No Strangers Here: a Riveting Dark Irish Mystery by Carlene O'Connor

No Strangers Here: a Riveting Dark Irish Mystery by Carlene O'Connor

Author:Carlene O'Connor [O'Connor, Carlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2022-07-26T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 20

SHEILA MAGUIRE AND A CLUMP OF TOURISTS STOOD IN FRONT OF THE ancient stone chapel, the Gallarus Oratory. Yesterday’s sun had given away to a heavy layer of gray clouds, casting a moody glow around them, but it suited her just fine. Dingle’s weather seemed to follow the patterns of the ocean, constantly shifting, keeping them on their toes. The oratory, otherwise known as “The Church of the Place of the Foreigners,” was an ancient piece of architecture constructed of perfectly cut red sandstone most likely sourced from the nearby cliffs. It was the only known existing structure of its kind, and Sheila loved her volunteer work as a tour guide. Although she was only able to do it once a week, it was a welcome distraction to her hectic life as a vet tech. O’Connell’s clinic was jammed ever since Dr. Wilde stopped practicing. She’d barely had any time for the tours, and she’d missed them. The Dingle Peninsula had been gifted with a plethora of ancient monuments, and the oratory was one of her favorites. She gave her talk with ease, her only difficulty speaking over the wind that had kicked up. “Notice the shape of the structure,” she continued. “Doesn’t it resemble an upturned boat?” She waited for a reaction, head nods, and murmurs as they took in the sloping walls, the corbel vaulting, and an interior of approximately 4.8 by 3 meters, which she sometimes remembered to translate to feet for American tourists. Given several were in front of her now, she added the translation—the interior was approximately 16 by 10.

It was dim inside with only one round window opposite the doorway. Although numerous historians had theorized over its exact origins, antiquarian Charles Smith pointed out that there was no historical information available prior to 1756. Archaeologist Peter Harbison posited the oratory was built around the twelfth century, pointing out the fact that the east window’s rounded top was composed of a pair of carved stones as opposed to a true arch. Whether it was a rocky headland, a shelter for foreigners, a church, or a funeral chapel of a prominent family from long ago, it was, indisputably, cool. And just one of the many ancient monuments adorning the Dingle Peninsula. Sheila had never wanted to live anywhere else. She always ended her tour here; best to leave them with a bang. “That concludes our tour for the day. Do we have any burning questions?” Given her speeches were jammed full of facts, satisfying the most inquisitive ones in the crowds, she waited for the usual questions: What restaurants and pubs did she recommend? Did Murphy’s really have the best ice cream, and what did she think happened to Fungie the Dolphin? This time, the questions were different. She should have been prepared.

“How close are we to the dead body?” a teenage boy in the front said, using dirty fingers to brush back his thick fringe.

They were 9.4 kilometers from Clogher Stand, but she wasn’t going to play this game.



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