Murder in an Irish Cottage

by Carlene O'Connor

  Chapter 11

  Siobhán had three items on her agenda: pay a visit to Geraldine Madigan, hear her ghost stories, then check out Mary Madigan and Joe’s alibi. Time was of the essence. The less time suspects had to confer with each other the better.

  Macdara had grudgingly agreed that he should take Jane into town to get any necessities she required before making the trip back to Kilbane. “And where are you off to?”

  She told him her plan to visit Geraldine Madigan. “I think it will be easier to have a chat with our suspects without the victim’s daughter in tow.”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t mind having a crack at them myself.”

  “They may react the same to you,” Siobhán said. “You’re the victim’s nephew.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I don’t like it.” He sighed. “Jane is going to head back with me to my car. We’ll find a better place to park it.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit left out here.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and set off in the direction of Geraldine’s house. She stopped when she was in the clear and texted Danny.

  Free to show me the sink?

  Too many about. Will text soon.

  * * *

  On the way to Geraldine’s house, Siobhán neared the fairy tree, the one they’d first spotted from the road. Beyond it, a patch of woods framed the scene, like the popular children were keeping their distance from an outcast. She stood by the tree for a moment and sent out positive thoughts, just in case anyone was listening. It was so peaceful underneath, looking out at the rolling hills, breathing the summer air. It was nearly impossible to believe anything sinister or supernatural had occurred here the other day. And no one should ever cut such a gorgeous tree down, no matter what the reasons. If stories had been used throughout time to protect the things that grew on this land, then hats off to the stories. She wished she could sit under the fairy tree all day and daydream, but she had a killer to catch. Now that she was on the hill, she could make out a small house on the other side of the woods. To grandmother’s house we go, she thought, and continued along her way.

  * * *

  It was a small house painted yellow with a bright blue door. Geraldine, it seemed, was just as colorful as her walking sticks. Her garden burst with flowers, sporting every color in the rainbow. Siobhán vowed then and there to become a better gardener. This was a granny you wanted to visit, unless of course she was the type to not only make walking sticks but beat you with them as well. Siobhán laughed at the thought, and then chided herself for it, as she was pretty sure those children were well looked after, and no stick had been used to harm them. The minute Siobhán stepped up to the door, the smells of cooking wafted out.

  She knocked, then waited. Moments later the door was thrown open, and in front of her stood Geraldine clad in an apron, bits of flour clinging to her cheeks. The delicious aroma spilled into the summer air.

  “Hello,” Siobhán said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “I’m preparing a feed for Jane,” Geraldine said. “But it’s nowhere near ready.”

  “That’s so thoughtful,” Siobhán said. “But we’re heading to Kilbane later today.”

  “I see.” Geraldine wiped her apron. “Come in then. I’ll see what I can have ready for you, and I’ll bring the rest to church.”

  “It smells delicious.” Siobhán followed her into an expansive kitchen. The house was larger than it appeared on the outside, and no expense had been spared in the kitchen. Granite counters, a kitchen island with stool, and a giant cooker took center stage. Fresh flowers, Siobhán assumed from the garden, spilled out of a vase on the island. Above the farmhouse sink, a large window looked out onto the fairy tree. Geraldine moved amongst bowls and chopping boards as Siobhán hung back like a specter watching her work.

  “Kettle is on,” Geraldine said. She nodded to a plate of cookies on the island. “Just baked.”

  Siobhán’s stomach growled. She’d had nothing but tea and biscuits all day. She snuck a cookie, secretly wishing for a sandwich and a cappuccino. The delicious morsel melted in her mouth and she couldn’t help but hum a little. “Do you need any help?” she asked, eyeing the plate piled high with the scrumptious treats.

  “Heavens, no, too many cooks and all that.”

  “What are you making?”

  “I’ve got bacon and cabbage, and shepherd’s pie, and oxtail stew, and potato and leek soup, and a sherry trifle and cookies.”

  “That is . . . a ton of food.”

  “Everyone is going to need comfort after these past few days. No one will have the energy to cook.”

  “You obviously enjoy it, and it smells divine.”

  “I hear you run a bistro back in Kilbane.”

  Gossip, faster than the internet. “Naomi’s Bistro,” Siobhán confirmed. “My parents ran it and we took it over after they passed. My brothers mostly run it. I’m in charge of the brown bread, but I don’t get much time anymore to do any proper cooking.” Or gardening. Or whittling. Or cleaning. Or child minding.

  “That’s a shame,” Geraldine said, clicking her tongue. “I find it soothing, especially at times like these.”

  She certainly was prepared. The countertops were filled with crates of fruit and veg; she must have cleaned up at the farmers’ market. After a few moments of enjoying the smells and exchanging pleasantries, Siobhán dived in. “Can you walk me through everything that happened this past weekend beginning with Friday morning?”

  “I suppose, although I don’t know how it will help.” Geraldine continued to chop and stir, moving seamlessly between tasks.

  “You never know,” Siobhán said. The Devil was in the details.

  “The long and the short of it is I spent the weekend being a grandmother.”

  “I’ve met them,” Siobhán said. “They’re adorable.”

  “They’re my life.”

  “Did they stay here?”

  “Heavens, no. They wouldn’t last very long away from their things. And their animals needed tending too.”

  Mary Madigan had made it sound like she was also present, but Geraldine was behaving as if she alone was taking care of the farm. Which one of them was lying? “I’m sure Mary appreciated you being there,” Siobhán said. She kept her voice pleasant and casual.

  “She deserves a break now and then; they both do.”

  If Geraldine was telling the truth, and Siobhán had the feeling she was, then Mary Madigan had lied. She’d left the children with Geraldine. Hadn’t she pretended she’d spent the weekend with them? Where did she go? “What did she do with her break?”

  Geraldine stopped and frowned for the first time. “That sounds like a personal question. For Mary.”

  “I was just making conversation. One day I’d like to take the day off and go to a spa. Feet up, nails polished, face shined.”

  “She did not go to a spa.”

  “Shopping?”

  “As I said, it’s none of my business, and it’s certainly none of yours.”

  “The guards will ask.” Siobhán kept her voice upbeat, but it hardly mattered now; Geraldine was on guard. The shriek of the tea kettle made her jump.

  “Let them ask then.” Geraldine flicked off the burner, then poured two cups of tea. “My daughter-in-law is quite the artist if Annabel is to be believed.” Her hand was shaking. Interesting, like mother-in-law, like daughter-in-law. Siobhán decided to push it.

  “This is delicate to say, but we were just at Joe and Mary’s house, and your son seems to be under the impression that Mary spent the weekend with you.”

  Geraldine slammed the kettle down. “She deserves her time off. I insisted. Blame me. Don’t tell me you’re going to tattle, upset a marriage over nothing?”

  For a moment, Siobhán felt sorry for Joe Madigan. Both his wife and his mother had no problem keeping secrets from him. There must be a reason for it. Was he too strict otherwise? Geraldine e
ither really liked her daughter-in-law, or perhaps she wanted to be alone with the children for the weekend. “The guards won’t find out from me,” Siobhán said, “but they will find out.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s a murder inquiry. Alibis will be collected. I wouldn’t advise anyone to lie.”

  “Of course not,” Geraldine said, quite unconvincingly. “If I were to guess, she was off somewhere, painting. Annabel has been putting silly notions in her head.”

  “What kind of silly notions?”

  Geraldine waved it off. “’Tis only supposed to be a hobby.”

  “Do you know for a fact that’s what Mary was doing? She was with Annabel?”

  Geraldine smiled. “I have no clue and I didn’t care. I just wanted time alone with my babies. I will tell you where she wasn’t. She wasn’t anywhere near that dreadful cottage.”

  “Mary said she was with the painting class on Friday evening.”

  “There you go.”

  “That is near the cottage.”

  Geraldine turned to the cooker to stir a pot. “My daughter-in-law doesn’t have a violent bone in her body. If you want her alibi you’ll have to ask her.”

  “Lilly had a lot to say.”

  Geraldine’s head snapped around. “What are you on about?”

  “I think she saw something that evening.”

  “You’re dead wrong.”

  “You haven’t even heard what she said.”

  “My granddaughter was asleep at half seven.”

  “Does her window face the cottage?” Geraldine slammed pots into the sink and began muttering to herself. “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

  “Piseog,” Geraldine said with a nod. “’Course I do.”

  “I don’t think that’s what killed poor Ellen.”

  “We can sit here and argue about fairies and ghosts all day long, but that doesn’t change the fact that the inhabitants of that cottage have met with mysterious deaths one after the other. It needs to come down!”

  “It won’t be coming down anytime soon. It’s a crime scene.”

  “Some things just weren’t meant to be, and that cottage is one of them.”

  “I’ve noticed that you own the land on one side of the cottage, and your son on the other.”

  “Your point?”

  “Did your family own the cottage at one point?”

  Geraldine pursed her lips. “My grandfather owned it back in the day. He sold it when he was a young man starting out. Partly because of the cottage, I suppose. If you’re suggesting he should have taken it down, I won’t argue with that. Now the land is worthless. Once the cottage comes down, what can one really do with it?”

  “You’ve lived here through all the mysterious deaths.”

  “I have indeed. ’Tis terrible.” She wiped her hands on the apron. “You should see the way my divining sticks react when they’re anywhere near the cottage.” She shuddered.

  “I didn’t know you had divining sticks.”

  Geraldine nodded. “They reacted immediately. A very strong warning.”

  “What do you use them for?” Siobhán knew they were used to locate water, and for some . . . divining purposes, but she had never met anyone who used them.

  “When you’re trained, you can use them to feel out troubled spots and try to perform a healing.”

  “I see.”

  “One day I may become a member of the Irish Society of Diviners. I’ve taken a course.”

  “Well done.”

  Geraldine raised an eyebrow, as if trying to ascertain whether or not Siobhán was being sarcastic, then let it go. “I showed Ellen. She saw the sticks quiver with her own eyes near dat cottage, and she still scoffed.” Geraldine wiped her hands on her apron, twisting it violently.

  “When was this?”

  “Just after they moved in.”

  “She saw the sticks react?”

  “With her own eyes. It quivered like I’ve never seen before in me life. Bent over so much I thought it was going to snap in two.”

  “Can you give me a demonstration?” Siobhán asked.

  “I won’t be able to show you the dowsing stick today,” Geraldine said. “As you’ve stated—the area around the cottage is a crime scene.”

  “Can’t you demonstrate it elsewhere?”

  “I could, of course, but it only reacts if I’m near the cottage.”

  How convenient. “I’d like to see your walking sticks,” Siobhán said. “I didn’t get to buy one at the market.”

  “Let me get this in the cooker,” she said, maneuvering another pan into its depths. “You can have your pick.”

  * * *

  Geraldine wasn’t joking. Her back room was chock full of decorative walking sticks. Many were woven with colorful string like the one Geraldine carried, others were painted, and one with a round base was covered in thick rope. Geraldine noticed Siobhán staring at the circular bottom. “It’s a walker,” she said, lifting it out of the corner. She clunked it down. “It’s good in the spring when the mud runs thick, or walking near the bog.”

  “You’re very talented.”

  Geraldine waved her hand as if to dismiss the compliment, but her cheeks took on a rosy hue. Siobhán eventually chose a masculine staff with a darker hue and a green crystal set on top.

  “Beautiful,” Geraldine said, as if complimenting Siobhán for having such good taste. “That will be forty euro.”

  Siobhán dug the cash out of her handbag, relieved that she had it. Macdara was going to have to pay for lunch. It spurred another thought, the perfect use for the walking stick—she couldn’t wait to present it to Macdara as an engagement gift. His engagement stick. If he wanted to walk around spreading the news of their betrothal, off to it then.

  “Can you please take me through the weekend?” Siobhán said. They were now standing outside so that Siobhán could try out her purchase. It was fun to navigate the terrain with it at her side.

  “As I stated, I was with my grandchildren at the farm.”

  “Just take me through it, please.” They came to a rest on the other side of Geraldine’s flower garden, bursting with color. “Was there anything? Anything out of the ordinary at all?”

  “I don’t know if this bit of news will be of any interest to you,” Geraldine said. She glanced around as if the fairies might be listening.

  “Go on.”

  “Ellen had a visitor Friday morning. A very curious visitor indeed.”

  Chapter 12

  “It is of great interest,” Siobhán said, dying to hear about Ellen’s mysterious visitor, but trying not to sound too eager.

  “I have to tend to the garden. We can chat while I work.” Geraldine switched her kitchen apron for a gardening smock, and even had matching gloves, and an adorable basket. “It must have been someone important,” Geraldine said as she moved seamlessly amongst the flowers pulling up weeds.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “A limousine in this village stands out.”

  Siobhán remembered what Mary’s young daughter had said. “We saw the big black car!” It seemed the little girl didn’t have an overactive imagination after all. “A limousine?”

  “It pulled up to the gate, then shut off while the driver got out and made his way up to the cottage.”

  “Describe him.”

  “He was a short man, alright.”

  Siobhán waited but that seemed to be all she remembered about his appearance. “You saw him get out of the limo?”

  “I said so, did I not?”

  Siobhán clenched her fist and took a deep breath. She needed to start carrying a few whittling tools in her handbag. She’d like to take a knife to wood right about now. “Repetition is helpful to guards, Mrs. Madigan. I’m sure it’s frustrating for you, but I do wish you’d adjust your tone.”

  Instead, Geraldine took the opportunity to adjust her floppy hat, then nodded. “He barged up to Ellen’s door and banged on it. Ellen
let him in. A few minutes later he hurried out, practically running to his car.” She stopped yanking weeds and stood straight. “Do you think that was him? The murderer?” Siobhán’s reprimand had done the trick; Geraldine was no longer barking at her.

  “What time was this?”

  “I believe it was around half ten in the morning.”

  “A limousine. On Friday morning?”

  “Odd, isn’t it?”

  Yes, it was. Siobhán thought everything she’d seen and heard in this village so far had been odd. She’d keep that opinion to herself as well. “Are you sure of the time?”

  “Ah, sure. I was with the young ones in the front yard. I was still trying to get them to eat their breakfast.” Siobhán could imagine them out in the yard, watching the limo pull up. “She was going somewhere fancy, we know that.”

  The image of Ellen in her red dress rose in her mind. “You saw her?”

  Geraldine scanned the environment as if the flowers had just sprouted eyes and ears and were intent on eavesdropping. “Aye. I stopped in for a cuppa to see if she would mention the fancy limousine.”

  “How soon after you first spotted the limo was this?”

  “I’d say about an hour. The children had been fed, and were in their beds for a lie-down, and the limo was gone. I decided to find out what that was all about.”

  “Did Ellen answer?”

  “She did. And she lied straight to my face.”

  “How so?”

  “I asked her where she planned on going in that fancy limousine and she had the nerve to say—‘what limousine?’ ”

  “Is it possible she hadn’t seen it?”

  “Not a chance. The driver walked right up to her door and I saw her answer it. Were you not listening?” So much for the truce. Geraldine was prickly once more.

  “I give you she saw the driver, but perhaps she didn’t see the limousine.”

  “Well, then I hope she asked the man dressed in black with a driver’s cap what he was doing at her door, like.”

  “Please continue.”

  “I asked her if it had pulled up for directions—maybe it was someone who heard stories about fairies, a looky-loo. That’s all we need is tourists coming to gawk.”

  “What did she say?”