Murder in an Irish Cottage

by Carlene O'Connor

  “I’ll call Danny,” Siobhán said as she removed hers. Thunder rumbled overhead and soon the rain was coming down.

  “The blood,” Siobhán said. “Don’t let it wash away.” She tried holding the flaps of the tent together, but the wind wrestled her for them, blowing rain into the tent.

  “We can’t stay here,” Macdara said. “It could be a trap.” He felt it too, and she had learned to trust that feeling. Maybe it was nature who was watching. These beings who kept coming and going throughout time while they remained.

  “Geraldine’s house is the closest,” Siobhán said. She had to shout to be heard.

  “What if she’s our killer?”

  “The cottage then.” The cottage was the last place she wanted to be trapped in a storm, but Macdara was right. Geraldine could have lured them here, knowing the storm was coming, hoping they’d make a run for her house. And although the two of them could certainly hold their own against the older woman, where there were two knives there was a set. If it was a trap, the killer was several steps ahead of them.

  “Come on,” Macdara said, grabbing her hand, as the rain pelted its unforgiving fury. “Let’s make a run for the cottage.”

  “They’ve changed the locks.”

  Macdara shook his head. “I have the key. I was supposed to retrieve things for Jane.”

  Finally, a little luck. They ran.

  * * *

  Inside the cottage they locked the doors, pulled the curtains tight. They changed out of their wet clothes and found warm ones. Macdara put on a flannel shirt and work trousers of Ellen’s that were actually loose on him, and Siobhán slipped on one of Jane’s dresses. The rain continued to beat on the roof as Siobhán made a fire and put on the kettle. Macdara was staring into the sink. Siobhán followed. The sink was free of the dead mouse but the eerie words remained.

  “Jane. Tree,” he said. He turned to Siobhán, a pained look on his face. “Was I wrong? Is my cousin a killer?”

  He had it wrong again. The order. Tree. Jane. Not Jane. Tree. There was a difference. This time she didn’t correct him. She ruminated on the balled-up shirt in the tent next to poor Eddie’s body. She’d seen it before. She was just about to go through it all again in her mind when Macdara interrupted her.

  “Was this here before?”

  Siobhán turned to find him staring at the wall of the living room above the sofa. On it hung a painting. The hooded purple flowers. Some called it friar’s cap. Other’s wolfsbane. Or aconite. But its roots, by any name, were poisonous. She moved in closer. This one had been titled: Dead Beautiful.

  Chapter 32

  “That’s insane.” Siobhán stood in the garda station arguing with Danny. Jane was being released. They were holding Eddie Doolan responsible for the murder of Ellen Delaney and himself. “How many people stab themselves in the chest?”

  “The writing of the blood on the tent flaps matches the writing in the sink. That puts him at both crime scenes. He had been stalking her for years, Siobhán. I thought you’d be happy. We’ve released Jane.”

  “Why did he kill her? Why now?”

  “We found a gold coin on him. He stole her hoard and she caught him.”

  “This is too hasty. What about Geraldine’s walking stick? Did you check it out?”

  He sighed. “Even if it is a metal detector, that doesn’t mean she’s a killer.”

  “It gives you leverage to bring her in for questioning.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t like it when a case is solved, is that it?”

  Macdara stepped forward. “She has the best instincts of anyone I know. You said it yourself.”

  “Ellen’s shirt. I know where I’ve seen it before. Lilly Madigan was wearing it the other day.” Mary scolded her as if she’d taken it off the line, assuming it was dirty. But if it was Ellen’s shirt, it was already dirty. And if she found it on her property, then a member of that household was a killer.

  “If you have proof that someone else is our killer, I’d be happy to take it to the sergeant,” Danny said. “Otherwise my hands are tied.”

  “What about the shoe print in the cottage?” Macdara asked.

  Danny folded his arms across his muscular chest. “I don’t know.”

  “Check on the results,” Siobhán said. “We’ll wait.”

  Danny’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but he told them to wait as he headed back to his office. It felt like hours, but minutes later he returned with a folder.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said to Siobhán and Macdara. Jane wasn’t thrilled to be left waiting, but she acquiesced. Outside Danny lit a cigarette as he handed Macdara the folder. Macdara scanned it. “Aiden Cunningham.”

  “It was his shoe print?”

  “Not just that. His fingerprints were also found in Ellen’s truck.”

  “This is big,” Siobhán said. “You have to bring him in.”

  “What else?” Macdara said. “What about my aunt’s mobile phone and handbag from the truck?”

  “Her money was still in the wallet, so it wasn’t a robbery.” He looked away, then back at them. “She made several calls to Aiden before her death.”

  “Are you joking me? And you’re not reopening the case?”

  “None of the calls were picked up. But he did try to call her back. Why would he do that if he killed her?”

  “Because he doesn’t want you to think that he killed her,” Macdara said.

  “We have a photograph of Eddie Doolan at the scene,” Danny said.

  “At Ellen’s bedroom window,” Siobhán interjected. “I believe he saw the killer.”

  “Based on what?” He was clearly miffed that Siobhán was onto something he wasn’t.

  “He told us twice.”

  “Are you on about the sink?” Danny was like a dog watching another dog steal his bone.

  “Yes. And the writing on the walls of the tent.”

  “The only name he mentioned was Jane. You just pleaded her innocence, we released her, and now you’re accusing her again?”

  “That’s the challenge with riddles,” Siobhán said. “They’re not literal. It’s easy to misunderstand.”

  “Aiden?” Macdara asked. “Is that who Eddie saw?”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “I think Aiden Cunningham arrived next. He discovered his lover’s body and panicked. In his terror he forgets Dylan’s manuscript. Busted the window to make it look like a robbery gone wrong, and stole her handbag, mobile phone, and truck.”

  “I already have guards on the way to pick Aiden Cunningham up,” Danny said. “But it’s not going to do any good.”

  Macdara frowned. “Why is that?”

  “If they were having a relationship, then that easily explains his presence in the cottage. Including his footprint and the manuscript, not to mention his fingerprints in the truck.” He threw up his hands. “It’s not against the law to have a secret relationship.”

  “This is outrageous,” Macdara said. “The footprint and manuscript put him at the crime scene.”

  “Yes,” Danny said. “But we can’t prove when it was left there. I’m afraid this isn’t going to be enough to get Sergeant Eegan to reopen the case.”

  “Not when he has a poor dead seanchaí to blame it on,” Siobhán said.

  “You’re one to talk. It’s obvious you think you know who the killer is. This isn’t a parlor game, so why don’t you just spit it out?”

  “I have a request. It’s going to sound strange.”

  He shook his head. “What is it?”

  “The dead mouse,” she said. “I’d like to see it. Not a picture. The mouse.”

  “What in heavens name do you want dat for?”

  “I’ll tell you only if I’m right.”

  “You think you’ll be capable of running some sort of test we couldn’t? Or do you think the killer left his fingerprints on the mouse?” He waited for a response, got none. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

  “I just need proof.”r />
  “Then don’t bother me until you have it.”

  “Not a bother,” Siobhán said. “That’s what I’ll do, so.”

  Macdara grabbed Siobhán’s hand and threw a glare at Danny that made her want to cheer. She hated that this case had eroded the bonds of friendship, but this was too important to worry about his ego.

  * * *

  Their bags were packed and in the car, but Siobhán couldn’t bring herself to get in. “If we leave now, a killer is going to go free.”

  Macdara placed his hands on the steering wheel and pretended to bang his head into it several times. He glanced at her to see if she was smiling. She couldn’t help but do just that. He soon turned serious. “I get why you didn’t tell Danny, but why are you keeping your theories from me?” She hesitated. “Do you think it’s Jane? Is that why you’re all buttoned up?”

  “I’d rather keep the element of surprise.”

  He exhaled, clearly frustrated. “How can I help?”

  “We need all of our suspects in one place. Let everything come out. I want to hear from Aiden and Geraldine. I think both of them were at the cabin that evening. And not just them. Eddie Doolan was there as well, peering through the window. Geraldine digging—Aiden leaving the manuscript on the counter.”

  Macdara sighed and rubbed his face. “As far as Aiden Cunningham is concerned—as Danny pointed out—we don’t know when he left it there.”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “We can’t prove when he left it there. But Ellen was a neat freak. Everything in its place. Apart from the one item she always kept on the counter—and she might still be alive if it wasn’t her habit to leave her bottle of Powers out in the open.”

  Macdara bowed his head. “That something so simple could turn so deadly. We just never really know, do we?”

  Siobhán grabbed his hand. “We have to cherish every single day. Lastly, we know that Eddie Doolan, sometime later, snuck back into the cottage leaving a dead mouse and a riddle in the sink.”

  “A riddle that accuses Jane.”

  “No. I don’t think it does.”

  He sighed. “Jane. Tree. What else could it mean?”

  Siobhán wanted the killer to be the first to hear it. It was the least she could do for poor Eddie Doolan. “We have to do something to get everyone in the same place. Most people who are telling a story will stick to some semblance of the truth. We need to root out the discrepancies. We need all the lies out in the open.”

  “They’re never going to talk to us. Not when they think the killer has been caught. Who in their right mind would come forward now?” He stared at her. “What?” he said, waggling his finger at her. “You’ve got that look.”

  He got her there. The idea required several props and help from the Ballysiogdun guards, but it was a good one. “I can think of one thing that would bring everyone in this village together. One thing that every member could not resist coming out to see.” And before that, she was going to bypass Danny, find the detective sargeant and tell him what she needed to see.

  * * *

  The bulldozer loomed in front of the cottage. As Siobhán had hoped, the news that the cottage was going to be razed brought all of their suspects out to watch. The killer was amongst them, Siobhán knew it in her bones. And now that Eddie Doolan had been blamed for it, he or she had no reason to suspect they were being set up. And of course the guards were present. They had to make sure the demolition went off smoothly.

  “Before we begin,” Siobhán said, “I’d like us all to gather inside the cottage to say a prayer in memory of Ellen Delaney.”

  There were glances between the participants. Geraldine stood with her son and daughter-in-law. Thankfully, the children were with Molly from the café. Annabel huddled near Danny. She’d been a good sport and brought the painting Siobhán requested without asking why. Dylan Kelly scratched notes and snapped photographs of the cottage, ready and eager to document his climactic ending. Aiden Cunningham was looking uneasy in his suit, large patches of sweat visible underneath his armpits. Danny had come through with one item—Geraldine’s walking stick, the one with the round base. It hid in the cottage, waiting for story time, along with the other props. And boy, did Siobhán finally have a story to tell.

  * * *

  They filed into the cottage, standing nervously in the small living room. “Why haven’t the furnishings been removed?” Geraldine asked.

  “Because we’re not really going to bulldoze it,” Siobhán said. “Not today anyway.”

  Dylan Kelly stepped forward, jabbing his pen. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

  “This is no joke,” Siobhán said.

  Geraldine let out a yelp as she noticed one of the props in the corner. “My walking stick.”

  Siobhán stepped forward. “Why don’t you show the people what it really is?”

  “What do you mean?” Geraldine sputtered.

  Siobhán headed for the walking stick, removed scissors from her pocket, and began to snip at the strings.

  “Stop!” Geraldine shrieked. But it was too late. As Siobhán snipped, the colorful yarn dropped to the floor, revealing the base of the metal detector.

  Siobhán turned it on. The machine whirred and blinked. “This is what you’d been using to locate the buried treasure,” she said.

  “Treasure?” Annabel said. “What treasure?”

  “Would have been a nice addition to your book,” Siobhán said. She turned to Dylan Kelly. “Care to enlighten her?” He blinked and pushed the spectacles up from the bridge of his nose. “The truth will set you free,” Siobhán said. “Unless, of course, you’re the killer.”

  Dylan Kelly cleared his throat. “Alright, so. While researching my book I came across an article that hinted of a buried treasure in Ballysiogdun. It mentioned the treasure lay where the fairies dwelled.” He cleared his throat. “I showed the article to Geraldine. After all, her family owned the land where the fairies dwelled.”

  All heads turned to Geraldine. “Fine. I’ve been looking for it. But I was too late.”

  “Ellen had already found it,” Siobhán said. “When I first arrived I noticed a disturbed mound of dirt at the side of the cottage. At first glance I thought someone had been burying something. Instead, it’s where Ellen had been digging.” She turned to Geraldine. “And later, you. But Ellen Delaney beat you to the treasure.”

  Geraldine opened and closed her mouth but no words came out.

  “That can’t be,” Macdara said. “Why would she borrow fifteen thousand euro from my mam if she’d already struck gold?”

  “The gold couldn’t be fenced right away. Legally she was supposed to hand it over to the Irish government. As far as the fifteen thousand euro, the facts show that she didn’t succeed in buying the cottage. What we’re missing is whether or not she tried to.”

  Heads swiveled to Aiden Cunningham. He wiped his brow. “She tried,” he admitted. “When I insisted the sale couldn’t go through she used the money to prepay the rent on the cottage. She was paranoid they were going to bulldoze it if she didn’t.”

  Jane stepped forward. “If my mother had the gold coins, then where are they?”

  “Let’s rewind,” Siobhán said, unwilling to let others take the narrative from her. She turned to Geraldine. “You were here the night of the murder.” She pointed at Aiden. “And so were you.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Aiden Cunningham said. “Eddie Doolan was the killer and the entire case is done and dusted.”

  “I agree. We don’t have to listen to this.” Geraldine turned to go.

  “You do unless you’d rather answer questions at the station,” Danny said, blocking the door. He nodded at Siobhán. “Continue.”

  Siobhán addressed Geraldine. “Lilly saw dancing lights and people dancing that night. The dancing lights were from the metal detector. And at first I thought the dancing was you struggling with Ellen.”

  “It wasn’t!”

  “I said ‘at first.’ Now
, I realize, you were struggling with Eddie Doolan.”

  Geraldine stared at the floor. “He saw the body through the window. He told me she was dead. Said an evil fairy killed her. He wanted to go inside. I had to physically hold him back. I told him to go home.”

  “Which one of you broke the window?”

  “It was Eddie. He grabbed my metal detector and smashed the base.”

  Siobhán turned to Danny. “You let me believe the window was smashed from the inside.”

  “I was just letting you figure it out for yourself, Sherlock,” Danny said, his voice dripping with jealousy.

  “I suppose Eddie thought he was a hero,” Geraldine continued. “When I blocked the door, he was going to get in the window.” She laid a hand over her throat. “I told him they were going to accuse him of the murder. Lock him away.”

  “You were worried about yourself,” Siobhán said. “You didn’t want the guards to know you were there digging, that you sent Ellen out on a fool’s bet so you could be alone at the cottage, and that you’d hired Eddie Doolan to stalk her.”

  “He’d done it once before,” Geraldine said. “But I never told him to hurt her. Never!”

  “He didn’t. But what if she’d hurt him? Or what if he’d frightened her so dearly she had a heart attack?” Didn’t these people play What If?

  “None of those things happened.”

  “You’re right,” Siobhán said. “Worse happened.” She turned to Aiden Cunningham. “Tell us everything from when you arrived. And no more lies. Your footwear impressions were found, along with Dylan Kelly’s manuscript and rejection letter on the counter, not to mention your fingerprints in the truck.”

  “You,” Jane said, whirling on Aiden Cunningham. “I could smell your leather when I returned to the cottage that morning.”

  “We also have him on CCTV exiting the truck,” Danny piped up.

  Aiden had the look of a wild animal caught in a trap. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything. But I assure you, I’m no killer. Late in the evening, or should I say early morning, Ellen blew up my phone. It wasn’t like her to call that late, or that often for that matter. It was hard to understand what she was saying. Her words were garbled, and she wasn’t making sense. But one thing was clear. She was in an absolute panic. But by the time I heard the messages and tried to ring her back, she wasn’t answering. I was worried. When I hurried over . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “She was already dead. I panicked.”