Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery by Lisa Alber Read Free Book Online Page A

thing.”
    “I’ll bet you’re all for what’s modern and new anyhow.” There went Merrit’s twitching eyebrow again. “A minimalist.”
    Kate allowed herself a sociable laugh. Why, if the situation were different, Kate might actually like this Merrit. Kate hadn’t suffered through one boring moment, which was unusual.
    Patsy cleared away the sandwich plate and deposited a silver tray piled high with tea cakes. Merrit snapped her teeth shut over a pastel green confection and chewed fast. She nodded toward the cake tray, but Kate shook her head.
    “You’ll have to tell me how the party is tonight,” Kate said. “From what I hear, the matchmaker was quite the predator back in the day. A right asshole always surrounded by his pride of females, hence the nickname Liam the Lion.”
    Merrit dropped the cake she was holding onto the tray. Behind the twin-barrel gaze, Kate spied pain, a soulful crackle from a buried place Merrit couldn’t quite hide. Aha, got you.
    “Do you know where the bathroom is?” Merrit said.
    Kate pointed, and Merrit edged her way toward the far end of the room. Daft, letting Kate’s comment get to her like that. She’d be five minutes in the bathroom at least, so under cover of a passing group of middle-aged fatties, Kate grabbed Merrit’s forgotten bag from the opposite seat back. Holy hell, for a tidy thing she kept a filthy purse. Every kind of tourist pamphlet, yarn, knitting needles, gum wrappers, a notepad that Kate wished she had time to read, wadded Kleenex, a few scuffed aspirins, crumbs. In a side pocket, passport and money, just so. Deep into the other side pocket—she caught sight of Merrit with composure back in place. By the time Merrit returned, Kate was swinging her own purse over her shoulder.
    “You should take care,” she said. “You forgot your purse.”
    “Who’s going to snatch it with you sitting there? Thanks for watching it.” Merrit picked up her bag. “By the way, he was called Liam the Lion because he had a huge head of red-gold hair.”
    Smiling, Kate let her have the last word. Once outside and with polite goodbyes out of the way, Kate trailed behind Merrit. Instead of returning to the village dosser, Merrit veered left alongside the plaza, then left again into an alley that ran parallel to the noncoastal. Kate kept her distance and watched Merrit turn into one of the row houses. The reassuring press of paper against her breast reminded her of the letter’s last line. P.S. Watch for a woman named Merrit. She’s your half-sister. She’s sure to arrive in time for the matchmaking festival.
    Kate wasn’t a woman to dwell on facts she couldn’t control, but a sister for feck’s sake? She needed a sister like she needed Lonnie’s prying little bugger nose sniffing after her.
    A most disgusting predicament. Sharing didn’t come easily to her.

• 6 •
    The evening of Liam’s birthday party, Ivan contemplated himself under fluorescent lights. His hair couldn’t be tamed, his mother used to say. This was back in Minsk, in the days when he wore the frizzy mass long and backed into a ponytail. Too bad, his mother also said, he had the face of a man who could be tamed. A spineless face.
    In the mirror, he watched his face crumple, first the sagging lips, then the slack cheeks, then the droopy eyelids. The contortion highlighted incipient wrinkles around his mouth. He didn’t believe Connie when she said he’d age well. No going to pudge for you, she said. Then that laugh of hers, amazed that he should be interested in a fat old cow like her.
    Ivan dabbed on aftershave. Little did Connie know he’d bought the scent because of—and for—her the very day he’d become aware of her apart from her pack of churchy do-gooders. On that first truly warm day in June, Connie had jutted her chin in a stubborn stand against Mrs. O’Brien’s endless bullying about plaza beautification , and he found himself helping Connie down a ladder. She held his hand a