Halloween is Murder(5)

“Nothing. She liked dreary poetry and depressing philosophy. She knew how to ruin a party.”

“Didn’t you go out with the O’Flaherty girl’s brother for a while?”

“Yes.” Meggie looked pained. “What a Gloomy Gus he was. And a penny-pincher. He did like golf though. I’ll give him that.”

“You know, not everyone thinks Robert Murtaugh is the life of the party.”

Robert was Meggie’s husband. He was a much-in-demand accountant with Arthur Young & Company. Sober, solid, and a very nice guy. If you needed a partner for bridge or someone to loan you a circular saw that actually worked, he was your man. If you needed a buddy to go drinking, hunting or fishing with…well, that would not be Robert. So, if Meggie thought Patrick was a Gloomy Gus, it was saying something.

“Oh, Robbie’s got hidden depths.” Meggie’s face softened. “You need to find yourself a Robert.” She blinked at the echo of her words and then giggled. “I mean a Roberta.”

“Uh...”

“It would change your life.”

“It sure would. Why was Patrick O’ Flaherty such a Gloomy Gus?”

“I don’t know why he was, but he was. For one thing, he was convinced he was going to die young.”

“Was he in poor health?”

“Not as far as I could tell. He had a decent swing—not to mention a reach like a tamandua’s tongue.”

“A what?”

“See, if you’d stayed in college—”

“Never mind. This amorous anteater, he’s rich, right? They inherited after the old man was murdered?”

“She inherited. They’re twins, but Margaret was born four minutes before Patrick, and under the terms of their father’s will, she inherited everything. Patrick put it down to the curse. Anything that ever went wrong, he believed was because of the curse.”

“You lost me. Again.”

“He believed there was a curse on his family.”

“A…curse?”

“You heard me.” Meggie’s expression grew sardonic. “The family is Irish. From Londonderry or someplace nearby. Apparently, they were a big noise back in the fifth century. But they got on the bad side of a sorcerer or a wizard. I forget the details, though Pat told me often enough. If anything ever went wrong—if he got a parking ticket or a bad grade in chemistry—he always blamed it on the curse.”

Barry prodded, “But you don’t know what this curse entails?”

“All I know is with his dying breath the wizard cursed the house of O’Flaherty. Of course, in the fifth century it would have been the house of something unpronounceable, but curses are sticky things. You can’t shake them by losing a couple of vowels and moving to America.”

Barry heard this out in silence. He was tempted to bring up the delicate subject of vampires, but after all, Miss O’Flaherty was a client. Finally—and he felt like an idiot for even going that far—he asked, “You’re sure you don’t know the details of this, er, curse?”

“We only dated a few weeks. That’s the sort of thing you save for going steady.”

Funny gal, his sis. The nuns of Sacred Heart High School had wanted her to try for a scholarship to Bryn Mawr or another of those Seven Sister colleges back east, but Meggie had set her heart on becoming Mrs. Robert Murtaugh.

“What about Margaret Mary?” he asked.

“You mean is she cursed too?”

“No. I do not. Can’t you tell me anything more about her? Does she drink?”

“Probably. Would you blame her?”

Barry delivered a look of brotherly disapproval.

Meggie sighed. “Not to excess, I wouldn’t have said. Honestly, Barry. If Margaret is your client, give her back her money. Don’t get involved. I’m speaking as your older and wiser sister.”

“You’re two years younger than me.”

“Even so. I don’t care what sob story she gave you. Another missing fiancé? Forget it. Steer clear of that family.”

“A-a-another missing fiancé?” Barry repeated.

“Yep. She was going to marry Alan Wallace. Remember him?”

“Vaguely.”

“A very nice guy, but lousy taste in women. He enlisted shortly after they got engaged and ended up AWOL.”

Barry started to object, but Meggie added, “Then she got engaged to Russell Carter-Davenport. You wouldn’t know him. Nobody knows what happened there, but supposedly he took a sudden trip back east and never came home. No one’s heard from him since.”

Barry said thoughtfully, “She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring.”

“Because she’s no longer engaged.” Meggie frowned. “You know there were rumors Margaret or Patrick—either or both—might have had something to do with their father’s death.”

Barry stared at her, trying to decide if she was serious. “Where did you hear that?”

“From everyone who ever knew Margaret. It’s not a secret.”

He considered this new information unhappily.

Meggie said, “Drop the case.”

“I can’t drop the case. I need the money. And even if I didn’t, why would I turn away a client?”