Read Online The Irish Manor House Murder by Dicey Deere - Free Book Online

Walking about? Walking about, exactly where? “Oh … through the fields, the woods, near Castle Moore.”
    Evasive, a lie. The lie rang like a gong, the way Rowena Keegan’s green-eyed glance slid away, the flush that rose and stained her pale face, cheeks to brow. Trickles of perspiration slid down from her temples, darkening the red hair that framed her face. So familiar to him; he’d seen her grow up. Only — he blinked, as though to clear his vision — only wasn’t there something a bit different about her? More … solid? A creamy softness, a richness. Puzzling. Reminded him somehow of his wife. Not that Noreen looked at all like Rowena Keegan.
    In any case, a liar. She’d been in the gully and dropped her notebook. But not enough evidence to arrest her for murder. O’Hare’s jaw was beginning to ache. He’d been gritting his teeth again.
    Leaving the police station Rowena Keegan put the can of soda on top of the machine. “I only drank half,” she told Sergeant Bryson. “It’s diet, no sugar in it. That’s okay for Nelson’s teeth. In case he’d like the other half.”

19
    “Gully,” Torrey said to Jasper. They were in the kitchen at the cottage. “Short for ‘gully knife’ in English dialect. As in, ‘He cut the bastard with a gully.’”
    Jasper didn’t answer. His back was to her. He was putting prunes and apricots around the pork roast that would go into the oven for tonight’s dinner.
    “Just why Rowena’s notebook was found there, what about this?” Torrey hesitated. Was she telling Jasper too much?
    “What about what?” Jasper shook out a skimpy handful of brown sugar and sprinkled it into the roasting pan.
    “Well, suppose someone put Rowena’s notebook there, setting her up. Or she was in the gully to meet someone and doesn’t want to say who.” The gully. That hidden pocket in the woods. The thought was irresistible: Rowena, the pregnant Rowena, meeting her … lover? Because, Where did you come from / Baby dear? A lover. Alive and somewhere out there. If only it were so.
    But she was revealing too much. She slanted a glance toward Jasper. He was sliding the pork roast into the oven.
    “That’s the last of the cloves.” Jasper’s head was turned away, his voice muffled. “What? Oh, sure. A possibility.” He closed the oven door, straightened, and set the timer for the roast.

20
    At eight o’clock Wednesday morning, Padraic Collins, his nose red from an unexpected morning chill, parked his old Honda in the drive at Ashenden Manor. He found Caroline pacing the vegetable garden, wearing a moldy old chinchilla coat. She was frowning in apparent intense concentration.
    “I was passing,” Padraic said. “I’m on my way to O’Doyle’s. Touch of flu, the O’Doyle kids. Thought I’d stop by, see if there’s anything I could —”
    “The will, Padraic,” Caroline said. “My father’s will. I distinctly remember him saying to me — it must’ve been two years ago? — he’d just come from his lawyers, Wickham and Slocum, in Dublin. ‘I’ve made a new will,’ he told me. ‘Had to make a change.’ He looked so … is there an expression ‘quiet rage,’ Padraic?”
    “Dryden? Something about swelling the soul to quiet rage?”
    “Hmmm? So anyway, now I’ve no idea who’s inheriting what. I know I was to’ve gotten the Ashenden Manor estate. I hope so. Mark seems so … so enchanted by it. But it’s Scott. Scott has so little income of his own, just those bits of royalties of his father’s. And his crippled leg…”
    Padraic said, “What about Kildare? Your father once mentioned some Ashenden property in Kildare. Three hundred acres, a Georgian house, stables, good grazing land, a — what’s the matter, Caroline?” She had gone quite pale. Padraic felt a rush of concern.
    “I haven’t had breakfast.” Caroline drew her coat closer. “I wanted some air, first. Yes, Kildare. Supposed to go to Rowena. It was promised…” Her voice