Irish milkshake murder, p.3
Irish Milkshake Murder, page 3
“Looking out for me, are ya?”
“I always do.”
Noel eyed the milkshake.
“Just wait for Captain Mickey,” Tara suggested.
“One of you can have it,” Danny said, walking away from the bar. “These waves aren’t sitting too well with me.”
“No crying over spilled milkshake,” Dave said as Noel took it. He downed it, then yelped. “Brain freeze!”
“We’ll be coming to shore in about thirty minutes,” Captain Mickey announced over the intercom. For the next fifteen minutes, Tara stood at the bow with Danny, watching the waves churn. She heard just one of the twins dancing and turned to see it was Noel.
Tap tap tap, slide slide slide, tap tap tap. He seemed off—even a little drunk. How much booze was in that shake? Tap tap tap, slide slide slide, tap tap tap. Just as the sight of the shore was coming into view, Noel cried out. “Mark!” When Tara turned around to see what was going on, Noel was bent over, clutching his stomach and moaning.
Mark approached cautiously. “Did I hear my name?”
“Mark,” Noel mumbled, trying to point. Tara looked around just as Tom came into view. Noel then pointed at Tom. Tom looked down at his jersey. “What’s the story?” Tom asked. Noel continued to point at him.
“He called for Mark, and then he pointed at Tom,” Tara said.
Noel lifted his head, sweat dripping down his face. He pointed at Mark. Then Tom. He looked around feverishly, then pointed at the counter. “The milkshake?” Tara asked. He pointed again. Tara went to the counter. She started pointing at items until she reached the egg carton. He nodded. Then pointed at Mark. Then Tom. “I’m so confused,” Tara said.
“Brian O’Driscoll,” Tom said, pointing to his jersey. “Number thirteen. One of the best rugby players of all time.”
Noel was now furiously pointing at his three new obsessions. Was he accusing one or both of something? Did he think there were eggs in the carton and one of them went bad? Tara pointed to the empty vial. “I do wonder what this is.” Noel hunched over. His feet had a mind of their own, tapping away. Tap tap tap, slide slide slide, tap tap tap.
“Try to relax,” Dave said. “Do you want some water?” He looked around. “Is there any water?”
“Mark,” Noel moaned. “Mark.”
“Why does he keeping saying my name?” Mark asked. “What do you need?” He shouted at Noel. “What can I do?”
Noel looked at his twin and moaned.
“I’m here, buddy. I’m here,” Dave said.
Noel faltered and nearly went to the floor. Dave grabbed one side, and Mark the other. They ushered him to one of the benches at the front of the boat. “We’re almost there,” Dave said. “Can someone call 999?”
“I don’t have service,” Danny said, looking at his phone.
“Me neither,” came from Mark. Soon everyone chimed in that they did not have any service.
“Maybe Captain Mickey has a radio,” Danny said.
As they approached the shore, the horn sounded. Dave stayed on the bench with Noel, and the rest of them gathered at the front of the boat to watch Captain Mickey maneuver them in.
“Finally,” Tara said. “I hope we can get a medic right away.” Just then, a scream was heard. Tara and Breanna looked at each other for a second, and Tara saw the same terror reflected on Breanna’s face that she felt. That was no ordinary scream. They ran back inside the boat. Noel was lying across the front bench, one arm trailing off it, the empty cup on the floor below his hand. Foam pooled at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were open and staring. Dave’s head whipped around, his mouth open in shock, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s dead,” he said. “Me twin is dead.”
Chapter Three
Body on Board
The group called out for Captain Mickey as Tara and Breanna held Dave back from Noel’s body. While everyone was preoccupied, Tara took out her mobile phone. She began to take photos—just in case the storm battered the small ferry and jostled the evidence before the guards could assess the scene. There was a chance this had been a medical emergency, but the foam pooling at the corner of his mouth and the empty vial gave her pause. Better safe than sorry, and she would delete the photos as soon as the guards had copies of them. First, she photographed the counter, both from afar and zooming in. The blender, the jug of milk, the egg carton used for change—she zoomed in on that empty plastic vial. What had it contained? Why had Noel been pointing at Mark and Tom and the carton? Had he seen one or both take something out of it? Was he sure about what he saw, or was he in too much pain and not even thinking clearly?
Next, she concentrated on photographing the body and the surrounding area. There were a few objects on the floor near the bench: the black Sharpie, a small silver pebble—or maybe it was a metal piece off one of the twins’ tap shoes—and the discarded cup with half the milkshake left in it. The photos were done, including zooming in on the one aspect that made Tara worry this was foul play—murder—the white foam around his mouth. Wasn’t that a sign of poison? Was something nefarious in his last milkshake? Did it have anything to do with the vial and whatever that tiny piece of silver was all about? Danny wasn’t going to be thrilled when Tara informed him that she would have to tell the guards about Noel pointing at Mark and Tom. It was hard to accept that this was happening. A healthy young man struck dead. She felt creepy taking the photos, but who knew how long it would take a coroner to arrive? If this was murder—and she was inclined to think it was—Noel’s pointing would not be enough to suss out this killer. This crime scene had to tell a story, and Tara wanted to make sure no one would be able to rearrange anything before the coroner arrived. She would show these photos only to the guards.
“He needs me,” Dave crooned. “He needs me.” Dave wanted to go to Noel’s side. She understood the instinct, but once again, their only shot at justice was to preserve this scene.
“I’m so sorry,” Tara said. “He’s gone. We simply cannot disturb anything. Ask Breanna—she’s with the guards.” Tara wasn’t sure how mentioning this could help, but maybe it would assure him that this was going to be taken seriously.
“I work as a clerk at the garda station,” Breanna said. “But technically I’m a member of the team.”
“What are you afraid of disturbing?” Dave asked. “You . . . you think . . . someone did something to him?” His head whipped around. “Is that why he kept saying ‘Mark, Mark, Mark’?”
“Why would Mark hurt your brother?” Tara asked. It was Tom who’d threatened to kill them.
“I don’t know,” Dave said. “Why did Noel keep saying his name?”
“He seemed really confused,” Breanna said. “He was also pointing at Tom. I don’t think we can put a lot into what he said before he . . .” She left the rest unsaid. It was all too horrific.
“You’re right, Dave. We don’t know if foul play is involved,” Tara said. “A coroner will have to decide that. But if it was foul play, don’t you want the scene preserved?” She was not going to mention the mysterious empty vial, the piece of silver, or the foam at the corner of Noel’s mouth. Dave was already in full freak-out mode. “But either way, I know the guards would want us to stay back so they can do an investigation.” Tara nodded at Breanna to chime in.
“Yes,” Breanna said. “We definitely need to preserve the scene.”
“Investigation?” Dave pointed to the empty milkshake. “That must have killed him,” he said. “Where’s that bloody captain?”
“That’s what we want to know.” This came from Mark. They turned to find Danny, Mark, and Tom standing before them, looking perplexed.
Tara took a step forward. “What do you mean?”
“He’s gone,” Danny said. “Captain Mickey is gone.”
“Gone?” Breanna said. “He’s the captain. How can he be gone?”
“Did you look in his private quarters?” Tara asked.
“We did, actually,” Danny said. “If he’s on this boat, he must have a really good hiding place.”
“And a lifeboat seems to be missing,” Mark said.
“Only if there were an even number of lifeboats,” Danny said. “Which there should have been. And if that’s the case, he’s right. One is missing.”
“And so is Captain Mickey,” Mark repeated.
“He killed him!” Dave shouted. “Why did Captain Mickey kill him?”
“We can’t do this,” Tara said. “We can’t prove Captain Mickey killed anyone.”
“Then where is he?” Dave demanded. “Why did he disappear into thin air?”
He had a point there. She didn’t have an answer.
“The milkshake wasn’t meant for Noel, remember?” Tom said. Everyone startled.
“D-A,” Dave said. “It was meant for me.”
“Or me,” Danny said.
“Maybe he was about to write danger on it!” Rachel said.
Breanna cocked her head. “Like he poisoned it and then wanted everyone to know?”
Rachel frowned. “Right. Maybe dancer?”
“Everyone, calm down,” Tara said. “We don’t know anything, including how he died. There aren’t many poisons that could kill that fast.”
“Poison,” Dave said, slapping his hands over his face. “He was poisoned?”
So much for keeping her mouth shut. This was going pear-shaped fast.
“Was he lactose intolerant?” Rachel asked.
Dave shook his head. “Why would he drink a milkshake if he was lactose intolerant, like?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Do me a favor,” Dave said. “Don’t.”
“We need to get off this boat and call the guards,” Tara said, gesturing for everyone to move away.
“I’m not leaving him,” Dave said. “I can’t leave him.”
“Come with us,” Tara said. “We’ll wait right on shore until the guards arrive.”
Dave pointed at Tom, who by now was standing on shore. “You killed him. You said you were going to kill him, and you did!”
“I wasn’t anywhere near the milkshakes,” Tom said. “And it was just an expression. I might not like the two of ye dancing in the sheets with other men’s wives, but Rachel’s right. Good riddance to her. I wouldn’t risk my freedom over the likes of you.”
“Do you mean it this time, Tom?” Mark said. “Do you really mean it?”
Tom whirled on him and shook his head. “Is this really what you want to discuss right now?”
“I just . . . want you to be done with her.” Mark’s expression had taken on a crazed intensity. They were all coming unglued; trauma could do that to people.
“Dave has just lost his brother,” Tara said. “Can we all be a little kinder to each other, please?” And stop squabbling amongst yourselves?
Tom crossed his arms and stared at his shoes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“May he rest in peace,” Mark said.
“Peace?” Dave said. “Believe me, there will be no peace until I hunt down whoever killed me brother.”
Tara and Breanna got on either side of Dave and began coaxing him off the boat. The rest went ahead of them.
“It was a figure of speech,” Tom could be heard saying. “I wouldn’t even know how to kill a person with a milkshake.” There was a pause. “Was he lactose intolerant?”
“If one more person asks that . . . ,” Dave said, freeing his arm from Tara’s and holding up his fist. His lips curled into a snarl. They finally disembarked and stood on gravel. A fierce wind had picked up, and the first raindrops began to fall.
“If something was slipped into his milkshake, it had to be from Captain Mickey,” Mark said. “He’s the one who’s missing.”
“He was also the one making the shakes,” Danny added as they finally guided Dave off the boat.
“I was making the shakes too,” Breanna said. “But I only used the ingredients that were already laid out.”
“It doesn’t matter who was making the shakes,” Tom said. “Any one of us could have slipped something into his drink. All of us were at the bar at one time or another.”
“The guards will get to the bottom of it,” Tara said. “We do not yet have a cause of death. That’s why none of us can go back on the boat. We must stay off and make sure everything is left exactly as it was.” She looked at each member of the group. “I need to see that you understand.” One by one everyone finally nodded.
“I still can’t get a signal,” Danny said, holding up his mobile phone. The clouds were black above them, and the rain was coming down harder.
“I told you the weather report was warning of a storm this weekend,” Mark said.
Danny looked sheepish. “I figured it didn’t matter, that we’d be in the pubs most of the time anyway.”
“I can’t get a signal either,” Tom chimed in. One by one they checked their phones. No one had a signal. The skies opened up.
“Let’s get up to the pub,” Danny said. “Maybe someone is around.”
He was right. There was no use standing here, hoping someone would come. A gravel path led up to the main entrance of the island. They’d taken the last ferry, and no other boats were docked. Everyone was preparing for the storm. Why had Captain Mickey even taken them? Shouldn’t he have known better? Was he a killer? Why would he possibly have wanted one of them dead? It was eerily quiet. The rain was now coming down sideways, and as they pushed forward, the wind tried to push them back.
“Run!” Danny said as thunder boomed and lightning struck the mast.
“I can’t leave him,” Dave said, looking back to the ferry. “I can’t.”
“Lean on us,” Tara said. “You have to.” This time, she and Danny got on either side of Dave as they made their way to the island. No hen party, she’d told Breanna over and over again. Why didn’t anyone ever listen to her?
* * *
The storm was raging by the time they fought their way up the path from the ferry to the island. The raindrops stung, and visibility was a joke. The wind was literally tripping everyone up.
“The pub is just ahead of us!” Danny yelled.
“What about the garda station?” Tara asked. With the severity of the wind and rain, she had a feeling it was going to be a while before power was restored.
“Kilronan,” Breanna said. “Straight up Cottage Road.”
“We have to go there first,” Tara said. “How long of a walk?”
“Normally about five minutes, pet. In this wind, might be more like fifteen.”
“Let’s leg it, then,” Danny said. “Before we all catch our deaths.”
Dave cried out. “My brother,” he wailed. “My brother!”
“We’re going to get you some help,” Tara said. “Find a medical center—they can give you something to help calm your nerves.” They all began to trudge up Cottage Road. Normally this view was lovely, with quaint Irish shops, The Bar, farmhouses and stone walls, rolling hills leading up to the cliffs, and the glorious Atlantic Ocean. Now it was all washed out. Normally, Tara felt a sense of excitement during big storms. But right now it was the last thing they needed. She could see the lads being clueless, but had Breanna even checked a weather report? There was no use whining about it now.
“Are the guards even going to be there?” Tom asked. “There’s no one out.”
“How do you even know?” Danny said. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Just keep walking,” Breanna said. “As long as we’re going uphill, we’re headed in the right direction.”
“I can go faster,” Mark said. “Why don’t I run ahead of you?”
“I think we should stick together,” Danny said. “This storm is no joke.”
“We can probably all go faster,” Tara said. “The sooner we get there, the better.”
They picked up the pace, leaning into the wind. None of them had even thought to bring a raincoat. Or Wellies. The ground beneath them was turning to muck. They would be lucky if they didn’t fall and break an ankle or get sick. Tara felt her teeth chattering. She mustered up her strength and just kept pushing through. Although it felt like forever, it was probably only twenty minutes later when she heard Breanna’s voice cutting through the wind.
“Nearly there, lads. It’s just up here,” she said.
In the distance, Tara could make out a blur of white. The garda station. She hated to admit it, but all she could think about now was getting out of this weather. Soon they were at the door to the Kilronan Garda Station, and to Tara’s relief, when Breanna pushed on the front door, it swung open.
“Jaysus, shut it quick,” a man’s voice yelled. They piled into the station and shut the door. What a sight they must be, seven drowned rats dripping water and shivering. A stocky guard came out to greet them.
“Don’t tell me you’re another group of tourists that didn’t pay attention to the directive?”
“We’re local,” Danny said. “We just arrived.”
“Ferry service from Doolin was shut down hours ago,” the guard said, clearly perturbed. “What do you mean you’ve just arrived?”
“We chartered a private boat,” Breanna said. “Captain Mickey.”
“Captain Mickey?” The guard groaned. “His license was suspended. Where is he? He’s lost his second chance.”
Was that why he was in the wind? Or was it because he was a cold-blooded murderer?
“There’s more,” Breanna said as she introduced herself and her position as a clerk at the Galway Garda Station. “And you’re definitely not going to like it.”
* * *
After they heard the terrible news, the guards ushered the group into a pair of squad cars. The guards would take them to the cottage Breanna had booked, but they were ordered to stay put until the guards had a look at the crime scene. “Expect a long wait,” one of them said. “It might be days before the coroner can make it.”
Tara knew it. She was relieved she’d taken photos. She would have to find a private moment to tell them. The car bounced along beat-up roads, but at least they were safe from the rain. Soon, the blur of a thatched roof came into view. The squad car pulled up in front of a modest stone cottage that Tara probably would have adored under better circumstances.
