Oh, no. What if someone found out that she had argued with Niall at the bike shop? Would people start to think she had something to do with his murder? When Séamus came in, he could definitely see that she was upset. Would he say something to Macdara? Should Siobhán confess that bit to the guards first?
Before Siobhán could decide whether or not she should mention her argument with Niall to Macdara, the Sheedys’ door swung open. They hadn’t even stepped into the tiny yard. Bride had been watching for them. She stood on her porch with a big smile, although Siobhán thought she looked strained. Just like she did at the bike shop the other day.
“I made ham and cheese toasties,” she called out.
Siobhán kept her eyes forward and a fake smile plastered on her own face. Behind her, Ciarán groaned, and Siobhán gave the back of his arm a soft pinch. He looked at her.
Cheese toasties? he mouthed. Bridie was known to have burned more than her share of toasties in her lifetime.
Behave, she mouthed back. It wasn’t poor Bridie’s fault that her brood all considered themselves culinary geniuses. Surely after everything else they’d been through, they would find a way to survive Bridie’s ham and cheese toasties.
Siobhán didn’t even step inside the door. She had to get to Declan’s and see what was going on. If he still wasn’t there, she’d try the next pub. Finding James was her top priority.
“What happened?” Bridie said. Her eyes were rimmed in red as if she’d been crying. Siobhán had almost forgotten that Bridie had been fond of Niall. She felt guilty for not grieving his death. But there was too much water, too big of a bridge to cross in order to shed a tear for Niall. Maybe someday. But she did want to find his killer, and she hoped that counted for something.
“They’ll fill you in,” Siobhán said. “I have to get back into town.”
“But I already poured you a cuppa,” Bridie said. “And a biscuit.”
“Another time. And thank you. Thank you so much for minding them.” Bridie threw her arms around Siobhán even though it meant she had to stand on tiptoe to do it.
“I can’t believe it. He had just come home. He was a good lad. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it was true. He might have been a bit misguided, but he loved his brother, and his mammy, don’t you know? He had good in him, he did. He was a good lad.” It was as if Bridie were stuck on some kind of loop, and it sounded as if she were trying to convince herself of Niall’s goodness.
Maybe Siobhán had a stone in her heart. She couldn’t quite play along.
“It’s a terrible shock,” Siobhán said. “There are no words.”
“A killer in Kilbane,” Bridie said. She placed her hand on her heart. “Who could it be?”
“I can’t imagine,” Siobhán said.
“Why was Niall at your bistro? Did he pay you a visit last night?” Bridie’s curiosity was natural, of course, and in her place Siobhán would have been doing the same thing, but it felt wrong to gossip about it before all the facts were in.
“No,” Siobhán said. “Nothing like that. It was a true surprise seeing him there.” She stopped herself before sharing anything else. “Were you out at all last night? Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?” Siobhán held her breath. What she really wanted to know was if anyone had seen James.
“Séamus was at O’Rourke’s,” Bridie said. Siobhán took one look at Bridie’s face and knew Bridie knew something about James.
“Is Séamus here?” Siobhán asked.
“He’s at the shop,” Bridie said. She put her hand on Siobhán. “It’s just a little slip,” she said. “If he gets to a meeting they’ll sort him out.”
Just a little slip. Oh, no. No, no, no. Siobhán had been praying she’d been wrong. He’d been doing so well. Nearly six months sober. Why? Why had he thrown it all away? And would this be the start of another bender? One that might last for months, or years, or the rest of his life?
Tears stung Siobhán’s eyes and she bit down on her lip to keep them contained. “James was at O’Rourke’s? Are you sure?”
Bridie’s face crumpled. “You didn’t know? Oh, pet, I’m sorry. No wonder you look so pale. Séamus said he tried to convince James to go home. He did his best.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“A slip is all it was. He’ll get himself sorted. You’ll see.”
Siobhán wasn’t so sure. “I just need to find him.”
“Find him? He didn’t come home?” True alarm rang out in Bridie’s voice.
“He’s a young man; he doesn’t always come home,” Siobhán said. “You know yourself.” She didn’t want Bridie thinking James had anything to do with Niall’s murder.
“Do you want me to call Séamus? Ask when was the last he saw him?”
“Not yet. I’m going to pop into O’Rourke’s.”
“I bet it’s jammers with gossip,” Bridie said, shaking her head.
“That’s just it. Eoin popped by a bit ago and said the place was closed up, like.”
“O’Rourke’s? I’ve never known it to close.”
“Same as I.” Why was it closed? Was Declan tending to James? Was he okay? “Anyway, I’m going to have a look-see.”
“You’ve had to grow up so fast.” Bridie had tears in her eyes. “You’re like a little mother bear, protecting her cubs.”
She didn’t feel like it. “Does a mother bear ever want to clobber her cubs?”
Bridie laughed and absentmindedly rubbed her stomach. “I hope I find out soon. I’m sure they do.” Siobhán shouldn’t have said that. Courtney had hinted that Bridie and Séamus had been having trouble having kids. Séamus had an older son, so rumors flew that the problem conceiving was all on Bridie. She was the mothering type too. Ann was right; there would be crafts.
“Thanks again. I’d better get on.” Siobhán started to leave.
Bridie stepped forward. “So it’s true? He was found inside your bistro?”
“Please, we’re still trying to sort everything out,” Siobhán said. “I promised Macdara I wouldn’t wag my tongue all over town.”
Bridie abruptly pulled away. She looked as if her feelings were hurt, but she quickly put on a smile. “Of course. Please. You’ll be back to spend the night too, won’t ye? There’ s a bed here for ye.”
“Thank you. I’ll see.” Siobhán couldn’t think about anything but finding James. She hurried away from Bridie before she too succumbed to the comforts of tea, and biscuits, and ham and cheese, and knitted flowers, and headbands with sparkles.
Chapter 8
By the time Siobhán reached O’Rourke’s, there were already half a dozen twitching men pacing in front of the locked door, drooling for their pints. The cream-stone building was a Kilbane institution. The window boasted Declan’s collection of Laurel and Hardy memorabilia, and the interior was filled with posters of John Wayne and other old-time movie posters.
Declan, a hearty man with a laugh to match, was in his seventies now, but the only giveaway were the wrinkles in his broad face and the couple of front teeth that had packed up and moved out of his mouth. When he laughed, exposing the gaps and filling the room with his boisterous sound, one couldn’t help but laugh back. He was a man seasoned in the language of operas, and plays, and movies. It was fitting, his job front and centre as a publican, for Declan had been entertaining the folks in Kilbane for the past fifty years. He was a kind soul, the first to offer an ossified lad a ride home, but he was just as quick to cut down any lad who got too big for his britches. Declan, like most institutions, demanded a fair amount of respect. He was equally loved and feared.
Siobhán stood just behind the pacing, smoking men, gawking at the CLOSED sign. In all her life, Siobhán had never seen the other side of the OPEN sign. Two of the men were prattling on about the tragedies that must have befallen Declan. Theories seemed to range from heart attacks to kidnappings to alien abductions. Siobhán kept her head down, for next the conversation turned to the guards, and what was more tha
n one vehicle doing parked in front of Naomi’s Bistro? Could Declan have popped in for a bit of brekkie and had a heart attack? Siobhán wanted to lash out and proclaim that Declan did not die of a heart attack from breakfast at Naomi’s, t’ank you very much, but she couldn’t afford to draw unnecessary attention to herself.
Just then the window above O’Rourke’s screeched open. and Declan’s big face popped out. “Go ’way,” he called down.
“Are ye alright there, horse?” one of the regulars called up to him.
“I’m sick as a small hospital,” Declan called back. “And me lad called in as well. It’s going around, it is.”
Great, Siobhán thought. That’s all they needed, on top of everything else, for one of them to get a bug. “Declan,” she yelled up, “can I have a word?”
Declan looked at her, and their eyes locked for several seconds before he offered her a slight nod. “I’ll sort it out, petal,” he said. The look he gave her was a warning. James was with him. Declan wasn’t sick; he was sorting out James.
Siobhán nodded and hurried away just as the men pacing in front of the pub realized who she was and started asking her why the guards were parked in front of the bistro.
This was bad, she thought, as she headed back. If Declan had to close the pub to see to James, it was bad. Was he hurt? He would call an ambulance if James was hurt, wouldn’t he?
A squat vehicle from Cork University Hospital was parked directly in front of the bistro. Siobhán was glad Niall’s body would be removed, but their place of business was now an official circus. Gossip was no doubt already flaming through town. They might as well have set off firecrackers. Neighbors were starting to gather on the street, necks straining for a look-see, and curtains were twitching up and down the block.
“And so it begins,” Siobhán whispered as she gazed across the street at the crowd. Siobhán was surprised at their restraint. She half expected someone to cross over to them to ask what had happened.
She wondered who would be the first to traverse the invisible barrier. Her money would be on Courtney Kirby. Some said she opened her gift shop just so she could gossip with the locals. But she had a heart of gold, Courtney. She couldn’t help it if she lived for drama. She would be equally propelled by the need to comfort as well as to be the first to get the story. She was Kilbane’s ambassador of news, both good and bad, and she accepted the position with the reverence of a queen.
Siobhán glanced at the salon. It was still dark. She’d forgotten to tell Macdara about seeing Sheila this morning. She still wasn’t sure if she should even mention it. Surely Sheila wouldn’t murder anything but a person’s hair.
Siobhán’s thoughts once again landed on Niall’s mam. The poor dear. No matter what Siobhán thought of her, no mother deserved news like this. Should Siobhán go see her? She lived out in the country, apart from the town, but only a ten-minute drive along the back road. These days she only ventured out when she ran out of smokes, which she bought by the carton. Once again Siobhán looked over at the eager faces across the street. Friends. Patrons. Neighbors. Standing among them could be a killer.
It didn’t seem possible. These were people they’d known all their lives, stood next to a dozen times at the market, or prayed with in church, or served in the bistro. And as if that thought weren’t bad enough, it occurred to Siobhán that the folks in the crowd were probably thinking the same thing about them. That one of the O’Sullivan Six could be a killer. Her parents would be turning in their graves!
Just then Courtney Kirby stepped out into the street, sashaying toward Siobhán, all hips and breasts and bouncing pearls. Her mousy hair was now mahogany-red, thanks, Siobhán assumed, to Sheila.
“Ah, chicken,” Courtney called out. “What happened?” Courtney fixed her eyes on Siobhán and put her hand on her heart. “It’s not James, is it?”
Siobhán could not believe it. She knew full well who had died, had already leaked it to Bridie, and now here she was pretending as if she didn’t have a clue. “We’re all fine.”
“Thank heavens. You gave me such a fright.”
“Please, lower your voice,” Siobhán said
Courtney did no such thing; in fact, her next question was almost at a shout. “Who is it? What’s the story?”
“There’s been a murder.” If Courtney wanted to pretend she didn’t know the gossip, Siobhán was going to play it for all it was worth.
“Murder?” Courtney said. “In Kilbane?” A definite murmur went through the crowd gathered across the street, and more folks were coming, streaming down Sarsfield in both directions. “Who was it?”
“You’ll know soon enough. We need to let the guards do their job.”
“Rumor has it it was Niall Murphy,” Courtney whispered.
“And exactly where did that rumor start?” Siobhán asked.
Courtney leaned in and actually cupped her hand behind her ear, where a string of cubic zirconia dangled. She often loaded up with accessories from her shop. When Siobhán didn’t offer any gossip, Courtney dropped her hand and lowered her voice. “I heard from Helen, who was having a chat with Patrick O’Shea, who was doing a bit of business this morning with Father Kearney when . . .”
Siobhán shut out Courtney’s chatter and looked around. Where was Macdara? The doors opened with one of the men from Cork University Hospital backing out, holding one end of a stretcher. On it lay Niall Murphy in a body bag.
Courtney cried out. “Oh, oh, oh, oh,” she said over and over.
Mike Granger stepped out of the crowd and toward them. For a second she was distracted by his shiny bald head.
“Siobhán,” he said. “Pray tell, who is it?”
Why did everyone in town suddenly sound as if they were rehearsing lines from a play? She got the feeling that Mike knew exactly who it was. Or was she imagining things?
“Please,” Siobhán said. She took a step toward the crowd. “Out of respect for the family, let’s not start gossiping.”
“Is anyone from the family here?” Mike said, turning back to the crowd.
“We’ve all just come from Mass,” Courtney said. “Well, most of us,” she added, with a lingering look at Siobhán. The O’Sullivans hadn’t been to Mass much since her parents had passed, but instead of stating this, Courtney simply fluttered her fake eyelashes at Siobhán. One got stuck, and Courtney literally had to force the eye back open with her fingers. Siobhán had completely forgotten it was Sunday. She even spotted Father Kearney in the crowd, face pinched in worry, arms clasped in front of him as if in perpetual prayer.
“Where are the rest of the six?” Courtney asked.
“At Bridie’s,” Siobhán said. All except one.
Later, back safely inside the bistro perched with Siobhán near the fireplace with steaming mugs of tea, Macdara repeated his findings. They hadn’t found any signs of a break-in, no broken glass, no splintered door. There was some trampled grass in the backyard, and it was possible Niall was killed out there and then dragged inside. The pathologist would examine his suit for streaks of dirt and grass. But the spare key had been found inside the glass jar in the garden, just where Siobhán said it should be. Macdara was on his way out, as were the rest of the guards. The state pathologist would perform a complete autopsy at Cork University Hospital.
“Still no sign of James?” Macdara asked.
“I’m working on it,” Siobhán said. There she went again, keeping secrets from Macdara. But she wanted to talk to James first, and she had to trust that Declan was handling whatever shape James was in at the moment. She’d seen her brother hungover. He probably didn’t even know his own name, forget answering questions about a murder.
“Looks like I have my next assignment,” he said.
“Why is it so urgent you find James?” Siobhán knew why, of course, but she wanted Macdara to know that James didn’t do it.
“I’m sure you’ll be wanting him home,” Macdara said tactfully. “There’s no need for you to handle this on y
our own.” The minute the door clicked shut behind him, Siobhán felt a sense of dread come over her as she surveyed the bistro.
Only scraps remained of the day’s incident. A few bits of crime-scene tape, abandoned coffee cups, and dirty boot prints all over the front dining room. At least they’d put booties on when they reached the section in the back where Niall was discovered. There was still a crowd outside, which is why Siobhán drew her shades—the first time she could ever remember. Her mobile rang. It was Declan. Siobhán answered right away.
“James is here, pet,” he said the minute she answered. “But he’s a bit rough.”
Relief crashed over her for the briefest of seconds. “Thank you.”
“ ‘Don’t thank me. I’ve called the guards and the HSE.”
“The paramedics? Is he okay?”
“I found him behind the pub. Behind the rubbish bins. He was out cold from the drink, but looks like he took a beating as well.”
“A beating?”
“He’ll be a bit bruised, alright, but nothing broken. He’s awake now, but not making much sense.”
Siobhán knew all too well. “You don’t have a bug, do you?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle, pet. I was out for a smoke when I found him. I kicked out the stool huggers and turned over the CLOSED sign while I saw to him. I wanted to delay the floodgates as long as I could.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right over.”
“Don’t, petal. The paramedics are seeing to him. Looks like he’s refusing to go to hospital, so he’ll be home soon. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thanks, Declan.” Siobhán stood in the front of the bistro, and a few seconds later, Macdara showed up. She’d hoped he had gone to speak with Mary Murphy, but it was obvious he was waiting for James as well.
“Do you want to wait inside?” Siobhán said. “Have another cuppa?”
Murder in an Irish Village Page 7