Irish milkshake murder, p.4
Irish Milkshake Murder, page 4
“Can we all fit in here?” Tom asked as Breanna found the key where she’d been instructed to look and struggled to open the door. She finally got it open, and they all stepped inside. It was dark and smelled damp.
“We need to find the light switch,” Breana said.
A torch flicked on. The guard held it underneath his face, giving his paunchy cheeks an eerie glow. “No electricity, lads,” he said. “I can leave this with ye, but I’d suggest rummaging in the drawers for matches, candles, torch batteries—we’ll be without power for days, weeks even.”
“Weeks?” Rachel shrieked.
“Hen party, woo-hoo!” Tara couldn’t help but say.
“You’re lucky you have a roof over your head,” the guard said. “But I gather it won’t be long before she’s leaking, so. You might want to scrounge around for pots and pans.”
“Alcohol?” Rachel said. “Is there alcohol?”
“You will all need to be questioned about the incident on the boat, so I repeat: you are being advised to remain in this cottage.” The guard switched off the torch, plunging them into darkness. “Batteries don’t last forever, mind ye,” he said.
“We won’t go anywhere,” Tara said.
“Can we go out for supplies?” Danny asked. “We need food, drink, more torches . . .”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and find that someone left something behind,” the guard said. “But all the shops are closed. Did ye really pay no attention at all to the warnings, like?”
“They’re getting married,” Breanna said, pointing to Tara and Danny, as if this was all their fault.
No hen party! Tara shouted silently. I said no hen party!
“Tell ye what,” the guard said, his tone softening. “I’ll bring ye whatever supplies we have at the station. I’ll have a guard drop it off in an hour so. But otherwise, you make do with whatever you have until further notice. Understand?”
“Understood,” Breanna said.
“Please,” Dave said. “My poor brother.”
Tara’s eyes were starting to adjust to the dark. The guard removed his cap and held it to his chest. “My condolences,” he said. “May he rest in peace.”
“He was poisoned,” Dave said.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Tara said quickly. “He died after drinking a milkshake.”
“A milkshake?” the guard said. “In a storm?”
“To be fair, the storm only started shortly after we disembarked,” Rachel said.
“American,” he said. “You are tourists.”
“She’s a tourist,” Danny said, pointing to Rachel. “And she’s a transplant,” he said, nudging Tara. “But the rest of us are locals.”
“Then it’s the rest of ye I blame,” the guard said as he placed his cap back on. “Eejits.” And with the slam of the door, he was gone.
Chapter Four
Truth or Dare
The interior of the cottage consisted of a combined kitchen and sitting area with two bedrooms just off the main room and a small bathroom down a hall. It was perfect for three women; it was claustrophobic with all seven of them—but then again, they were out of the rain and the wind, and as she listened to it rattle the windows and screech outside, Tara was grateful.
“If I weren’t soaked to the bone, starving, and thirsty, I’d say this was totally cool,” Rachel said.
“We’re like survivors on a deserted island,” Mark said. “Except for all the other people, on the island, like.”
“We all need to change out of these wet clothes as quickly as possible,” Tara said. “I’ll check the towels in the bathroom. If you brought your own towels—”
“We don’t have our luggage,” Breanna pointed out. “It’s still on the boat.”
Tara slapped her forehead. She truly wasn’t thinking. Of course. All their things were still on the boat.
“Do you think the guards will bring them to us?” Rachel said. “Should we try to catch him?”
“You think you can run after a squad car that left ten minutes ago in the storm of the century?” Mark asked.
Rachel seared him with a look. Mark’s cheeks blazed red as he gazed at his wet shoes.
“We can’t stay in these clothes,” Tara said. “We’ll get sick.”
“We get creative, then,” Danny said. “Towels, blankets, sheets—we can even use curtains if we have to.”
“You’re joking me,” Tom said.
“There’s no choice,” Breanna said. “It’s a brilliant idea. In the meantime, we can hang our clothes around the place to dry—hopefully get a fire going.” She headed to the bathroom and returned with four towels. “We can all take turns drying off, but go easy.”
“I’ll check the closets,” Rachel said.
“Let’s all check everywhere,” Tara said. “Anything you find that can become a makeshift outfit, put it on the dining table.”
“Anything you find that we can eat or drink, same,” Breanna said.
“Or smoke,” Tom added.
“Even a pack of cards,” Danny said. “We’ll need something to entertain ourselves.”
“Is he serious about smoking?” Rachel said. “No smoking in the cabin.”
“And here I thought you were going to be fun,” Tom said.
“Let’s hope someone left something here of use,” Danny said. The mission seemed to energize them. They very much needed to focus on something so that the thought of poor Noel lying dead on that boat didn’t overwhelm them. Was it possible he died of natural causes? Tara sure hoped so. Otherwise they might be stuck in a tiny cottage on a remote island during the storm of a century with a killer. She was new to hen parties, but she was pretty sure this one would go down in the history books as the worst one ever. She hoped it wasn’t a sign of the marriage to come.
* * *
Minutes later, they looked as if they had dressed like lunatics on purpose—sheets, old robes, towels, and in Dave’s case, a bedroom curtain. Despite the somber mood of a recent death, or maybe because of it, the group took one look at each other, and everyone burst out laughing. Their clothes had been wrung out and were lying about to dry.
But they had found a few things. One more torch, a pack of matches, a can of beans, and two bottles of Bulmers.
They tried the torch. It worked. “We can keep one on and have the other as backup,” Tom said. He shone the light from one of the torches around the room.
“What’s that?” Danny asked as the light bumped over something in one of the dining room chairs. Tom focused the light. It was a backpack.
“That’s mine,” Dave said. “I didn’t let Captain Mickey take it.”
“Why is that?” Rachel asked, her forehead wrinkling as if she was suspicious.
“Because it has my good tap shoes,” Dave said. “I always keep them close.”
“Is there anything else in there?” Breanna said.
“Anything we can use?” Tom edged forward. Soon, several of them were surrounding Dave and eyeing the backpack.
“I was saving it for a surprise,” Dave said.
The wind rattled the windows, making everyone jump. Rain gushed sideways outside. “I’d say we could all use a surprise about now,” Mark said, adjusting a very large robe he’d found in the closet.
Dave unzipped the pack and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Nearly everyone whooped. “I don’t want to seem like I’m celebrating,” he said. “But I could really use a drink.”
“I don’t think we should start drinking,” Tara said.
“Are you joking me?” Breanna’s hands were on her hips, a bedsheet tied toga-style around her. “We’re on the Aran Islands in a mad storm, wearing bedsheets, towels, and curtains, after an extremely tragic morning. Not to mention those boozy milkshakes are starting to wear off, it’s your hen party and you’ve literally nowhere to go, and you still don’t want to party?”
Tara looked around to find everyone staring at her with the same expression: Come on!
Tara adjusted her sheet. “You have a point.” Cheers went up around the room.
“We should set a few ground rules,” Tom said, “before the drinking begins.”
“Like what?” Danny O’Donnell did not like rules, and his tone reflected that.
“First of all, until we know what or who killed Noel, we shouldn’t ever let each other out of our sight.”
Dave held up the bottle. “It’s never been opened,” he said. “Anyone is welcome to check.”
“That seems a bit extreme,” Rachel said.
“Actually, it doesn’t,” Danny said. “One of us could be a killer.”
“One of you, you mean,” Rachel said. “Because I am not a killer, my bestie is not a killer”—she poked Tara’s arm—“and I very much doubt the garda clerk is a killer.”
“Thanks,” Breanna said. “I think.”
Her bestie? Tara had been meaning to ask Breanna exactly what gave her the idea that she’d want Rachel Madigan to join them on this trip. They hadn’t spoken in years. And even back in their New York days, Rachel had been competitive. Starting with their first day at FIT, the Fashion Institute of Technology in Manhattan, where they started their interior design education. Friends, of a sort—maybe colleagues, but besties? Rachel was driven and a very sore loser. Not that Tara thought she was a killer. Why would Rachel harm one of them? She didn’t even know Noel. Or Dave. Or Danny. The letters written on the cup were D-A—had it been meant for Dave or Danny? Did Noel just get extremely unlucky? What if someone was after her husband-to-be?
“Poison is a woman’s game,” Mark said, his gaze bouncing between Rachel, Tara, and Breanna. “It has to be one of you.”
“You really think I have it in me to be a killer?” Breanna asked. She sounded almost hopeful.
“Captain Mickey must be the killer,” Dave said. “Isn’t that what everyone said earlier?”
“It makes the most sense,” Danny said. “Unless . . .” He paused as the whiskey bottle was passed to him. He took a drink, then passed it Tara. She stared at the bottle. It seemed no one was worried about germs either. She passed it on without taking a drink. Unfortunately, it was Breanna standing next to her, and Breanna shoved it right back at her.
“We’re in this together,” Breanna said. “Horse it into ya.”
Tara hadn’t felt this kind of pressure since high school. She drank, wincing as the whiskey hit the back of her throat, and passed it to Breanna once more.
Dave swallowed hard. “It does indeed seem odd that Captain Mickey is missing. But . . . what if . . .” His voice rose in pitch.
Everyone took a step toward Dave. “What if what?” Danny prompted.
“What if the killer threw Captain Mickey overboard?” Dave blurted out.
Gasps were heard around the room as they considered this.
“Diabolical,” Rachel whispered. “Is that whiskey ever coming around to me?”
Breanna handed over the bottle. “Captain Mickey is a big man,” Breanna said. “He would have made a big splash.”
“It was rather loud on the boat,” Tom said. “All that tap dancing. It’s possible we missed a splash.”
“It’s Irish dancing,” Dave corrected.
“It still made noises, like tap, tap, tap,” Tom said.
“If Captain Mickey was thrown overboard, then who steered the boat to the dock?” This came from Mark.
“Good point,” Tara said.
“Anyone here know how to operate a ferry?” Danny asked.
“Like the killer is going to out himself,” Rachel said.
“Or herself,” Mark added.
“Oh, right,” Rachel said. “Because poison is a woman’s game.”
Mark put one finger on his nose and pointed the other at Rachel. She rolled her eyes. “If I was going to kill someone, I would probably use a knife,” she said. “Something small and pretty with a pearl handle.”
“Rachel,” Tara said.
“What?” She put her hands on her hips. “I carry one in New York.”
Tara wondered how she could be so glib in front of Dave. His twin was gone. She could only imagine how close they were, even sharing the same passion and performing together. It had to be stressful at times. But from everything she’d heard, they were somewhat famous. They probably made good money. Dave was facing losses on all fronts, although right now all that mattered was that someone he loved had tragically died. Tara turned to Rachel. “Isn’t it illegal to carry a knife in New York?”
“I have no clue.” Rachel shrugged. “Who cares about illegal when your life is in jeopardy?”
“Are you carrying a knife now?” Danny asked.
Rachel swept her hand down the very short towel she had wrapped around herself. “Would you like to search me?”
Danny politely declined.
“If the killer threw Captain Mickey overboard, why would he leave Noel lying on the boat?” Tara pointed out.
They all took this in. No matter how they looked at it, this situation was baffling. Breanna began putting logs on the fire. At least they had matches and enough kindling and dry wood stacked inside for one good one. “We’re not going to solve this among ourselves,” Breanna continued as she stacked wood in the fireplace. “We didn’t even examine the crime scene.”
Breanna must not have seen Tara snapping photos with her mobile phone. Had anyone else taken any? On one hand, they could compare and see if anything stood out, on the other, short of Danny and Breanna, Tara just didn’t know who she could trust.
“The minute there’s a break in the storm, we need to find Captain Mickey,” Dave said, taking a sip out of the whiskey bottle. “He’s either a killer or he ran because he was afraid he’d take the blame.”
“The guards will search for him once the weather clears,” Breanna said, as she lit the kindling and the fire began crackling.
“I can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Dave said. “I have to find Captain Mickey.”
“If he’s on the island, there’s only so many places he could go,” Mark said.
“What are we going to do? Knock on doors?” Rachel asked.
“He mentioned something about a famous cow,” Danny said. “Maybe we start there.”
“No one is going anywhere right now,” Tom said as he took the bottle. “Shall we play Truth or Dare?”
Tara groaned, then pretended she was coughing when everyone gave her a look. “Yay,” she said. “Truth or Dare.”
Breanna’s shoulders slumped. “I left the penis wands on the ferry.”
“How disappointing,” Tara said, hoping she was managing to keep a straight face.
* * *
“Truth?” Breanna asked, starting off the game. The fire was humming, and they were all huddled around it. Breanna pointed at Rachel. “Or dare?”
“Dare,” Rachel said.
Tara had been hoping she’d pick truth. She wanted to know what she was really doing here.
“I dare you to go outside and stay there for ten minutes,” Breanna said. The rain was still biblical.
“No,” Tara leapt up at the same time as Rachel. “It’s not safe, and there’s nothing else for her to wear.”
“I think I saw a tablecloth,” Breanna said.
“It’s my hen party, and I say no stupid dares.”
Breanna stuck her lip out, but if she wanted to reply, she thought better of it.
“The entire point of the game is stupid dares and juicy secrets,” Tom said.
“One tragedy is enough for today, thank you very much,” Tara insisted.
“I have one for all of you,” Dave said. “Truth! Did you murder my brother?” He pointed his finger and pivoted until he’d indicated every single one of them. They all simply stared back at him.
“What about Two Truths and a Lie?” Rachel said.
“What’s that?” Danny asked.
“We go around and each say three things about ourselves. Two of them have to be the truth, and one of them has to be a lie. Then everyone guesses which one is the lie.”
“I’d play that,” Breanna said. “Except some of us know each other pretty well—that’s not very fair.”
“In that case, everyone will need to think of something no one else knows,” Rachel said. “A juicy secret or two.”
“You start,” Breanna said with a nod to Rachel.
“Okay. Let me think. Okay. I’ve been skydiving. I eloped in Vegas. I’m shocked I was invited to this hen party because I thought Tara Meehan hated my guts.” She smiled at Tara as if she had just said something pleasant.
“I . . . I don’t hate your guts,” Tara said. “But to be honest, I was surprised—”
“No, no, no,” Rachel said. “That’s not how you play the game. Which one is a lie?”
“You eloped in Vegas is a lie,” Tara said.
Rachel stuck her lip out. “No fun.”
“Can I continue with my statement now?” Tara asked.
“No,” Rachel said. “It’s your turn.”
Tara gazed out at the heavy rain. “This is the worst storm I’ve ever been in. If Rachel thought I hated her guts, I wonder why she came, and . . . I love drinking whiskey out of a bottle that everyone else had their mouths on.”
Breanna crossed her arms. “You’re cheating. Obviously, it’s the last one.”
Dave popped up. “Me twin is dead, he’ll probably go to heaven because he was the devout one, and now I don’t know whether or not to go on Dancing with the Stars.”
“Those all sound like truths,” Danny said.
“Oh,” Dave said. “They are.”
“That’s a big deal, Dancing with the Stars,” Tara said.
Dave nodded. “It’s our big break. Was our big break. So close to fame and me brother is dead. They wanted both of us to take turns dancing with the same woman—as if we’re literally the same person. It would have been great craic.” He lifted his chin. “I’m willing to do it—in honor of Noel—but will they even want me now? Will they want the dancer with the dead twin?”
Chapter Five
On Guard
“This must be so hard for you,” Rachel said to Dave. “I’m so, so sorry.”
