Irish Aisle are Smiling

by Laura Durham

  I thanked the waiter as I slid into the banquette and took one of the menus he handed out. Fern and Richard sat on either side of me, and Buster and Mack sat flanking Kate on the other barstools, their girth overflowing the armless stools.

  "Isn't this interesting?" Richard said as he scanned the menu. "You don't see Irish lamb tagine in many pubs, now do you?"

  "Gastropub," Fern said, leaning over me. "Emphasis on the gastro. Cuisine in Ireland has become very sophisticated in recent years."

  Richard raised an eyebrow at the hairdresser, his eyes dropping to the green silk shirt with blousy sleeves. "You don't say?"

  Fern bobbed his head up and down, missing Richard's tone. "And locally-sourced is very big." He tapped his menu. "Just look at all the local farms they work with."

  "Should I be worried he's switching from hair to food?" Richard asked me under his breath.

  "Where did you learn all this?" I asked Fern.

  "The adorable concierge at the castle," Fern said. "He's been very helpful."

  "Does that answer your question?" I whispered to Richard.

  "Why don't we try some of the local craft beers?" Fern suggested when the waiter reappeared. "I like the sound of the Friar Weisse and the Chieftain."

  "Sure," I said. "I've done my duty to Guinness already. Something lighter would be good."

  "Is there Irish wine?" Kate asked, flipping her menu.

  Richard wrinkled his nose. "I can't imagine. Have you seen any vineyards as we've been driving?"

  "Then I'll just have a cider," Kate said.

  "Bulmer's alright for ye?" the waiter asked.

  "Whatever you recommend," Kate said, flashing him a smile and some thigh as she crossed her leg.

  "Cider sounds good," Mack said.

  "I, for one, am glad to be away from all the other Americans," Richard said once the waiter had left with our drink order.

  "Be nice," Fern said. "The ladies have been nothing but lovely to us."

  "I wouldn't have as much of a problem with them if their bodies didn't keep turning up underfoot." Richard gave a small shudder.

  "At least the last one wasn't dead," I said. "Although I suspect the killer thought she was."

  Kate put a hand to her throat. "How awful."

  "Annabelle's right," Richard said. "Why would you go to the trouble of knocking someone out and almost killing them? No, that old hippie got lucky."

  "We were lucky we didn't run into the killer on the train," Mack said, taking a sip of the pint glass of golden cider placed in front of him. "It couldn't have happened more than a few minutes before we arrived."

  "Or unlucky," I said. "Whoever it was couldn't have attacked all of us. If we'd gotten to the train earlier we might have caught them in the act, and we'd know who was terrorizing these poor old ladies."

  Buster took a gulp of his cider and shook his head. "We could have stopped it."

  It wasn't hard to imagine any killer stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of Buster and Mack.

  "Who are our suspects?" Kate asked, holding up her fingers. "Eliminating the six of us, there are all the other women except for Nancy."

  "And the ones who didn't come on the outing," Fern said. "Bettye Belle stayed at the castle."

  Kate took a drink of her cider and dabbed her lip with her napkin. "I don't even know the other women by name."

  "There's Deb," Fern said, fluttering two fingers against his chin. "She's the Rubenesque lady who was so upset. The others who came today were Cynthia, Judy, Myrna, and Suzanne. Oh, and Doreen."

  I swigged my Chieftain beer, but eyed the pints of cider longingly. I'd never been much of a beer drinker, so I feared the varied Irish brews were lost on me. "Don't forget Grace and Derek."

  Fern let out his breath in a huff. "Are we back to this again?"

  "They were with us at Glenlo and no one could verify their whereabouts during the entire time," I said. "If you ask me, that makes them the prime suspects."

  "Why would they want to attack Nancy?" Mack asked, leaning his thick forearms on the table. "And they weren't even at Dromoland when Colleen was killed."

  I held up a finger. "We don't know that. Fern saw them at breakfast the next morning. They could have easily have checked in before we did the day prior."

  "But why would they want to kill either woman?" Buster asked, finishing off his cider and leaning back.

  "That I don't know," I admitted. "What we're missing in this case is motive."

  "Are you now?"

  The voice from behind made us all look up or turn. Garda Ryan stood behind the table with his arms crossed and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He wasn't in his uniform, but wore jeans with a dark sweater.

  Kate nearly slipped off her stool. "What are you doing here?"

  He caught her before she hit the floor and helped her back into her seat. "Grabbing a pint with some mates."

  "You always drink here?" I asked, my eyes scanning the upscale pub for other officers in plainclothes, but I didn't recognize any.

  He shrugged. "It's close to where I've been working lately. And the chips are good."

  His mention of the chips reminded me we hadn't ordered, and I was still hungry.

  "I thought I'd come over and let you know that you're free to leave the area," the handsome garda said. "I know you're here on some sort of business and are eager to be moving along."

  "You've got that right," Richard muttered.

  "So Kate's no longer a suspect?" I asked.

  He shook his head, his eyes darting to Kate and away again after momentarily lingering on her bare leg. "Between all the interviews with guests and staff and the timestamps on her phone photos, we were able to determine she had an alibi for the time leading up to the woman's death."

  "And I proved that the evidence against her was circumstantial?" I asked.

  He tilted his head at me. "Are you sure you're a wedding planner?"

  "She is," Fern said, winking at him, "but she gets that question a lot. She's practically engaged to a police detective back home if that explains anything."

  "I'm not engaged," I said, feeling my face warm. "Not yet at least."

  Richard's head snapped toward me, but I refused to look at him as my cheeks burned.

  Garda Ryan nodded. "It does actually. Does your fiancé involve you in his cases?"

  "He's not my fiancé," I insisted, "and he really tries not to."

  Mack laughed. "But that doesn't always work. She manages to get in the middle of things anyway."

  "Hey," I said. "You know I only get involved if one of us is in danger."

  "Or their business is threatened," Richard added. "Like mine was a few months ago."

  "Or if she thinks someone has been wrongly accused," Kate said. "Remember Georgia?"

  Everyone nodded, and Garda Ryan's eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs.

  "So you were saying we're free to go?" I tried to steer the conversation away from my habit of getting mixed up in investigations. "That's great. Now we just need to find a way to get us all to the next venue."

  "Be right back," Richard said, slipping out of the banquette. I hoped he wasn't upset about all the fiancé talk. Richard hadn't had the easiest time adapting to my relationship with Reese, and I wasn't sure if he was ready for the next step. Or if I was.

  "We could always take the train," Fern suggested.

  "No trains," Buster and Mack said in unison.

  "Oh, right," Fern said.

  "So if Kate's not a suspect, do you have any other leads?" I asked the amused guard.

  He hesitated. "To be honest with yeh, the case has gone a bit arseways."

  "I'm guessing that's not good," I said.

  "Too bad we have to leave," Kate said, her voice wistful. "We could help you solve it."

  Garda Ryan laughed. "You Americans aren't dull, I'll give you that." He was still chuckling as he weaved his way through the restaurant to the bar.

  I shook my head at Kate. "I for one am ha
ppy to leave the castle where we found a lady floating dead in the garden pond."

  "Am I glad we missed that," Mack said, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes almost closed.

  I looked at Buster, who also looked more bleary-eyed than when we'd arrived and was slumping on one elbow propped on the table. Then I sized up their empty glasses. Reaching across the table, I grabbed Kate's glass of cider and took a sip. "This is alcoholic!"

  "Of course it is," Kate said. "It's Irish cider. What did you expect?"

  One of Mack's eyes opened. "It's what?"

  "Well, I'm guessing they thought it was like regular old American apple cider," I said, giving Kate a pointed look. "You know, since they don't drink."

  Buster hiccupped. "Are you saying . . .?"

  Fern gasped as his eyes slid from one burly man to the other. "They're drunk."

  Kate lifted one of the empty pint glasses. "Off one drink?"

  "If you haven't had a drop of alcohol in years, sure," I said, rubbing my forehead. "Less than forty-eight hours in Ireland, and we get two teetotalers drunk."

  "Is there anything more Irish than that?" Kate asked.

  "How about an Irish jig?" Fern said, nudging me to let him out of the banquette as the sounds of traditional Irish music filled the air. "I've been dying to try my hand at Irish dancing."

  I stumbled as I let Fern out, watching as he began flailing his feet and hopping around with his hands on his hips.

  "I don't feel so good," Mack said, squinting at Fern's spinning figure. "I'm seeing leprechauns."

  Kate patted his arm. "That's just Fern, but it's an easy mistake to make."

  Richard returned with a triumphant look on his face. "Good news. Seamus was able to hook me up with his cousin, who also drives minibuses for tourists. I have us booked to leave the first thing in the morning."

  "Seamus?" I asked, having to raise my voice over the music.

  "The Irishman who's driving the old ladies. The one who drove us to Glenlo today," Richard said, then took in Kate's dejected face and Buster and Mack slumped over the table. "I thought I'd get a better reaction than this."

  "She's upset to be leaving the cute cop," I said, nodding to Kate. "And Buster and Mack are drunk."

  Richard opened and closed his mouth a few times.

  "You can't say Fern's not excited," I told him as Fern spun near us, one arm waving above his head.

  Richard glanced down at his cell phone. "Maybe it's not too late to make our bus a two-seater."

  Chapter 24

  "What a glorious morning," Richard said as he came out of Dromoland Castle and slipped his designer sunglasses over his eyes.

  "You're just saying that because the bus is here and we're leaving the genealogy tour group behind." I dropped my black nylon carry-on bag near the pile of our luggage that was to be loaded into a white Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van.

  The morning was cool and crisp, and I was glad I'd thrown on a black cardigan over my button-down shirt. I looked across the parking area to the wet grass and suspected it had rained during the night. The air held the scent of rain, and I hoped that didn't mean we'd be driving through it. I peered up at the clouds. So far the puffs of white in the sky didn't look menacing, but I knew Irish weather could change quickly.

  "There are no flies on you, Annabelle." Richard eyed the other shuttle bus and the larger pile of luggage being loaded onto it. "I'm taking it the old ladies got the go-ahead to continue their trip as well?"

  "They're off to visit Cork and Cobh," Fern said, joining us outside the castle in a cream-colored fisherman's sweater over brown flannel pants. "Apparently, Cobh was a departure point for ships coming to America and Canada, so it's a good place to look for family names."

  "How is it you always seem to be in the know?" I asked. "Did you snag one of their itineraries?"

  "I ran into Betty Belle in the lobby," Fern said. "She's so eager to leave this place behind she barely did her hair this morning, the poor dear."

  I'd never seen Betty Belle's snowy bouffant anything but pristine, so I knew the stress of Colleen's murder and Nancy's attack must be getting to her. "What about Nancy? Is she joining them or flying back to the U.S.?"

  Fern waved a hand. "Apparently she’s flying home. She refused to stay in the hospital because she claimed it had bad energy, so the doctors let her go.”

  "That seems a bit soon," Richard said.

  "All she had was a mild concussion." Fern dropped his Louis Vuitton duffel bag on top of a hard sided suitcase. "These old birds are tougher than they look."

  I nudged him as a few of the ladies emerged from the castle. He may get away with calling our brides back home "floozies" and "tramps," but I doubted if he could get away with affectionate insults with these ladies.

  “Too bad she claims not to remember a thing about being attacked," I said, wishing I’d been able to question her myself instead of relying on hearing it secondhand from Fern who heard it from Betty Belle who heard it from Deb.

  Richard shrugged. “Not a shock since she was hit on the back of the head.”

  I knew he was right, but it still left me frustrated with no more information about the attacker than before.

  "Has anyone seen Kate this morning?" I asked, looking for her blond head over the sea of gray ones.

  "She was on her cell in the lobby," Fern said. "It sounded like she was setting up goat yoga for a bride, but I could be mistaken. It is still early."

  "No, that sounds right." I sighed. "One of our June brides wants to do goat yoga with her bridesmaids the morning of the wedding."

  Richard made a face. "Goat yoga?"

  "You know," I said. "You do yoga while cute baby goats climb all over you."

  "And I would want to do this why?" Richard looked horrified. "Who knows where those hooves have been?"

  I spotted Buster and Mack lumbering down the stone steps. Even though they'd only had one pint of alcoholic cider the night before, I also knew they never drank, so the booze had hit them hard. It had taken significant effort to wake them up and drag them from the gastropub, and Mack had been snoring before his head hit the pillow in his room.

  "How are you two feeling?" I asked when they reached us.

  "Good." Mack stroked his dark red goatee. "I slept like a log."

  "It must have been the jet lag," Buster said, "because I haven't slept that soundly in ages."

  "Probably because we aren't listening for the baby's cries." Mack snapped his fingers. "We watch Merry overnight sometimes and we never get good sleep when we're listening for her cries."

  "That must be it," Richard said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "It couldn't have been the pints of--"

  I jabbed him with my elbow. If they didn't remember drinking, then we weren't going to be the ones to remind them they'd accidentally imbibed.

  "Is this our van?" Buster asked, climbing in the open door as the van lurched to one side from his weight. He peered in and then leaned back out. "It's nice."

  "You had to get a Mercedes van?" I asked Richard but not loud enough for anyone else to overhear.

  "Yes, I did," he said. "There's no reason why we should suffer. We already had to fly coach."

  "You driving?" Buster asked as he looked at the empty driver's seat.

  "Not on your life. The driver popped inside for a cup of tea," Richard said. "As soon as he comes back out and Kate joins us, we can be off."

  "I'd better say my goodbyes to the ladies." Fern produced a monogrammed handkerchief from a pocket. "I hope there aren't waterworks."

  Richard shook his head as Fern hurried off. "We've only known them for a few days."

  "You know how attached he gets," I said. "He cries at the end of every wedding even though most of the brides end up coming back to him to get their hair done."

  "As far as I'm concerned," Richard said. "The end of the wedding is the best part. I've been paid. The client is happy. I don't have to talk to them again."

  "They don't call you after the
wedding to catch up?" I asked, having fielded two of those "catch up" phone calls the week before.

  "Catch up?" He pressed a hand to his chest. "About what? Annabelle, we are not their friends. We're the hired help. As close as you think you get to them and as much personal dirt as you know about their families, you are not their friends."

  "I know," I said, pulling my hair up into its usual ponytail. "But after talking to some of them every day for over a year, it's hard for them to go cold turkey. I usually wean them off with a few phone calls."

  Richard gave a sharp shake of his head. "Not me. At the end of the reception, we are broken up. Unless you have an upcoming party or you get knocked up on the honeymoon and need a caterer for the baby shower, do not keep calling me."

  I rolled my eyes at him. "I know you're not as tough as you pretend to be. You like your clients. What about last year when you walked around saying you loved your clients for months."

  "That's because I was trying affirmations," he said with a sniff. "They didn't work."

  I watched Fern blow his nose loudly as he hugged a horrified Myrna. "There has to be a happy medium."

  "Let me know when you find it," Richard said. "Along with life-work balance and decent sugar-free anything."

  I saw Kate running down the stairs, her black Longchamp bag bouncing on her hip and her high-heeled green mules clomping on the stone steps. "Looks like we can get on the road."

  "We have a problem," Kate said when she reached me.

  "With goat yoga?"

  She shook her head. "With the driver. He just got violently ill inside."

  "What driver?" Richard asked. "Seamus?"

  "No," I said, pointing to the sandy-haired man loading the ladies' luggage into their bus. "He's right here."

  "The driver for our bus," Kate said. "At least he said he was our driver when they asked him who he was inside the castle."

  I felt my stomach sink. "Our driver is sick?"

  Richard sucked in his breath. "Impossible. He looked fine when he arrived. He said he was going to get a cup of tea before we left."

  Kate held up her hands. "I'm just saying what I saw." She grimaced. "And it wasn't pretty. If you ask me, he was nursing a hangover that wasn't quite over. No way is he going to be able to drive. He could barely stand upright without retching."