Murder in an Irish Cottage

by Carlene O'Connor

  “She decided to take matters into her own hands,” Danny finished for her.

  “How exactly?” Macdara asked.

  “That’s what we need to find out,” Sergeant Eegan said. He glanced through the window over to Eddie, who was full-on into a story, hands moving, pacing the room, voice raised as he performed for the recorder. “I’m not convinced he’s dealing with a full deck.”

  They all turned to Eddie, who seemed to sense it. He stopped, his head whipped around to see them. Then, he dove under the interview table.

  “You may have a point there, boss,” Macdara said.

  Siobhán sighed. He was quirky, and troubled, but Siobhán liked Eddie. But after today, they all agreed, Eddie Doolan had just jumped to the top of their suspect list.

  * * *

  Siobhán caught up to Danny on their way out. They stepped to the side of the garda station, just behind the iron street lamp. “I happened by Aiden Cunningham after mass, and he dropped this.” She handed him the notarized agreement. Danny arched an eyebrow, regarding her as if he suspected there was more to the story. He’d always been keen on competition; he had the same look in his eye he would get whenever she bested him at Templemore.

  “Dropped it?”

  She shrugged. “In the rubbish bin.”

  He smiled and shook his head, then read it. “The plot thickens.”

  “Why do you think they’re hiding this?”

  “They’re paranoid it doesn’t look good.”

  “I thought the opposite.”

  “How so?”

  “Why make a bet with the victim, one you go to the trouble to notarize, and then murder that same victim before it’s said and done?”

  Danny nodded his comprehension as he read over the agreement again. “If Geraldine or Aiden is our killer, maybe they were trying to distract Ellen from their malicious intent?”

  “Quite a complicated distraction.”

  “Maybe they were simply trying to get her out of the cottage that evening.”

  “To what end?”

  “Perhaps that is the question we should be chasing.”

  Siobhán pointed to the agreement. “At the least this proves that both Geraldine and Aiden knew where Ellen planned on being that evening. And by not coming forward with this, aren’t they obstructing your investigation?”

  Danny nodded. “Believe me, we’ll bring them in.” Danny started to head off with a salute.

  “One more thing.” He smiled and gave a soft shake of his head, then waited. “How was Ellen supposed to prove that she’d spent the night outside?”

  He tapped his head with his index finger. “Good thinking. We’ll make sure to ask them.”

  “They could have been watching her. Or sent someone to watch her.” Someone like Eddie Doolan? She kept that suspicion to herself. It was dangerous to throw out rumors, and this was nothing more than wild speculation.

  Danny glanced to the other side of the building where Macdara stood conferring with some of his guards. “Who else have you shown this to?”

  Siobhán hated the question, mostly because the answer brought up complex feelings of guilt. “Only you.” What choice did she have? Danny was the guard officially involved in this investigation, not Macdara. She would fill him in on everything when she was able.

  “Good,” Danny said. “Let’s keep it that way for now.” He patted her shoulder, and glanced once more at Macdara as he passed, leaving Siobhán to wonder if his motives were purely about protecting the case.

  Chapter 18

  The rest of the day flew by, and finally it was time to gather at O’Rourke’s for the wake. Although there were plenty of pubs in Kilbane, Siobhán was partial to her local. Not only because it was close to the bistro, but because of the publican himself. Declan O’Rourke was a powerhouse of spirit. From the windows boasting his collection of Laurel and Hardy memorabilia, to the interior filled with posters of John Wayne doing his thing, this pub was like a second home. Declan was probably pushing eighty now (although she’d never dare to ask) and she loved everything about him from the wrinkles in his broad face, to his gapped-tooth mouth, and most of all how he could fill a room with that boisterous laugh of his where one couldn’t help but laugh back. He was a man seasoned in the language of operas, and plays, and movies. It was fitting, his job front and center as a publican, for Declan had been entertaining the folks in Kilbane for the past fifty years. He was a kind soul, the first to offer an ossified lad a ride home, but he was just as quick to cut down any lad who got too big for his britches. Declan, like most institutions, demanded a fair amount of respect. He was equally loved and feared. As the mourners entered, Declan was the first to welcome them.

  Siobhán’s best friend, Maria, stood behind the counter lining pint glasses up for the onslaught, and they exchanged a quick hug.

  “So much for your holiday,” Maria said. She had a little body and a big voice. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail.

  “Death never takes a holiday.”

  Maria rolled her eyes and gave Siobhán a little shove. “You’re not death, which means you can take a holiday.”

  “It’s Macdara’s aunt, luv.”

  “Right, so. Work away then.”

  “We will holiday soon. You and me.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears.” Maria gave her another shove before disappearing behind the counter.

  Minutes later Jane stood on the little stage where musicians usually reigned, her pint raised. “To my mother, Ellen Delaney.”

  “Hear, hear.” Glasses were raised.

  “May she rest in peace.”

  Joe Madigan stood up, smoothing down his suit. It was jarring to see him without his hat, or in flannel for that matter, especially seeing as how he had a full head of thick, dark hair that most men (and women) would be proud to show off. “Ellen Delaney was a good neighbor. She was a woman who spoke her mind, but she played fair. They kept a wonderful garden out back, and my wife attests that she was quite a good painter as well.” Mary Madigan looked startled to be mentioned, but then recovered and began to nod vigorously.

  “Lovely,” she said. “I was lucky enough to see them up close, and you could tell she was very passionate about her work. Very protective of them too. Like they were her children.” She swallowed, then looked around, as if hoping for approval. “May she rest in peace.” Mary crossed herself and then kept her head bowed.

  “Amen,” Joe said. He raised his glass once again. “We may have had our differences about the cottage, but now we must all agree that the cottage can be bulldozed. We must never let anything like this happen again.”

  “Hear, hear!” Cheers from the residents of Ballysiogdun rang out.

  “How dare you,” Jane said. “It’s the killer we should all be focused on, not the cottage.” Siobhán sunk her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe this lot. So much for honoring Ellen’s memory. Then again, new information often spilled when tempers flared.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Joe said. “Maybe this discussion should wait.”

  “You think?” Jane said. “It’s my mother’s wake.”

  “I apologize. I should have left it at ‘good neighbor,’ and ‘rest in peace.’ ” He hurried offstage and to his wife’s side where he slid down into his chair as if he hoped to disappear. Jane, from the look on her face, was steaming mad.

  Nancy Flannery, who was sitting to Siobhán’s right, turned to her. “Bulldoze her cottage? What in heaven’s name are they on about?”

  “I’ll explain later, Mam,” Macdara said.

  “It’s in the middle of a fairy path,” Siobhán said lightly.

  Nancy Flannery’s eyes widened and then she shook her head and crossed herself. “What was she thinking?”

  “You as well?” Jane said. “It’s utter nonsense. Mam knew it and so does everyone else in this room. All this talk of fairies and curses while real evil is walking among us.”

  “Why didn’t she call me? I’m
her sister. I would have helped. You could have lived with me.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Jane said. “Even I don’t want to live in that cottage now. Let them bulldoze it.”

  “That settles that,” Aiden Cunningham said. “The cottage will come down. We’ll do it for Ellen.”

  Nancy stood. “That’s not what my sister would want, and it’s not your decision to make.” Aiden Cunningham looked completely startled; this was a man who was used to wielding power over others, and this woman had just confronted him publicly. Siobhán felt a swell of pride for her future mother-in-law.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m Nancy Flannery, and Ellen was my sister.”

  Aiden Cunningham gave a stilted bow. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Then you’ll stop all talk of bulldozing her home. This once.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Quite right, we’ll take this up at our next town meeting.” He removed a handkerchief from his suit pocket and mopped his brow.

  “You’ll be hearing from my solicitor before that,” Nancy said.

  Siobhán only realized her jaw was hanging open when she glanced over at Macdara and saw that his was too. This fired-up persona was a rare side of Nancy Flannery and it was somewhat remarkable to witness. Siobhán nearly wanted to cheer: “You go girl.”

  Nancy turned to her son and gripped his arm. “You won’t let them do anything to the cottage, will you?”

  Macdara looked as confused as Siobhán at his mother’s outburst. “We’ll have a chat about this later,” he said to her. “Do you mind?” His voice was soft and loving.

  Nancy patted his hand. “You’ll fix this, pet,” she said. “I know you will.”

  Fix what? Macdara seemed to settle back to normal, but Siobhán couldn’t help but think there was something about Nancy Flannery’s outburst that required more digging. She’d have to see if she could get her alone later to have more of a chat.

  “I have more to say,” announced Jane, thunking down her pint and popping up again. Oh no. The crowd hushed. “My mother was not an easy person to love. But as Joe Madigan stated, my mam was a fair person. And in the end, she did not receive fairness. I would like to talk directly to the killer. If I had been home, would you have killed me too? Or spared me because I could not see you? Was my mother your target, or did she simply get in the way of something else you were doing? I do not think I can keep living without knowing who killed my mother, but what I really need to know is why? Why did you do it?” Jane paused as if she fully expected the killer to stand up and respond. Heads began to swivel, as neighbor regarded neighbor. “Did you think at all about the people who loved her? Her daughter. Her sister. Her nephew?” She paused as if trying to come up with more names. “What about us? Where is our justice? You will not get away with this. Do you hear me?”

  The stunned crowd stared back. Siobhán caught the pained look on both Macdara’s and Nancy’s faces. If Jane was the killer, this was an award-winning act. She was lying about her alibi too. Siobhán felt it in her bones. Would digging into it infuriate her future husband?

  Macdara stood and lifted his pint glass. “I promise you, Aunt Ellen, we will honor your memory. We will seek justice. We will find your killer.” He gave a nod to Declan, who signaled to the musicians, congregating at a table, killing time with pints. “Let’s remember this is also a celebration of a life. What do you say we freshen our pints and bring the lads up for some tunes?”

  * * *

  Tuesday morning was the first chance Siobhán had to sit down with Macdara’s mam. They took their breakfast to the back patio so Nancy could watch the birds. The air was fresh, the sun shining just enough overhead to add warmth, but not drive them mental. They arranged their teacups, passed milk back and forth, spooned, or watched each other spoon sugar into the tea, waiting to see who would speak first. “I’m so sorry about your sister.” It was an awkward thing to say, but something needed to be said to break the ice between them, and Siobhán had just realized she’d never come out and said it.

  “We were barely speaking,” Nancy said, her voice low and mournful.

  “That must make it even more painful.” Siobhán meant it. Platitudes, such as “never go to bed angry,” existed for a reason. She couldn’t imagine one of her siblings not speaking to her. She would not be able to function. She’d hardly done things perfectly the past few years, but she hoped her mam and da would be proud that at the least the O’Sullivan Six had each other’s backs. They were mostly grown up now, and it was too jarring to imagine a day where she wasn’t surrounded by her family. By the time one’s journey was over, all that really mattered were the people you loved and the way you treated them. Then again, Ellen Delaney, from all accounts, was not a warm and fuzzy person. Siobhán also had the feeling that the estrangement had more to do with Ellen Delaney’s rigid personality than her more demure sister’s, but that didn’t stop the wound from festering. Siobhán laid her hand on top of Nancy’s. “She knows you loved her. Try and let the negative bits go.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I heard Ellen could be quite . . .”

  “Yes. She could.”

  “Did you ever visit them in Waterford?”

  “Once. And she called me from Ballysiogdun several times. We were slowly making our way back to each other.” She patted her face as if she expected tears to be there, and when she found none, she picked up her spoon again and placed it on the other side of the saucer.

  “I’m aware it might be painful to remember, but the more I learn about Ellen, the easier it might be to find her killer.”

  “She brought it on herself—is that what you’re saying to me?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Of course she did,” Nancy said.

  Siobhán sighed. She had a feeling no matter what came out of her piehole, Macdara’s mam was going to find a way to twist it. “The cottage,” Siobhán mused. “I keep wondering why she didn’t just pick up and move. Could it have been worth all the bother?”

  Nancy twirled her teacup. “It was the cottage that seemed to bring her around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She called me after they’d moved in. She seemed so happy. A wee cottage in the middle of nowhere, but I’m telling you, my sister was over the moon about it.” She smiled at the memory. “If only she had loathed it, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe in fairies now too?”

  “I said nothing of the sort. But someone killed her over that cottage. You can’t deny it was causing a fuss.”

  “It was indeed.” She sighed. “Did you know how bad things were?”

  “No. But it wouldn’t have mattered if I had. I wouldn’t have talked her into going.”

  “No?”

  “Why on earth would she leave her own property?”

  “I’d hardly call renting a place the same as owning a place.”

  “Exactly.”

  Siobhán frowned. She was missing something yet again. “What are you saying?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It sounds as if you think that your sister owned the cottage.” Why was this conversation going sideways? Arse-backward was more like it.

  “She did.”

  “No, luv. The village owned the cottage and rented it to her.”

  Nancy Flannery shook her head. “Why do you think my sister called me after all these years? Just to be nice? You didn’t know her, but that wasn’t her style. She called me because she wanted help in purchasing it. She said her ‘man friend’ was offering her a chance to purchase it. And so I lent her the money and that’s what she did.” Even more jarring than the confirmation that Ellen Delaney had a “man friend” was listening to Nancy Flannery repeatedly say “man friend.”

  “Man friend?” Siobhán knew that may not have been the most explosive bit about what Nancy had just revealed, but it was a piece of the puzzle that Siobhán was dying to have.r />
  “I suppose the cottage was an even split between the two of us, but I have no claims on it. I suppose it belongs to Jane and Dara now.”

  Siobhán stared at her, waiting for a punch line to a joke she was having trouble following. “You’re saying that Aiden Cunningham sold that cottage to you and your sister, and that he was Ellen’s”—Siobhán leaned forward and used air quotes—“ ‘man friend.’ ”

  “She always did like a businessman.” Nancy pursed her lips as if that wouldn’t quite be her taste. “But to be fair, I never did get his name. She simply said her ‘man friend.’ ”

  “You and Ellen are the owners of the cottage?” Siobhán was like a stuck record, unable to move on.

  “Why else would she continue to live there with all that bother?”

  Why indeed. Siobhán was fuming. This was a vital piece of information. Two vital pieces of information. Every single person she’d spoken with was either lying or under the impression that the cottage belonged to the village, and therefore they had the right to decide its fate. Yet Aiden had used his position in the village to allow Ellen to buy it. And he was her man friend. Siobhán needed another cappuccino and a slice of pie. She’d resist but she really wanted them. “Do you have any paperwork?”

  “Paperwork?” Nancy sounded horrified, as if Siobhán was asking her to do homework.

  “Proof of ownership? Deed of sale?”

  Nancy Flannery moved her spoon to the other side of the cup. “No.”

  They would either find proof among Ellen’s things or they would have to confront Aiden Cunningham. This was another secret he was keeping from the guards. Unless they already knew about this and they were simply keeping a tight lid on their findings. She chewed on this. Danny MacGregor was a friend and colleague. But that didn’t mean he was keeping her fully apprised of their inquiries. She couldn’t blame him. She’d have handled it the same way if the murder had occurred in Kilbane. On the other hand, right now she had no other choice but to go to the Ballysiogdun guards, and by association, the Cork City guards, with this new information. Aiden Cunningham was a politician alright, playing every side for whatever leverage he could get. “Does Macdara know?”