Authors: Lisa Alber

Tags: #mystery novel, #whispers in the mists, #county clare, #county clare mystery, #lisa alber, #whispers in mist, #county claire, #Mystery, #ireland

Whispers in the Mist (37 page)

He spoke as he headed toward the kitchen. “There’s no denying it’s twisted the way the fates played Malcolm’s hand back at him. The way he tried to get at your mom’s shop, and then later Seamus tried to get at his. And all because of his grand plans to take over the world of jewelry with Firebird Designs. It’s beyond comprehension. A special brand of lunacy.”

Gemma pointed to Alan’s arm tattoo with its swirling temptations that could ruin a man.

“And I have my own brand of lunacy too. As do you, I might add.” He got industrious with sponge and a dirty glass. “Nothing we can’t work out.”

Gemma’s skin grew hot as she tried to process his words.

Alan finished washing the glass and pulled something out of his back pocket. A sheet of paper. “Merrit found this when she fetched your mom’s earrings out of your jacket. She didn’t mean to pry.” He held out the sheet. “Here.”

She’d forgotten. The flyer she’d pulled off the cork board at the fancy vet clinic. A local animal aid organization sought volunteers.

“Bijou’s local vet could use an assistant,” Alan said. “Could be a thought.”

Gemma pulled back the kitchen curtain to reveal crimson and orange light spreading the day’s last soft shadows across the pastures. Alan closed in behind her, but without touching her.

“Are you ready?” Alan said.

She nodded.

“For anything?

She nodded.

“For everything?”

She nodded. But, she told herself, she’d use her voice on her own terms.

SIXTY
-
FIVE

O
NCE AGAIN,
D
ANNY PAUSED
at the threshold of his home. After a year in Fox Cottage, he was back to stay along with the children. It was a bittersweet pull, this moment. Even when he wasn’t living inside this house, Ellen’s presence had made it home.

But he had the children with him again, and he would hope for Ellen’s return.

“Pappy, open the door,” Petey said.

Instead, he turned around and sat them down on the stoop. They burrowed into his sides when he wrapped his arms around them. He’d missed them, holy hell, had he missed them.

Around them, a low twilit sun caught at shadows and lost the fight with darkness. An orange glow settled over the countryside, deepening to red and purple and welcome night and welcome bedtime for all three of them. The fog had finally lifted.

“Kidlings.” He cleared his throat. “You remember what we talked about—about Mam?”

“It will be okay, Da,” Mandy said. “I know it will. You’ll see.”

He squeezed her, wishing with every particle of his being that she hadn’t turned into a caretaker of adults.

Petey’s voice was muffled against Danny’s side. “Grey Man almost got her, didn’t he?” He sniffled. “I’m scared he’ll come back.”

He was so close to the truth of it that Danny had to force himself to keep his arm and hand loose around his boy. Malcolm would never be seeing Lisfenora again and thank the gods of old for that.

“He won’t be back. That I can promise. He’s gone even though you’ll always hear stories about him, like faerie tales, nothing more.”

“You got him, didn’t you?” Petey snaked his little arms around Danny’s torso. “I knew you would.”

Oh hell, this was beyond Danny, this impending sense of doom that he would both love too much like Seamus and love too little like Malcolm. He didn’t know what the boundaries of fatherhood should be. He’d been a dad for nine years now and was just beginning to understand its ramifications.

“When are Gemma and Dermot coming back?” Mandy said.

“I’m afraid—” He stopped. He hadn’t thought about Gemma now that Dermot was in for a legal roller-coaster ride. There was still more to investigate about his claim that he’d struggled with Toby, not hit him with intent. Benjy would have to review the case all over again. Seamus had corroborated that Toby had admired the cross, so he’d given it to him. So simple. A boy who longed to be the family savior.

He’d succeeded. But at a tragic cost.

“Dermot can’t stay here anymore,” Danny said.

“But, Gemma, what about Gemma?”

Good question. She would need to remain local to support Dermot, and it could be better for her to stay here than at Fox Cottage by herself. They could barter. Free room and board for help with the kids. And there was Marcus too; his own roller-coaster journey toward sobriety might be sticking at long last. Danny would have to see. He’d have to see about everything.

“We might want to consider Grandpap Marcus too,” he said.

Petey clapped his approval.

“But what about Gemma?” Mandy said.

“We’ll ask her first to help her out, and then we’ll see about Grandpap. And the kittens too. I’ll fetch them from Alan tomorrow. This will be our plan.”

Petey clapped again. “We can help them all.”

Sweet, sensitive boy, already knowing how little they could help Ellen.

“Oh, look.” Mandy pointed toward the hedgerow near the front gate. “Can we help it too?”

Danny squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

Petey pointed too. “We have to help it.”

Danny didn’t need to see the sparrow to know this was what they spied in the grass. A flutter caught his eye and was gone again.

“It’s flying!” Petey called.

“And that’s just as it should be.” Danny held their hands and stood. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got in the freezer for dinner.”

Mandy grabbed his house key and unlocked the door and ran inside before Danny had a chance to hesitate again. Petey stayed close. His tone was both hopeful and cautious. “I like being home and you do too, right, Da?”

“I do indeed. Home is the best place to be.”

The talk continued after that September of the unaccountable fogs. Locals hunkered down as winter cold and rain settled in on them, and a new tale grew, a tale of Lost Boy, who’d come to right a wrong and ended up Grey Man’s victim instead.

It may be true that on the morning of his death a stream of light found its way through the fog. And it may be that in a lucid moment he remembered Matthew 10:28: “And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul.”

It may also be true that by the strength of his final thoughts, he vowed that the truth about John McIlvoy would become known. Somehow. He didn’t know how. He didn’t care. Before he died, he believed.

So, if there be a providence in the fall of a sparrow, Lost Boy was that sparrow and providence let him linger long enough to die in the arms of a lost man, one of Lisfenora’s own, who had needed his own talisman.

Thereafter, Lisfenorans spread tales about strange sightings when the fogs rolled in. They argued about what the sparrow with the drooping wing meant, but all would agree that Grey Man who rolled in with the fog was better than a grey man living within their midst.

T
HE
E
ND

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

Lisa Alber is a Rosebud Award nominee for best first novel for
Kilmoon
, a Pushcart Prize nominee, and winner of an Elizabeth George Foundation grant and Walden Fellowship.

Before devoting herself to the fiction life, Lisa worked in Ecuador, Brazil, and New York City. Her various career choices included international finance, journalism, book publishing, and technical writing, with a minor stint as cocktail waitress.

Lisa lives in the Pacific Northwest with a tiny dog and a chubby cat. She’s a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. You can find Lisa at http://www.lisaalber.com.

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