Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  “He was always bullying me,” Alice said. “My whole life.”

  “You never thought he would do it,” Siobhán said. “Actually write you out of the will.”

  They would find the will buried near the abbey wall, close to where Alice had buried Kevin’s things. Even criminals were consistent.

  “What else, Garda Siobhán?” Alice said sarcastically. “I want to hear everything the girl genius figured out.”

  “You used the secret passageway to sneak into the castle while I was there to collect your things. You shoved me down the stairs and grabbed the alibis. It was Brian’s alibi that you took. Because he noted seeing the fax, then running into you outside just a few minutes later.”

  “She shoved you down the stairs?” Macdara said.

  “I should have killed you,” Alice said. “It’s a pity I didn’t shove you harder.”

  “Alice,” Paul said, breaking away from her. The reality of who he had married was starting to sink in.

  “How did you catch me?” Alice said, her eyes narrowing. “A common girl like you.”

  “Maybe I am common. Or maybe you just didn’t plan the perfect murder. Although you were clever. Throwing blame on everyone but you.”

  “What do you mean?” Macdara asked.

  “She told me Paul had dirt underneath his fingernails when she saw him that morning—”

  “Me?” Paul said.

  “She used her mother’s lipstick to write the nasty notes—first on the car, then on the mirror. She placed your garda cap under Kevin’s hands—”

  “Someone had dropped it on the grounds,” Alice said. “They should have immediately arrested him for the murder.”

  “You even tried to blame Val for stealing. Yet you were the one Chef Antoine saw digging by the wall, scrunched over in the dirt by Val’s post. He simply assumed it was Val.”

  “I would do it all over again,” Alice said. “Just to be free of my father. You can’t imagine what it was like to live under his thumb.”

  “Poor Kevin,” Paul said. The veil was lifting. He was finally starting to see what the love of his life was really like.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him. He wasn’t supposed to be up there!”

  “You did it for the inheritance,” Macdara said. “Paul would have married you either way, you silly woman. Don’t you know that?”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t know anything. You can’t just stop being rich.”

  “For money? You did this all for money?”

  “Paul, don’t listen to them. I stopped you from drinking poison, didn’t I?”

  Paul broke away from Alice, shaken. “I wish you hadn’t,” he said. “I wish you hadn’t.”

  Alice suddenly fixated on something lying near the herb patch. Before anyone knew what was happening, she swooped something off the ground and held it up. The silver blade of a large chef’s knife gleamed. Once again Chef Antoine had been careless with his tools, no doubt beleaguered by the wedding preparations. And now Alice was holding up a very large, very sharp knife. “I’m going to walk out of here,” she said. “If one of you makes a single move, I’m going to slice that person, and then cut my own throat in front of your very eyes.”

  Chapter 33

  Once the threat was delivered, Alice turned and ran. She escaped through the back fence to the alley behind the bistro.

  “I’ll get the car,” Macdara said.

  “I’m coming with you,” Paul said.

  “Stay here,” Macdara said to Siobhán.

  The minute Macdara and Paul jumped into the car, Siobhán jumped onto her scooter. Macdara would be furious with her, but she had to go. Stay here. As if. Besides, she was pretty sure she knew exactly where Alice was going. Back to a secret hiding place.

  Siobhán reached the castle, turned off her engine, and pulled her scooter to the side of the road. Macdara would spot it straightaway. She texted him the location of the secret passage as she was running toward it. Alice was in there; she was sure of it. She had already tried to drink poison, and there was no telling what she would do with the knife. She was going to have to face justice, but that didn’t mean she deserved to die. Alice was a cornered animal now, and chances were good that she was going to hurt herself. Siobhán couldn’t have that on her conscience. She hurried along the woods and then cut to the back of the property. The trapdoor to the passageway was flung open. Alice hadn’t even bothered to close it. Siobhán slipped down the stone steps and into the dark tunnel.

  It was pitch-black and smelled like mold. She could hear water dripping in the distance. She listened for more. And then, there it was, the sound of heels echoing down the passage. Siobhán took off her shoes. Once again in her bare stockings, and they would get wet, but at least she could sneak up on Alice. As she hurried down the passage, she could see there was a light somewhere in the middle. It was coming from a bulb by the second set of stairs, this one leading up into the castle.

  Siobhán infused her run with the most speed she could muster, flew past Alice, and plastered herself against the door. The knife was still in Alice’s hands.

  “It’s over,” Siobhán said. “You need help.”

  Alice cried out, startled to see her. Then she shook her head. In the dim light, her pretty face looked tortured. “Why?” she cried. “Why couldn’t you just let it go?”

  “I’m going to let it go,” Siobhán said. “Just put down the knife, and let’s get out of here.”

  “You should have at least let me drink the poison, wretched woman that you think I am.”

  “I don’t think you’re wretched,” Siobhán said. “Come on. Paul is waiting for you.”

  “Wolf’s bane. Chef was right. It’s very fast acting. My father didn’t suffer. He never even knew what I had done. His last thought was that once again his little girl was doing his bidding.”

  “Put the knife down.”

  “Or I could kill you,” Alice said. “We could die together.”

  In the distance, voices and footsteps drew closer.

  “That will be the guards surrounding the grounds,” Siobhán said. “I left the trapdoor open. They’ll find us.”

  Siobhán needed to open the door she was leaning against. But she knew better than to turn her back on Alice. Just as she was reaching behind her to try and feel for the latch, Alice reached forward and grabbed Siobhán’s hair. Siobhán screamed as Alice dragged her down to the ground.

  Siobhán had only been in one fight in her life. A bully in grade five. She’d lost. Afterward her father had coached her. How to poke someone in the eye. How to protect one’s face. Siobhán put her hands up to do just that, and at the same time tried to get to her feet. She had just about made it when Alice grabbed onto her ankles, sending her crashing down once again. This time Alice leapt on top of her. She straddled her, holding the knife aloft in her right hand. When Siobhán looked into her eyes, she saw a madwoman. She reached up with both hands and dug her nails into Alice’s right wrist. Alice screamed, and the knife clattered to the ground. But before Siobhán could push her off, Alice’s strong hands found Siobhán’s neck, and she began to squeeze. Footsteps pounded down the passageway.

  “Stop!” It was Macdara.

  “Alice, don’t!” Followed by Paul.

  At the sound of Paul’s voice, Alice stopped squeezing. Siobhán sank her teeth into one of Alice’s fingers. Alice screeched and finally let go of Siobhán’s neck. This time, Siobhán didn’t hesitate. She shoved her off and rolled out from underneath her. Alice lay facedown in the passageway, sobbing. Siobhán scrambled to her feet, kicked the knife far out of the way, and ran for Macdara. He swept her into his arms and held her tight. When he finally let go, she saw concern stamped all over his face as he eyed the red marks on her neck.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “The thought of losing you.” Macdara’s voice choked.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Macdara kept a tight grip on Siobhán’s hand as he led her out of the
passage and onto the castle lawn. Then he turned to help Paul, who was wrestling with Alice. The minute they hauled her out of the passageway and onto the grounds, she collapsed in a heap, wailing. Pity seized Siobhán’s heart. Despite everything, it was so easy to love her.

  “Don’t leave me,” she implored Paul. “Don’t leave me.”

  Paul sank next to her.

  “Boss?” Macdara said.

  “Just give us a minute,” Paul said. “For old time’s sake.” He took Alice’s hand. “Come on, my darling wife. Don’t cry. It’s such a beautiful day.”

  Epilogue

  Siobhán and Macdara stood at the counter in Naomi’s Bistro. Macdara was holding the stack of university catalogs.

  “Promise me,” he said, “that you’ll go back to school, and never investigate another murder ever again.” He set the catalogs on the counter. Only a day had passed since Alice had confessed and been arrested. This was not the time to tell Macdara she didn’t think she wanted to go to college. She had something else in mind. “I couldn’t bear it,” he said. “I couldn’t bear if anything like this ever happened again.”

  “Would you like a cappuccino?” Siobhán asked.

  “You could take evening or weekend courses,” Macdara said. “I can drive you into Limerick myself, or you could commute to Charleville on your scooter and then take the train in.”

  “I’ll look into all my options,” Siobhán said softly.

  “Swear to me.”

  “I swear.” She wasn’t lying. She would carefully consider everything. That she promised. But there was another promise she couldn’t keep. That he would like what she chose.

  He leaned in, kissed her. “I’ve got to go. We’ll be jammed with paperwork.”

  She watched him go, his broad shoulders disappearing down the street. She sighed, gently shoved the catalogs away, and made herself a cappuccino. She took the mug of heaven to the chair by the fireplace and plopped down. She reached down and picked up her laptop, which she’d stashed near the chair. She opened it and stared at the search bar. She typed in her query:

  How do I join An Garda Síochána?

  Just reading the query made her tingle with excitement. Could she do it? Could she become a guard, and one day a real detective? As she stared at the page, Trigger jumped into her lap and curled into a ball of love. Ciarán had been right all along. A few treats and the mutt loved her. She massaged his little head and glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes before her brood would come home, to tell her all about their first day of school. Thirty minutes until the bistro was filled with the sounds of young ones arguing and shoes stamping up and down the stairs, and arguments over what would be for supper. Thirty minutes until the best part of Siobhán O’Sullivan’s day. She hit enter and, heart in throat, waited.