said, greeting Kate with a big smile that was actually painful. “Have a great time, you two.” She gave Edna an awkward hug. “I’ll give you a call tonight to see how you’re settling in, and remember, you’ve always got a place here.”

  Edna looked as if she was about to cry, blinking and pressing her lips together. She took Lucy’s hands and patted them. “I know, dear, and thank you for everything.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. It’s been lovely having you. Now go on and have a wonderful time,” she urged, wishing she actually meant it. “See you soon,” she sang, waving as Kate and Edna negotiated the porch steps. She watched as they went down the brick walkway to the drive, where Kate helped Edna into the passenger seat and stowed the suitcase. She gave Lucy a triumphant smile and a wave, then got into the car and drove off.

  Still somewhat shocked, Lucy closed the door and turned, surprised to see that Zoe was standing behind her. “What’s going on?” she asked Lucy. “Grandma’s room is empty; she’s folded the sheets and left them on the bed.”

  “She’s going to stay with Kate,” said Lucy.

  “No way,” exclaimed Zoe.

  “Way. They just left. Kate came and picked her up,” replied Lucy, accepting a huge sense of guilt like her grandmother used to slip on the old gray cardigan she kept handy on the back of a kitchen chair. “We should have treated her better, taken her places, fussed over her.”

  Zoe had a different take. “Or she could have taken more of an interest in our lives. She never once asked me about my job or college or anything. She just sat in front of the TV with her flip phone in her hand, waiting for Kate to call.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” said Lucy, slipping on her jacket and grabbing her bag. “I’ve gotta run. Would you take that hamburger out of the freezer for me? I’m going to make meat loaf for dinner.”

  “Dad will love that,” said Zoe.

  “You know what he isn’t going to love? His mother trotting off with Kate,” said Lucy, grabbing the doorknob.

  “I sense a storm’s a-brewin’,” said Zoe. “Have a good day, Mom.”

  Lucy had reached town and was parking her car on Main Street when she noticed Rosemary McGourt on the sidewalk, dressed in workout clothes and headed toward the Move! Gym that had recently taken up occupancy in the old Slack’s Hardware store on Main Street. She hopped out of the car and hailed her, hoping to get more information about Gabe.

  “What do you want?” asked Rosemary, not missing a step and walking on.

  “Just a bit of information,” said Lucy, walking alongside Rosemary.

  “Look, I’ve told you, I don’t want to talk about my ex. I don’t want to think about him. That was a bad part of my life, and I’m moving on.” Which is exactly what she did, brushing past Lucy.

  “Please,” begged Lucy. “You know they’ve discovered a body that’s probably Melanie Wall, and it’s no secret she was involved with Gabe . . .”

  “Stupid girl. I could’ve told her he was trouble.”

  “Did you know about her?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t pay attention. I was over Gabe. We’d been separated for over a year, and I was counting the days until the divorce came through.”

  “So you weren’t living together?”

  “No. And even before that, I mostly tried to pretend he wasn’t there. I didn’t pay attention to what he did or where he went or who he saw. My therapist says I had the worst case of denial she’s ever seen. I was married, but I wasn’t, if you get my meaning. He was like a piece of furniture. . . more like an unreliable old furnace or hot water heater that you think might explode at any minute. Getting myself and the kids through the day in one piece was all I thought about.”

  This was going nowhere, thought Lucy, deciding to try another tack. “What about friends? Did he have buddies? Anybody who can tell me about him?”

  “I dunno. I don’t care. I’m just glad I never have to see his ugly face ever again.”

  Lucy had a sudden inspiration. “What about the pallbearers at his funeral? Do you know who they were?”

  “I didn’t go to the funeral. Gabe’s mom wanted to take the boys, and in a moment of weakness, I let her.” She let out a huge sigh. “And, boy, were they impressed with all the cop cars and motorcycles. Now they think he was some sort of hero instead of the abusive monster he really was!”

  “I guess that was the point of the whole show,” said Lucy, thinking she should try contacting Mary Catherine again. “Thanks for your help. Have a great workout.”

  Rosemary finally smiled. “You know what? I’ve lost twenty-one pounds.”

  “You look great; divorce must agree with you.”

  “Not divorce, death,” said Rosemary. She raised her eyes toward heaven and adopted a phony Irish brogue. “’Twas a blessing, to be sure.”

  Lucy found herself smiling in response. So Rosemary had a sense of humor—good for her. She’d finally been able to escape Gabe McGourt’s abuse, once and for all. But her smile vanished when she remembered Melanie Wall, whose decayed body had been found in a shallow grave. It didn’t seem as if Melanie had been so lucky, she thought, standing at the curb and waiting for a car to pass. Looking at the old office, she glanced approvingly at the new sign with The Courier picked out in gold letters.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to you,” said Phyllis by way of greeting. She was continuing the Irish theme with her green-tinted hair, green reading glasses, and a green sweatshirt picturing a leprechaun along with his glittering pot of gold sequins.

  “You’ve sure got the spirit,” said Lucy.

  “And why not?” replied Phyllis. “A bit o’ fun never hurt anyone.”

  “Fun,” mused Lucy, thinking of Edna’s abrupt departure this morning. “What a concept. I haven’t had much of it lately.”

  “Well, you’ve just got to pick yourself up and start over. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Remember, when one door closes, another door opens.”

  “Is this National Cliché Day or something?” asked Lucy, who was sitting at her desk without bothering to take off her jacket and pawing through the recent issues of the paper. At last, she found what she wanted: a photo of the pallbearers carrying Gabe McGourt’s casket into the church.

  “Nothing wrong with a good cliché,” countered Phyllis. “They wouldn’t be clichés if people didn’t believe in them, right?”

  “Well, I’m outta here,” said Lucy, tucking the paper into her big tote bag. “It’s the early bird that catches the worm.”

  “Make hay while the sun shines,” said Phyllis, with a little wave.

  As she drove over to Mary Catherine’s house, Lucy wondered if she was on a fool’s errand. After all, when she’d interviewed her before the funeral, Mary Catherine had practically thrown her out of the house, insulted when she’d inquired about Gabe’s relationships with women. She’d considered her son an angel and wasn’t about to admit anything to the contrary. Nevertheless, thought Lucy, she had to try to make peace with the woman since she was probably the only one who could identify all the pallbearers. Arriving once again at the neat little house, which had a shamroc
k wreath with a black bow on the door, Lucy took a deep breath and got out of the car. She squared her shoulders, dug the newspaper out of her purse, and marched up the walk to the door and rang the bell.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Mary Catherine, only opening the door a few inches and peering at Lucy through narrowed eyes.

  “It’s me,” said Lucy, with a wry smile. “I want to make amends, and I brought you a copy of The Courier with all the details of Gabe’s funeral, just in case you wanted to save it, maybe something for his boys to remember their father by.”

  “Now that was very decent of you,” admitted Mary Catherine, opening the door a bit wider. “It was a lovely tribute to my poor boy, now wasn’t it?”

  “It certainly was,” said Lucy. “I don’t think we’ve seen anything like it around here. It was a first.”

  “It was all due to the sheriff, lovely man that he is.” Now the door was fully open, and Lucy saw that Mary Catherine was dressed in a gray track suit with a black stripe down each leg. Her snowy-white hair was neatly permed, and she was wearing tiny little shamrock studs in each ear. “I was just about to have a cup of tea, dear. Will you join me?”

  “I’d love to,” said Lucy, determined not to blow this opportunity. “Thank you so much.”

  Mary Catherine stepped back, admitting her, and directed her to the living room, where she was invited to take a seat on the sofa. Then Mary Catherine disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Lucy to admire the plates hanging on the wall that pictured JFK and Jackie, the large photo of a smiling pope, and the porcelain statue of Mary in her blue robe. There were also a number of framed school photos of Gabe’s boys, progressing through the grades.

  “You must be so proud of your grandsons,” began Lucy, when Mary Catherine arrived with the tea tray and set it down on the coffee table. “They’re very handsome boys.”

  “And so smart, like their daddy,” said Mary Catherine. “Now how do you take your tea, dear? Sugar? Milk?”

  “Just plain, thanks.”

  Mary Catherine filled the Belleek cup with steaming brown liquid and passed it to Lucy on its matching saucer.