Night of the Dark Horse (An Allegra Fairweather Mystery) Read Free Page B

weakness makes me feel bad. Especially when I’m with you. Please turn around.”
    I did as he asked. And, though I was tempted, I didn’t look back. I knew he was gone when the beating of his wings died away.
    It was a cold lonely march back to Ronan’s house. When I arrived at his door, gray dawn was shoving the night aside. I had no key, but he’d waited up for me. Taking in my muddy hair and dripping clothes, he said, “The pooka threw you in the bog.”
    Resisting the impulse to say no shit , Sherlock , I headed for the shower. When I emerged clean and dressed in fresh clothes, he had made coffee. I barely had time to take my first sip before he said, “I thought the pooka was targeting the people of Dingaleen. Why did it call you to ride?”
    “Oh that. Scare tactics. To stop my investigation.” The pooka hadn’t said that in so many words, but I’d kind of gotten the message.
    “Will you stop?” Ronan asked.
    “Of course not. Do I look like a wuss? I’ve tackled worse things than a pissed off pooka.”
    “Why has it come to Dingaleen?”
    “Sadly, it wasn’t in the mood to share, but I didn’t expect the case to be solved so easily. Now, I’d like to go over a few things with you.” But first I had to get comfortable. My butt was bruised black and blue. Taking my coffee cup, I headed for a group of softer chairs near a display cabinet. It was weighed down with trophies and awards for dance. Along the wall were heaps of photos, professionally taken and beautifully framed. Ronan: dancing solo, dancing with the Irish Dance ! troupe, being congratulated by celebrities, winning awards. There was even a photo of Michael Flatley with his arm around Ronan. Across the photo were the handwritten words To a worthy successor .
    “I’ve been meanin’ to store those in a box in the cupboard.”
    Words of sympathy leaped into my mouth but I held them back. I’m not a great dancer, but I love it and I have a talent most people lack. Not rhythm or grace or elegance, but the talent to dance like there’s no one watching. I don’t care if I look like a total dork, so long as I can move to the music. I couldn’t imagine not being able to dance.
    Moving on to happier things, I headed for a group of amateur pics. Family groups, with captions like To my brother , the best groomsman ever and Uncle Ronan meets baby Jack . Several photos featured a pretty girl with honey-blonde hair, pixyish features and a dancer’s body.
    Ronan followed the direction of my gaze. “Ah, feck. I meant to put those away too. More for the box in the cupboard.” He tried to sound light-hearted and failed.
    “Girlfriend?” I asked.
    “Once,” he murmured, rubbing his leg. “But it was just a tourin’ thing. You know, you’re away from family and friends, relationships form. They don’t always mean much when you stop tourin’.”
    “But she meant something to you.”
    His mouth turned down at the corners. “Does your nosiness ever get you in trouble?”
    “All the time. But it’s good for business—the nosiness, that is, not the trouble.”
    “Look, if I was still dancin’ my relationship with Nessa might have ended amicably, but the way it happened, it feels like she left me. I know that’s not true, but it feels that way. It’ll take time to get my head around it.” Ronan sank into a chair, his back to the cabinet. “What do you want to go over? I’ve told you everything I know.”
    Sure, he’d put it in an email, but you can’t see body language in an email. “Tell me again,” I said. “What happened when you were called to ride?”
    He sighed, as though it was a big effort. “I should have been on tour, but I got swine flu. Almost died. When I came out of hospital, I was ordered to have time off. I’d just begun to get my strength back when the pooka called me to ride. It threw me. I landed awkwardly and this is the result.” He gestured at his knee. “I need a drink. There’s whiskey.” He pointed to