Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  He studied her for another second before stepping a few feet away to place the call. She was such a terrible liar! And he was such a good detector.

  “Brenna was right about the robberies,” Alice said. Her hands flew over her mouth. “We never should have come here. This is all my fault.” She grabbed Paul. “We should postpone the wedding.”

  “Finally,” Colm said. “Finally my only daughter is showing a bit of sense.” He shook his fist again, this time triumphantly, as if he had just won a boxing match.

  “We’re not postponing the wedding,” Paul said. He turned and took Alice’s hands. “The more the universe conspires to stop me from marrying you, the more determined I am.”

  “You don’t think we’re cursed?”

  “No. We’re blessed. And I’ll fight anyone and anything that tries to come between us.” His voice rang with passion and pain. Had Kevin tried to come between them? Colm certainly had. And if Siobhán’s theory was correct and Kevin hadn’t been the intended victim . . .

  Heavens. What if Paul had done it thinking he was taking out Colm Cahill, the man who stood between him and the woman he loved? Macdara would be furious with her for even thinking it. But if she said nothing, and it was true,it meant that Alice was marrying a murderer. Siobhán couldn’t drop him as a suspect just because he was well loved.

  “Blessed me arse,” Colm said. “There’s nothing but doom and death around this marriage.”

  “Shut it, Daddy,” Alice snapped.

  The group was coming unglued before her, and without pints of the black stuff, Siobhán didn’t have the first clue how to put them back together. She stepped gingerly toward Alice. “Who knew you were keeping the ring in your parents’ room?”

  Alice thought about it. “Me. Ma. And Dad.” She pointed at her parents as she called them out.

  Siobhán glanced at Colm and Susan. They glared at her in response. “Did you happen to mention it to anyone? Or talk about it openly?”

  “I didn’t know a thing about the bloody ring,” Colm said. “Except that Paul didn’t have to pay for it.”

  “That’s quite enough,” Alice said.

  “Don’t bother,” Paul said. “He’ll never change his mind about me. And I don’t care. Do you hear me, old man? I don’t care.”

  Colm stuck his chest out. “Just who are you calling old man?”

  “You,” Paul said. “I’m calling you old man.”

  “If Alice marries you, she’s cut out of the will.”

  “Daddy,” Alice said. “Not this again.”

  “I mean it. You think I don’t mean it?” Colm’s voice shook with rage.

  “Just do it then. Stop holding it over my head.” Alice turned her back on her father.

  Siobhán couldn’t believe how much drama was erupting because of a stolen ring. She approached Susan. “Did you mention the ring to anyone? Anyone at all?”

  “Of course not. Although.” Susan put her index finger up to her pursed lips. “Never mind.”

  “What?” Alice said. “You must say it.”

  Susan sighed. “I asked the Huntsmans if there was a safe in the room.”

  “Thank God,” Alice said.

  “There wasn’t,” Susan said.

  Alice visually crumpled. “It’s cursed! My wedding is cursed!”

  “Darling, please stop saying that,” Paul said. His left eye began to twitch.

  “Was anyone else around when you asked them?” Siobhán pressed.

  Susan blinked rapidly. “Come to think of it, the French chef was there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I said so, didn’t I? I was surprised to see him standing behind the reception desk. I didn’t realize he was allowed to leave the kitchen.”

  Antoine. Had he stolen the ring? He’d also been the one to discover the body. Was there some kind of connection? But she liked Antoine. He was in her bistro, cooking up a storm. In her bistro, around her brood. Was she a fool for trusting him?

  Another thought hit Siobhán. She turned to Alice. “If it’s an engagement ring, why weren’t you wearing it?”

  Tears came into Alice’s eyes. “I was. Until Mrs. Huntsman warned me about the robberies. She gently suggested that only a nutter would wear the ring around Kilbane.”

  “That’s when she gave it to me for safekeeping,” Susan said.

  A silence fell on the group. Siobhán ached for her little village. There weren’t any robbers in Kilbane. But the possibility was getting harder and harder to ignore. What if there were? What if there were a robber loose in Kilbane—one who had quickly graduated to murderer?

  Chapter 16

  After the wedding guests departed for pubs, and the inn, and a bite to eat, Siobhán found Brian back in the abbey, in the Tomb of the White Knight, wrestling with a large ladder. He had it leaned up against one of the walls, and he was sweating profusely. His normally kempt appearance was melting, and even the peak made by his hair was starting to droop. He caught Siobhán’s eyes. “I’m afraid of heights.” Afraid of heights. The sweat dappled on his brow supported his statement. He was short, and therefore if he was the killer he had climbed the tree. If one was afraid of heights, it seemed highly unlikely they would climb to the peak of a hill and then climb a tree.

  “Did you even find the nest?” Siobhán asked. Brian pointed, and she followed his gaze all the way to the top of the wall. Tucked into the stone she could see bits of straw poking out and hear the faint chirps of baby birds.

  “Oh, dear,” Siobhán said. “The ladder will never reach that high anyway.”

  “Thank God,” Brian said. “We’ll have the reception at your bistro then, so?”

  Siobhán continued to study the wall. Truthfully, she knew a few rascals about town who could probably climb up to the bell tower and then crawl along the top of the wall until they reached the nest. She just wasn’t sure she trusted any of those same lads to handle the nest carefully. Not to mention the fact that momma bird could swoop in and peck an eye out at any moment. She hated to disappoint Alice but was starting to think the bride-to-be might have a point about the wedding being cursed. Surely she didn’t want the reception so badly she was willing to kill a nest full of baby birds. “I’ll give the volunteer fire department a bell,” Siobhán said. “It’s not a kitten up a tree, but it has to come in a close second.”

  “I’m sure they’d do it for Alice,” Brian said.

  Did Siobhán detect a whiff of jealousy? Where beauty goes, envy follows. The blessing and the curse. “It is hard to resist a bride in distress.”

  “Let’s get out of here before that beast dive-bombs me again,” Brian said, racewalking toward the field.

  Siobhán hurried to keep up. “I need a word with ye.”

  “As long as we can walk at the same time.”

  They gravitated to the medieval wall and began to walk along it as twilight tripped across the sky.

  “Did you get Susan’s shipment all sorted?” Siobhán asked casually, as if she’d been privy to the conversation from the beginning.

  Brian blinked rapidly. “She told you?”

  “She thinks of me as the help,” Siobhán said. That part was true.

  “She thinks of everyone as the help.”

  “It’s sorted then?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one with the in with the guards.”

  Permission to go to Limerick. So it was connected with the note on Martin’s receipt. But how? “I’m sure it will get sorted,” Siobhán said. “I just don’t see why it has to stop in Limerick.”

  “It’s ridiculous, if you ask me. The original cases are still being shipped to the castle.”

  “I wondered,” Siobhán said. Cases of what?

  “The Huntsmans will probably be thrilled.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” Siobhán asked.

  “I don’t have a taste for it personally,” Brian said.

  “The Huntsmans have gone to Manchester,” Siobhán said, still fishing in a mystery
pond.

  “What?” Brian came to a screeching halt, and Siobhán nearly ran into him. She was still sore from the tumble down the stairs and thankfully managed to avoid a collision. She’d have bruises up and down her body by the morning. So much for the sleeveless dress she wanted to wear to the wedding.

  “They were cleared of the murder and then ran off to Manchester,” Siobhán said, letting her disdain show.

  “Cleared how?”

  Siobhán flushed, thinking of the camera in their room. “I’m afraid that’s official police business.”

  “They left? They just left?”

  Siobhán nodded. “Abandoned the castle.”

  “I knew it couldn’t be them.” Brian seemed to get lost in something in the distance. “But it doesn’t seem fair that they just get to leave.”

  “How did you know it couldn’t be them?”

  “Bad for business killing off your guests.”

  “True.”

  “Is that security lad still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’ll probably get all the bottles to himself.”

  Bottles. Shipment. Martin owned a transportation company. What bottles would be delivered for a wedding? The mystery pond was starting to clear up. “Why don’t we just have double the champagne at the wedding?” Siobhán said with a laugh. “At least they won’t have to drink mead.”

  “Mi na meala,” Brian said with a smile. The month of honey.

  Siobhán nodded and smiled. Another Irish tradition. The newlyweds would celebrate by drinking mead, which was made from meala, or fermented honey. Served in unique goblets, the brew would be shared by the couple for one full moon after their wedding. Thus the term honeymoon. It was believed that this potent brew would bring auspicious beginnings to the couple, as well as aid in fertility. And that it probably did; it was hardly a surprise that hearty drinking was responsible for many conceptions. Siobhán loved knowing the colorful histories behind words and phrases. The Irish language was full of surprises and phrases that were widely used to this day. It was sad that so many didn’t even know the origins of sayings they passed off. She appreciated that Brian was in the know.

  However, now Brian was giving her a look that suggested she should go straight to an alcohol rehabilitation facility. She’d nailed it. Martin Donnelly had convinced Susan Cahill to use his lorry to transport a new shipment of champagne. But why? Especially since they couldn’t stop the old supply from arriving. What was so important about the new champagne supplier?

  “The cases that were sent to the castle are from France, correct?” Siobhán asked.

  “Of course.”

  “What about the new shipment?”

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “I just wondered if you knew why she had to change suppliers?”

  “It’s just an excuse to use his transport company.” His tone suggested that he was silently calling her an eejit for asking.

  “That makes sense,” Siobhán said.

  “I can’t imagine what he said or did to convince her,” Brian said. “Imagine the gall? If we didn’t already have a shipment of champagne, that would be one thing. But to force her to buy from another supplier just to hire his trucks? Outlandish.”

  Siobhán was thinking the exact same thing. And why on earth were they meeting the lorry in Limerick instead of having it drive the extra distance to Kilbane? She made a mental note to speak with Macdara. She would try to speak with him privately after this evening’s impromptu wake at O’Rourke’s.

  Siobhán started to walk away from Brian when she remembered something she’d been dying to ask him. “The tracksuits from the castle?” she asked.

  “What about them?”

  “Did every room have just one set for each guest?”

  He wrinkled his brow. “I only had one. Thank God they didn’t force me to wear it.”

  “I wondered if the castle had extras. Any idea where the Huntsmans might have kept them?”

  “Oh,” Brian said, as if he finally understood where she was going with her questions. “The tracksuits were only for the wedding guests.”

  “Excuse me?” Siobhán felt those little pricks up and down her spine.

  “They were a special gift.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Brian rolled his eyes as if Siobhán were the biggest eejit on the planet. “They were a gift from the Huntmans to wish Alice and Paul a happy wedding.”

  “I see,” Siobhán said. She couldn’t believe this. Why hadn’t she followed up on this earlier? The Huntmans wanted the wedding guests to have identical tracksuits. Did that mean anything?

  “Why are you asking so many questions about the tracksuits?”

  “I’m just following up on everything I can,” Siobhán said. She didn’t want Brian to start snooping around or gossiping about her theories.

  “Ridiculous gift, if you ask me,” Brian said. “Although I do have to give them credit for including all of us, and getting all of our sizes correct to boot. Now, that’s class.”

  “Yes,” Siobhán said, feeling slightly nauseous. “It certainly suggests a deadly attention to detail.”

  Chapter 17

  Although Siobhán did not normally look forward to wakes, she was hoping that this evening’s rendezvous would be a good opportunity to study the suspects. Nothing like the combination of grief and Guinness to get a few heads talking. And of course, it wasn’t a real wake; there would be no body—thank heavens—and it wasn’t to take place in Kevin’s home with his family watching over him, but the spirit of the event was aligned just the same. To say a few kind words and prayers for Kevin Gallagher. He was owed that much. He also deserved justice. Siobhán knew the tidbit about the tracksuits could be a breakthrough. If only she could suss out the anonymous donor. She was definitely going to have to find a contact number for the Huntsmans.

  Walking into O’Rourke’s felt like walking into a second home. In the window, Declan had his Laurel and Hardy memorabilia displayed proudly. Inside, John Wayne posters adorned the walls, along with obscure European opera posters. Declan could wax poetic on anything from the latest hurling match or who placed what in the horse race, and when you were least expecting it, he might quote a line or two from Don Quixote. The pub was normally packed with locals, but Declan had a sign on the door: RESERVED FOR WAKE. The pub would be theirs alone for an hour before the regulars filtered back in to drink pints, swap stories, and listen to traditional Irish music.

  Declan O’Rourke was behind the bar, wiping down the counter and treating the wedding guests to the smile he reserved for tourists, which was not nearly as broad as his usual, yet not as phony as the grin he reserved for Americans. He was a large man, both tall and wide, with an infectious, gap-toothed grin. He was equally feared and loved by the lads in town. He was never afraid to toss anyone out on his ear for being too cheeky, but was equally likely to give ossified lads a ride home when needed. In short, Declan O’Rourke was an institution. When all the wedding guests were seated at the bar, he began lining up the pints of the black stuff, along with shot glasses for the Jameson, including a pint and a shot for himself. It was a nice change to see the guests in their own clothing, and most of them were appropriately wearing black. It occurred to her that Ronan, who only wore black, was always ready to mourn. He was pacing the bar with his camera on the ready. Declan hoisted his pint into the air.

  “Who would like to say a few nice words about yer man—Kevin, is it?” He glanced at Siobhán.

  She nodded. “Kevin Gallagher.” She lifted her pint.

  “To Kevin,” Paul said.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Colm said. “He was your best man—you have a word.” Colm nodded to Paul.

  Paul cleared his throat and shifted. “I’ve known Kevin Gallagher all me life. He was always up for a good time. In fact, that was his favorite saying: ‘Not here for a long time; just here for a good time.’ ” Paul laughed, then turned a bit stricken as he re
alized how fortuitous it had been. “He liked to get a rise out of other lads. Any lad would do. Got a rise out of you, didn’t he, Dara? Swiping off your garda cap.” Paul chuckled. Macdara nodded and smiled, but Siobhán could tell it was forced. No doubt he was thinking of where the cap ended up. Siobhán couldn’t help but think it was rude of Paul to bring it up again. But now was not the time to air such grievances. “Kevin loved betting on the horses. Betting on anything, really. He was always scheming about how to get rich. And he could never turn down a pretty girl. He was a bit of a dark horse alright. But he didn’t deserve to be done like that. God bless him. Rest in peace, my friend. Rest in peace.” Paul choked up, then hoisted his pint. Everyone followed suit, and there was a moment of silence as they drank.

  “He was very sweet to me,” Alice said next.

  “You mean sweet on you,” Brenna said.

  “Who wouldn’t be?” Ronan said. He was the only one standing, leaning against the counter with his camera stuck to his chest, gawking at Alice. She visibly reddened. Siobhán felt her anger flare. It wasn’t right that the guards hadn’t hauled in the stalker and warned Alice of his secret trove of photos.

  “Who else would like to say something?” Declan asked, hoping to move this along. “How about you?” He nodded to Susan.

  She looked startled, but Declan could get his way with that stare of his. She lifted her glass. “He was a lover of women,” Susan Cahill said. “Did I mention he accosted me on the stairs?”

  A joint “Yes” rose from the group. Susan sighed and adjusted Colm’s blazer underneath her bottom. She’d refused to sit directly on the stool. Colm and Susan had sent their driver into Charleville to buy them a few new outfits. Susan was in a black dress, surprisingly fitting for a wake. The blazer she was sitting on was from Colm’s suit. Siobhán thought Susan would be thrilled to be wearing decent clothing again, but this was the most nervous Siobhán had ever seen her. She was barely able to sit still.

  Unless.

  The blazer was positioned so that she was sitting on the breast pocket. Maybe she was wiggling around like that because there was something in the pocket. Siobhán had to be careful because now she was staring at the woman’s arse. If there was something in the pocket, it had to be just a wee thing. Why, nothing more than a large pebble would fit in—