Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  Or a ring . . .

  Was Alice’s diamond ring in that pocket? Colm had said the ring belonged to his mother. She could see him taking it just to stir up trouble, throw out another roadblock to wedded bliss.

  “Mrs. Cahill, would you please stand up?” Siobhán heard herself say.

  “What are ye doing?” Macdara whispered in her ear.

  Susan dismissed her with a flash of her hand. “I’ve nothing more to say about the lad.”

  “I think something has been spilled on your stool.”

  Susan shrieked and flew off it faster than a fool could lose his fortune. Colm shot out of his stool and reached for the blazer.

  “Look,” Siobhán shouted and pointed to the front door. Everyone turned. Siobhán lunged for the blazer and had her hand deep in the pocket before Colm had turned back.

  “What in the devil are are you doing?” His bark was almost as bad as Declan’s. But she wasn’t going to be stopped, not when Alice possibly thought of her as a thief. Sure enough, she could feel something that felt like a ring.

  “This!” she pulled it out. It was a ring alright, but not a woman’s. Instead, Siobhán found herself holding up a man’s claddagh wedding band embedded with emeralds. Siobhán’s eyes flew to Colm’s hand. His ring finger was barren. Siobhán’s mind flashed back to the double beds in the Cahills’ room. Another sure sign that there was trouble in paradise.

  Colm towered over Siobhán. “How dare you?”

  “Calm down,” Macdara said, cutting in front of Colm. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” He threw Siobhán a look. There’d better be.

  Brenna hoisted her pint. “It’s not enough that you stole Alice’s ring. Now you’re going for Mr. Cahill’s right under his nose, like!”

  Siobhán spoke up. “I noticed Mrs. Cahill couldn’t get comfortable, and I thought she might be sitting on something in the pocket is all.”

  Susan’s face had gone quite pale, and instead of biting at Siobhán, she was glancing at the exit as if she wanted to flee.

  “Hand it over,” Colm said. “I should have you arrested.”

  “Daddy,” Alice said. “Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring? You always wear your ring.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  Siobhán waited for him to make the excuses she often heard married men use: I was doing such and such manly activity and I didn’t want to lose it, it was starting to make me finger sore, I’ve lost a few stone and I’m afraid of it falling off. Instead, he didn’t offer a word. He simply picked up his pint and started to drink.

  “Let’s not get into a row,” Susan said. Interesting. She didn’t seem to mind in the least that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Nor did she seem surprised.

  Brenna got in Siobhán’s face. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her cleavage was spilling over her tight black dress. But unlike the first morning Siobhán met her, Brenna’s face was heavily made up, and her eyes were bright and flashing. Siobhán could smell the beer on her. “Where’s Alice’s ring?”

  “Siobhán didn’t steal my ring,” Alice interrupted. “I couldn’t say the same about you.” Although Siobhán felt bad that Brenna was being thrown under the bus, she was relieved to hear that Alice didn’t think she was a thief.

  “Me?” Brenna said. “You think I stole your bloody ring?”

  “We’re here to remember Kevin,” Paul said. Behind them a camera snapped away. Siobhán glared at Ronan. Instead of looking appropriately shamed, Ronan slid up behind Alice and whispered something in her ear. Alice’s face drained of color, and she turned on Brenna, screaming above the din.

  “You took a thousand euros from my father?”

  Ronan cocked his head, stared at Alice, and then began to photograph the meltdown.

  Brenna dropped her jaw. No words spilled forth.

  “What’s this?” Paul stepped forward.

  “This is a wake for Kevin Gallagher. What else can we say about the lad?” Colm said, desperately looking around for help.

  “Paid her a thousand euros for what?” Paul said.

  “To seduce you,” Alice said. “On Wednesday evening. Brenna was supposed to seduce you, Ronan was supposed to take a photo of it, and I was supposed to call off the wedding.”

  All heads turned to Colm, especially Declan, who was leaning on the counter as if he was watching a riveting football match. Colm slid his empty pint to Delcan and downed his whiskey. Declan began to refill the pint without taking his eyes off the drama.

  “So that’s why you were so over the top,” Paul said to Brenna. “I thought it was the drink.”

  Alice whirled on her father. “How could you?”

  How could you? The same thing Alice said in her note. That she was reacting like this was a surprise, so the note must have referred to something else. No doubt Colm Cahill had been working behind the scenes, doing whatever he could to stop this wedding. Earlier, when he’d threatened to cut her out of his will, Alice had responded as if she’d heard him threaten that before. Could that be what How could you? had meant in her crumpled note?

  “She’s lying,” Colm finally said. “I didn’t pay her a pound.”

  Brenna pointed at Colm. “You gave me a thousand euros tied up in red ribbon!”

  “Yep,” Ronan said. “Same as.”

  Red ribbon.

  Alice threw up her arms. “That’s Daddy’s calling card whenever he wants to bribe someone. A stack of money tied up with red ribbon.”

  That’s what Kevin took from her room. Brenna hadn’t been upset over the ribbon—she had been stewing over the stolen money. Kevin had slept with her, then upon waking, he had stolen a thousand euros from her. Was that motive for murder? Could make a woman go mental, alright. Especially one who is tipped to the mental side already. But if Brenna had killed Kevin, why give Siobhán the red ribbon? There would be no need for her to try and find her money if she had killed him to get it back.

  “How could you?” Alice cried out again. “You’re supposed to be my maid of honor. I thought we were friends.”

  “You only asked me to be your maid of honor when Sheila Fehey turned you down,” Brenna said.

  “She didn’t turn me down; she broke her ankle.”

  “I wasn’t your first choice.”

  “You weren’t my second or third either. But it was too short notice to ask a real friend. I would have been better without one at all.” The curtain of wealth and class was starting to drop. Alice and Brenna now sounded a bit like Maria and Aisling, squabbling over a lad or where to go on a Saturday evening. Siobhán felt an ache, missing her girlfriends, even when they were at their worst.

  “I’m sorry,” Brenna said. “Don’t be mad. I knew Paul wasn’t going to fall for my seduction. It was easy money. That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” Alice sputtered. “That’s all?”

  Brenna cried out in frustration. “You’re rich. A thousand euros is nothing to you. It’s certainly nothing to your father. But it’s a lot of money to me, alright? And I don’t even have it anymore.”

  Bingo.

  “What does any of this have to do with Kevin’s murder?” Paul said. He turned to Colm. “Did you pay Kevin too?”

  “He paid him to knock over my camera,” Ronan said, startling all of them by speaking. Once again Siobhán was reminded how easy it was to forget Ronan was there at all. The perfect cover for a murderer trying to hide in plain sight.

  Alice put her hands on her head. “Is Kevin’s murder all my fault?”

  “Of course not,” Paul said. “Why would you say that?”

  “Daddy stirred all of this up to stop the wedding. Kevin would still be alive if you and I had never met.”

  “You can’t start going down that path,” Paul said. “It’s not our fault.”

  “I’m only looking out for you,” Colm said. “You’re out of his league.”

  Paul pointed to Colm. “Kevin said the exact same thing to me on Wednesday evening. The exact words—
out of her league. You did pay Kevin to rattle me.”

  “What does any of this matter now?” Colm said. “It still hasn’t worked.”

  “And it’s never going to,” Alice said. “Why don’t you get that?”

  Paul took Alice’s hand. “Nobody could ever, ever love this woman as much as I do.”

  Colm’s eyes flashed. “Are you sure it’s Alice you love, or my money?”

  Alice gasped. Paul shook his head.

  “There’s not a single man better than my son,” Faye said. She downed a shot of whiskey, stood up, and pointed to Colm. “You had best watch your tongue.”

  Siobhán glanced at Declan, thinking he was going to toss them all out on their ears any minute now. Instead, he was grinning and hanging on every word.

  “Now, now,” Martin said. “We all just need to calm down.” He flicked a nervous glance at Susan. She refused to look back at him. As the guests all started shouting over one another, Siobhán tried to piece together what she had learned.

  Wednesday night Colm had paid anyone he could to try and break up the wedding. Brenna to seduce Paul. Kevin to try and discourage Paul. Ronan to take incriminating photos . . .

  Kevin had woken up in Brenna’s room, spied the euros on the table, and taken them. Quite risky. He had to know Brenna would figure out he was the thief. Presumably he’d already been paid by Colm as well. Kevin got drunk the night before. His room was directly across from Brenna’s. Did he wake up and think they were in his room? Did he mistake the money for his own?

  Money aside, why had he gone up to the hill? He certainly didn’t have a morning walking routine. And if Brenna was still trying to get her money back, that meant she didn’t have it. She just wasn’t a good enough actress to pull this off. That meant—someone had the money. Follow the money and you find the murderer?

  Unless Kevin was killed by one person and robbed by another. Siobhán sighed and downed her whiskey.

  Apparently Ronan had snapped enough photos of the wedding guests shouting accusations at each other, for he soon slipped away and headed to the back of the pub. Siobhán followed him. He ducked out onto the patio, and Siobhán became his shadow.

  The outdoor area was decorated with the usual debris of old coffee cans filled with cigarette butts, a rickety picnic table and benches, and an old Guinness sign. Ronan went straight to the corner and hunched over his phone, texting away with one hand while removing a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it with the other. It was as if she had finally earned her cloak of invisibility. It was satisfying to be the one sneaking up on him for a change.

  That lasted as long as the thought, for just then his head shot up, and his eyes blazed as he stared at her. She wondered if he was on drugs. He exhaled, and cigarette smoke hovered between them, heavy and stale. Siobhán coughed.

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” He had a smoker’s rasp. His black hair seemed extra spikey, his nose ring extra shiny.

  “You’re one to talk.” She glanced at his camera. “I went into your bathroom in your room at the castle.”

  His eyes grew wide, and he swallowed. “So?”

  “The guards saw your wall of pictures.”

  “So?” Defiance lit his eyes.

  Siobhán didn’t know what to expect, but this surly attitude was not it. He didn’t appear to feel guilty in the least. “You must have a portable printer.” It was the only thing she could think to say. After all, how did he print all those pictures?

  He held his arms out. “Guilty. Cuff me.” He stared at her. “Rough me up.” He winked, and then his mouth seemed to curl in on itself.

  “The pictures don’t seem very wedding-like.”

  He spread his arms open like he was about to take flight. “I was hired to snap away all weekend.”

  “I’d like to see all the photos you took before Kevin was killed.”

  “As you said yourself, they’re on the wall.”

  “Those are only of Alice. Every single one of them. One might say you are a little obsessed with her.”

  A smile crept over Ronan’s face. “An artist should be obsessed with his subjects. That’s what makes it art.” He took a step closer. “I’d like to take a whole lot more of you.”

  Siobhán crossed her arms, hating the way he was sizing her up. “You must have digital copies of all the photos you’ve taken.”

  A scowl came over his face. “Not from the first few days, thanks to Kevin knocking the camera out of me hands.”

  “You were pretty angry about that, weren’t you?” He still was. His face was easy to read.

  “Not angry enough to kill him.” He held steady eye contact. It was unnerving.

  “What about the camera card?”

  Ronan glanced toward the door. His bangs fell into his face, and he blew on them. “Someone took it.”

  “Who?”

  Ronan scowled. “If I knew that, I’d have it back by now.”

  “When?”

  “Must have been when the camera fell. I was busy trying to pick up pieces of the lens. But now we’ve just learned that the whole thing had been a ruse. So why are you questioning me instead of trying to figure out who took the camera card?”

  “A ruse?”

  “Colm just admitted he paid Kevin.”

  “He paid Kevin to plant seeds of doubt in Paul’s mind.”

  “Don’t be an eejit. He paid Kevin to knock into me so he could steal the camera card.”

  “Why on earth would Colm Cahill want your camera card?”

  Ronan just stared at her.

  “Come on. If what you say is true . . . There must be something incriminating in one of the photos you took.”

  “Must be.”

  He was infuriatingly calm. “Have you looked for the card?” Siobhán pressed.

  Ronan stepped up yet again, closing the gap between them. “Why would I do that?”

  Siobhán was taken aback. There was something exciting about him, although she loathed to admit it. She knew plenty of young women who fell for his type. The bad boy. The rebel. She would much rather have a true man like Macdara, but now, with him standing so close, his eyes trying to penetrate her, trying to rattle her by getting as close as possible, his swagger and confidence—well, she had to admit, even with his beanpole figure she could see how other lasses might lose their heads near this one. “Why wouldn’t you look for it?” She stammered.

  “Because if we’re right, then Kevin was killed over that card. Do you think I want him coming after me next?” Ronan stepped back, crushed out the nub of his cigarette in a coffee can, then lifted a new pack out of his camera bag. Newtons. He stared at her as he lit one.

  “Or her,” Siobhán said, eyeing the pack. Val told her the old man smoked Newtons. They weren’t a ubiquitous brand. Had Val lied to her on purpose? Or were his powers of observation inept? There was no way of proving when the pack had been dropped, but Ronan just moved up a notch on her suspect list. Maybe the simplest solution was that he killed Kevin to get his camera card back. Then again, Ronan had just put his cigarette out in a nearby coffee can instead of tossing it to the ground like most of the lads did. Perhaps it was just because Siobhán was here.

  “What?” Ronan tilted his head back and exhaled. Smoke curled up into the night sky.

  “Or her,” Ronan repeated as if it had just registered what Siobhán meant. “The killer could be a woman.” He winked at her. “Was that a confession?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said the killer could be a woman.” His eyes raked over her body. “You’re definitely a woman.” He held out the pack of cigarettes, offering her one. She shook her head.

  Siobhán tried to steer the questions back to the case. “If the killer was after the camera card, wouldn’t he or she have come after you already?”

  Ronan shrugged and tapped his cigarette, scattering ashes onto the patio. “Too many eyes. They could be waiting for the right moment. Or maybe they’ve figured out by no
w that I don’t have digital copies.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t believe what?” Ronan cocked his head and studied her, genuinely curious.

  “I think you do have copies.”

  Ronan shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “If you let me see those photos, I swear I won’t breathe a word to anyone, and I’ll help keep an eye on you.”

  “Everything alright here?” Macdara strode onto the patio. Ronan dumped his cigarette into one of the old coffee cans once more and slipped past Siobhán without another word. Macdara’s eyes followed Ronan until he was completely gone before turning back to Siobhán.

  “Did you know?” Siobhán asked.

  Macdara eyed her. “Know what?”

  “What the guards found in the jacks of Ronan’s room?” Macdara sighed and looked away. He did know. He knew all about the wall of pictures. “You were supposed to tell me everything.”

  “Not everything. Just anything I can.”

  “I thought you were officially a suspect.”

  Macdara grinned. “What can I say? Is it a good t’ing or a bad if your colleagues can’t see you as a killer?”

  “Alice deserves to know that she has a stalker.”

  “We made some calls to Dublin. Talked to several galleries. When Ronan is fascinated with a subject, this is what he does. He explores them through photography. He has no criminal record.”

  “That’s of very little comfort.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Go on.”

  “Ronan is not just taking photographs for the wedding. He was also hired by the Irish Enquirer. The more photos he produces of Alice, the more he gets paid.”

  “Disgusting. I’m surprised the Cahills didn’t anticipate that and make him sign a contract.”

  Macdara raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Alice thought it wasn’t necessary, given his celebrity status. Either way. It makes him greedy, but not a dangerous stalker.”

  Siobhán sighed. “Every lead is turning out to be a dead end.”