Whispers in the Mist by Lisa Alber Read Free Book Online Page B

remind him every day.”
    Seamus flushed. The two men had puffed themselves up right enough while the rest of the crows jeered them on. Their dynamic intrigued Danny. Malcolm and Seamus were among the smiliest men in the village—Malcolm quick with conversation, Seamus quicker still with jokes. Now, the men considered each other and, while Danny watched, came to a silent understanding. Dance of the alpha male, alive and well in Lisfenora village.
    “You mind yourself,” Seamus said. “My son, that’s what.”
    “Of course.” Malcolm’s grin returned. “I’m owing you, is that it?”
    Danny pulled more pints. Seamus never talked about it, but he’d almost lost Brendan to meningitis. Danny understood the sorrow of losing a child, the way the sadness burrowed into your heart, dormant but always there. Perhaps Seamus felt the pain of Brendan’s near death in the same way. It would be enough to turn anyone into a controlling parent.
    Alan came through and lifted his eyebrows at Malcolm. Malcolm declined a second drink. “I’ve got a trim figure to keep,” he said. “Cut a bit of the dash in these suits I buy in Dublin.”
    “And so you do,” Alan said and departed again to maneuver three falling-down drunk Germans out the front door. “Time, gents. Finish your drinks and pay up,” he said when he returned.
    Alan grabbed up the till and the cash register tape. He told his junior barman to lock the door against newcomers and called Bijou from her corner pillow. The dog followed him into the back office with Danny close behind. Danny could almost hear Alan’s ex-athlete’s bones creaking and the tendons groaning against his right shoulder from an old hurling injury. By the end of the night, Alan often lurched about his bar like an arthritic bear.
    In his office, Alan fell into his chair with a groan. “I need a bloody business partner is what I need,” he said. “Here, I count the cash into bundles. You wrap them in rubber bands. Wait, but first.”
    Alan gathered up the credit card slips into a haphazard stack and shuffled through them. “Tips,” he said. “Whatever else you say about Americans, they tip.”
    He pulled cash out of the till and allocated the tips written onto the credit card receipts into various envelopes for his staff. He then divvied the tips he’d earned amongst the envelopes.
    As they worked on either side of Alan’s desk, counting and bundling cash, Bijou decided to sniff every inch of Danny’s left leg. Satisfied with Danny’s odors, the beast leaned against Danny with her head heavy on his thigh. Saliva from her voluptuous jowls soaked through to his skin. Danny fondled the dog’s ears, and she blinked up at him drowsily.
    “Ay,” Alan said, “so what’s biting into your sleep tonight?”
    “A dead boy’s eyes.” Danny continued, “To be honest, I still miss Liam’s counsel. I’d have gone to him first, but—”
    With Liam, Danny wouldn’t give much thought to how absurd he’d sound talking about lost boys and sparrows and soul-bearers and hoverings and Grey Man. But then, Liam had a bit of an old-world faerie dusting about him anyhow.
    “Fer Christ’s sake, visit the man, would you?” Alan said. “Enough already.”
    Danny nodded, thinking about last year’s murder case and Merrit’s invasive role in the outcome. In the end, Liam had avoided the consequences of his actions, and Danny couldn’t stand his own role in what happened. But fate had a way of exacting its own punishment, didn’t it? It had been an excruciating year for Liam, that much was true.
    They continued counting and rubber banding in silence, then Alan said, “You should know that on the plaza Seamus overheard a man—his name is Dermot—accuse Liam of somehow causing his mother’s death.”
    Danny sat back and finished off the pint that he’d brought with him, growing more weary by the second. “Was it a serious accusation?”
    “Not sure. Seamus wasn’t bothered by it anyhow.