Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  “Well then, maybe this will interest you.” Macdara grinned.

  “Don’t draw it out.”

  “Chef Antoine and Brian have been approved to do wedding errands. A delivery is coming into Limerick tomorrow—”

  “The Limerick Pub? Half nine? Cases of champagne?” Siobhán couldn’t help but jump in.

  Macdara’s mouth dropped open. “Jaysus,” he said. “Now who’s holding out on whom?”

  They began to talk over each other. “Can we go? Can we spy-—”

  “The guards have approved a little spy operation—”

  Macdara stopped. “Dammit, Siobhán. You aren’t letting me surprise you.”

  “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  Macdara sighed. “If we know everything, then why are we going?”

  “We don’t know why the lorry is stopping in Limerick instead of coming into Kilbane.”

  “Why did Susan switch to Martin’s transport company?”

  “Exactly. She’s not exactly the type to throw favors anyone’s way.”

  “Martin might have something on her.”

  “Something incriminating.”

  “So you’re still up for it?”

  “Are ye joking me?” Siobhán grinned.

  Macdara approached Siobhán and placed a hand on her waist. He was wearing that cologne that drove her insane. “Can we listen to some music and have a proper date the rest of the night?”

  “Of course.” Siobhán felt a shiver of attraction run through her as he gently kissed her on the lips. She had best keep her head about her and remember that they were at a wake. They headed for the door. Macdara stopped just before crossing back inside.

  “O’Brien wants the packet of alibis.”

  “Oh,” Siobhán said. “Of course.” Her stomach twisted.

  His eyes bore into hers. “Tell me you didn’t open them.”

  Siobhán did her best to keep her face neutral. “I swear I didn’t open them.”

  Macdara sighed with relief. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

  “It’s okay. I was tempted.”

  “Do you have them in your handbag?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  Macdara looked around. “Probably a good thing. You wouldn’t want anyone to lift it.”

  “I definitely wouldn’t.” Wouldn’t want anyone shoving me down a flight of stairs either.

  “Make sure you get them to O’Brien first thing in the morning.”

  “First thing.” She hated lying and wasn’t even sure why she was doing it. Other than the fact that nothing ruined date night more than confessing to losing a packet of alibis.

  Chapter 18

  Upon her return from the wake, Siobhán entered Natalie’s Bistro and sank with relief into the chair near the fireplace. James had been tending to the fire, and it was crackling away. What an exhausting couple of days. She’d missed being around her family. To her surprise, they were all awake and waiting for her.

  The back windows were open, and the sound of crickets filtered in, along with the faint hoot of an owl. Ann brought her a cup of tea, and Ciarán sat on the floor next to her and put his head in her lap. Her breath caught as she ran her hands through his hair. He needed a trim. Her mam would have never let it get this long. Tears came to her eyes. Often she was ambushed with a combination of grief and fierce love at the same time. Her thoughts were starting to change from missing her mam and da (which of course she did) to feeling bad about what they were missing. Ciarán seemed to have grown an inch overnight. James was sober and staying that way, Eoin was possibly turning into a ladies’ man, and Ann and Gráinne were blooming like spring flowers. Well, they would have still had their hands full there.

  Eoin’s lanky body was draped over the counter, his head buried in a comic book, Gráinne and Ann were splayed out at a table, and James stood with his arms crossed, staring at Siobhán.

  “Well?” Gráinne said when there had been a few minutes of silence.

  “I swear I don’t know anything new,” Siobhán said. “I’m letting the guards handle it.”

  Ciarán lifted his head. “We should make the list,” he said. He scrambled to his feet.

  “No list,” Siobhán said. “I don’t want to think about it anymore this evening.”

  “Tell us everything you’ve learned about Alice.” Ann placed her hands underneath her chin and leaned forward eagerly.

  “Like what?” Siobhán said, feeling a twinge of jealousy.

  “What is her dress like?” Gráinne added.

  “And what is she like?” Ann repeated.

  “She’s a little stressed out,” Siobhán said. “But she’s lovely, really. And so is the dress.”

  “Who’s the designer?” Gráinne asked. She was becoming more and more label conscious. On one hand, Siobhán didn’t like it; on the other hand, maybe she would become a famous fashion designer.

  “It’s a gorgeous dress, with lace and satin and pearls—slim line—and it looks very dear,” Siobhán said. “That’s all I know.”

  Gráinne rolled her eyes. “Useless.”

  “Can we go to the wedding?” Ann said. “I would die to go to the wedding.”

  “As I said, it’s all a bit stressful right now, luv,” Siobhán said.

  “Who wouldn’t be stressed out?” Gráinne said. “The wedding is supposed to be all about the bride. All anyone is talking about is the murder. I can’t believe they’re going through with it.”

  “They have to go through with it,” Ann said. “So love can win.”

  Love would only win if the murderer was brought to justice. Every second counted. “How are you getting on with Chef Antoine?” Siobhán couldn’t help but ask. So much for not talking about it. It seemed there was no avoiding it.

  “He didn’t do it,” James said.

  “Ah,” Siobhán said. “You like him.”

  James shook his head. “Not necessarily. But the man doesn’t think about anything other than his culinary talents. Unless Kevin had stolen one of his precious recipes or chef knives, I don’t think he’d have time to be bothered by such business.”

  “He won’t let me touch them,” Ciarán said. “They’re sharp.”

  “Good advice,” Siobhán said.

  “Doesn’t seem to stop him from leaving them all over the place,” James said. He held up his hand before Siobhán could react. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping my eyes peeled.”

  Ann thrust up her finger. “Chef would definitely kill you if you tried to take a bite of crepe before it’s on the plate.”

  “We should start making crepes,” Gráinne said.

  “This is an Irish bistro,” Siobhán said.

  “I love his accent,” Gráinne said. “And he made us croissants this morning. To die for!”

  “Yum!” Ann said.

  “I like the crepes better,” Ciarán piped up. “Did ye know you can eat them with chocolate?”

  “Is Chef Antoine making the wedding cake as well?” Siobhán asked. She would never tell anyone, but champagne and wedding cake were close to her two favorite things in the world. She would probably spend more time picking out the cake than she did her dress.

  “Bridie is making the cake,” Ann said. “But it’s a surprise.”

  Siobhán’s mouth watered. If Bridie was making the cake, it would probably be traditional. Fruitcake made with honey, soaked in Irish whiskey and frosted with a sweet white glaze. Green icing as trim, and perhaps a shamrock on top for good luck. Siobhán couldn’t wait.

  “It has seven tiers,” Gráinne said.

  Ciarán’s head popped up. “Why would a cake be crying?”

  Gráinne and Ann howled with laughter, then filled a frowning Ciarán in on the difference between tears and tiers.

  “She’s been giving us samples,” Eoin said. “It’s the best I’ve ever had in me life.”

  Bridie was a woman of many talents. Why hadn’t she given Siobhán any samples? She hoped Ciarán wasn’t eating too m
uch sugar. It made him mad hyper. It should be added to his Big Book of Poisons.

  “No wonder you haven’t missed me,” Siobhán said. “You’ve had crepes and cake.”

  “And Trigger,” Ciarán pointed out, scooping up the dog, who wriggled in his arms.

  “Eejits,” Eoin said, shaking his head. “She’s searching for compliments, do you not know?”

  Siobhán laughed. Maybe he would be a hit with the ladies. She ambushed him in a hug. He pulled away as fast as he could, but she still held onto his hand. “You missed me?”

  “You’ve barely been gone.” Eoin dashed back to his comic. “But I don’t trust the Frenchy.”

  “Eoin’s just jealous,” Gráinne said.

  “Am not,” Eoin said.

  “Are too,” Ann said. “Because Alice told Antoine she wanted him to be her forever chef.”

  Eoin shook his head, disgusted. “I can cook,” he mumbled. “I could cook for her forever.”

  Trigger broke free and began racing around the bistro, chased by Ciarán. “His paws are muddy!” Siobhán exclaimed. She reached for the mutt as he scooted by, and he growled. The rest of the lot howled with laughter.

  “He does hate you,” Gráinne said. “Have you been mistreating him when we weren’t looking?”

  “Of course not,” Siobhán said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t like the way you smell,” Ann said. “They’ve very sophisticated noses.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my smell,” Siobhán said. “He just wants to be alpha dog, and I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

  Trigger trotted over to James, who picked up the pup. He licked James’s neck.

  “Now we’ve mud all over the dining room. I’m tellin’ ye, he cannot be inside. This is a bistro. We could be shut down, like.”

  “Settle,” James said. “We’ll get it clean by brekkie.” Siobhán sighed, flopped back into the chair, and closed her eyes. “You still haven’t cracked those college catalogs,” James called over his shoulder.

  The stack of catalogs on her bedside table swam through her mind. She’d planned on studying history. But at the moment, she was so thoroughly immersed in the present that the appeal had lessened. But James was right. If she didn’t start studying something, she’d spend the rest of her life just running the bistro. It had to be done, but it wasn’t her dream. Macdara had said she was the best investigator on the case. And she wasn’t even a guard. She’d had trouble getting that out of her mind. She’d even imagined herself in the garda uniform, gold shield glittering on her cap. Garda Siobhán. Garda O’Sullivan. Garda Siobhán O’Sullivan.

  Suddenly she became aware of Ciarán hovering over her, his freckles inches from her face, his breath warm and salty. “He might like you if you give him treats.”

  “I have to blackmail him to like me, do I?” Siobhán said.

  “Works for me,” Ciarán said. She ruffled his hair.

  “He still won’t like her as much as Ann like ze French chef,” Eoin said.

  “Shut your gob!” Ann screamed. “You’re the one drooling over Alice.”

  “Can’t blame him for that,” James said, sauntering back into the dining room.

  Siobhán was starting to feel even more relaxed. There was nowhere else she’d rather be than at Natalie’s Bistro on Sarsfield Street with her cheeky siblings having a go at each other. It struck her that the chaos of family was much more comforting than the calmness of strangers.

  Chapter 19

  Early Friday morning, Siobhán stood outside Detective Sergeant O’Brien’s makeshift office at the gardai station. He normally worked out of Cork City, but he had been given a temporary room in Kilbane. It had one window, one chair, and a desk. O’Brien was sitting in front of a stack of papers, but his attention was elsewhere. The desk was wobbling, and he kept dipping underneath trying to secure it, then popping back up to test it out. She had to come clean about the envelope of alibis and getting shoved down the stairs at the castle. Especially before heading off to Limerick with Macdara. O’Brien was at his desk, culling through papers. “Come in.”

  Siobhán approached, still trying to practice the best way to go about this. He looked up and waited.

  “I should have shared this with you when it happened,” Siobhán began. He gestured for her to sit. She let it all out as fast as she could, from the electricity getting shut off to getting shoved down the stairs. By the end of her tale, her voice was warbling.

  The crease in O’Brien’s forehead deepened. He slammed his hand down on the table, making it rock. “You withheld evidence and failed to report a crime.” His eyes briefly flickered to the legs of the table.

  Siobhán reached into her handbag, balled up a tissue, and stuck it under the desk. “I didn’t realize the envelope of alibis had been stolen until much later.”

  O’Brien jiggled the table. It remained still. He smiled at it, but when he looked up at Siobhán, he was glaring again. “You’re interfering with my investigation.”

  “I have no idea who it was. None at all.”

  “I’ll try and verify where all the wedding guests were when this happened,” he said. “How did Macdara take the news?” He immediately registered the look on Siobhán’s face. “Ah,” he said. “You kept it from him.” The implication was clear: she was a liar.

  “He worries about me.” She hadn’t come here to discuss her personal life, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.

  “He should. I was wrong to send ye to the castle on your own.”

  “No. I can handle this.”

  “Not anymore. You’re to take three steps back now.”

  She wanted to protest, tell him what a good investigator she was, but that would only backfire. “Yes sir.”

  She waited for him to mention the outing to Limerick. “Anything else?” She shook her head. It didn’t seem like the right time to ask about the garda application process as well as a dozen other questions she had. “Ms. O’Sullivan?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Anything else?” He wanted her out.

  Can I have a look at the police reports? “No, nothing at all, Detective Sergeant.” She turned to go.

  “If anything else happens—anything at all—and I don’t get wind of it directly from you? I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “That’s all.” Siobhán went to the door, then stopped. O’Brien shook his head. “For the love of God, what?”

  “I was just wondering. Would you like to hear my theories so far?” She was prepared to tell him that he should contact the Huntsmans. That she didn’t think Kevin was the intended victim. That someone could have used the tracksuits to his or her advantage. That her mind kept circling back around to Colm’s missing fax.

  “Theories like the killer could have climbed a tree but probably didn’t?” O’Brien said with a straight face. Of course the guards had squealed on her. They all thought she was a right joke. If she decided to become a guard, maybe this is what it would feel like all the time.

  Siobhán flushed. “And a few more.”

  “I appreciate it, Ms. O’Sullivan. But keep your theories to yourself. I only want the facts.”

  So much for asking for the Huntsmans’ telephone number. “Yes sir.” She made her escape before he could remember to cancel her trip to Limerick.

  * * *

  Siobhán and Macdara stood in Limerick City, on Crescent Street, named for the half-moon shape made by the terraced buildings on either side. They had situated themselves at the base of the Daniel O’Connell monument, perfect for ducking behind if they needed quick cover. The air was crisp, but the skies were clear. Across the street from where they were staked out, Antoine and Brian were planted in front of the Limerick Pub. Brian was buried in his iPad; Antoine was smoking and pacing. They had no idea they were being watched, and Siobhán felt slightly ashamed.

  Macdara checked his phone. “I have another bit of news, but you have to keep it between us.”


  “Go on.”

  “Kevin’s pockets were empty.”

  “He was robbed—”

  “He was robbed—” Macdara caught up to what she was saying. Stopped. Shook his head.

  He had wanted to be the first to break the news. “But you confirmed it, so t’ank you.”

  Macdara nodded. “They didn’t find so much as a hotel key. And Paul said that Kevin always wore a gold watch and chain. Belonged to his grandfather. But they didn’t find either on him.”

  “Staging it to look like a robbery,” Siobhán said.

  “Or it was a robbery,” Macdara countered.

  “Kill a man over a gold watch and a chain?”

  Macdara shrugged. “It happens.”

  “He was killed from behind.”

  “So?”

  “So? The killer wouldn’t have been able to even see the watch and gold chain.”

  Macdara sighed. “They could have spotted it on him earlier.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  “I’m not selling it. I’m just going over the options.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve been discussing this with Paul.” The anger in her voice was unmistakable. She’d meant to keep it in, but really, what was he thinking? Whether Macdara liked it or not, old friend from university or not, Paul Donnelly was a suspect. It was downright irresponsible to leak evidence to him.

  Macdara stared at her. “You’re jealous because Paul knows something about the investigation that you don’t?”

  “Makes me sound petty when you put it like that.”

  Macdara glanced away.

  “He’s a suspect.”

  “So am I,” he snapped.

  He was way too close to this case. She could only imagine how he was going to react when he found out about her being shoved down the stairs and having the alibis snatched. Or getting reprimanded by O’Brien. “Where did everyone go when I was at the castle getting their things?”

  “Most of them went back to the inn to rest,” Macdara said. “I believe a few went to the pubs.”

  “What about Alice and Paul?”

  “To the inn. Why?” He was on high alert.

  “No reason.”

  “Don’t give me that.”