Murder in an Irish Cottage

by Carlene O'Connor

  Chapter 26

  Annabel joined Siobhán as they studied the paintings. Siobhán had leaned them against the wall in the order they were painted.

  “Her last three paintings,” Siobhán said.

  “I told you. I should have said something. I’ve been wringing me hands. I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Because you didn’t ask her about them?”

  “I tried.”

  “And?”

  “She told me to keep me nose out of her business.”

  “That seems harsh.”

  “I normally pay things like that no mind. Painting should free one from judgment. But they were getting progressively darker.”

  “Did Mary Madigan see these?”

  “Not that I’m aware.”

  “I heard you sent her over to Geraldine’s to convince her to show one of her paintings.”

  Annabel frowned. “Did I?”

  “It doesn’t ring a bell?”

  She shook her head as if she’d just convinced herself. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t. These paintings are the ones Ellen painted after class.”

  “Jane mentioned an incident where she lent you one of Ellen’s paintings to hang?”

  “How could I forget.”

  “But it wasn’t Mary Madigan who was sent to fetch it?”

  “No, that was me. Jane let me have the painting. Ellen wasn’t home.”

  “I heard Ellen wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “Wasn’t happy? She stormed over to Molly’s and ripped it from me before I could even hang it.”

  “Which painting was it?”

  Annabel pointed to the one of Eddie with a guinea for a face. Siobhán couldn’t puzzle it out. What was she trying to say? Eddie couldn’t have the gold coins, could he? Perhaps Ellen had given him one as a tip, but not if she knew he was her stalker.

  The paintings were symbolic, not literal. Was she suggesting that Dylan Kelly was using Eddie in some way? Employing him? Was Dylan Kelly paying Eddie Doolan to stir up trouble, whip the village into a frenzy with his stories?

  “Was Ellen social in class?”

  “Heavens, no. You could tell she used to be a schoolteacher. She was constantly criticizing me and the others.”

  “How so?”

  “She was a stickler for time. Always harping about the fact that my students could walk in late. Her words would pierce you worse than nettles.”

  Siobhán snapped photos of Ellen’s paintings with her mobile, then hurried over to praise Ann and Ciarán’s paintings. She was relieved to see their subjects were cheery and innocent. Ann had painted a horse in a meadow. Ciarán was painting a sports car. “Well done,” she said to them.

  “Can we take them with us?” Ciarán asked.

  “Of course you can,” Annabel said.

  “Can we hang them in the bistro?” Ciarán asked.

  “Why not,” Siobhán said. “Wherever you’d like.” She was anxious to show Macdara the paintings, find out what happened with Aiden Cunningham, and track down Eddie Doolan. Ann slipped her hand into Siobhán’s.

  “How much more work do you have to do today?”

  Siobhán’s heart melted. “I’m done for the day.” There were a thousand things she needed to do. But family was the most important.

  “Really?” Ciarán and Ann exclaimed in stereo.

  “Really,” Siobhán said. “I’d love to go for a hike. But I left my new walking stick at home.”

  “Can we get sticks of our own?” Ciarán asked.

  That would mean another visit to Geraldine. She meant it when she said she was taking the rest of the day off work. It was hardly her fault if her siblings were dragging her back into it. And since the stick she bought had been designated as Macdara’s engagement stick, and they were reasonably priced, she wouldn’t mind picking out another one for herself. And, while there, it wouldn’t hurt to get a look at the stick she was convinced was a metal detector before going to the guards. Did Geraldine Madigan have any inkling that her son may have been sleeping with Jane Delaney? Had she mentioned it to her daughter-in-law or vice versa? “You know,” Siobhán said. “I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

  * * *

  Siobhán and the young ones were exiting the inn when they ran into a weeping girl trying to barrel past them, cursing and dragging a recalcitrant suitcase. Long black streaks of mascara ran down her face.

  “Gráinne!”

  Her sister burst into tears. “I was given the boot!”

  Oh, no. That made about a day surviving Sheila Mahoney. Longer than Siobhán predicted. “What happened?”

  “I was doing me job, that’s what. Women shouldn’t come in for a makeover if they don’t want to hear the truth about what’s wrong with them!” Siobhán nodded and murmured. “And there was loads wrong with them!”

  “I see.”

  “Dry hair, blotchy faces, flab everywhere, and don’t even get me started on their eyebrows.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Like furry little caterpillars stuck above sunken eyes!”

  “You need not utter another word.”

  “Is it my fault I go out of my way to serve? From their cankles to their cowlicks?”

  “You poor thing. You need a rest.” Please, please, please give it a rest.

  Gráinne stuck her hip out and blew air from her lips, lifting her fringe, which Siobhán just now noticed was streaked neon blue. This was not the time to school Gráinne on tact or style. “We’re going for a hike. Dump your bag at the desk, wipe your face, and come with us.”

  * * *

  They were told Geraldine was at her son’s farmhouse, but that she had plenty of walking sticks stored at the farmhouse they could look at. Siobhán was disappointed she wouldn’t get a look at the metal detector. She texted Danny her suspicions. He’d been kind enough to keep her in the loop, and now that a second gold coin had been found, it was information he needed to know. She held back on mentioning the mysterious note left for her at the café. Surely he’d read it by now and she was hoping he would mention it. Was he the guard mentioned in the note? She was dying to know.

  The cow was in the driveway as they trudged up, her big brown eyes scanning their little group like a heat-seeking missile for Macdara. When she didn’t find him, she let out a mournful moo. “Sorry,” Siobhán said, holding up her hand. “He already put a ring on it.”

  “Which you never wear,” Gráinne chimed in.

  “If you touch it, you’re dead to me,” Siobhán sang back.

  Lilly was in the yard smashing her dolls together, wearing a man’s shirt, streaked with mud and dirt, hanging off her like a dress. This time wee William was shrieking along with her and running around. Siobhán was relieved to see him successfully detached from his mammy’s hip.

  Joe’s legs stuck out from underneath a tractor near the barn. Mary Madigan stretched to hang clothing on the line, soft fabrics swaying in the warm breeze, and Geraldine had commandeered the front porch, her walking sticks set up behind her like soldiers in formation.

  Siobhán and her brood headed for the porch, and once up, began exclaiming over the walking sticks and trying them out. Geraldine’s smile was genuine; she was proud of her product.

  “Do you believe in fairies?” Ciarán asked her when Siobhán wasn’t paying attention.

  “I believe there are certain mysteries in life that can’t be explained away. Like what happened here the other night.”

  Gráinne edged closer. “What did you see?” Siobhán was torn. She didn’t want Geraldine Madigan riling her siblings up about the supernatural, but then again, it was Ciarán who started it. And it never hurt to have a witness tell a tale a dozen times, see how it changed, if at all, maybe learn something new. And they were as big eyed and attentive as the in-love cow. In the meantime, Siobhán was wondering if there was a subtle way to ask Joe Madigan about those dead mice, specifically if any were missing their tails.

  “This is what I saw that night,”
Geraldine said, as her siblings drew closer. “It was a full moon—we should have known it was coming. I was standing on this porch when I heard a piercing wail. I don’t have all my hearing, but it nearly took what’s left of it.”

  She didn’t mention the hearing loss the first time she told the tale.

  “A wail,” Gráinne said. “That’s a banshee. Warning of death. Holy Mother of God.” Gráinne crossed herself.

  Geraldine pointed straight ahead. “If you look you’ll see the white bark of the hawthorn tree; the fairy ring is just beyond it. Just there behind the cottage, I saw a woman running, running, running. Right after the wail. ’Twas Ellen Delaney. . . . I know that now.”

  “She’s saying it wasn’t a banshee that screamed,” Siobhán said. “It was a person.”

  Geraldine shook her head. “If you think I don’t know the wail of banshee when I hear it you have another think coming.”

  Ciarán turned to Siobhán and gave her a look. “You do. You really do.” He wanted the ghost stories. He’d better remember that when he tried crawling into her bed at night poking at her with his ice-cold toes.

  “What did you do?” Ann asked.

  “I lit a candle and prayed.”

  That was new too.

  “Good woman,” Gráinne said. “Safety first.”

  “When you saw the figure running, did they seem to have a pack on them?” Siobhán asked.

  “A pack?”

  “Presumably Ellen had gone to the meadow to spend the night. I’m assuming she had a pack with a tent and supplies. Does that fit?”

  “From the way she was moving, I’d say she had nothing on her back.”

  If that was the case, then her things could still be out there. Siobhán knew where she wanted to test out her walking stick.

  “Everyone pick out your walking stick,” Siobhán said. “Time for a family hike.”

  “I’m a personal stylist,” Gráinne said, zeroing in on Geraldine. “Would you like a makeover?”

  Geraldine blushed. “I’m just an old woman.”

  “Nonsense, you have great bones.”

  Geraldine’s hand fluttered to her cheek. “I do?”

  “Underneath all that sagging skin? Absolutely.” Geraldine blinked rapidly. “Don’t worry. Think of me like a beauty guard here to rescue those cheekbones!” Geraldine patted her cheekbones, still blinking.

  Siobhán sighed. “Gráinne O’Sullivan, are you trying to get out of the family hike?”

  “I don’t want to hike either,” Ann said. Now that was a surprise. Of all the girls, Ann was the most athletic. Ann turned to Gráinne. “Can I be your assistant?”

  “You can watch and learn,” Gráinne said. “Or just watch.”

  “I want to take a hike,” Ciarán said.

  “Take a hike!” Ann and Gráinne said in unison.

  “Then go jump in a lake,” Gráinne added with a snort.

  “Is there a lake?” Excitement danced in his eyes.

  Siobhán glanced at Geraldine. “Leave them with me,” Geraldine said. “We’ll get Mary to volunteer too, and she can make over both of us.”

  Truthfully, Siobhán could cover more ground without her sisters complaining. Ciarán was young and full of energy. He’d keep up no problem. She and Ciarán picked out walking sticks. Siobhán pulled Gráinne aside. “I have a small favor.”

  “Don’t get murdered.”

  “That too.”

  “What is it?”

  “Keep your ears and eyes open, and . . . if you get a chance please take a photo of the kitchen—the counter near the window. But only if no one is around to see you do it.”

  “A secret mission. It will cost you.” Gráinne cocked a gun-finger at Siobhán and winked. Siobhán was starting to wonder if it was too soon for her to give the boot to Gráinne as well.

  “If you get the photos, I’ll pay you.”

  “Why do you want them?”

  The last time they were in the kitchen, Siobhán had seen a bottle of Powers whiskey on the counter. Later, she’d heard Geraldine and others mention they were all teetotalers. The bottle was full, so it hadn’t been the one that poisoned Ellen Delaney, but what were teetotalers doing with a full bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter? She knew if she asked them it would be easy enough to come up with an excuse—a gift from someone who didn’t realize they didn’t drink—but everyone in this little village would certainly know they didn’t. Siobhán wasn’t sure what she could prove by a photo—maybe run it by Danny—but she at least wanted to know whether or not it was still there.

  “You should come,” Ciarán said, popping up. “We’re going to see a fairy ring.”

  “You’ve seen them at Lough Gur.”

  “I want to see another one.”

  “You’ll have to stay right with me and if I tell you not to step somewhere you must listen.”

  Mary Madigan, finished at the clothesline, grappled with Lilly as she struggled to remove the dirty oversized shirt. The child wasn’t having it.

  “Leave her with it,” Geraldine said.

  Mary Madigan looked up, her face red. She did not appreciate her mother-in-law reprimanding her. “She cannot snatch clothes off the line.”

  “I didn’t,” the girl said. “It’s mine.”

  “That is not yours.”

  “It’s already dirty—what’s the harm?” Geraldine said.

  “Mine,” the girl said. “I find. I keep.”

  Mary whispered in her daughter’s ear, pursed her lips, and joined them at the porch. The little girl stared after them, then went back to smashing her dolls. Mary smiled at Ciarán, enthralled with tapping his new walking stick along the porch. Seconds later he was slicing and jabbing it through the air like a sword. Mary gestured to their yard. “You might want to take a pocket of stones.”

  Ciarán stopped fencing his invisible enemies and peered at her. “Why?”

  Mary smiled. “In case the fairies put a stray on you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Leave him be,” Geraldine said.

  “’Tis terrible,” Mary continued. “You could be standing in your own yard and nothing looks familiar. You’ll walk around in a daze not knowing which direction to go.”

  “What are the stones for?” Siobhán asked. Despite herself she was curious. This was a new side to Mary Madigan, her behavior somewhat snarky, more reminiscent of Ellen or Jane. But Ciarán wasn’t easily scared and Siobhán wanted to keep the farmer’s wife chatting.

  “They’re to throw ahead of you so you don’t walk into a body of water and drown.”

  Ciarán started tapping again, although this time he seemed to be scouring the yard for stones. “Why would we walk into a body of water?”

  “Because you don’t know it’s there! That’s what a stray is. You lose your sense of things altogether.” Mary Madigan sounded surprised that they did not already know this.

  Ciarán bounded down the porch steps. “We’d better get stones.”

  “I’ll let you collect them for us,” Siobhán said. She turned to her sisters. “I texted Macdara and Garda MacGregor that you’re here while we’re going on a hike,” she said loudly. “We’ll be back in two shakes.”

  “In case you were thinking of murdering us,” Gráinne explained to Mary and Geraldine. The two women pursed their lips and blinked but did not respond. Siobhán would have preferred a simple “Of course we won’t murder them,” but folks in this village had their own way of doing things.

  Gráinne raked her eyes over her makeover victims. “This may take a while.” She turned back to Siobhán. “Make it three shakes. Or four.”

  Chapter 27

  As they trudged through the field leading away from the Madigan farmhouse, Siobhán was relieved to have Ciarán’s company. The sun was muted, but even in the blue-gray light the ragged countryside filled Siobhán with pride, and she hoped Ciarán felt it too. The kind of beauty that could lull you into another world, one where magic danced undern
eath blooming trees, and hid in full moons.

  Ciarán gripped his staff like a young warrior catapulting over dips in the ground. Guilt squeezed her insides that she was the witness to the adventures of his life and not her mam and da. She clung to the belief that somehow they were watching, just as much a part of them as the rocks, and trees, and rolling hills. Maybe that’s why they say the hills have eyes. Until one experienced a profound loss of their own it was impossible to explain that sorrow never vanishes. It was a war fought not in long, drawn-out battles, but in the everyday, unexpected moments. She threw a quick hello and kisses to the heavens and forced her mind back to the case.

  “I’ll show them.” That’s what the limo driver heard Ellen say. Who was she referring to? Geraldine? Aiden? Joe? It wasn’t coincidence that she was killed the same night she undertook this endeavor. If Ellen was going to spend the night outdoors, she would have brought a pack with her. In that pack would have been her bottle of whiskey.

  Powers whiskey.

  The bottle in the Madigans’ house. Was that Ellen’s original bottle?

  Geraldine admitted visiting Ellen after the limo driver left. Did she switch the bottles then?

  “I’ve got twelve stones,” Ciarán said, jumping back to her.

  “That’ll do.”

  “Are you lost?”

  Siobhán laughed. They were barely past the cottage. “Only philosophically.”

  Ciarán scrunched his face. “You’re weird.”

  “Tank you.”

  He waggled his finger at her. “In school our teacher says to mind our h’s.”

  “Does she now?”

  He nodded. “You don’t say ‘tank you’; you say ‘thank you’.” Spit flew from his mouth as he struggled with the pronunciation.