Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [51]
“There must have been talk around that would have been of concern to the parish priest?”
“There is always gossip in small communities.” He was looking directly at her over the rim of his glasses.
She held her ground. “Gossip you could ignore?”
“The man came and stayed from time to time. He taught school for several years and he boarded with Peg Barry. There’s no crime in that now, is there?” He wasn’t asking her. She was being told.
“So, you had no reservations about hiring him to teach the children on the island?” She pressed, her pounding heart threatening to garble her words.
“No, I did not. I made what inquiries as were necessary. I offered him the job and he accepted.”
She wondered about the inquiries. How did one inquire about the likes of Matt Molloy?
“Did you know that he had a wife and child back in Ireland?”
He hesitated just a bit too long before answering. “Yes, I did.”
She could see the old power there, the well-honed ability to shut down any further inquiries. She decided to change direction again. “I understand he refused the position to begin with.”
“We had little to offer in those days. We were very fortunate that eventually he agreed.”
“Maybe he was the fortunate one. Perhaps Berry Island was a better alternative to Boston or New York in the Dirty Thirties.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you. Peg is the one who knew him best. She is your best source.” It was his parting shot. He got to his feet, abruptly bringing the conversation to an end.
She rose, thanked him, said goodbye and walked to the door.
In the car she went over their conversation bit by bit. Things had started off quite well. She had liked his humorous, straightforward approach but somehow things had turned around. She acknowledged that she had been too strident in her approach, not diplomatic enough but time was her enemy. Tomorrow she would have to leave. She was convinced that he knew more about Matt Molloy than he had let on. She could feel it in her gut. Why couldn’t he just come straight out and tell her what he knew? At this stage what was there to lose? She was thinking about turning back and trying again when it occurred to her that maybe the nosey housekeeper might know a thing or two, and she was going to the garden party. Maybe she could corner her there and wheedle a few details from her.
Beyond a grassy meadow she could see a long stony stretch of beach. She pulled to the side of the road, hoping the fresh breeze off the water would clear her head. She hurried across the field, eager to get to the water’s edge.
Sitting on a rock she watched the ebb and flow of the tide, the grey waters lapping the shoreline, running silently into every nook and cranny, painting dark shiny crescents on the beach rocks and the rough sand. She picked up a flat stone and threw it far out in the water. It made a loud plop and disappeared, leaving behind ever expanding circles that spread wider and wider and finally disappeared.
14
There was no need to ask for directions to the garden party. The brightly coloured bunting beckoned with a mad kind of excitement as she drove down into the cove. Hoopla was the last thing she needed right now but she had to go for Peg’s sake. When she’d stopped by the house to pick her up she found that Peg had already left.
Lively dance music crackled from a loud speaker as she stepped from her car. Two girls in tight bell-bottom jeans, one clutching a huge purple stuffed dog, went by arm in arm, heads close together, giggling and whispering. Across from where Nora stood, a crowd had gathered around a Wheel of Fortune. A couple of lanky boys, hair slicked back, hands jammed deep into their pockets, broke away from the crowd