The Kilternan Legacy (21 page)

There was rather a lot of wisdom in that statement.

“Irish men marry late,” Jimmy went on. “Or they used to. My father was thirty-two before he married.” Obviously that advanced age bordered decrepitude.

“How old’s Uncle Shay, then?” asked Simon.

“He’s thirty-five—I think. He never says, but he’s the youngest in my father’s family, and my next oldest uncle is thirty-eight. Mother says she wishes Shay would marry. Then her friends would leave her alone with their matchmaking.” Jimmy snickered.

“I have the feeling that Irishmen don’t make reliable husbands,” I said, thinking of the women in the queendom.

“That’s what my mother says,” replied Jimmy, and then frowned, painting a few thoughtful strokes. “Though she doesn’t mean my father.”

We finished the living room by evening, although now the tiles around the fireplace looked dirty. Jimmy declined to stay for dinner, explaining that he ought to get home so his mother wouldn’t say he was overstaying his welcome here and prevent his returning the next day.

I was frankly pretty tired by then and took a bath—not quite as hot as I liked, but we’d used some of the hot water for the dinner dishes. Snow dragged Simon off to watch her ride Horseface.

Judging by the sounds I heard as I drifted off to sleep, she’d managed to get Simon aboard the horse too.

I WASN’T ALL THAT HAPPY the next morning, though. I woke early, refreshed, and lay listening to the birds warbling away, half my mind trying to match bird and sound, the other half feeling miserable about Shay Kerrigan and the access.

I didn’t abuse myself with the notion that he had been so courteous because he liked my big blue eyes, or that he had fallen hopelessly in love with me at first sight. He was being attentive and helpful so that I’d weaken and give him the access. And yet… he was going about the process with such subtle courtliness and charm that…

What
had
Aunt Irene against him? Why did she rescind it? Did Michael Noonan really know and wouldn’t tell? “It involves someone else’s good name,” had been Aunt Irene’s words. Well, maybe no one except Aunt Irene and that “someone” really knew.

Did Ann Purdee know? But wouldn’t tell so as not to cast any of her stones? Now maybe Mary Cuniff wasn’t as reticent. She’d been fairly outspoken on Sunday. Ann had too, come to think of it. While I hated to put the kids up to doing my dirty work, Snow could weasel out a lot of information without seeming to. No! I’d best try Mary.

Just then my right hand began to itch, inconveniently in the palm. Oh Lord, what now? That was the trouble spot. I tried valiantly to keep from scratching, as if thus to ward off the foretold trouble. To divert myself, I resolutely rose. But when I was washing my face, I found myself scrubbing the facecloth into my itching palm. Oh, that would never do!

To create a diversion, I sat myself down with a cup of coffee in the living room, the un-paint-smelling, clean living room, planning how to redecorate it around the existing pieces of furniture. By the time I realized that it was getting late and dashed down to Mary’s house, it was locked up tightly.

“Mary’s away by half eight, you know,” Ann Purdee said. She had come up from the direction of the main road, leading a sleepy-eyed, yawning little girl.

“Is that one of your daytime charges?”

“Tis indeed. She was asleep upstairs t’other day,” and Ann smiled reassuringly down at the pretty thing, who wasn’t at all sure about me. “Say hello, Meggie.”

“Lo” came out in a whisper. Eyes cast down, the small person locked herself against Mary’s leg.

“She doesn’t see many people.” Ann swung the girl up into her arms, at which point Meggie buried her head against Ann’s neck rather than be gazed at by a stranger. “Now, now, love, that’s bold. You remember Auntie Irene, don’t you?”

There was a frantic denying motion of the head.

“Sure and you do, pet.”

“Don’t bother, Ann. She’s half asleep.”

Ann craned her neck toward the Slaneys’ house. “You know, I’ve not seen the old lady in two days now.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Yes, when it’s as sunny as it’s been. She likes to sit out in the sun.”

“You don’t suppose it’s because I frightened her?”

“Sure now and Mary and I told her how it was on Friday, and she seemed to understand and all.”

Ann went to the nearest of the dirty windows and peered in. Without a word she handed me the child, who struggled only briefly. Ann pushed at the front door, but it was locked.

“What’s wrong, Ann?”

“She’s there, sitting on the bed. Just staring straight on.” Ann’s voice had a frozen sound, and when she turned toward me her face had gone white. “I’m going for Kieron.” And she was away like the wind.

Kieron came back with her, at a run. He pushed at the window frame, and the wood disintegrated around the catch with very little pressure. He took one good look inside, and we didn’t need to see his face to know the answer.

“Oh no!” murmured Ann, both hands to her mouth. She began to wring her hands, tears welling in her eyes. She was one of those fortunate women who can cry without turning all red and blotchy. Kieron gathered her into his arms, and I had a sudden revelation about Mr. Kieron Thornton and Mrs. Ann Purdee. His face, when he looked toward me, reflected none of the tenderness he directed toward Ann.

“Rene, I think you’d better call the Gardai.”

“Not a doctor? Or a priest?”

“It’s too late for either of them.”

“Oh dear!”

“No,” said Ann in a muffled voice, “she’d want Father O’Rourke.”

When I got to the house I discovered that I still had Meggie in my arms. Snow was coming down the stairs, so I thrust the bewildered little girl at my daughter and told her to cope. “What’s the matter? What’s happened?” My hands were shaking so that I couldn’t turn the thin telephone-directory pages.

“What has happened?” demanded Snow, but she was also jigging Meggie on her knees to keep the child’s pout from becoming a full-blown howling session.

“Listen and you’ll learn,” I said, finally finding the page with
GA
. “Oh God, there’re so many stations … ah, yes …” I dialed the number, my fingers shaking. Why were they shaking over the death of a woman I hadn’t even met? They were shaking because I felt a sense of guilt that her fear of me had been the cause of her death.

I did manage to tell the Garda what had happened, and had enough presence of mind to ask him to give me the priest’s phone number. There’d be so many O’Rourke’s in the phone book that, in my state, I’d never find the right one.

“Good Lord! The poor old thing,” Snow said when she’d heard the salient points, and trotted herself and Meggie upstairs.

Father O’Rourke was saying Mass, but his housekeeper promised to give him the message directly he had finished and I wasn’t to worry, the poor old soul had gone to the peace of the grave, thanks be to the Virgin Mary. She’d had the last rites during her bad spell in May, and Father would do the necessary, sure and he would.

That done, I stood indecisively in the hall, holding the receiver, wondering if there was anyone else one had to call in Ireland. I suppose that’s why I didn’t think it odd of Kieron to ask me to phone the police first. Simon came thudding down the steps, buttoning his shirt. Snow may take an inordinate delight in relieving you of all depressing details, but the bare facts were enough for my son. He went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses. He handed me one and told me to drink as he began dialing another number.

“Uncle Shay? I think you’d better get here on the double, if you can manage it. There’s been some trouble.” Then he put the phone down and sat me on the first step. “Now drink it, Mother. Won’t do you any good in the glass.”

I took a good mouthful, and the whiskey burned all the way down.

“Ann’ll need one too,” said Simon.

I watched the tall, broad-shouldered back of my dearly beloved son retreating from the house and mused that the young could have a lot of common sense. Or maybe at his age he still had enough sanity to act on instinct rather than conditioned social reflexes.

My stomach had stopped fluttering and there seemed to be bones in my legs again when Snow appeared, chattering away to the enchanted Meggie.

“‘Scuse me, Mom, but I think I’d better volunteer as babysitter.” And she exited, rear door.

I didn’t want to be alone, so I followed her and found Simon and Kieron standing over Ann, who was making very slow work of the whiskey. Then we heard the awful noise that emergency sirens make in this country.

“Simon, take Ann to the cottage, will you?” said Kieron. His face was bleak as he turned to me. “You wanted to speak to the old lady. You couldn’t get an answer and asked me to investigate. Right?”

“Well, yes, but does it matter?”

“Kieron,” said Simon, stepping beside me, “I’m not sure Mother’s up to—”

“Your mother’s a foreigner, Simon,” said Kieron in a flat cold tone, “and she’s the landlady, and there’re other reasons. Just take Ann up to her house, and she wasn’t here this morning.”

Simon didn’t argue and I couldn’t, because the police car came up the lane as Kieron assured me he’d explain later.

I should have insisted that Kieron could very easily have played the role he was scripting for me, but there I was. Simon and Ann had disappeared into her house. However, the Gardai were so very courteous, sympathetic with my distress and confusion, eager to make all easy for me, that I didn’t think beyond the immediate problem. I hadn’t a clue why Ann mustn’t be involved in the death of an old woman, but Kieron scotched an attempt at honesty when the Garda asked if any of the other neighbors were about.

“Mrs. Cuniff, who lives next door, is at work and her daughter at school. There’s no one in the house on the other side,” said Kieron.

“And what about that cottage?” the Sergeant asked, pointing his pen toward Ann’s.

“Haven’t seen them abroad this morning. The tenants have small children and keep very much to themselves.”

Just then the Garda’s partner came out of the Slaney house.

“You just opened the window, Mr. Thornton?” he asked.

“That’s all.”

And I knew then that Kieron knew why the police had to be called.

“She’s got a hole in the side of her head you could plant your fist in.”

I let out a gasp and, I think, a shriek, because Kieron and the Garda were both quick to support me to the nearest of the dilapidated car seats in front of the Faheys’.

“Now, now, not to worry, Mrs. Teasey.”

“Not to worry?” I glared at the Garda. “When that poor old woman’s been murdered? Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you saw?” I demanded of Kieron. But I could see why he didn’t want Ann involved, and I wondered if she had seen that dreadful sight too.

“Now, now, no one’s said that she’s been murdered, missus,” said the Garda rather firmly.

“With a hole in her head?” I grabbed at Kieron’s hands. “I thought she’d just died of…” I nearly, said ‘fright.’ “… old age.”

The other fellow was using the radio in the patrol car. I began having visions of my queendom jampacked with reporters and homicide people and sensation seekers. AMERICAN INVOLVED IN GHASTLY MURDER: That’d be the headline. All I had to do was inherit Aunt Irene’s queendom, and instead of applying American common sense, I got it embroiled in a murder case.

“Have you seen Tom Slaney about?” Kieron was asking, in a very conversational tone, I thought, for the circumstances.

“He’s back, is he?” and the Garda was very alert.

“I turfed him onto the road the other night,” said Kieron.

The Garda turned to the man on the car radio. “Find out if Tom Slaney’s in the nick,” and then he moved off toward the car.

“If it is murder, we can’t keep Ann out of the picture,” I said softly to Kieron. “They’ll be on to just everyone.”

“We can try,” said Kieron back to me, softly but fiercely. “Her husband’s in town, looking for her. He can’t find her. He mustn’t find her.”

“Can’t you explain?”

“I-Now what the hell is he doing here?” exclaimed Kieron, and I saw Shay’s blue Jag careening up the lane. It slithered to a tire-slicing stop right by the black Gardai car.

“Simon called him.”

“Simon is being—” and Kieron shut his mouth.

“If you please, sir,” the first Garda said, stepping in front of Shay Kerrigan.

“And if I don’t please, Sean? Now that’s a rich one. Mrs. Teasey phoned me to come by. She said there was some trouble.”

Garda Sean began to clear his throat, but that hesitation was sufficient for Shay to slip by him and come to me.

“Old Mrs. Slaney’s dead,” Kieron began.

“With a hole in her head,” I finished, and then dissolved in horror at the rhyme.

“Kerrigan, take Rene up to the house. This is too much of a shock for her.”

“Ann?” asked Shay very quietly. He and Kieron stared at each other for a long moment.

“Rene found her,” Kieron said in measured tones, and Shay inclined his head understandingly.

“Paddy’s back in town, I’d heard,” he said. “And this is where I can help, Thornton. Won’t be a minute, Rene,” he went on, as if a snap of the fingers was all he, Shamus Kerrigan, needed to set things right. He went over to Sean the Garda and began talking in a low voice. The policeman nodded, seemingly acquiescing. Shay wasn’t a moment when he came back to say, “If they have to take a statement, they’ll diddle the name. But likely it’s Tom hit his mum once too often. He’s been up for that before now, you know. Irene didn’t let him get away with anything.”

“Reporters?” I asked.

Shay grinned as if I were missing the obvious. “And this a private lane and all? Thornton, do you have something we can put across the entrance? And you can mount guard, once the Gardai leave.” Then Shay pulled me gently to my feet and started me toward the house.

“Where’re your children?”

“With Ann. Oh, we’ll have to warn Sally.”

“Sally?”

“Yes, Sally Hanahoe. She lives with Ann, and Ann takes care of her baby while she works.”

“What?” Shay began to laugh. “Not another one in the queendom.”

“What do you mean?”