Lake of Sorrows

“I know, but we still might find something useful. And anyway, it’s interesting. I was thinking—if the injuries were deliberate, what sort of person would have known so much at that time about triple death? Danny Brazil went missing in the late seventies. Most of the research comparing causes of death has been done in the last ten years or so. But certain people would have had access to that kind of information before it was widely known—”

“Certain people like archaeologists, you mean.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I can’t help thinking about all this. It’s a puzzle.” And it wasn’t the only one, either, she thought. There were the riddles of Owen-and-Ursula, Ursula-and-Charlie, and Rachel Briscoe/Rachel Power. Not to mention the difficult Cormac-and-Nora conundrum, which might not have any solution.

She got up to clear, trying to avoid Cormac’s eyes. He caught her wrist as she was about to remove the plate in front of him, took the cutlery from her other hand, and set it on the table.

“Leave it, Nora. I can do all that later.” He stood and slipped his hand into hers. “I know it’s been a long day, but are you up for a short expedition? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?” He stopped. “You’ll probably want to wear your wellingtons.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Do I really want a surprise that involves wellingtons?”

He nodded. She retrieved her boots from the car and put them on while leaning against the back bumper, and Cormac did likewise. Then he led her up over the gap in the stone wall, into the pasture that rose to a small hill at the back of the house. The grass was cropped close to the ground, and the handful of cattle grazing the field watched their progress with that typical bovine mixture of curiosity and detachment.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.” Cormac turned back to glance at her, but his close-lipped smile gave nothing away. The gentle slope had turned into a steep grade. “You can see Michael Scully’s house from here, off to our right,” Cormac said. “And the Brazils must be the next farm, way down at the other end of this ridge. The white house over there"—he indicated a plain but freshly painted bungalow just over the ridge—"is the Bord na Mona house where Ursula Downes is staying this summer.” At the mention of the name, Nora felt a twinge of discomfort, remembering the conversation she’d overheard yesterday afternoon. She didn’t ask Cormac how he happened to be in possession of that fact.

Breathing hard, they finally reached the top of the hill, a flat tabletop that afforded a view for miles around. It helped that the surrounding area was mostly bogland, stretching endlessly into the distance before them. About a quarter-mile to the northeast stood a pair of bottle-shaped cooling towers, the old Loughnabrone power plant due to be demolished soon. Far in the distance, Nora could see the red-and-white striped smokestack of the power station at Shannonbridge.

It was after ten o’clock, and the sun was setting under a bank of dark clouds, glowing golden and leaving the horizon bathed in oranges and pinks and purples. Despite its detrimental effect on the air quality, the peat dust in the atmosphere contributed to the beauty of the sunsets. There was always that tension in life, beauty walking hand in hand with danger.

“What do you suppose will happen here, when all the bogs are gone?” she asked Cormac.

“I don’t know. I try to remember that it’s in their nature to return. The moss can’t help growing.” That brainless proliferation, Nora thought; life asserting itself as it always did, and as it always would, please God.

“All right, you’ll have to close your eyes from here,” he said. “I promise I won’t let you stumble.”

Nora hesitated only a moment before closing her eyes and taking his hand. It was a strange sensation, walking through a field as though blindfolded. They were moving along the top of the hill, she thought, then down a gentle slope. She lurched dangerously a few times, but, as he’d promised, Cormac didn’t let her fall. At last he stopped and stood behind her, setting her shoulders between his hands. “Here we are.”