Free Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery by Lisa Alber Page A

doorway with the cat pressed against her chest. She knew death when she saw it. There was no mistaking its particular brand of stillness. Death had sucked the energy out of Lonnie’s body, leaving it as bereft of life as a hologram.

• 9 •
    Merrit stood frozen for what seemed like forever while the cat squirmed against her clenched grip. In front of the desk, Lonnie lay on an Oriental rug that was too plush for what amounted to a converted storeroom. Scattered euro notes surrounded him, and for the first time since Merrit had the misfortune to meet him, his hair was natural in disarray rather than artfully arranged. He was almost a pretty picture in his cream linen suit. Except for the knife sticking out of his chest, of course. And the crimson stain around the wound. Even Lonnie didn’t deserve that much bad karma coming back at him.
    A fly buzzed, and Merrit knew it was only a matter of minutes before it landed on Lonnie to lay a few hundred eggs. She swallowed against stuffiness that hinted at the telltale and sweet beginnings of decomposition, and eased back a step. Ivan continued tapping away at the speed of desperation. Thankfully, the giant flat-screen monitor blocked his view of Merrit. Holding her breath, she eased back another step. To her dismay, the cat chose exactly that moment to thrust itself out of her arms.
    “ Blin !” Ivan shot up. “I see you. No, do not hide.”
    Merrit ran, but not fast enough. Ivan grabbed her in the murky storefront where darkened computer monitors yawned at them. Merrit yanked her arm, but as small as Ivan was, he was still bigger than she. “Let me go,” she said. “I’ll scream, I swear I will.”
    “How did you get inside?”
    “The back door. Were you too drunk to lock it last night?”
    Ivan pushed Merrit aside and sprinted toward the back door. Merrit grappled with the closed window blinds in search of the front door.
    “You will not leave,” Ivan said, grabbing her from behind once again.
    She struggled, but he had the strength of desperation on his side. He half carried, half pushed her back into the office. She nearly stumbled over Lonnie when he let her go. Blocking the doorway, he surveyed the Oriental rug, the executive desk, the plank shelves that held nothing but old magazines. His skin looked clammy as the underside of a mushroom. “Please to listen to me. I do not care why you come this early.”
    Merrit steadied herself and tried to exude confidence. She pointed toward the blinds that protected them from view. Already, a few pedestrian shadows stretched along the slats. “I will scream.”
    “If you really thought I did that”—Ivan waved an arm at Lonnie—“you would already be screaming like typical woman. Could be you did this instead, but I do not care about this either because I only want to stay in Ireland.” He rolled his eyes like an overloaded pack ass and pulled at his hair. “We do not have time for this talking. We help each other, yes?”
    Ivan returned to Lonnie’s computer to detach a thumb drive from the USB port. Merrit wavered, unclear whether self-preservation meant acquiescing to his request or calling the police. A notion spread through her like a malignant ink stain. Perhaps her arrival and Lonnie’s death weren’t a coincidence. Perhaps death had followed her from California.
    “But you’re tampering with evidence,” she said. “I can’t be a part of that.”
    “And you are not wanting me to tamper? Lonnie keeps all information you should know. I will be first suspect with the Garda—what you say police —and you will be second unless we minimize damage. My life that I thought could get no worse, just did. You are in same place, yes?”
    He rubbed at goose bumps that had risen on his arms. “Stay there. I need sweater,” he said.
    ***
    At the threshold of his workroom, Ivan paused to assess Merrit. Her gaze, usually so witch hazel and wide, had turned inward. Hard to read, her, but she’d inched toward the