We spent the next hour drying the sheets in front of the fire. Luckily the moisture hadn’t been there long enough to soak into the mattress but I was cold, tired and crotchety by the time I finally went to bed. Would she ever cease to be a liability, I wondered. How could I keep her as my maid if and when I married Darcy?

Chapter 33

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 6

A SNOWY DAY IN KILHENNY.

The next morning we woke to a Christmas card scene with a sparkling snowy landscape and smoke curling from cottage chimneys. Darcy came over around ten, announcing that the snow was already starting to melt and it should be safe to drive where we wanted to go. We debated what we could possibly do until we got more news from Mr. Lennox at the embassy. Zou Zou was all for driving around and trying to locate Professor Peabody or the young priest. Darcy looked doubtful. “They could be anywhere by now and we don’t know when all the roads will be clear. I’m afraid we’ll just have to sit and wait.”

“At least we can go and check on my poor little aeroplane,” Zou Zou said. “I want to know if it’s still in one piece.”

“Are planes not supposed to withstand the elements?” Darcy asked, looking amused.

“A little rain maybe, but not mountains of snow.”

We drove toward the village. Men were still working at the site of the accident. A winch had now been attached to the taxi and they were attempting to haul it out as rushing water splashed over it. We skirted them and drove cautiously up the hill. As we passed through the village I spotted Mrs. Murphy standing outside the Harp, chatting with some women.

“Wait,” I said, touching Darcy’s arm. “I’ve just thought of something that might shed some light on poor Barney’s death. I won’t be a minute.” I got out of the car and hurried over to the pub. Mrs. Murphy was about to go in at the side door when I caught up with her.

She turned back as I called her name. “I was wondering whether the American man’s servant, Mickey Riley, often comes into your pub in the evening.”

She nodded. “He’s been coming here for all his meals since the tragedy. Never says a word, though, or talks with the local men. Keeps himself to himself. Eats in a corner and then goes again. Unfriendly type, I’d say.”

“I think I saw him going into your pub yesterday evening,” I said. “Do you happen to remember what time he left?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It was a busy night, my dear. We’re always run off our feet these days, what with all the visitors from out of town. I remember seeing him, but that’s about it.”