Murder in an Irish Pub

by Carlene O'Connor

  She was so earnest. It broke Siobhán’s heart. “You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

  Amanda scrunched up her face. “Why?”

  “Because I’m a guard. It’s my job, along with the rest of the team, to protect ye, and I’m telling you, that’s what all of us are working day and night to do. You can sleep without a worry. Understand?”

  “You weren’t there the first time she came for me horse.”

  “I didn’t say we were mind readers. But now we know. And we’re on it.” Amanda nodded without an ounce of enthusiasm. “How about some cocoa with marshmallows?”

  This was greeted with a bit more excitement. So much for putting her feet up. Siobhán smiled and told the girls to sit. It felt nice to do a little mothering. As the kettle boiled and she spooned hot chocolate into mugs for the girls, her mind drifted back to the case.

  Where is Rose now? What youthful indiscretion will Amanda get into next? And why isn’t Henry Moore answering his mobile?

  Chapter 17

  The young ones were in bed. James had finally called. He’d gone into Limerick. Said it was too tempting to drink in the festival atmosphere. Siobhán suspected it also had something to do with his recent rows with Elise, but she didn’t ask. She needed Elise’s help with the tent at the festival. Besides, the girl was growing on her. She hoped they’d work it out. “Do whatever you need to do,” Siobhán said. “We miss you, but we’re all fine.”

  “I’m coming home tomorrow,” he said.

  “We’ll have a family supper then.” She hadn’t realized how much she counted on those family times until they’d missed a few. It would do them all good. She’d have to invite Elise as well, it would be rude not to. Siobhán was about to turn in for the night when there came a light knock on the door. She smiled to herself as she went to answer it. It was Macdara’s knock. Six in total, the last four at a good clip. She opened it, and he stepped in and kissed her. They had so few of these stolen moments that she treasured them. It didn’t last long. When they pulled away, his face soon showed his anxiety.

  “What’s the story?”

  “Shane Ross is scheduled back in for questioning, but I can’t get ahold of Rose Foley.”

  Siobhán groaned. “Do you think she went back to Henry’s farm?”

  Macdara leaned against the doorway. “No. I have guards posted there, and against my advice he’s keeping vigil.”

  Siobhán sighed. “Like father, like daughter. What did Nathan say about the incident?”

  “He said she pretended she needed to go for a long walk. It wasn’t until she was marching up the drive to the farm that he realized he’d been played. He did his best to calm her down. He said Henry Moore flew into a murderous rage.”

  “ ’Murderous rage’? That’s a quote?”

  “’Tis.”

  “My word.” She saw the wheels turning in Macdara’s head. “Do you think Henry Moore murdered Eamon?”

  “I don’t want to think that.”

  “But?”

  “What wouldn’t a father do to protect his daughter? Multiple witnesses say he was on a mission to get Eamon to change his mind about the horse.”

  Siobhán nodded. “It’s a strong motive. Then there’s a matter of the rope.” She couldn’t imagine Amanda’s life if her father had murdered a man because of her horse. Pain on top of pain, so twisted it would be impossible to remember how it all started. There was a point in any plotting of a crime where it wasn’t too late, where common sense could prevail, and lives could be saved. If Henry Moore was guilty, that point had already been crossed. “You checked the inn for Rose?”

  Macdara nodded. “She’s cleared out. Her room is empty.”

  “Fantastic.” She grimaced, then led him inside the dining room, where she held up a finger before entering the kitchen to put on the kettle. When she came out, Macdara was making a fire. She felt instantly warmer, knowing it meant he was going to stay for a spell. She returned with mugs of tea and brown bread.

  “I don’t know how you make the time,” Macdara said, relishing the treat. “But I’m so glad you do.”

  “It calms me,” Siobhán said. “Making it. My daily break.” She always made it right after going for her morning run. She loved the routine. Run, shower, and then she made brown bread before getting dressed for work. Lately she’d had to triple the batches for the festival. Elise, who was on a mission to figure out Siobhán’s secret ingredients, was miffed that Siobhán would rather triple her work than let her make it. Maybe she was being foolish. But it felt like the last private connection she had with her mam. They used to make it together, and now Siobhán was continuing. Some mornings she imagined her mam next to her as she made it, chattering away about the plans for the day.

  She would have let her siblings in on it, but none of them showed any interest in doing anything other than eating it. That suited Siobhán; when you were from a big family, you had to share everything. This was one little thing she had all to herself. That, and the handsome, messy-haired man by the fire. Macdara leaned back in his chair and stared at the dancing flames. “Can we just sit here for a moment and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist?”

  His smile still made her stomach flutter. She hoped that would never go away. “I doubt it,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “But we can surely try.”

  * * *

  The next morning Siobhán walked into the garda station to find Nathan Doyle in the middle of an intense conversation with Macdara. Her curiosity piqued, she ambled over. “Any word on Rose?”

  “No,” Nathan said. “She took off after the farm. I have no idea where she went.”

  “Thank you for coming in,” Macdara said.

  Nathan nodded. “Anytime.” He turned to leave.

  That was odd. Why was he leaving so quickly? Siobhán called after him. “How did you get interested in poker?”

  “I like a good competition,” he said with a wink.

  “Do you play yourself?”

  “Not like the pros.”

  “Do you play at all?”

  Nathan tilted his head. “Are you challenging me to a game?”

  She felt a touch on her elbow. Macdara. He gave a nod to Nathan. “Thank you for coming in.”

  “Not a bother.” Nathan turned to leave.

  Siobhán wondered why Macdara was letting him go so easy. “I have a few more questions.”

  Macdara gave her a look and almost seemed to throw an apologetic glance at Nathan. Nathan waited by the door. Macdara leaned into her ear. “What are you doing?”

  “Questioning a suspect.”

  “We have bigger suspects to deal with. Shane? The gloves?”

  She glanced at Nathan, who was watching them with great interest. She smiled and held up a finger before turning back to Macdara. “He said he was a researcher. Did you ever research that?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. We can discuss it later.”

  “If you’ll stop fussing with me, I can ask him right now.”

  “We have a missing, pregnant widow on our hands.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “He could have her somewhere.”

  “What? Like held captive?”

  “Why not?”

  Macdara shook his head. “You’re on the wrong path. Let me take the lead.”

  “Just find out exactly where he works. If he is who he says he is, case closed.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “What is going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. You’re acting squirrelly.”

  “Right now, I want to find Rose Foley.”

  He didn’t deny it. Why didn’t he push back? Darn it. He was hiding something. Siobhán wanted to repeat that finding out who Nathan Doyle was could help them find Rose Foley, but she knew that obstinate look on Macdara’s face.

  Macdara gestured to Nathan. “Thank you for your time. That’s
all for now.”

  “You sure?” Nathan pointed at Siobhán with a grin. “She looks like she wanted to ask me something.”

  “We’re all good,” Macdara said. “Talk to you later.”

  Nathan winked and disappeared out the door. Siobhán whirled on Macdara. “We should follow him.” She headed for the door. Macdara put his arm out as a barrier.

  “I need you at the festival.” Normally, Siobhán wouldn’t even be working on a Sunday, she requested it as family time, but this weekend it was all guards on deck. Technically, if she was assigned to the festival, she could spend a bit of time at Naomi’s tent enjoying her family. But murder shook all that up. It was nearly impossible for her to focus on anything other than finding the killer.

  “Since when?”

  “Keep an eye out for Rose Foley.”

  “What are you going to do?” She’d crossed another line. He folded his arms across his chest. He was keeping something from her.

  “There are times when you simply must do as I ask. And trust. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I’ll go. But I don’t like it. There’s something about that man.”

  Macdara turned away. “I’ll try to find you for lunch.” He gently shoved her out the door.

  * * *

  Unlike the sun they’d enjoyed the past several days, the Irish skies were swollen with black clouds, a warning of the lashing that was expected in the afternoon. Siobhán had predicted that after the games had been canceled, a large number of tourists would have gone home. If anything, it seemed like even more people were squeezed into their small village. They gathered in clumps on the streets to gossip about the murder, and as Siobhán suspected, waited to catch sight of the widow or one of the players. Despite the weather and the possibility that a killer was among them, the atmosphere was strangely jovial. Musicians serenaded folks from street corners. Siobhán had always regretted that no one in her family had ever taken up musical instruments, for she so enjoyed listening to live music, and was always jealous of those families who would jump up from the dining-room table to grab their violins, guitars, banjos, bodhráns, squeezeboxes, tin whistles, and spoons. Music could go a long way to calm people down. Today she was grateful for the musicians. Coupled with the smells of curried chips and sweets, it was easy to pretend nothing was amiss. Take that, stormy skies.

  Unless, of course, it was your job to remember that something was very much amiss, and Siobhán kept her eyes peeled as she walked up and down the streets. The killer could be mingling freely with the locals, plotting his or her next move. She walked up and down the street for nearly an hour, relieved that on the surface everything seemed normal.

  Just as she was wondering if Macdara was going to have a spot of lunch with her, there he was, just up the street standing off to the side. She was about to approach, when she saw he wasn’t alone. Nathan Doyle stood with him. She stopped in her tracks. Odd. Definitely odd. Hours ago, it seemed, Macdara didn’t want Siobhán talking to Nathan. Now they were huddled together. Was this why he distracted her with festival duty? What was going on? Whatever they were talking about, it looked intense. Exactly how they looked when she walked in on them this morning at the station. There was no doubt she was being left out of something. But what? Before she could decide on a course of action, they were moving, heading away from the festival, their pace brisk.

  Follow them. She couldn’t help it. Macdara was hiding something from her, and she knew it in her bones.

  He was also the detective sergeant and the one in charge. He’d told her to stay at the festival. He was already breaking one of his cardinal rules by dating her. If Siobhán started ignoring his commands at work, it wasn’t a leap to believe it would put a crack in their romance. She should stay exactly where he wanted her, walking the streets of the festival, looking out for their suspects.

  Only none of their suspects were here. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was simply trying to keep her busy. That was insulting. Besides, wasn’t it almost her lunch break? And was she really to blame for going on a little stroll? And if she happened to stroll in the same direction as Macdara and Nathan Doyle, could he really prove it was deliberate? Kilbane was a very small village. There were only so many directions one could stroll. She edged out of the crowd so she could pick up the pace. She’d missed her morning jogging routine lately, nothing wrong with using her almost-lunchtime to do a little jogging. They took a left at the end of the street. What was in that direction? Celtic Gems, for one. Had Tom summoned Macdara? Why was he allowing Nathan Doyle to tag along? Had they found Rose?

  They turned right and disappeared down the street. Now she could break into a run, hugging the side of the road in case they looked back and she needed to duck and cover. They took the left at the end of the road and seconds later she followed.

  * * *

  Celtic Gems sat ahead, just on the left. It was a tiny white farmhouse zoned for business. The shop took up the front room. When she was younger, she used to imagine what it would be like living amongst all those jewels. Imagining that she lived there. In these dreams she pictured herself sneaking into the shop at night and trying on every piece. Feeling like royalty, she’d cover her fingers and wrists with rings and bracelets; her neck gleaming with emeralds, diamonds, and rubies. She laughed at it now, especially since she rarely wore jewelry. It wasn’t practical when she was running the bistro, and even less so now that she was a guard.

  There was no sign of Macdara or Nathan. They must have popped into the shop. She stopped to catch her breath. If they came out and spotted her, she’d better have a good excuse. She hardly had a reason for being here.

  Unless . . .

  She could say that she’d promised Tom she’d check in on his well-being. Ask him if he’d spotted any more footprints outside the shop. Macdara would see right through her. Her best bet was that he wouldn’t see her. But a grown garda inching her way toward the jewelry shop in broad daylight was not the most professional look. If Macdara caught her, she would need a plausible lie on the ready, and a darn good one at that.

  She stood just outside the shop. Through the front window she could see three men inside. She edged closer. Their backs were to her. Macdara, Nathan, and Tom Howell were hunched over the counter. Tom Howell opened the glass case and removed a tray of diamond rings. He set them on the counter. Macdara seemed to be the focus of this encounter, Tom was pointing out various rings, Macdara picking them up and examining them.

  Siobhán stared, her stomach a new recruit for the circus. This could not be happening. Is this what it looked like? Is Detective Sergeant Macdara Anthony Flannery thinking of proposing?

  Chapter 18

  All sleuthing vanished from Siobhán’s head as she hurried away before they caught a glimpse of her stunned face. They had never talked about marriage. She’d thought about it, of course, for it was near impossible to be in love and in a relationship and not at least think about it. She assumed they steered clear of the subject because of the obvious. Siobhán had her hands full with her siblings, and the bistro, and now her new job. They were already treading lightly, highly aware of the complications of dating and working together. Now in the middle of a murder probe, Macdara was looking at diamond rings.

  With one of their suspects . . .

  It didn’t add up. The next time she saw Macdara, he would mention it, wouldn’t he? There would be a logical explanation: “By the way I took Nathan Doyle to Celtic Gems with me to look at diamond rings because . . .

  “It’s such a manly thing to do....

  “Lads will be lads....

  “We were going to go golfing, but the skies looked like they were about to open up, so we decided to look at sparkly things instead. . . .”

  Ludicrous.

  There was no plausible explanation.

  Part of her wanted to march back immediately and demand answers. But she didn’t. When it came to her job, Macdara was her superior and a darn goo
d detective sergeant. If he was keeping a part of the investigation under wraps, he had his reasons, and eventually he would tell her what was going on. Patience was needed. Mandatory, one might say. She could do that. She would just put it out of her mind.

  Is he going to propose?

  She would say yes, wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t she?

  * * *

  Did she want to marry Macdara? Someday. Probably. Of course. Someday. Maybe. Definitely. Didn’t she? Wasn’t she just supposed to know? Feel it? It wasn’t that she didn’t love Macdara. She’d never felt this way for any man in her life. She knew all his irritating bits—she could list them in her sleep—and yet she could still see herself growing old with him. But there was another part of her, a part that didn’t want her life wrapped up in a neat little wedding bow. It felt like a door closing on future possibilities. Would he want to start having children? She was too new of a guard. It was hard enough proving yourself as a female guard. Would he move into the bistro? That was the only solution. His flat was around the corner from the garda station. Not bad for a bachelor, a clean one-bedroom apartment with a small garden out back, but she could hardly move in with him.

  Was he expecting her to move in with him? Would they find a new place together? “Together” meant her entire brood, even James? She wouldn’t be able to call a place home if James wasn’t welcome. And from the looks of it, he was gearing to break up with Elise. James may very well end up being a lifelong bachelor. Part of her had always wondered the same about Macdara Anthony Flannery.

  What would her siblings think? They adored Macdara, but did they want to live with him? Daily she felt as if she was letting her siblings down. She was the only mother figure left in their lives. Why weren’t men the ones that got pregnant?

  It took less than three blocks to throw Siobhán into a tizzy. She didn’t even know what she was making for the family supper she’d arranged this evening. Some mother or wife she’d make!

  He was not going to propose. She was mental. Definitely not going to propose. This had something to do with the case and nothing to do with her.