Whispers in the Mist (18 page)

Half brother, Dermot had meant to say, with John McIlvoy as father.

TWENTY
-
NINE

M
ERRIT HELD OUT
G
EMMA’S
polka-dotted scarf and tried to ignore the buzz that assaulted her from all directions. Alan’s pub was busier than ever. Merrit felt more than a few curious stares from the locals aimed at her back as she stood before Gemma, who seemed oblivious as she read
Love in the Time of Cholera
. Bijou lay with her head on Gemma’s lap. Her tail whapped the suede dog bed in greeting.

“I found your scarf on our porch. Must have slipped off the other day.” Gemma continued reading, so Merrit placed the scarf on the pillow near Bijou’s stomach. “Gemma, listen.”

But Merrit didn’t know what to say next. As usual, Gemma barricaded herself within her hoodie and curls. Her face was visible in profile, expressionless in that mystifying way of hers. Today, though, red puffiness rimmed her eyes.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Merrit said, “but I’d like to help. If I can.”

Still, no response from Gemma. Giving up, Merrit turned to find Ellen Ahern waiting with her two children holding either hand. She said nothing, but her squint caused Merrit to excuse herself. She wanted to apologize for her very existence and assure Ellen that the
slag
painted on her car meant nothing despite what tongue-waggers might say about her and Danny. Instead, she retreated backwards until she backed into Alan.

“Ellen knows Gemma?” Merrit said.

His gaze wandered toward Gemma, then away again. “She and Dermot are staying at the house.”

With that, he walked away. On her own and feeling it, Merrit watched Gemma light up as Ellen’s children climbed onto the pillow with her and Bijou. Ellen spoke, and Gemma tilted her chin down in some kind of agreement. After a few more words, Ellen beckoned the children and left without acknowledging Merrit.

Shrugging off her discomfort, Merrit returned to Gemma. Again, Gemma ignored her.

“I’m at loose ends today because it’s Liam’s day off from the festival. He didn’t use to do that, but with his health—”

Merrit waited. Gemma turned a page in her novel. “Okay then. I’ll see you around. I’m going to pick up my necklace now. The owner of the gift shop around the corner should have it fixed good as new. You can come with me if you want.” She paused. Still nothing. “Right. I’ll let you know how much it costs. Not that I care, but Dermot insisted that he wanted to pay for the repair.”

At long last Gemma responded by grabbing her rucksack and pulling out a pad and pen.
No
, she wrote.
I broke it. I’ll pay for it.

A few minutes later, they stood in front of Pot o’ Gold Gifts. Gemma’s force of will had been evident in every tortured step they took away from the pub. Squaring her shoulders, Gemma raised her chin enough to blink at Merrit’s neck. Her nostrils flared like a shying horse. If only Merrit knew what was going on inside the woman’s head.

Inside the shop, a harassed-looking blond girl stood behind the counter poking at a monitor. She peered at the screen as if trying to decipher Egyptian hieroglyphics. At the sound of the entrance bell, she hollered for Malcolm. He appeared, looking dapper as usual and with a bright smile aimed over the head of his grumbling employee.

“Merrit! Top of the day to you,” he said. “And a wonderful day it is. I have your necklace right here, better than new if I may say so.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t a problem,” Merrit said. “I miss wearing it.”

“Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?” He aimed his satisfied smile at Gemma lagging behind Merrit. “And who’s this?” He twisted to catch a glimpse of her. If anything, his voice ratcheted up a notch, and his wide smile returned fresher than ever. “A new customer, perhaps?”

Gemma leaned away from Malcolm’s enthusiastic attempts to engage her. Poor Gemma, thought Merrit. She must get this kind of crap all the time.

“She’s along for the ride, that’s all,” Merrit said.

Malcolm’s shoulders stiffened.

“Thanks so much for fixing my necklace. You don’t know how grateful I am, and I know your time is valuable.”

Relaxing again, Malcolm led the way past marble crosses and local pottery. “Valuable indeed. And I must say that it’s amazing that I function as well as I do sometimes. Believe me when I say that owning a shop isn’t for the faint of heart.”

Behind her, Gemma grabbed Merrit’s arm, then let go. When Merrit turned, Gemma shook her head as if saying,
I’m fine, I’m fine
.

Gemma hadn’t looked up since she’d entered the store. It could be too much: the tourists bumping against them; Malcolm’s big presence; the prospect of seeing a necklace that had disturbed her the first time she saw it. Merrit found herself brightening her tone to match Malcolm’s.

“Gemma liked my necklace,” she said. “Maybe she can check out the rest of your jewelry.”

“Of course, of course, but you’ll have to excuse me. Busy day today. You take your time.” Malcolm stooped behind the counter and rose with Merrit’s beloved keepsake dangling from his fingertips. “That will be twenty euros.”

Gemma fumbled with her pocketbook and dropped a bundle of euros onto the floor in her haste to pay. Malcolm didn’t seem to notice as he placed the necklace in a box and the box in a bag, saying what a pleasure it was to see Merrit. Finally, Gemma pushed four fivers in Malcolm’s direction and stepped back.

“Very good, and a good day to you.” Malcolm moved down the counter to help another customer.

“Come,” Merrit said. “I’ll show you jewelry by the same designer as my necklace.”

At the Firebird Designs display, Gemma stared, mesmerized, as she trailed her fingers over the glass cabinet. Her other hand dug into her jacket pocket. With the same shell-shocked gaze that had animated her face right before she snitched the necklace, Gemma pulled out a small black box and snapped it open. She held it up against the glass near other semiprecious earrings with silverwork borders.

Merrit leaned in for a closer look. “Were these your mom’s?”

Gemma shook her head as she continued to compare them against Malcolm’s current stock. Merrit held out her moonstone necklace. All from the same designer, no doubt about that.

“Where did you get these earrings if not from your mom?” Merrit said.

Gemma wrote that Ellen Ahern had given them to her, that they’d been a gift. Merrit didn’t know what to make of this except that it didn’t bode well for Danny’s marriage if his wife was giving away his presents. But that was neither here nor there. Merrit’s only concern was Gemma and the distress that etched the first faintest lines around her eyes.

“I think I understand.” She aimed for a low and easy tone. “Your mom had jewelry like this.”

Gemma’s blink told Merrit she was correct.
A matching set
, she wrote.
I just remembered it
.

“My necklace is a moonstone, and your earrings are opals. Do you know what kind of stone your mom owned?”

Gemma shook her head.

“Maybe this Firebird man keeps records. Maybe we can contact him to see who bought a matching set of opals or moonstones or some other blue stone back then.”

Gemma’s head shaking grew more agitated. She was about to write something when Malcolm reappeared.

“My new salesgirl needs to learn the trade, and what better way than straight into the fire? Most people aren’t as quick to catch on as I was at that age, I’ll admit, but still there’s no use for it because otherwise I’d run myself ragged with this business. In fact, I already do. Ah, well, what’s a man to do? May I show you a ring, or perhaps a pretty bracelet?”

Gemma still held the box against the glass case. She’d frozen in place at Malcolm’s breezy interruption.

“My goodness.” He plucked the earrings out of Gemma’s hand, surprise evident. “What do we have here?” He lingered over them and handed them back. “One of his better designs, I must say.” A customer approached him. “Oh, excuse me again.”

To Merrit’s relief, Malcolm escorted the customer to the other side of the shop. Gemma snapped the box closed and tucked it into her jacket pocket. For many minutes, she studied the Firebird baubles. No, not studied, Merrit corrected herself. The opposite, in fact. Her eyes had landed on them but her focus had turned inward with such intensity that Merrit almost passed her hand in front of Gemma’s face to see if she would respond.

“Gemma?”

She surfaced with a blink and picked up the framed artist’s statement that stood beside the display. Her hands trembled as she stared at an image of the artist himself, caught in profile and half obscured by a floppy hat as he bent over his work. His scraggly beard fit the image of a recluse.

Gemma set the statement down so that it faced away from her. She scribbled on her pad.

The man who killed my mom was a jewelry maker. Back then, he didn’t have a special name for himself, though.
She tapped the jewelry case and continued writing.
This is him. Firebird Designs is John McIlvoy.

THIRTY

D
ANNY ARRIVED AT HIS
house more than ready for the children’s nightly ritual. They were his wee antidotes. He couldn’t get Seamus’s devastation out of his mind, the way he’d accepted Brendan’s death as if it were a fate he deserved.

Ellen retreated ahead of him to her bedroom with the comment that Dermot was already asleep. No surprise there. He had to be nursing a bugger of a hangover. Gemma didn’t look up as he crossed the living room. She huddled on the sofa with a book on her lap, picking at nap on the sofa cushion.

The house felt weighty, like any second something was about to erupt. Along with Seamus’s grief, he kept seeing Toby, the way his soul-bearing light had faded out, and his daughter Beth, whose light had also faded. All he wanted to do was squash Petey and Mandy against himself so they’d sink into his skin and he could carry them around with him everywhere.

Three hours later and playtime, dinner, baths, and reading ticked off, Danny sat in the children’s darkened room watching the shifting moon shadows through the fog. A breeze churned it into alternating thinner and thicker wisps. His children’s faces brightened then faded, their sleep smiles doing much to relieve his generalized distress.

Petey’s hand rose from the covers. Danny knew what was coming, the pleas not to leave yet, and preempted the request by sliding onto the bed next to his boy. Petey burrowed himself against his hip, like the warm wee kitten he was, and his hand dropped onto Danny’s stomach, relaxed, open, trusting.

He could hold his children tight, tight, tight against him, but this hadn’t helped Seamus with Brendan.

“Da?” Petey whispered.

“Hmm?”

“When will you move back home?”

“That’s a difficult question.”

“No, it’s not. You can talk to Mom after I go to sleep and then move back in tomorrow.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed? “My turn for a question: When you saw the Grey Man outside our house, did he see you?”

“No, that’s not right.” Petey sighed in imitation of Mandy, who imitated her mom. “It was only Dermot with Gemma walking up the lane because their car broke down. Gemma found the kittens in Mr. Travis’s field.”

“Right, that’s good then. No Grey Man.”

“Yes, Grey Man. He’s still out there.”

Danny pressed a goodnight kiss against Petey’s forehead and eased out of the room. He opened the door to the master bedroom without his usual knock. Ellen set aside her diary as he closed the door behind him.

“I’m uncomfortable with Dermot and Gemma in the house. I’d like them to leave.”

Ellen frowned. “You don’t live here anymore. You don’t have a say.”

“I do have a say,” Danny said. “My income pays for their food, for everything around here. More importantly, they’re connected to my current investigation.”

“I like them here and the kids like them here.”

“I understand that, but this isn’t negotiable. I’ll pick up the children for a sleepover tomorrow night and drop them off at school on Tuesday morning. This will give Dermot and Gemma a day to sort out a new place to stay.”

Her watchful gaze irked Danny, as if
she
had cause to worry over
his
behavior. He opened the jewelry box and pulled out the top tier, but the box with the earrings was missing. “Gone,” he said. “And now it’s all okay, I suppose.”

“I gave them to Gemma.”

He could care less about that. “Who gave them to you?”

“Danny, don’t. It’s done. It doesn’t matter. I was a fool. Besides, you think people haven’t poked their noses into our business, wondering about the coincidence that you happen to be staying in Fox Cottage with Merrit just down the track in Liam’s house?”