Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery by Lisa Alber

Equestrian Club. “She almost single-handedly raised the $20,000 sponsor-donated prize money for our first show-jumping competition.”
    McCallum has also been praised for her work with migrant families, especially in the area of literacy. “Julia loved children,” said Sheila Ortiz, president of Migrant Worker Relief Fund. “I’ve always admired her commitment to literacy. She was not the type to lose track of her driving. She had too much to live for.”
    Inquiries into factors in McCallum’s collision yielded nothing from her peers. The police won’t speculate except to say that they are investigating all possibilities. Until the accident, McCallum had no record for traffic-related or other offenses.
    McCallum was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on April 22, 1945, to Percival and Mary Chase, distant relations to the Chases of Chase Manhattan Bank fame. Prior to marrying Andrew McCallum and settling in Gull’s Hollow, she worked as a journalist.
    A memorial service was held at St. Rose Catholic Church in Santa Rosa, on Saturday, June 24, 1989, at 1:00 p.m. and was attended by more than 300 mourners. Her 13-year-old daughter, Merrit Lane McCallum, led the eulogies. In lieu of flowers, Andrew McCallum requests donations to the Migrant Worker Scholarship Fund established in his wife’s name.

• 10 •
    The sun had risen high enough to reflect off the dirty dishes by the time Danny blinked his way to the sink to rinse out his coffee mug. Another four cups might rouse him, but the second brewing pot might also give him away. He pictured his wife drop-kicking him all the way to County Galway because he got ploughed at the Plough during Liam’s party.
    He plugged the sink and cupped his hands to drink while the basin filled. The water’s metallic warmth went down easy.
    “Do stop,” Ellen said from behind him. “Do you want to set a bad example for the children?”
    Mandy and Petey were outside, but Danny remained silent in hopes he wouldn’t accidentally touch off his wife. Calm for the moment, she stood by the window overlooking the backyard where the playhouse Kevin had built no longer stood. Tangled blackberry vines seeped over the rock wall that bounded their land and overwhelmed the flower beds Ellen used to tend.
    The children pressed funny faces against the outside of the window. Their church clothes were already dusty, and blackberry juice stained their lips. Danny stooped under the windowsill as Ellen moved away. Giggles turned into incipient hysteria. Just as the children were about to give up on him, he stood and pushed open the window. The smell of over-ripening berries rushed into the kitchen. He leaned out the window, grabbed each child in a one-armed tickle hug, and lifted them into the house.
    Mandy, at eight, considered herself the expert on rules. “You’re still in your bathrobe. It’s too late for that.”
    She held one of Danny’s hands in both of hers while Petey hugged his leg. “A deal then,” Danny said. “I’ll wash and change into my play clothes if you do the same.”
    Their identical smiles almost broke his heart. Mandy clapped her hands, then stopped. She approached Ellen, who had retreated to her spot at the kitchen table. “Mum, can we use your shower today, please? Instead of the bath? Please?”
    Ellen’s expression was lost to Danny, her head tilted as it was to gaze at her oldest child’s freckled hand, but he knew its angled contours, the melancholy she tried to hide from their observant daughter, who now leaned close to Ellen and whispered, “Please, Mummy, I’ll be ever so careful with Petey.”
    Ellen cupped Mandy’s face. Danny shared Mandy’s happiness for the kiss his wife planted on her nose. “Go on then. I’ll be in to wash your hair.”
    “And Petey’s too?”
    “And Petey’s.” She sank back into a slouch as the children ran from the room. “You didn’t miss anything at Mass today. The church was half empty, and Father Dooley talked about the