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

front door while his back was turned.
    “One word about you,” he blurted. “Morphine. So you stay, yes? Or maybe I go to the Garda. I am sure you do not want them looking at you too closely.”
    “Did Lonnie know too?” Merrit said.
    “Maybe, maybe not.”
    In an emotional about-face that startled—and gratified—Ivan, Merrit’s face bloomed red and she patted her chest. She clawed through her oversized purse. Not finding what she looked for, she then exhaled in short huffs into the bag of her hands.
    Let her stew on their predicament. Ivan continued into the workroom, chewing on his resentment once again. With Merrit standing there huffing and puffing, he couldn’t even pinch the money scattered around Lonnie’s body like confetti. He deserved compensation for his slave-labor hardships.
    Worse still, with the matchmaking festival starting the next day, there would no doubt be extra scrutiny and scandal. And all of it aimed in his direction. Ivan knew how the system worked, no different in Ireland than in Belarus: tidy over local blemishes, keep the tourists happy and safe, find a scapegoat named Ivan, and boot said Ivan back to Minsk. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Blin , no.
    Not seeing his sweater on its usual hook, he grabbed a pair of latex gloves instead. He was already wearing a pair. He returned to Merrit. “Take these. If you did not kill him, and if I did not—”
    “The big if ,” she wheezed.
    “—we have to choose to trust each other, yes? I will not tell about you, and you will do same for me.”
    He balled his fists, waiting for her to catch breath enough to scream down the walls. Instead, she pulled in a shaky breath, put on the gloves, and fumbled a yarn ball out of her shoulder bag. With the distanced look of someone floating from the ceiling, she wiped down the door frame she’d grabbed to steady herself.
    “When the Garda arrive,” he continued, “explain that you walked in and saw me standing in doorway then you will appear truthful.”
    “And by association, you too?”
    “Honesty by appearances. In Belarus this takes politicians far.”
    “The file. Where is it?”
    Back at the computer, his fingers tapped the keyboard. His mind raced, trying to remember if he had erased everything that implicated him in Lonnie’s blackmailing schemes. Damn Merrit for distracting him from his task.
    “Hello, Ivan, where are the printouts?” Merrit said. “Lonnie showed me the file. It has to be here somewhere.”
    “I do not know where Lonnie stores the hard-copy file. I already looked, but you can try too.”
    Too many minutes later, Ivan was ready for the next phase of evidence tampering, and Merrit had given up her search for the file. “Now you help me with computer,” he said. “And then we call the Garda.”

• Part II •
    Sunday, August 31st – Saturday, September 6th
    “Even well-honed instincts can come undone.”
    —Liam the Matchmaker

Gull’s Hollow Community Gazette, Monday, July 17, 1989
    Hero’s Death Continues to Baffle Locals
    Officials continue to investigate the death of local philanthropist Julia Chase McCallum. On June 7, McCallum was killed after her BMW collided with an oncoming Ford truck in the worst crash this area has seen in a decade.
    The truck’s driver, Chris Jones, 18, sustained massive head trauma and remains in critical condition at St. Joseph’s Hospital. Sources close to the investigation say initial evidence shows McCallum drifted into the oncoming lane. McCallum’s husband, Andrew McCallum, president of the privately held Mid-Pacific Consulting and Trading Company, headquartered in San Francisco, could not be reached for comment.
    “Julia was an esteemed member of our community,” said Mayor Danny Wyatt, “and we feel her loss immensely. This is a tragedy.”
    McCallum chaired the local equestrian club and was a show-jumping champion.
    “Her expertise will be sorely missed,” said Marilyn Cooper, cofounder of the Wine Country