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  “It was awful. I saw it.” She shook her head.

  “Yes,” Lady Freddie said. “Poor Ailis.”

  Lassi slashed her hand across her neck.

  Lady Freddie’s eyes slid toward Petra.

  Petra stood gape-faced, all the color drained from her face.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Lady Freddie gushed. “You weren’t here when the Garda came in.”

  “What happened?” Petra asked, pressing her hand to her bosom.

  “Nothing much,” Lassi said, with a swish of her hand. “It was an act of vandalism, that’s all. Probably just a bunch of kids.”

  “This town hates my sister. And they hate me. I can see it in their eyes.” Petra wrung the cleaning cloth between her hands, squeezing out a few drops of water into the sink.

  “It’s not like that,” Lady Freddie said, stepping toward Petra.

  “Oh, but it is, Lady Freddie.” Petra’s gaze grew cold. “The last time I spoke to Ailis she told me how lonely she was. I know what it’s like to be profoundly alone. Once Jaxon, my jackass of a husband, gallivanted away with Suzanna the Sunshine Surfer chick, I knew loneliness. Oh, she was a fine one, Suzanna was. All curves, false promises, and naughty business. She was one of those artist types. The kind men swoon over thinking she’s their dream angel. I think she set her sights on Jaxon just to see if she could get him. She got him, all right.” Petra’s pale blue eyes took on a glaze, as she relived her past. “She hooked him hard, then she sashayed away to her old boyfriend. But, it was too late for Jaxon and me. He found fault at every turn. I was too this, too that, not enough of the other.” She gesticulated with her hands as she spoke, waving the cleaning cloth like a gymnast’s ribbon. “It pains me to think of my little sister so profoundly alone in her grave. She’s all I had left. Our parents died a few years back, so we only had each other.” She trained icy eyes on Lassi. “And now you say her grave has been desecrated? Which, of the many who despise Ailis, would do such a thing?”

  “Inspector Brown thinks it the work of a group of women called the Revenge Angels,” Lassi said.

  One ding rang out from the kitchen.

  Lady Freddie turned toward the sound and said, “There’s your food, Lassi, I’ll be right back.”

  Petra dropped her cleaning cloth in the sink, placed both hands on the counter and leaned toward Lassi. “Tell me the truth. How bad was the damage?”

  Lassi looked at the bar top, hesitating. Then, she let out a sigh. She deserves to know. “Her gravestone was broken. And whoever did the deed wrote the word ‘WHORE’ with sticks, all Blair witch creepy-like.”

  Petra gasped. “See what I mean? This town…”

  She shivered.

  “This town has good people,” Lassi said, hotly, surprised to be defending it. “There are a lot of decent folks here. So there’s a bad seed or two. Have you ever lived anywhere that didn’t have bad seeds?”

  Petra seemed to deflate.

  “No,” she said, wiping away a tear.

  Lady Freddie pushed through the double doors, a large plate of food in hand. She set it before Lassi. “Eat up, love.”

  Lassi’s mouth salivated. She reached for a golden crisp piece of cod, dipped it in the little paper cup full of tartar sauce, and took a bite.

  “Mmm,” she said through a mouthful. “Heaven.”

  “And you get over to the cemetery and see what needs to be done to restore your sister’s grave,” Lady Freddie said to Petra.

  Petra’s chin dipped. Her cheeks flushed with color. “I might need an advance on my paycheck to do anything. Things have been rough for me. I…” Again, she squeezed the life out of the cleaning cloth. “I hoped Ailis’ estate might have some money left over. But, there’s nothing. Anything would help.”

  Lassi looked up from her food, chewing. And there’s the real reason she’s here.

  “Don’t you worry about the money. I’ll cover the cost of a new headstone.” Lady Freddie smiled reassuringly.

  Petra’s face pulled into an expression of horror. “Oh, no, mum, you don’t need to use your money to help me out. I can pay my own way. I’m just a little short now, that’s all.”

  “Who said I was going to use my money?” A cat-like smile crossed Lady Freddie’s face. “Lord Laughlin will be happy to help out. He’s my ex, in case you wondered. And he’s going to pay me for the rest of his life.”

  “Thank you, Lady Freddie. I’ll work it off. I’ll work without pay or take on extra hours.”

  Lassi studied Petra. That woman could use a heaping dose of self-esteem. Stop groveling.

  Lady Freddie sidled toward Petra and placed her hands on her shoulders. “I said, don’t worry about it. I have plenty of money. Let me pay forward the kindness which the people of this town extended to me when I arrived, okay?”

  Petra blinked through her tears. “Okay. Thank you, Lady Freddie.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll have to wait until the Garda have removed the crime scene tape but consider it done.” Lady Freddie leaned forward and kissed Petra’s forehead. “Now go. We’re not busy at the moment.”

  Petra flashed a wan smile and removed her apron. She shuffled away with the cadence of someone twice her years.

  Lassi dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin. And yet another has been swallowed up by whatever black cloud is casting its shadows of gloom and danger in Ballynagaul. I wonder who will be next?

  Chapter 11

  Day 4, Friday noon - Siobhan

  After Lassi left, obsession struck Siobhan, drilling a hole in her brain. She should be savoring the moment of peace, with Paul laying on the living room floor, slumbering at last. Yet, as tired as she was, no way could she succumb to sleep. Not when a grave vandal was on the loose. I have to go check on Dylan’s grave. Lassi doesn’t know Dylan’s plot like I do. I know every stone, every particle of dust, every blade of grass. Maybe she missed something. Maybe his is the headstone which was desecrated.

  She tried to talk herself out of running over to check. Don’t be daft. Lassi would have noticed if something was amiss with Dylan’s place of burial. It’s right next to Ailis’. But what if the mess of Ailis’ plot obscured the real damage to Dylan’s?

  Unable to stop her inner wheels from racing along and bashing against her good sense and need for sleep, she leaped to her feet and called Mary.

  “Hello, Siobhan,” Mary answered after several rings.

  “Can you watch Paul for a short while? He’s sleeping now,” Siobhan gushed.

  A sigh met her ears.

  “It’s just for a short time, I promise,” Siobhan blurted, eager to fill the silence.

  Another sigh, longer this time, wafted into Siobhan’s ear.

  “I suppose. Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks so much. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  Before Mary could protest, Siobhan disconnected. She scurried to the mudroom to grab her coat and Wellies. Then, she stood in the carport, leaving the door ajar so she could hear Paul if he awoke.

  Several minutes later, Mary, dressed in gray slacks, her blue raincoat, and a wide-brimmed blue hat, trundled up the driveway. Gravel crunched beneath her gray rain boots. Her umbrella hung by her side.

  Siobhan hustled out to meet her. “Paul’s asleep in the front room. Lassi came to check on him and said his fever is down. I won’t be long, I promise.”

  Mary’s eyes blazed with suspicion. “Where’s the fire? What’s the big rush?”

  “I’ll explain it later. I won’t be more than an hour. The side door is open. You can just let yourself in, all right?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she jogged down the driveway, splashing through puddles of water. As she hurried along, memories of being with Dylan kept circling through her brain like clothes in the washer. One memory caught her attention.

  They’d been standing in the laundry room, arguing. Siobhan snapped at Dylan for never turning his socks right side out before dropping them in the d
irty clothes pile. “I hate to turn them inside out,” she’d said. “It’s one more step in the laundry process which I already loathe.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll try to remember,” he’d said. “Check this thatched roof out.” He placed the electronic tablet in his grip on the washer and tapped on the screen. “It will look great on our house.”

  “I told you, no thatched roof. And stop changing the subject.” She bunched his socks in a wad and threw them in the laundry basket. “I don’t like the way that real estate agent looks at you. What’s her name? Ailis O’Neill?”

  He’d laughed. “Talk about a topic switch. No one’s as beautiful as you, my precious rose.” He stepped closer and tapped her on the nose. “Especially when your messy hair is tied up in a scarf, and there’s smut right here.”

  “You should talk.” A slight smile curved her lips. “You look like you’ve been outside all day doing construction. There’s even dirt in your ears.”

  He let out another laugh. “That’s because I have been outside doing construction work. A dream house is just a dream until someone makes it happen. And you’re going to love the thatched roof.”

  She handed him the tablet, turned, and opened the lid of the washing machine. “Stop with the thatched roof, Dylan.”

  “You could persuade me to change my mind. Is Paul asleep?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But nothing,” he said, leaning to kiss the back of her neck. “Moments like this need to be cherished.”

  She rested her hands on the washer.

  “Moments like what?” she asked, already feeling a bloom of arousal in her core.

  He brought his lips to her ear. “Like this one.” His hand slid around to her breast. He kneaded and caressed her through her grimy t-shirt. “I love my sweet princess wife, even when she’s a mess.”

  She melted, turning to face him. “And I love my handsome construction worker husband, making our dream house a reality.”

  He lifted her on top of the washer, and they both got dirty in a very different passionate and tender kind of way.

  A salty tear slid into her mouth, drawing her out of her reverie. She startled. Oh! I didn’t realize I was crying. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and eyes and lifted her gaze. She’d been so distracted, she’d made it all the way to the cemetery without noticing a thing around her. Trekking through the gate, she looked up. Someone stood next to Ailis’ grave. It had to be Petra O’Neill.

  She beelined toward the plot, skirting the steel rebar and yellow police tape. Storm clouds of anger rolled into her throat, seeking release. “What are you doing here?”

  Petra lifted her gaze. “Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you.”

  She raised a shaking hand and wiped at her face.

  “Are you all right?” Siobhan asked, in a rare display of compassion. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “So do you,” Petra said. She let out a small sort of laugh sob. “Who would do such a thing?” She swept her hand toward the destruction.

  The headstone lay in two pieces. Fragments of stone which must have fractured free in the destruction lay scattered about. The word “WHORE” had been spelled with sticks.

  Siobhan took a step back, surprised by the disturbance that snaked through her belly. It’s so creepy to witness this. She stared at Petra, stunned to feel compassion toward the poor woman. Then, she remembered the woman she saw walking around her property at five a.m.

  As if her mouth totally said fuck you to her brain and good sense, she couldn’t help but ask, “Were you outside my house early this morning?”

  Petra stared at her, her face crumpling into lines and wrinkles like bunched paper. “Why would I do that? I was home in bed, huddled under the covers. I’m still struggling with the jet lag from returning from Australia.”

  Siobhan considered her answer. It seemed plausible. Sincere, even. She cocked her head and studied the poor woman. “Why did you come back? It’s been two years since Ailis died. Why now?”

  Petra scrunched up her nose. She stared at Siobhan in a goldfish kind of stare.

  Siobhan shifted from side to side, waiting for her to speak. A headache she’d been fighting off made a sudden encore, stabbing her temples. She reached up to rub her temples with her fingertips.

  Finally, Petra cleared her throat and spoke in a barely audible voice. “It took me two years working as a home health aide to save up enough money to return. I had to come back. Perhaps we were never close, but we were all each other had. But, I couldn’t bear the thought of her lying cold, dead, and alone without someone coming around to visit her. I’ve been alone and lonely for so many years, I barely remember what it’s like to feel connected to others.” She blinked back tears. “Our parents are long dead. My sister is dead. I’ve got no husband or lover. I first understood loneliness twenty years ago when I found myself abandoned and stranded in Australia by the man who had sworn to love me. Loneliness travels with me, like leeches affixed to my soul. But there’s something about coming home that at least makes it familiar…less frightening.” She gazed at Siobhan with a vast, blue-sky kind of openness.

  Siobhan knew exactly what that felt like. But she hated feeling empathy toward any relation to Ailis O’Neill. The months of grief and depression fought against her saying anything kind. Her sister destroyed any chance at happiness I could ever have. She opened her mouth to say something—she was unsure whether it was kind and compassionate or mean and snarky. Her ringtone jangled from the recesses of her purse, forcing her to abandon saying anything at all.

  She answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Siobhan.” Mary’s tone of voice sliced through Siobhan.

  Siobhan’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What is it?” she said, breathlessly.

  “Come quickly. Come now,” Mary said.

  Without a word, she spun away from Petra and sprinted toward her house. Something sinister had happened. She knew it in her bones.

  Chapter 12

  Day 4, Friday 1 p.m. - Siobhan

  Alarmed to the point of hysteria by Mary’s phone call, Siobhan sprinted toward her home like an Olympic runner. Her booted feet made a slap, slap, slap sound against the wet sidewalk. The rolling green hills and grazing sheep were nothing but a blur in her peripheral vision.

  She arrived home, breathless, and burst into her home. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Mary scurried from the back of the house, hands flapping like small birds. “Oh, Siobhan, I’m so glad you’re back. It’s little Paul. He’s taken a turn for the worst.”

  “Where is he?” Siobhan practically shouted.

  “He’s in his bedroom. He awoke as soon as I arrived and has been vomiting ever since.”

  Siobhan pushed past her, racing for his room.

  Paul lay face-up on his little bed, clutching his teddy bear. He started to cry. “Don’t feel good, Mama. I’m sick.”

  A wastebasket full of vomit sat next to his bed.

  Siobhan put her hand over her mouth to keep from upchucking her own stomach contents.

  Mary hurried in front of her. “I’m sorry. I meant to clean this up before you got here but he needed to use it.”

  As if on cue, Paul rolled to his tummy and leaned his head over the edge of his bed. He heaved, spewing ropes of saliva from his mouth.

  Mary hustled toward the bed and picked up the waste bin to hold it close to his mouth.

  “Mama,” he cried. “Make it stop.”

  “I’m trying, baby.” Siobhan fished her phone from her pocket and dialed Stephen.

  “Siobhan. I’m in the middle of something,” he said, his words clipped.

  “It’s Paul,” she wailed. “He can’t keep anything down.” Tears spilled from her eyes. She blinked through the wetness, staring at her son. As she studied him, her ears began to ring. She pressed her free hand to one ear and gasped.

  “What is it?” Stephen said.

  “It’s my ears. A horrible ringin
g just started. And, I’ve had a bitch of a headache all day. Do you think I have symptoms of a heart attack?”

  “Are you having any other symptoms? Any shortness of breath or nausea?”

  “No,” she cried. “But the ringing…it’s awful.”

  Paul kept up his steady cry.

  Mary sat beside him, patting his back. “There, there, Paulie. You’re all right.”

  “I’d come straight away, but Billy has collapsed. I’m at his house, trying to keep him alive until the ambulance arrives,” Stephen said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Siobhan gasped. “Billy? What’s wrong?”

  “We don’t know. But you get Paul to the Waterford City hospital, now.”

  A weird, raspy moan, like screeching metal, erupted through the phone.

  Siobhan shivered as if she’d been dipped in an ice bath. Good God, who makes sounds like that?

  Then, Stephen’s muffled voice said something to Billy.

  “Stephen,” she cried. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got to go, Siobhan. Call me later, okay?” Stephen sounded as stressed as her.

  “Okay, will do,” she said, but he’d already hung up. “I’ve got to get Paul to Waterford City,” she told Mary.

  “Good idea,” Mary said. “You go. I’ll get this cleaned up.”

  A ray of gratitude burst through Siobhan’s heart. It was quickly washed away by a terrible feeling of doom as she regarded Paul’s gray complexion. She grabbed his coat from the floor and bundled it around him, and then hurried for the Subaru.

  She made the hour-long ride to Waterford in thirty minutes.

  Hours later, she looked up from Paul’s side where he lay sleeping in a hospital bed with an IV needle affixed to his calf. Outside, the clouds grew inky black, matching her mood.

  Lassi sailed into the hospital room. Her long red hair frizzed in a tangled cotton-candy fray around her head.

  “I came as soon as I could, Siobhan,” she said. “We’re so busy. How is he?”

  Siobhan shrugged. “He’s stopped throwing up.”