Murder in an Irish Pub

by Carlene O'Connor

  “I would agree that’s exactly what it is,” Macdara said.

  “I’m assuming the tournament is canceled now?”

  “I’d say it is.”

  “I’m available to answer any questions, but I do hope I can return to Dublin as soon as possible. I have important business to attend to at home.”

  “What line of work would you be in?” Siobhán asked. She was genuinely curious. An accountant would be her guess. She could see him at a desk behind a mountain of papers tapping away at an adding machine, glasses slipping down his nose, curry sauce on his big belly.

  “I’m a researcher.”

  Close enough. “What kind of research?”

  He grinned. “I’m for hire. I have great credentials.”

  “Are you single?” It couldn’t hurt to at least let Jeanie Brady know she tried.

  Nathan Doyle raised an eyebrow. “If you ask me, I’d say yes. But I do know a Dublin woman who would have a fit if she heard me say that.” He threw his head back and laughed, then studied Siobhán. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just getting to know you.” Siobhán smiled.

  “Thank you,” Macdara said, signaling the end of the meeting by standing.

  “Don’t talk to anyone about the case,” Siobhán said. “And if you hear anything from anyone else, let us know right away.”

  Nathan lifted his travel mug and walked out the door.

  Siobhán turned to Macdara as soon as Nathan Doyle left the room. “He’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”

  Macdara nodded. “Reminds me of my math teacher in primary school.”

  She knew he looked like an accountant. “’Researcher’? What does that mean?”

  “He didn’t really say. Did he?”

  “No. He did not.” Siobhán folded her arms. “I think we should research him a bit more.”

  Chapter 8

  Outside, the festival was in full swing. Children raced by, their faces painted in bright colors; Irish dancers tapped away on stage; folks passed by with their new treasures; Irish wolfhounds paraded by, their leashes held by proud owners; music spilled into the air. Siobhán stood by Macdara taking it all in. Siobhán wished it would last forever. “How long do you think we have until the rumor mill starts churning?”

  Macdara sighed. “That’s why I’m putting you back on festival duty.”

  Siobhán glanced at her list of suspects she was itching to question. “What about Henry Moore?”

  “He’s on the schedule. But I need you on festival duty.”

  “We also have to speak with Clementine Hart and Shane Ross.”

  “We have an entire garda force, boss. Please let me do me job.”

  He was right. She wanted her paws on every little bit of this investigation, namely because she feared someone higher up was going to jump to the wrong conclusion. However, on the food chain of life she was still prey, and prey had the best chance of survival if it didn’t strut in front of the lion’s den.

  Festival duty wasn’t so bad, was it? She should be happy. She tried smiling. She heard if you smiled, even when you weren’t happy, you would soon fool yourself into thinking you were. What’s the saying Gráinne picked up in New York? “Fake it until you make it.” But minutes later all she had to show for it was growing resentment and a sore jaw.

  Macdara tilted his head and gave her one of his looks. “What’s that thing you’re doing with your mouth?”

  “It’s called smiling. I hear people like when you do it.”

  Macdara laughed. “You could light up a room.” He winked. “Or set it on fire.”

  She gave him a gentle shove. Then remembered the guards’ comments this morning. “I think there are rumors going around about us. We’ll have to be more careful.”

  “Don’t mind them. They’d gossip either way.”

  They stood, taking in the merriment of the folks around them. There was something so jarring about all this celebrating, when a man who was very much alive last night was now lying in the basement of a morgue with a toe tag and a big question mark hovering over his death. “We’re not canceling the festival then?”

  “The town would revolt. Besides, if it was murder, and we cancel, all of our suspects go bye-bye.”

  “Got it.” Siobhán glanced around. No one was watching them. She leaned in and kissed Macdara’s cheek, then started to walk away. He grabbed her hand, swung her around, and brought her in for a real kiss. Her eyes flicked to the station just feet away.

  “That was risky.”

  “Dinner. Soon. You and me. We’ll go into Cork.”

  “Lovely.” She felt a rush of pleasure as they pulled away.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  “Always.” She weaved away before he could see her fingers crossed behind her back.

  * * *

  Siobhán made her way through the crowds, past the Celtic tent, where children were performing an Irish Dance, then reluctantly past the chipper stand, where she would return later for a heavenly basket of curried chips. She’d nearly made it past Bridie and Annmarie’s stand when they called her over. Lying to the public was one thing, lying to friends and family was torture.

  She reached the stand and for a moment lost herself in all the gorgeous trinkets. Annmarie and Bridie made almost everything by hand. Scarves, hats, and jewelry. So much sparkle.

  “We’re so excited for the tournament,” Bridie said, her eyes sparkling right along with the jewels. Her curly brown hair was pinned up by a pink rose she’d knitted. “Do you think you could do us a favor?”

  “Depends,” Siobhán said, hating that she had to pretend the tournament was still going to take place.

  Annmarie held up a red scarf. She was a curvy woman with a lot of sass. Her hair was currently cut in a stylish bob with a streak of green. Siobhán smiled, recognizing Sheila’s handiwork. Kilbane had its share of vibrant women. She wished she had more time to hang out with them as friends. “We made these for the players.”

  “I can’t wait to see the Octopus,” Bridie said. “I know they’re just silly scarves, but—”

  “They’re not silly in the least. They’re lovely,” Siobhán said. “But I can’t take them this moment.”

  “You’re on duty, we understand,” Bridie said. “Can you swing by later?” Later they would know about the Octopus. They would understand why she couldn’t stay and chat. Siobhán nodded. “Thanks a million,” Bridie sang. “I also have booties for his wife.” She held up a pair. They were a gorgeous shade of green. “I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, but he or she is Irish, so I went with green.”

  “They’re lovely,” Siobhán said. How quickly she’d forgotten about the baby. How could she be so shortsighted? Guards couldn’t let their emotions cloud the investigation, but how could she not think about the fact that the baby would never meet his or her father? So many victims in a murder. Even ones who hadn’t been born yet. Kind gestures would mean a lot. She smiled at Bridie. “I’ll make sure she gets them.” She took the booties. They were so tiny and soft. Like a newborn. Hopefully, it would bring a tiny bit of comfort to the widow.

  “Hello?” Siobhán whirled around to find Tom Howell standing behind her, nervously twisting a gold chain around his neck. A tall man with slicked-back hair and a tan suit, he wore the expression of a frightened animal about to flee. He owned the only jewelry store in town, Celtic Gems.

  “How ya, Tom?” Bridie called.

  “Grand, grand. Yourself?” He ran his hand over his slicked hair and straightened his suit.

  “Ah, ’tis lovely weather for the festival.”

  “’Tis, ’tis.” He smiled at her, then turned back to Siobhán. “Would you mind stopping by me shop?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  He glanced behind him, then stepped forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want you to look at some footprints.”

  “Footprints?”

  Siobhán knew Bridie and Annmarie were listening intently, precisely bec
ause their heads were cast down like ostriches in the sand, but their big eyes and ears were tilted his way.

  He stepped closer. “I know it sounds mental, but it looks to me as if someone was casing my store.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Footprints. And not just in one spot. It’s around the entire shop, like.”

  “Take some photos and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

  “Why can’t you come with me now?”

  “I’m on duty, but I’ll let D.S. Flannery know.”

  He glanced down at the child’s booties in her hand. “I see.”

  Siobhán tucked the booties in her pocket. “Someone will be over as soon as he or she can.”

  “Please. Hurry.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Footprints, is it?” Annmarie said. “How mysterious.”

  Bridie grinned. “Too bad. You should be able to enjoy the festival without worrying about such unpleasantness.”

  If they only knew . . . “Can’t be helped.” Siobhán smiled and said her good-byes and soon she was weaving her way back into the crowd as she took out her mobile and called Macdara. It went directly to voice mail. She relayed Tom’s message and asked him to return her call. She would check in on the tent for Naomi’s, and if she hadn’t heard from Macdara by then, she’d use her lunch break to go over to Celtic Gems.

  A line formed in front of the tent for Naomi’s Bistro. Elise was tapping away at the register, Ann was handing out food and drink, and Gráinne was standing in a short skirt just outside the tent. She was posing, waiting for the Octopus to walk by. If she only knew what he looks like now. Siobhán shuddered at the thought and the image, and at herself for even thinking it. “Gráinne.” Siobhán stood back as her sister finally sauntered over.

  “How ya?”

  “I sent Rose Foley over to the bistro. I thought you and James were going to sit with her.”

  Gráinne looked as if she’d bitten into something rotten. “Why would I do that?”

  Siobhán turned, but couldn’t see much through the window. The bistro was technically closed. Her heart gave a squeeze for the widow. Gráinne didn’t know the woman’s husband had just died, so she had to watch her reaction. But why did her sister have to be so stubborn? She was constantly doing whatever she wanted to do regardless of other people. Siobhán hated to think it, but oftentimes it felt like her sister was missing the empathy gene. “Is she still in there?”

  “I left her out in the back garden. All she does is sit and stare. It’s creepy. I can’t imagine what he sees in her.”

  “You never know what someone is going through.”

  Gráinne narrowed her eyes. “What is she going through?”

  “I just said you never know. Didn’t I?”

  Gráinne pointed a long red fingernail at her. When did she change the color? Didn’t she have ambitions beyond the color of her nails? “What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything. I’m doing my job.”

  “Since when is that woman your job?”

  “Garda! Garda!” Siobhán turned to see Henry Moore threading through the crowd. He was a big man, and not averse to shoving if he had to. She wanted to throttle him for betting his precious racehorse to the Octopus. Did the loss set him over the edge? Had he killed Eamon Foley?

  “Yes?”

  Worry creased his big face. “It’s me Amanda. She’s gone.”

  Ann popped up. “Gone?”

  Siobhán placed her hand on Ann’s shoulder and turned to Henry. “She flew by here a while ago on Midnight.”

  Henry Moore nodded. “I’m afraid she’s run away.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I found this.” He held up a note: I hate you. Good-bye.

  A tear came into the big man’s eye. Siobhán’s heart squeezed. “She’s a teenager. She didn’t mean it.”

  Henry wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  “Go on.” Siobhán was dying to see if he’d cop to it.

  “I was at Sharkey’s last night.” Siobhán nodded. “I might have had a bit of a game with the players. Just for a bit of craic.” He hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t mean it. I had too much to drink. You know yourself.”

  “What happened?”

  “It seems I bet our horse.”

  “Your horse?” Siobhán knew her tone was sharp, but she couldn’t help it.

  The comment landed. Henry Moore’s face collapsed in shame. “Amanda’s horse.”

  Gráinne gasped. “You bet your daughter’s horse in a poker game?”

  A rush of unexpected pride filled Siobhán. This time she was happy for Gráinne’s take-no-prisoners approach.

  Henry Moore stared at the ground. When he looked back up at Siobhán, there was desperation in his eyes. “Can you please, please tell Eamon Foley that I’ll make it up to him? I can’t let him have the horse. I have to find Amanda and tell her I’ll fix it. Please. Help me fix it.”

  Is he being crafty? Trying to make himself look as if he doesn’t know the Octopus is dead? “Any idea where she might have gone?”

  “I can help look for her.” Ann again. She tucked a strand of her cropped blond hair behind her ear and swallowed. She was the youngest O’Sullivan girl, just starting to grow out of her lanky phase, muscles filling out from playing sports. Amanda was one of her many friends. “I’ve gone riding with her. I could check our usual spots.”

  “I’ll take you in my car,” Henry said. He looked to Siobhán. “If it’s alright with you?”

  No, it wasn’t alright. He was a suspect in a possible murder probe. Even if Macdara was leaning toward suicide, she was not. If there was the slightest chance Henry Moore did something even more naive or vile than betting his horse last night . . . she wasn’t going to let her sister go off with him alone. “Write down where you would go riding,” Siobhán said to Ann. “I’m sorry I need her here.”

  “No, you don’t,” Ann said. “I can help. Really.”

  “We’ve got the tent handled,” Gráinne said with a wave of her hand.

  “Thank you,” Henry Moore said. “I’ll feel better if we start looking.”

  “I said no.” Everyone stared at Siobhán. “I’ll let D.S. Flannery know. He’ll send guards to help you look.”

  Ann wasn’t happy with her. “You don’t trust me?”

  Siobhán shook her head. “Not now.” She tried the smiling thing again. Everyone in her orbit frowned.

  Ann stuck her bottom lip out. “James is the oldest. Maybe I should ask him.”

  Henry Moore held up his hands. “It’s alright, luv. Whatever she thinks is best.” He wiped his brow. “And you’ll talk to Eamon Foley? See if he’s willing to work something out?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Siobhán said. “I’ll handle it.”

  Henry Moore threw a desperate look to Ann. “Can you please tell me where you think I should look?”

  “I’ll write down our places,” Ann said. She threw a look to Siobhán. “If dat’s okay with you?” Siobhán ignored the tone. She’d straighten out the misunderstanding later.

  “Of course.”

  Ann made a list for Henry and he hurried away as Siobhán placed yet another call to Macdara. She left a second voice mail.

  “How?” Gráinne said the minute she hung up. “How will you handle the Octopus?”

  Ann crossed her arms. “Why won’t you let me look for my friend?”

  She sighed. “I’m privy to information I cannot share at this moment. Can the two of you just trust me for once?”

  “I suppose,” Gráinne said, not looking at all convinced.

  “She’s my friend,” Ann said. “She would look for me.”

  “If you want to go . . . find James. Have him go with you.”

  “You don’t like Henry Moore, is that it?” Gráinne pressed.

  Siobhán desperately needed a cappucc
ino. And a basket of curried chips. And a new career. On an island somewhere. With loads and loads of books and chocolates and crisps.

  “I’ll go find James,” Ann said.

  “You’re not to go anywhere alone or with anyone else,” Siobhán called after her.

  “I heard you the first time,” Ann called back.

  Gráinne met Siobhán’s eyes. “They’re growing up so fast,” she said. “Will you stay here when they’re all gone?”

  Would I? All the places she could go. A big world out there. London. Paris. Even Galway or Dublin, or Kinsale. “You couldn’t stay away.”

  “It’s temporary,” Gráinne said. “Believe me, I’ve got big plans.”

  “Do any of them involve university?”

  “We can’t afford it.”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  Gráinne rolled her eyes. “Right now, I think you’d better concentrate on finding a missing girl and her horse.”

  Chapter 9

  Siobhán mounted the official guard horse, grateful for her long legs, yet a little weary that the horse was going to get browned off, rear back, and send her tumbling to the ground. It had been ages since she’d ridden. Macdara mounted his with ease. These two belonged to the guards in a neighboring village. Both were chestnut mares with gorgeous black manes. Macdara thought the best way to find a girl who’d taken off on a horse was on a horse. Or two. Siobhán clutched Ann’s map of Amanda’s usual haunts. She glanced over at Macdara, sitting tall on his horse, messy hair blowing in the wind, blue eyes steady.

  “Ready, boss?”

  “Ready,” she answered.

  “Lead the way.”

  She pressed her foot gently into the side of the horse and they were off. These were well-trained workhorses, and within seconds Siobhán was no longer afraid of being ditched. She soon felt at one with the gorgeous animal and put everything out of her mind, except the wind through her hair and the feel of the stride. Once they were clear of the festival crowds and heading for the field behind the abbey, she took hers up to a gallop, confident Macdara could keep pace. They slowed as they passed the abbey, keeping an eye out for anyone camping out. Macdara had another team of guards searching the neighboring villages. If Siobhán were Amanda, she’d be out of Kilbane by now.