Lake of Sorrows

If it wasn’t Cadogan—well, Cormac wasn’t the only person who might have traveled to Ursula’s house on foot. Michael Scully had told them that the Brazils were his closest neighbors, that Danny Brazil’s apiary was just over the hill behind the house. And Danny’s apiary was now in Charlie Brazil’s care. From the conversation she’d overheard between Ursula and Charlie, it seemed that Ursula had been for some reason keenly interested in the recovery of Danny Brazil’s body. Nora tried to remember exactly what Ursula had said—something about Danny’s triple-knotted cord not being such a good luck charm. Was that what Ursula had meant, asking Quill if he thought three was a lucky or an unlucky number? I’ve been watching you, she’d said to Charlie. I know what you’re hiding. But when Charlie had asked what she wanted from him, she’d said, Maybe I have something to give you. Her words had been a proposition, in more ways than one. Come and see me, she’d commanded. As if he’d have no choice but to obey.

Nora closed her eyes and went back to the previous night, trying to picture what they’d seen from the top of the small hill. From what she remembered, anyone up there could have seen down into Ursula’s kitchen. Cormac said he’d seen Brona Scully at the fairy tree; maybe she’d been up there last night. But that hopeful idea was immediately tamped down by reality. Even if she had been, even if she’d seen something, how was that supposed to do Cormac any good? The girl didn’t speak a word. One might as well try to coax testimony from a silent standing stone. If Brona had seen something…the more Nora thought about it, the more that possibility disturbed the edges of her consciousness. It wouldn’t hurt to find out what the girl could have seen from the fairy tree.

The scrappy whitethorn bush made an arresting sight even in the bright light of day. The setting was just as Nora had remembered: from the pasture atop the hill, a person could indeed see straight down into Ursula’s back garden. The empty kitchen window still yawned jaggedly, and crime-scene tape still marked out the perimeter of the house and garden. She tried to picture Ursula’s figure in the house—and Cormac coming up over this hill and down into Ursula’s yard. She didn’t like to think about what had followed, but she had to, if she was going to help Cormac. She stood in the spot where a witness might have stood only a few hours ago and imagined how events must have unfolded.

Cormac was not guilty of murder—he couldn’t be; but Brona Scully’s silence might be his undoing. How much would Brona have been able to see at night—presuming she even came here after dark? There was no sign of the girl, but Nora still felt ill at ease, wondering if there were eyes upon her. She had a distinct, unsettling feeling that someone was watching her from the tangled bushes at the edge of the field. She turned slowly back toward the fairy tree, searching the hedgerows for signs of life, but nothing stirred.

She heard the sound of breathing behind her, and whirled around to find a red bullock with a creamy-white face regarding her curiously from a few yards away. From what Michael Scully had told them, Nora guessed the cattle grazing in the surrounding pastures belonged to the Brazils. Charlie’s apiary was probably somewhere up here as well. She kept thinking of Ursula’s words: I’ve been up at your place, Charlie—the place where you have the bees. People have told me Danny used to keep bees there as well…. Was it blackmail, or another kind of threat that had lingered in her words? I’ve been watching you, Charlie. I know what you’re hiding. What if it was something in that forbidden knowledge that had gotten Ursula killed?

Nora had another vision of Cormac sitting in that dreary interview room, answering the same questions again and again, facing disbelieving expressions on the faces of the detectives across the table. Ursula’s blood was on his clothing, and she had left scratches on his neck. It was possible that unless Nora found some other path for them to follow, Cormac’s whole life might be forfeit for something he hadn’t done.