Murder in an Irish Cottage

by Carlene O'Connor

  “I tink it’s fine,” Siobhán said, exaggerating for effect even whilst scolding herself for disagreeing with his teacher. “As long as meaning isn’t lost.”

  “W-h-atever,” Ciarán said, isolating the h. He raced ahead once more, leaping with the boundless energy of the young.

  * * *

  They stopped at the fairy tree and fairy ring, although Siobhán made them keep a respectful distance.

  “It doesn’t look scary,” Ciarán said.

  “It’s not,” Siobhán agreed. “It’s gorgeous, don’t you think, petal?”

  Ciarán shrugged. “Will they get mad if I don’t think it is?”

  Siobhán laughed. “I suppose they might be a little offended.”

  “It’s a gorgeous tree, and ring,” Ciarán said loudly. “And don’t even think of putting a stray on us, because I’ve got a pocketful of stones.”

  “Well done, lad,” Siobhán said. “Let’s keep going.”

  Just as they passed the fairy tree, Siobhán spotted something on the ground in the distance, in a small valley, nearly hidden by the hill. Ellen’s campsite. She could make out a sack lying on the ground and a half-erect tent. Ciarán started for it, but Siobhán was quick to grab ahold of him. “It’s a crime scene, luv.”

  “It is?”

  “If it belongs to Ellen Delaney, which I think it does, then yes, it is.”

  She made Ciarán stay where he was as she removed gloves and booties from her pack.

  “Do you always carry those?”

  “Rarely leave home without them,” she said with a wink.

  “Double weird.”

  Siobhán laughed. “The day is young. I’m going for triple.” She donned her booties and gloves and headed slowly toward the campsite. She wouldn’t touch anything that she didn’t have to, and she’d place a call to the guards as soon as she was sure it was Ellen’s site. As she drew closer, a frying pan and the remnants of a fire came into view. An unopened can of beans was propped on a rock with an opener lying next to it. Abandoned. Ellen Delaney had arrived at this site. Set up her tent. Built a fire. She was preparing to eat. Or she lost her appetite. And then . . . what? Something frightened her. . . .

  Siobhán edged toward the tent. “Hello?” Nothing answered or moved. She reached out with gloved hands and opened the flap. She nearly collapsed with relief to find nothing but a sleeping bag.

  Abandoned. And there, in the corner of the tent, was a bottle of Powers whiskey. With only an inch left. An inch of poison. Siobhán was dying to pick up the bottle. Instead, she hurried back to Ciarán as she dialed Danny MacGregor.

  “Wait,” Ciarán said as she approached. “Stop.” Siobhán stopped. “Do you know where you are?” He studied her intently while she tried not to laugh.

  “Yes, pet.”

  “Do you know who you are?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  He crinkled his nose. “Do you need a stone?”

  “I do not.” He looked disappointed. “Why don’t you toss them ahead of us on our walk back, just in case?”

  He finally relaxed, nodded, and allowed her to approach. “Why didn’t you take the things?” He gestured to the tent.

  “I can’t touch anything. I called the guards.”

  “You are a guard.”

  “This isn’t my case, luv.”

  “Then why are you investigating?”

  “Because it’s Dara’s aunt.”

  Ciarán nodded. “And because you’re like a bloodhound.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Macdara.”

  Of course.

  * * *

  The guards were sent to process the campsite. Siobhán and Ciarán returned to the Madigan farmhouse to find Geraldine and Mary looking markedly better. She was expecting Gráinne to turn them into trollops or clowns, but her sister’s touch was light yet noticeable. Maybe it was because the pair was smiling, the first genuine smiles Siobhán had seen in the village.

  Siobhán complimented them and turned to Gráinne. “Well done.”

  “My biggest victory to date,” Gráinne said, snapping their photos. As they headed down the drive, Joe Madigan’s voice rang out. “Wash that goop off.” Siobhán resisted the urge to return and beat him with her walking stick.

  Relief settled into her bones when they were all back at the inn, away from the Madigans’ and the fairy cottage. She didn’t get a chance to ask Joe about the dead mice or confront Geraldine about the metal detector, or the whiskey bottle on their counter, but she was exhausted. She suspected the only fingerprints they would find at the campsite would be Ellen’s, but maybe they’d get lucky. At the least, they should be able to confirm poison in her whiskey bottle.

  Siobhán stretched and reached to the hotel bedside table where she had a little bag of chocolates. She was at the chocolate-eating portion of the inquiry, where every question lead to more questions, and the case was nothing but a tangle of inconsistencies swimming around her poor head. Ciarán was right. She was weird.

  * * *

  The red dress kept circling Siobhán’s mind. Even if the killer dressed her for some reason, it was Ellen’s dress. One at odds with the rest of the dowdy outfits in her closet. And Jane said she didn’t put her rollers in. The killer wanted them to think she was all ready for bed, drinking tea. But she wasn’t finished getting ready. The killer wanted the guards to assume her tea was poisoned, hoped they wouldn’t dig any further.

  Siobhán was convinced Ellen was having a romantic relationship with Aiden Cunningham. The limo was booked for a Saturday night. Which made Siobhán wonder—where was the closest fancy restaurant? Top on the list was the French restaurant in the village run by an Irish woman and her French husband. It looked like a reservation was in order. Oui. But first, a nap.

  She fell into a deep sleep and dreamed she was caught in a fairy ring guarded by giant mice, wielding their severed tails like whips. She woke up with a scream.

  “Easy tiger.” Macdara was sitting in a chair by the desk.

  Siobhán was relieved to be awake. “How long have I been out?”

  “About an hour.”

  She rubbed her head. “I had a nightmare.”

  “How about some fresh air?”

  What she really wanted was to watch telly in bed with chocolate. “Lovely.” She forced herself to her feet. “How did you make out?”

  Macdara shook his head. “While you were finding the campsite, I was getting the runaround from Aiden Cunningham and then picking my mam and Jane up at the bus stop.”

  “They’re back?”

  “You don’t sound thrilled.”

  “The more the merrier.” He couldn’t see her fingers crossed at her side.

  “Then you’ll be happy to hear that I greeted tree folks coming off the bus.”

  “Don’t say that around Ciarán or he’ll have you minding your h’s.”

  Macdara frowned. “Long story,” she said. “Continue. Who’s the turd?”

  When he finally got the joke he let out a belly laugh. “Eoin.”

  “Ah, lovely.”

  “Nearly your entire brood. Happy?”

  “I am.” With the exception of Jane and his mam. No need to overshare.

  Macdara chuckled. “About time for supper. Everyone is getting hangry.”

  “I know just the place. Perfect for a date night.”

  “Date night?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Siobhán filled him in on the French restaurant. “I’ll make a reservation.” Macdara took out his mobile phone.

  “I already did. Tonight. You and me.”

  “Romantic.” His tone conveyed that he knew there was more to the story.

  “And Ciarán, and Ann, and Eoin, and Gráinne, and James, and Jane, and your mam.” They would be just the distraction Siobhán needed to slip away and talk to the waiters.

  “Be still me heart.” Siobhán laughed and took his hand. The sooner this was ov
er, the sooner they could go home and have a real date night.

  * * *

  The French restaurant had a lovely interior with mirrors, and candles, and shelves by the register filled with fresh baked bread. The walls were white and the trim black, giving it a touch of sophistication. They were led to a dining room and sat at the middle table. On the back wall was a mural of the Seine, happy French people strolling alongside it. Siobhán lost herself in it for a moment, as the desire to travel pinged through her. Macdara ordered drinks and starters and soon oysters arrived along with wine and sparkling water.

  Macdara’s mother stared at the oysters on her plate as if someone had just placed a severed head in front of her. Macdara nodded to the plate. “They aren’t going to bite.”

  “I’ll just have soup,” Nancy replied. Macdara shrugged and snagged her oysters. Siobhán got the feeling that was his plan all along.

  “I want bacon and cabbage,” Ciarán said.

  “I’m afraid you can’t get that here,” Siobhán said.

  “I’m having the quail,” Gráinne announced. Then she threw her head back and laughed.

  “Do they have ham-and-cheese toasties?” Ann asked.

  “Might as well just close your eyes and point,” James said. “You aren’t going to like any of it anyway.”

  “I’m embarrassed to be with you lot,” Eoin said. “I’ll have one of everything.”

  This had been a mistake. Siobhán should have come alone. She stared at the menu trying to pretend she wouldn’t rather have a basket of curried chips herself.

  “There’s a chipper next door,” Macdara said. “Why don’t you meet us there instead?”

  He’d read her mind. Not the first time they’d done it. Or maybe she had a dreamy look on her face from just thinking about curried chips. “Meet you there?”

  “Yes,” Macdara said. “After you interrogate the staff about me aunt and her love life.” His eyes remained steady on hers.

  “You’re perfect for me.” She reached over and gave him a rare public kiss.

  “You’re going to be disappointed.”

  “We’ll see.” To the chagrin of the waiter, all of her crew but Eoin filed out. “I’ll eat for the lot of ’em,” he said with a grin.

  Siobhán squeezed his shoulder. “Good man.”

  Siobhán hurried to the register. A slim and aloof hostess manned the station, ignoring Siobhán, as if acting like she was above the patrons was a requirement of the job. Siobhán cleared her throat, and finally the woman acknowledged her. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry they had to leave. My fiancé’s cousin is grieving. She realized rich food may not be the best for her. I hope it’s not too much of a bother.”

  “You reserved a large table for a Friday night. Why would that be a bother?” Her smile was as plastic as her talon-nails.

  “We tried to cheer up a woman who lost her mother. I’m sure you heard of the recent tragedy.”

  Finally the employee’s face relaxed into an expression that bordered on compassion. “The woman who was murdered?”

  “Yes.” Siobhán hated playing into the human weakness for gossip, but she needed information. “The very same.” Siobhán leaned into the counter and lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret just with her. “Did you know her?”

  The employee’s eyebrows shot up. “The woman who was murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you ask me that?” The French wall was back.

  Siobhán glanced around. “I have it on good authority she’d been here before.”

  The woman followed Siobhán’s gaze around the restaurant, as if trying to spot a ghost. “I’m new.”

  “How new?”

  “A few months.” The woman quickly averted her gaze, staring at a list of reservations as if it would jump off the page and save her. Siobhán’s pulse quickened.

  “You’ve seen her then. Haven’t you?”

  “We get a lot of customers in here.” She began fiddling with a bowl of mints.

  “She makes an impression then, doesn’t she?”

  “I’d say you do too.”

  Siobhán fingered a mint. Next to it sat a stack of business cards. PRIMO LIMO.

  “This is her limo service,” Siobhán said, plucking up a card as if it was a smoking gun. “Was.”

  The woman began to blink rapidly. “We only keep those because of the councilman.”

  “Of course.” Aiden Cunningham. “He likes to arrive in style.”

  She nodded. “Is there anything else?”

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  She frowned. “No.”

  “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “You didn’t have a lovely evening.”

  At least the hostess was direct. Siobhán sighed. “My brother is in heaven.” She threw a look to Eoin in the dining room.

  The hostess gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What?” Siobhán registered the look of horror on the woman’s face.

  “No, no, not literally,” Siobhán added hastily. Lost in translation. “I just mean he’s enjoying his feed. Dinner. Proper dinner.” Stop. Just stop chattering. She pointed to the dining room where Eoin was lording over his banquet for one. He deserved it. Siobhán had a feeling he would be adding new items to the menu at Naomi’s Bistro shortly. It may not go over well in Kilbane, but he had a right to be creative. She turned back to the hostess, who looked visibly paler. “The decor is beautiful. And my fiancé and I will be back one day. Just the two of us,” she said, tripping over herself to right the ship.

  “We look forward to it.” She so didn’t. The phone rang. Siobhán watched her pick it up.

  “Yes, yes, of course. How many in your party?” The girl opened a black book near the register and jotted down a name. Siobhán needed to get a look at that book, check the reservations for Saturday night. If the party was a no-show would the entries still be legible? She needed black and white proof that Aiden Cunningham made a reservation for two on Saturday night and then canceled it. He was proving to be the type of man who would lie until you shoved irrefutable proof in his round face.

  Siobhán hurried to the jax and wasted a few minutes primping by the mirror. She exited and watched the register. She waited until new customers came in and the hostess moved away to greet them. She slipped the black book off the counter and hurried back into the jax. Taking out her mobile, she flipped to the page for Saturday and took as many photos as she could. She hurried back to find the hostess pawing the counter. Siobhán stuck the book behind her back. When she passed the counter, she dropped it. Siobhán then bent over, retrieved the book, and handed it to her. “You dropped this.”

  “Merci, ” the hostess said, with another frown.

  “De nada,” Siobhán said, forgetting how to say ‘You’re welcome’ in French. She messaged Eoin to meet them at the chipper next door and made a beeline for the door, already regretting she didn’t buy a baguette.

  Chapter 28

  The chipper didn’t disappoint. Siobhán found her group at a table piled high with fish and chips, and chicken and chips, and burgers and chips. Ciarán was so thrilled he was humming.

  “Where were you?” Gráinne said.

  “Just having a chat with one of the employees. She was telling me how much the councilman loves eating there.”

  Jane laughed. “Typical,” she said. “Aiden Cunningham thinks he’s a king.”

  Macdara picked up on the connotation right away, and no longer had the look of a happy man, despite his basket of chips. “I need some air,” he said. He turned to Siobhán. “Do you need some air?”

  * * *

  The back of the chipper had a delightful patio strung with little white lights. “Now it feels like date night,” Siobhán said, planting a kiss on Macdara’s cheek.

  “I love a woman who is easy to please. What did you find?”

  Siobhán showed him the photo of the reservation. There it
was: 7 P.M., Aiden Cunningham plus guest. A thin line was drawn through the reservation. Underneath someone had scribbled “Must reschedule.”

  “You’re sure his guest was me aunt?”

  “It explains the red dress. We should confront Aiden and see if he’ll admit it.”

  Macdara started to pace. “Let’s say you’re on to something. Aunt Ellen is having an affair with the councilman. They were supposed to go to the French restaurant on Saturday evening but he cancels.”

  “He made the reservation in advance, along with the limo,” Siobhán said. “Remember he didn’t cancel that either. That’s why the driver came to the cottage.” She drummed her fingers on the picnic table. “He was definitely wooing your aunt.”

  Macdara threw his hands up. “Okay, okay, just stop saying “wooing” and me “aunt” in the same breath.”

  “Then we have Jane.”

  “What about Jane?”

  “The same weekend your aunt plans this, Jane claims she’s going to Dublin.”

  “Claims?”

  “Has she shown you proof?” Macdara crossed his arms and didn’t respond. “That’s not normal. She’s hiding something.”

  “Let me deal with her. Jane did not kill her mother.”

  “You know it’s possible.”

  “Continue.” He could not refute her statement, but he had no desire to linger on it.

  “I believe that Ellen’s bottle of whiskey was poisoned with a teaspoon of aconite.”

  “Aconite?”

  “Made from the roots of wolfsbane, which is growing wild behind the cottage.”

  “You’re getting fancy.”

  “Jeanie Brady agrees with the conclusion.”

  “Go on.”

  “Whoever poisoned her knew that she planned on spending the night near the fairy tree, and assumed she’d be taking her bottle of whiskey with her.”

  “Safe assumption.”

  “The Madigans are teetotalers. When we first paid them a visit there was an unopened bottle of Powers whiskey on the counter. It’s since been removed.” Gráinne had managed to get a photo and the bottle was gone. Had one of them noticed Siobhán staring at it?

  “If it’s a full bottle it’s not the one that poisoned Aunt Ellen.”