Irish Parade Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “Good. I’m glad you’re here to see this,” declared Bill, handing Lucy the paper.

  “How are you, dear?” asked Edna, patting Lucy’s good hand. “What a terrible thing that sheriff tried to do to you.”

  “I’m okay; they gave me a lot of painkillers,” admitted Lucy, trying to focus on the paper Bill had given her. It was his own DNA profile from Genious, and she noticed it did not include a reference to any sibling or half sibling, living or dead.

  “What is it?” asked Sara.

  “It’s my DNA profile,” said Bill.

  “There’s no reference to Kate,” said Zoe. “It means she faked her profile.”

  Lucy turned to Kate, who was sitting in the rocking chair, almost like a witness in a courtroom. Or, more accurately, in this case, the accused. “Is that true?”

  Kate gave an apologetic shrug. “It wasn’t very hard. I got the real one and used it as a template; the computer made it easy. I just added a few changes.”

  “You’re a professional con artist,” accused Bill, practically spitting the words out. “You wanted to defraud my mother, all of us. What was the next thing? Were you hoping the will would never turn up so you could sue for a third of my Dad’s estate? Was that your game? And now that the will’s been found and you’re not in it, you’ve switched gears. You’re sucking up to Mom, taking advantage of a heartbroken, vulnerable widow. What next? Have you got some sort of con? An incredibly profitable investment she can’t pass up? Or maybe a loan to get you out of some sort of trouble? Or maybe you’ll just steal some checks and forge her signature? Or get her PIN number and borrow her ATM card? What lengths will you go to?”

  Kate looked surprised, then shook her head sadly. “I understand why you don’t trust me, but I had absolutely nothing to do with the missing will. I didn’t even know about it.” She twisted the strap of her handbag, which was in her lap. “And I would never, ever cheat Edna!” She lifted her face, her eyes brimming with tears. “I just wanted to be part of a family. Your family. I saw you all at the funeral, and I could see myself as belonging. I felt a pull; I don’t know how to describe it. It was like you all were the family I never had, but should have had.” She looked down at the floor. “I got my real profile, and I didn’t have a single living relative. My grandparents were Holocaust survivors who lost their entire families in the camps, I never knew my father, and my mother was killed in a plane crash when I was in college . . .”

  Lucy found herself feeling sympathetic to Kate, but Bill remained skeptical. “Am I supposed to believe this?”

  Kate sniffed, wiped away her tears, and took a deep breath. “It’s true, it’s all true. I was married for a while, but it didn’t work out.” She paused and shrugged. “I couldn’t get pregnant . . .”

  “And your husband left you because of that?” demanded Zoe, outraged at this example of male infidelity.

  “It was a bit more complicated than that,” confessed Kate, with a weak smile. “I focused on my real estate career, and I’ve been quite successful, if I say so myself. A good part of my business was helping bereaved families sell their loved one’s property, and that’s when I started reading the obituaries, looking for potential clients.” She was quick to defend herself. “It was nothing high-pressured. I’d just send the survivors a card to let them know I was available, if they needed a realtor.” She chewed her lip. “But pretty soon, it grew into something more, and I found myself attending funerals, kind of pretending to be a member of the bereaved family.”

  “And then you found us,” said Bill, unmoved, “And figured you’d found an easy target.”

  “No.” Kate shook her head. “It’s really kind of funny that you think I’m after your mother’s money. The truth is I have much more money than I’ll ever need. Like I said, I’ve done very well for myself, but it turns out that cash is very cold comfort.” She took a long breath. “When I was at your father’s funeral, I truly felt as if you all really were my family. I know it sounds crazy, but I really felt as if I belonged with you.”

  Lucy, who was sitting beside Edna, felt her mother-in-law pulling away from her embrace, sitting up straighter and turning her attention to Kate.

  “So you faked a DNA report?” asked Sara.

  “Yeah. I had one that I used as an example, and it was easy with my computer and printer, a little cutting and pasting, and I used the info from the obituary.” She gave a little nod. “I thought it looked pretty convincing.”

  “But I still can’t get past the fact that you took advantage of my mother when she was at her lowest, weakest . . .”

  “I saw it differently. I was offering myself as a friend when she needed someone.”

  “That’s right, Bill,” said Edna, using a tone of voice he hadn’t heard since he started to shave. “Kate hasn’t hurt you or our family. If anything, she’s offering to share herself with us.”

  “What?” demanded Bill. “Don’t you see what she’s done to you?”

  “She’s telling the truth. What she’s done is befriend me, at a time when I needed a friend. She’s opened up my life to new experiences and given me a lot to think about. I’ve been trying to decide what to do with the rest of my life. Should I move to Maine to be close to you, or should I stay in Florida, where I have friends and a lively community?”

  Bill was quick to provide an answer. “You should move up here; in fact, I’m working on a condo project that would be perfect . . .”

  “I don’t want to live in a condo.” Edna shook her head. “I like my house in Florida, but I know it’s too big for me to manage alone. That’s why I think it would be nice to have a roommate, someone to share it with.”

  “What are you saying?” demanded Bill, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’d like it very much if Kate would consider moving in with me. Would you, Kate?”

  Kate smiled. “Only if you let me share costs . . .”

  “Of course,” said Edna. “And you can deal with the plumbers and landscapers . . .”

  “Absolutely,” said Kate, crossing the room and giving Edna a big hug.

  “I’m not convinced this is a good idea,” insisted Bill.

  “Oh, Bill, enough,” said Lucy, taking his hand. “It’s only natural that you want to protect your mother, but Edna is an independent, smart woman who knows what she wants. This could be a very good thing, for both of them, and for us, too.”

  “What Reverend Marge calls a win-win situation,” said Zoe.

  “Right,” said Edna, in a decisive voice. “Now, what’s for lunch?”

  * * *

  Back at work on Monday, Lucy discovered she could type on the keyboard despite her sling if she rested her arm on a pillow in her lap. She was busy writing up her own first-person account of her frightening encounter with Sheriff Murphy when Assistant DA Kevin Kenneally showed up.

  “Can I help you?” asked Phyllis, in a rather challenging tone of voice. Her authoritative manner was somewhat undermined by the fact that her hair was still bright green and she was wearing shamrock earrings, several green Mardi Gras necklaces, and a green sweater picturing a leprechaun raising a brimming mug of beer.

  “I’m here to see Lucy,” he said, displaying his winning smile.

  Phyllis gave him a look that indicated he’d better not budge from the reception area until he got an okay from her, even though Lucy was clearly visible at her desk. “Lucy, do you want to see Assistant DA Kenneally?”

  Lucy couldn’t help smiling at her friend’s protective attitude. “Sure,” she said.

  “All right,” said Phyllis, in a begrudging tone. “Lucy will see you now.”

  “Thank you,” said Kenneally, before advancing into the office area and greeting Lucy. “I came to, well, offer Mr. Aucoin’s best wishes for your recovery and to let you know that there are some changes moving forward regarding the sheriff’s department.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucy. “Take a seat,” she offered, indicating her visitor chair with her good arm. “Tell
me all about it.”

  “George Blaine, who’s the most senior deputy, will be the acting sheriff, but he will be closely supervised by DA Aucoin. I think we can expect a real housecleaning in that department as time goes on.”

  “Will there be criminal charges?” asked Lucy.

  “If they’re warranted.” Kenneally paused. “Sheriff is an elected position, so I imagine there will be a number of candidates and a lively campaign to win votes.”

  “Long overdue,” said Lucy.

  “I agree.” Kenneally seemed sincere, but Lucy wasn’t entirely convinced of his change of heart. In the past, he had displayed no sign of disapproval or disagreement with Sheriff Murphy. On the contrary, he had appeared to be actively seeking the corrupt sheriff’s approval.

  “I think the sheriff’s department, and the DA, too, will have to work quite hard to regain the people’s trust.”

  “We’re aware of that,” said Kenneally, perking up a bit. “As a matter of fact, that’s the other news I want to share with you. The Hibernian Knights have reached out to the Irish Festival planners and are coordinating efforts to make this St. Patrick’s Day celebration an event that truly involves the entire community.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Lucy, rather surprised. “So what changes can we expect?”

  “Well, first off, we’ve asked Rosie Capshaw to march with her puppets in the parade . . .”

  “That’s great,” said Lucy, opening up a new file. “Tell me all about it.”

  * * *

  Tuesday morning dawned clear, crisp, and mild with a touch of spring in the air—perfect weather for a parade. Lucy and her family, including Edna and Kate, had put out chairs the night before and had a prime viewing spot. Like many others, they’d brought an ample supply of treats to sustain them: a thermos of coffee, donuts, and Irish soda bread, and shared them with friends and neighbors.

  As always, the parade’s starting point was indicated by two ladder trucks, one from Gilead and the other from Tinker’s Cove. The trucks had their ladders extended to their highest point, and a giant American flag fluttered beneath them. Everyone’s eyes kept wandering to the flag, checking for the beginning of the parade.

  At last, the approaching honor guard could be seen, uniformed members of the VFW carrying the American and state of Maine flags. Everybody in the crowd stood up and crossed their hearts as the honor guard marched past.

  Next, of course, was the vintage green Cadillac convertible containing the grand marshal, but this year James Ryan had invited the other candidates to ride with him. Eileen Clancy and Brendan Coyle both had broad smiles as they waved to the people lining Main Street from the back seat; James Ryan was in front, next to the driver, sporting a bright green suit instead of his usual banker’s gray.

  The grand marshal’s car was followed, as always, by the entire Murray family on bicycles, tricycles, and unicycles. They were a large family, at least twenty strong, and were greeted with cheers and applause as they tossed candy to the crowd.

  A pair of handsome Clydesdale horses clomped by next, pulling a hay wagon filled with preschoolers from Little Prodigies Child Care Center, all wearing construction-paper leprechaun hats they’d made themselves. These cuties were greeted with plenty of oohs and aahs, and only little Timmy Anderson cried, undone by all the attention.

  The Gilead board of selectmen came next, identified by a banner held by two high school girls with green-and-white-striped mufflers. The three women and two men all had green carnation boutonnieres, and all five members carried green balloons, which they distributed to watching kids.

  The high school band marched by, followed by a squad of motorcycle policemen; the state governor and his wife sailed by in a convertible; a bagpipe band set all the dogs to howling: and a green tractor from MacDonald’s farm pulled a flatbed trailer with costumed step-dancers from Eileen Clancy’s school.

  Then, getting applause and cheers from the crowd, Rosie’s giant puppet of St. Patrick appeared, carried by none other than a beaming Rob Callahan. St. Patrick’s head bore a glittering halo, his hands were raised in blessing, and his green robe fluttered in the breeze. He was surrounded by a sea of writhing, fleeing snakes carried by members of the Tinker’s Cove High School dance team. A number of wailing banshees followed St. Patrick and the snakes, emitting recorded groans that delighted everyone.

  Rosie herself carried Mother Jones, a forbidding figure with a huge head and one arm ending in a loosely jointed, wagging finger; she was dressed in a green plaid dress and carried in her other arm a placard that read JOIN THE UNION. Not everyone seemed to approve of Mother Jones, but those who did were enthusiastic in their cheers and applause.

  But as the parade rolled by, with marchers representing the Gay Vietnam Vets and even contingents displaying Black Lives Matter signs and support for the Me Too movement, Lucy sensed a genuine sea change in attitude. People seemed more open and cheerful, friendlier, and less judgmental than in the past. And for the first time ever, when the end of the parade was signaled by fire engines rolling by with lights flashing and sirens wailing, the police officers assigned to the parade were heard commenting that it had been remarkably peaceful. In contrast to past parades, there had been no brawls, no scuffles, and no fisticuffs at all.

  * * *

  As the parade ended, many people made their way to Tinker’s Cove, where the multi-cultural Irish Festival was taking place on the town common. Numerous tents and canopies had been set up around the perimeter, and the town bandstand provided an open-air stage. When Lucy and her family arrived, the town band was playing a medley of Irish tunes, featuring Billy Hawkins on the pennywhistle.

  Bill’s first stop was at the beer tent, where he met Sid Finch, and they both ordered black and tans, watching intently as the bartender first poured a clear golden ale into the glass and then topped it with Guinness stout, careful that the two did not mix. Satisfied with his result, he beamed proudly as he passed the two glasses to Bill and Sid. “Slaínte,” he said, when they added a generous tip to the tab.

  “It’s a neat trick,” said Bill, licking some of the heady Guinness foam from his lip.

  “And it tastes good too,” added Sid.

  Lucy watched the pair with tolerant amusement; she didn’t really approve of drinking so early in the day, but it was St. Patrick’s Day, after all. “Let’s see what they’ve got to eat,” she suggested, and they all trooped over to the refreshments area, where they found offerings ranging from entire corned-beef dinners to Cornish pasties and classic hamburgers and hot dogs. Also green pizza, which nobody wanted to try.

  After refueling with a hot dog, Lucy spotted Rob Callahan and Rosie, and went over to speak with them. “Fabulous display in the parade,” she began, congratulating them before turning to Rob. “So how does it feel to be a free man?”

  “Pretty great,” said Rob.

  “And does Ted want you to write a first-person account of your experience in the county jail for The Courier?”

  “How did you guess?” he asked.

  “I know Ted.”

  Rob gave Rosie a smile. “It’s going to be my last story. I’m moving back to Cleveland . . .”

  Lucy was surprised, and also pleased that Rob was clearing out, although she didn’t want to admit it after all he’d been through. “What made you decide to leave?”

  “I guess Rob’s really a city person,” volunteered Rosie, taking Rob’s arm. “Rob’s going back to his old job at the Plain Dealer. He’ll have a lot more opportunities there.”

  “Well, good luck to you.” She smiled. “And, Rob, try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Believe me, I will,” he promised.

  An announcement on the PA system said the talent show was about to begin, and Lucy hurried across the common to join Bill, his mother, and Kate, who were sitting in the front row. She joined them on the folding lawn chairs they’d brought from the parade and waited expectantly for the show to begin. They clapped heartily for the Irish te
nor, the stand-up comedian, and the Little Theatre Players’ dramatic scene from Dancing at Lughnasa, but held their most enthusiastic applause for Sara and Zoe’s step-dancing routine.

  At first, the two girls seemed like traditional step-dancers, togged out in thickly embroidered, stiff costumes and clunky black shoes to the accompaniment of an Irish fiddle, but the performance soon went awry as it turned into a comic tug of war between the two girls, eventually culminating in a rowdy hip-hop as the fiddler gave up his instrument and began to rap. The audience went wild, and the girls got a standing ovation, which ended only when they left the stage and headed for the dressing-room tent.

  They emerged a few minutes later in their usual jeans and sweaters and joined the family, enjoying congratulations and smiles from the people seated nearby. Kate was especially enthusiastic and surprised them each with a bouquet of white roses tied with a green ribbon.

  “You made it look easy, but I know you worked very hard on that routine,” she said.

  “Gee, thanks,” said Zoe, burying her nose in the fragrant flowers.

  “What a nice gesture,” said Sara, giving her parents a glance. “I think you’re going to be a great addition to our family.”

  “I’m sure gonna try,” said Kate, gathering the two sisters into an embrace.

  Bill started to hmpf, just like his father used to do, but Lucy gave him a gentle kick in the shin, and he ended up laughing instead. “We may not be Irish, but I guess we’re all one big happy family on St. Patrick’s Day.”

  “For today, anyway,” said Lucy, under her breath.