In Death 31 - Indulgence in Death

roots there. She left with the wrong guy, or she flirted with somebody, and the guy she was with didn’t like it. Argue, slap, scratch, punch, passion and fury, he chokes her out of that fury or to shut her the hell up—and kills her before he pulls it together again. Panic. This can’t be happening to me. Self-preservation. Get rid of her, get away from her. Go home and hide.”
    “Did you run probabilities?”
    “Maybe.” She smiled just a little. “To pass the time. I guess this kind of screwed up the day.”
    “It certainly did for Holly Curlow.”
    “You’ve got that right. If you come pick me up, we can go back and do whatever it is we’re supposed to do with the rest of it.”
    “Happy to.”
    When she stepped out of the woods seconds later—with only the slightest shudder of relief—she saw him. He sat on the lip of the fountain, looking toward her.
    “You made pretty good time,” she said into her ’link.
    “No reason to dawdle.”
    “What’s a dawdle exactly? Is it more than a pause, less than procrastination?”
    Now he smiled. “Somewhere in that vicinity.”
    She shut off the ’link, slipped it into her pocket as she approached. “People should be able to dawdle when they’re on vacation.”
    “So they should.” He took her hand, drew her down to sit beside him. “This is a fine spot for dawdling.”
    “It didn’t spoil it?”
    “No.” He draped an arm over her shoulders, pressed a kiss to her temple. “Who knows better than we that death happens even in good places? You wish you could finish it for her.”
    “I can’t. She’s Leary’s. Technically,” she added when he kissed her again.
    “Then know that she was lucky you were here. And that if it doesn’t go as you think it will, we can easily spend a few more days in Clare.”
    Part of her wanted to agree, to hold him to the offer. But the rest, what had evolved between them, had her shaking her head. “No. This isn’t my case, and this is our time. Let’s go back to the farm. I think I could use a pint.”

    L eary contacted her three times, with information and for advice. She tried to be discreet about it, easing her way out of the room to take the transmission. And she kept the updates to herself even though the family—including Sean, who’d wheedled his way into an overnight—stared at her on her return.
    By moonrise, he was on the doorstep.
    “Good evening to you, Mrs. Lannigan. Sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if I could just have a word with the lieutenant.”
    “Come in, Jimmy. How’s your ma doing then?”
    “She’s well, thanks.”
    “How about a cup of tea?”
    “Sure I could use one.”
    “Come on back to the kitchen.” Without looking around, she pointed a finger at Sean when he got to his feet. “Sit where you are, lad.”
    “But, Gran, I—”
    “And not a word out of you. Eve, why don’t you come on back? You and Jimmy can have a cup and talk in private.”
    Removing his uniform hat, Jimmy stepped in, looked around. “How’s it all going then?”
    “Well enough,” Aidan Brody told him. “You’ve had a hard day, lad. Go have your tea.”
    Sinead fussed a little, setting out the tea, adding a plate of the cookies they called—for reasons that eluded Eve—biscuits. She gave Leary a motherly pat on the shoulder.
    “Take all the time you need. I’ll keep that lot out of your way.”
    “Thanks for that.” Leary added sugar and milk to his tea, then with eyes closed took a long sip. “Missed my supper,” he told Eve and grabbed a cookie.
    He looked tired, and considerably less green—in complexion and experience—than he had that afternoon. “Murder usually trumps food.”
    “I know that now, that’s for certain. We have him.” He let out a little breath, almost a surprised laugh. “We have the one who killed Holly Curlow. I wanted to tell you in person.”
    “Boyfriend?”
    He nodded. “Or one who thought he ought to be the one and only for her, and who she’d decided to shake off. They’d been at a party in Ennis last night, got into a bit of a spat. They’d come, it seems, as a kind of reunion for her with some mates from that neck. They’d—Kevin Donahue is his name—been seeing each other for a few months with him more serious about the thing than she. I went up to Limerick myself when we got the DNA, and they’d picked him up. She’s scored both his cheeks like a cat would, and good for her, I say about that.”
    He took another sip of tea. “It