Read Malarkey for Free Online Page B

straight run
up the N Nine."
    I gave him an absent smile and dived into the pool of
cholesterol. I would eat cereal tomorrow. Dad returned as Eithne
was bringing him a fresh pot of tea. She also offered to get me more
coffee, but I declined.
    The road atlas was rather large for the table. Dad
disappeared behind it as I addressed my bacon and fried egg. Free
range eggs did taste better than the supermarket kind. I dipped
buttered toast in the warm orange yolk. Luscious.
    "We could drive through Avoca and Woodenbridge," he
mumbled.
    I buttered another morsel of toast and dipped. "Did you call
Mother last night?"
    "Hmm? Yes, briefly. She's leaving for her workshop
tomorrow."
    "I ought to call Jay."
    "Isn't it the middle of the night there?"
    "True." The thought cheered me. I did not want to explain to
my husband that I had entangled myself in yet another police
investigation. I polished off my egg.
    Dad found Ballitore. He showed me a map criss-crossed by
what looked like tiny lanes. He gulped tea and told me about the
museum, his eyes sparkling. I warmed to his enthusiasm.
    We left the breakfast room replete. I watched Dad's
progress up the stairs. He didn't leap upward like a goat, but he was
moving faster than he had the day before. When we reached the top
of the stairs, I said, "I suppose we ought to pack and check out."
    He looked guilty. "I booked us for another night."
    "But you're already paying for the cottage!"
    "I like it here."
    A new, willful father. I regarded him with a mixture of
bafflement and affection. "Well, okay, but I'll have to get some
clothes from the cottage." After another day of driving, my sweater
was going to stick to my skin.
    We reached the cottage without incident, though it was a
good thing Dad navigated. I had no recollection of the road I drove
on. A patrol car and an anonymous sedan sat on the gravel by the
front door. The ambulance had gone, I hoped with the remains of
Slade Wheeler.
    As we emerged from the Toyota, a uniformed constable
stepped through the door and held up his hand, palm out. "Crime
scene."
    I introduced Dad and myself as the lawful tenants of the
cottage and explained that I had found the body.
    "Wait here." He disappeared inside.
    A damp wind was blowing from the southeast. After a chilly
five minutes, a man in a rumpled gray suit came out to greet us. He
told us he was Chief Detective Inspector Mahon, and he
commiserated with us on the unpleasant start of our holiday. We
shook hands all round.
    Dad said crisply, "We're not on holiday. I'm here to do
historical research. And I've been here—in Dublin, that is—for ten
days. My daughter and I intend to visit a museum in Kildare this
morning, if you've no objection. However, we're entirely at your
service."
    Chief Inspector Mahon frowned. He was a balding, heavy
man of about fifty. "Come in, come in. It's cold out here, and I need to
clarify a few matters."
    We followed him into the kitchen where there was evidence
of tea drinking and fast food. If the police had been there all night,
they were entitled. Mahon sat us down in the living room, offered us
tea, which we declined, and took us through our statements.
Someone had typed them. The constable took notes. I wondered
where Sgt. Kennedy was but didn't ask. I could hear voices below
stairs.
    Mahon seemed awfully interested in the scuff marks I'd
found inside the doorway. I was unable to elaborate on what I'd
seen, a mere impression.
    "You walked all over the marks, I take it."
    I kept my voice mild. "I didn't anticipate finding what I
found."
    "I daresay not." He looked depressed.
    I did want to cooperate. "I'm wearing the boots I wore
yesterday. Why don't you take them down and eliminate my
footprints?"
    That cheered him a little. He vanished down the stairs. More
rumbling and scuffling. I contemplated the toes of my socks. Hadn't
Barbara Stein said something about workmen's boots? No. What was
it?
    Toss Tierney. I was telescoping Mrs. O'Brien's comment
about the great