Excerpt
Talty stopped at a rosebush loaded with red flowers and spotted the stem Betty’s nieces had pillaged. “I’m sorry about the rose. I asked Neil to have the pub owner put it in water.”

Betty smiled. “Mossy Burke knows his roses. He knows the devil when he comes to call, too. Mossy was the first to say Cormier Oil set fire to Davey’s barn.”

Wondering why anyone would think such a thing, Talty strolled on. “That’s a serious charge. What happened to the barn?”

“It was about five days ago, near dusk. The fire came on so fast. The hay went up in minutes and turned the place to an oven. Davey and his lads got some of the cows out. The rest burned to death, but Davey had to put down most of the ones they saved because the hot air scorched their lungs.”

Talty clamped her eyes shut against the gruesome image, though it did no good. She continued along the flagstone path. “Do the authorities know what caused the fire?”

“They know someone set it. The forensics people came to investigate. Poor Davey was devastated as it was, but when they started hinting he’d set the fire himself, for the insurance…”

“He wouldn’t have done that, at least not when the cows were in the barn.”

Betty stopped, again the angry woman in the pub. “He wouldn’t have done it at all! He had no need for such a thing. The farm’s been making a good profit for years.” She sighed and walked on. “No, we think it was something else.”

Uneasy now, Talty tried to guess what Uncle Peadar would make of Betty’s intimations. Perhaps nothing. That a company like Cormier would resort to arson made no sense. What would be the point?

The path turned at a twelve-foot-high stand of rhododendrons. That the salmon and purple blooms were a tad past their prime didn’t stop buzzing honeybees from investigating them. Talty paused before the massive shrubs and waited for the tale to continue.

Betty barely missed a beat. “Two more houses caught fire in the last few days, though there wasn’t much damage. All three properties belong to landowners who signed the petition to stop the pipeline.”

Not only did Talty question why a company that had already won legal drilling contracts and licenses from Royal Thomond would resort to scare tactics; such malevolence truly frightened her. She herself had fallen victim to intrigue born of greed, as the scars on her chest attested. Seeking refuge in the beauty around her did no good. Ugliness lurked behind every shrub now. “And you think I can help somehow?”

Betty flashed a sheepish smile. “I did think it, when I saw you in Mossy’s pub. ‘There’s someone who can sort it out,’ I said to myself. I didn’t mean to impose so. It’s just that I don’t know what anyone can do against such a monster. What if it’s not cows next time? What if it’s children, or old ones? They say you’re Banfian, and you have your father’s ear.”

They rounded another corner. The inn came into view. “Yes, I’m Banfian. And I get a turn at my father’s ear every so often. But what you’re suggesting is serious, Betty. What proof do you have?”

The innkeeper squinted toward the house. The tension in her face relaxed. “My present guests are reporters. They first came a week ago, to interview the landowners who don’t want the pipeline. I heard them talking. They’ve spoken to the police about the fires. Maybe they have proof. Let’s find out. They just came in.”

From the side yard, a couple attired in denim and wool approached the patio table. The man was young, in his early twenties, Talty guessed. Shorter than the woman, he wore a scruffy beard. When he hefted his shoulder bag and camera onto the table, Talty thought she knew him from somewhere, perhaps from one of the recent press conferences her father had called to explain her mysterious absence and return.

The woman, not much older than the man, was unhitching a leather backpack from her shoulders. Even in casual clothes, she was strikingly beautiful, though anger twisted her lovely face. With a quick swipe at the long blonde strands escaping her plastic hair clamp, she ferreted through the backpack and removed a pack of cigarettes. The young man snatched it, helped himself, and tossed it back to her.

She tapped out a cigarette for herself. “You’re such a little weasel, Gene. It’s a lucky thing for you you’re a good photographer.”

The man grinned. “Lucky for you, you mean, and I’m a great photographer.” He drew a lighter from his jacket pocket and lit their cigarettes.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Betty charged toward them. Talty chuckled and tagged along.

Betty crossed her arms and politely but sternly reminded her guests to use the ashtray on the table. “Don’t be throwing your butts in my garden.”

“Good afternoon to you too, ma’am,” said the still-grinning man.

The young woman’s blue-gray eyes widened when she saw Talty. Used to the reaction, Talty smiled, ready to make new friends. “Hello.”

Betty’s chin jutted out. “As you can see, this is Princess Talty. She’s come to view the gardens. Ma’am, please meet my current guests, Gene Cuddy and Allison Lyons.”

Never show surprise or anger. Never give the slightest clue. This defense is as important as any weapon you will ever wield. Not for the first time, Talty silently thanked her samurai mentor for his “blank expression” lessons.

Allison Lyons had once been engaged to Neil.