Siobhán had never been so relieved to see a shift end. They were as busy as a pub on Saint Stephen’s Day. And although her siblings retired upstairs or went outside to play, Siobhán knew that, for her, rest and relaxation would have to wait. John Butler had taught her a fierce lesson. In order to find the killer, Siobhán was going to have to start collecting alibis. That meant dividing her time between the bistro and visiting everyone on the list. It would be impossible to do if she had to walk everywhere. She was going to have to get a scooter, even if it meant Alison Tierney wasn’t going to get her rent on time. It was going to cause an uproar from their uptight landlady, but Siobhán didn’t have a choice. As soon as the breakfast shift ended, she headed straight for Sheedy’s cycle shop.
Séamus was behind the counter, sorting through a box of racing gloves. He held up his hand, showing off a neon green one that he’d slipped onto his right hand. “Glows in the dark,” he said. “Isn’t it brilliant?”
Did he really need neon gloves for the store? Or was he covering up swollen knuckles? Had Séamus beat up James? Could he be the killer? Maybe he’d found out Bridie was having an affair with Niall.
“Can I see that?” Siobhán asked.
“Sure, pet.” Séamus picked a glove off the counter.
“Actually I meant the one you’re wearing.”
Séamus tilted his head quizzically but took off the glove just the same and handed it to her. Siobhán slipped it on and pretended to admire it before sneaking a peek at Séamus’s right hand. It was white and smooth, not a mark on his knuckles. “Thanks.” She took off the sweaty glove and handed it back to him.
Then she began to cry. Suspecting everyone of murder was taking a giant toll on her. Séamus was instantly out from behind the counter, opening up his arms for a hug. Siobhán didn’t realize how fragile she was until she felt his touch. She almost broke into pieces.
“What is it, pet?” He stepped back and searched her eyes.
“They just arrested James.”
“You’re joking me.” Séamus sounded as angry as she was. Finally. Maybe he could help, talk some sense into the gardai.
“Just now,” Siobhán said.
“For what?”
“Why, for Niall’s murder.”
“But that’s impossible.” Séamus began to pace. “I saw him that night. He couldn’t have killed a fly. He was in no shape. No shape, I tell ye.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Siobhán felt some weight lift off her.
“For what?”
“For believing in him. Even Macdara is starting to think James did it.”
Séamus cocked his head. “Because of the fight at the pub?”
“That’s right. You were there that night. Did you see anything that might prove James didn’t do it?”
“No, pet. Last I saw James, he was stumbling out the door, ranting and raving. I tried to give him a ride home, but he refused.”
“Did he say he was going home?”
“Ah, pet. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying,” Séamus said. Tears came to Siobhán’s eyes. She nodded. Séamus came over and placed his hands on her arms. “I’m tellin’ ye the God’s honest truth. He wasn’t in any shape to go stabbing anyone.”
“Tell Macdara that.”
“Now you know yourself that Macdara isn’t calling the shots. It’s the detective superintendant we need to have a good old chat with.”
“Will you do it? Nobody takes me seriously.”
“I will, pet. Can’t promise anything. But I’ll tell him what I just told you.”
“Make sure you tell him that you didn’t see any physical confrontation between them, will you?”
“But someone roughed up James that night,” Séamus said. “If not Niall, then who?”
“I think it could have been the killer.”
“I don’t understand.”
Siobhán hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him about the drops of blood on James’s clothing. She didn’t want to lose one of her only allies.
“I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said. “The more I try and figure it out, the more I wrap myself up into knots.”
“I wish your da were here,” Séamus said. “He was always good in a crisis.”
“He’d be so grateful that you believe in James. And so am I.”
“I can’t tell the detective for sure that James and Niall didn’t come to fisticuffs. But I’ll make sure and tell him that none of us witnessed it.”
Siobhán nodded. “What time did you go home?” She hoped it didn’t come out like an accusation.
“It was about half one. I know because Bridie nearly took me head off.” Siobhán laughed. “Ask Macdara to have a look at the CCTVs if he hasn’t already. They’ll show me leaving about half one.”
“Séamus. I hope you don’t think—”
Séamus held up his hand. “It’s alright, petal. I know about the list. I heard we’re all on it.”
Oh, God. Everybody knew. She wasn’t being slick at all. Would she get the truth out of anyone now? “Ciarán made up that silly list. I just wanted to keep him busy during all this. The thought of losing James is unbearable. I hope folks in town don’t think we’re horrible people!”
“Ah, no, petal. Everyone is on edge. I’ll even help ye ask around. It’s alibis you’re after, is it?”
“I guess it’s a good place to start. John Butler was in Cork the night of the murder, so he’s off the list.”
“I knew there was a list.” Séamus winked.
Siobhán laughed. “Ciarán’s list,” she repeated. “For distraction, like.”
“I still think the ticket is with the CCTVs. Maybe they’ll help find the real killer.”
There aren’t any cameras on the road behind our bistro. And Mike Granger said the lads he saw were wearing caps. She doubted the cameras would help all that much, but she kept that to herself. He was only trying to help.
“Do you need assistance getting a solicitor?” Séamus asked.
“Maybe. But for now I also need the scooter.” Séamus raised his eyebrow. “I’m going to have a lot of people to go and see. Regarding James and all. Plus I’ll have to run errands for the bistro. We’re down a man, you know yourself.”
“Say no more, petal. I want you to have her. The pink one, is it?” Séamus turned to the set of keys hanging on the wall.
“Actually I think I’ll take a black one.” It would be much easier to blend in if she wasn’t flashing around on pink. And besides, pink was the color of the scissors that killed Niall. She hated pink now. Séamus removed the key, and Siobhán handed him a credit card. It was to be used for bistro emergencies only.
“What if you hold off on payment until James is back with ye?” Séamus suggested gently.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“You’re not letting me, I’m insisting.”
“No. I want to pay.”
“You don’t have to. You might need it for a good solicitor.”
“Please. You know what my da would say. The O’Sullivans pay their way.”
“Alright, petal.” Séamus took the credit card. “But if you ever need anything . . .”
“Come to the bistro tomorrow for breakfast. Bring Bridie.” Maybe Siobhán could get her alone and ask her a few more questions.
“We will be there with bells on.” Séamus swiped her card through the reader on the counter. Something must have flashed across the tiny screen, for when Séamus looked up at her, she saw pity in his eyes. “My machine isn’t working today.” He handed her back the card, then handed her the key to the scooter.
“But . . .”
“But nothing.”
“The card was declined, wasn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t use it again, pet. It’s asking me to cut it up.” Great. Another death by scissors. God, she was awful. Séamus took her hand and placed the key in them. “This isn’t charity. You’ll pay me as soon as you’re back on your feet.”
“I c
an’t. It’s too dear.”
“Siobhán O’Sullivan, you know your Celtic myths.”
“So?”
“What did the druids believe was the most sacred of virtues?”
“Embracing the goddess of nature?”
“The other one.”
She knew where he was going. “Hospitality,” she said reluctantly.
“Hospitality!” he said. “So would ye, please? Allow me to be hospitable?” Technically, he was being generous, not hospitable, but Siobhán wasn’t going to insult him by pointing this out. Seamus placed his hand over his heart. “You’d be doing my eternal soul a great favor.”
“You’ve done so much for us already,” she said.
“That’s the way your Mam and Da would have wanted it.”
Siobhán nodded as the tears formed, afraid that if she spoke she’d tell him again that she couldn’t take it, and she had to. She needed the scooter. She couldn’t go borrowing Courtney’s car anymore, especially since she’d almost run over John Butler with it.
“I know exactly what’s wrong with ye,” Séamus said snapping his fingers.
“What?” Siobhán had been staring into space. Oh, Lord. Did he know she saw Bridie in here with Niall that morning? She should have told him. She could still tell him. Right. Man loans you a scooter, and you tell him you think his wife might have been fooling around with a murder victim? Get ahold of yourself, Siobhán.
Séamus gestured to the key in her hand. “You don’t have any idea how to ride her, do ye?”
Siobhán looked at the key. For a second she’d forgotten all about the scooter. Imagine that! “Is it that obvious?” she said.
Séamus grinned and pulled a helmet from under the counter. He must have seen the look of dread on her face. “The helmet comes with yer purchase.”
“Liar,” Siobhán said.
He winked at her. “Why don’t we take her to the field out back. Give her a go?”
Siobhán did her best to put all thoughts of murder out of her mind for now so she could concentrate on riding the scooter. It took a few tries to keep from tilting over, but after some encouragement and instruction from Séamus, Siobhán started to get the hang of it. She was horrified to realize that, for a second there, zooming up and down his field, she was actually having fun.
“Don’t take her over fields if you can help it,” Séamus warned. “Too many holes in the ground. If you catch one just right, you could flip right over. I wouldn’t take those fields even in me motorcycle. And remember. Any vehicle can be dangerous. Especially in the rain. Mind yerself.” A worried look came over his face as if he thought she would act the fool and get herself killed.
Siobhán smiled. She’d seen that very look of worry on her own da’s face many a time. “I will indeed.”
He gestured to the shed behind the shop. “I’ve got a motorcycle in me shed if you ever want to upgrade. She’s twice as fast.” He treated her to another wink.
“I think I’ll stick with this wee scooter.”
“You’re all set then. See you for breakfast.” Siobhán was almost out the door when she remembered. She turned. Séamus was heading down the hall out to the back. She followed. He must have sensed her for suddenly he whirled around.
Siobhán gave a yelp of fright, even though she was the one who had startled him.
“You alright, pet?” he asked, hand to his heart.
“So sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Did you forget something?”
“Yes. Macdara wanted me to ask if you’d be willing to change the locks at the bistro.”
Séamus dropped his hand, and a look of relief washed over his face. “I will indeed,” he said. “What if I get to it after we have that breakfast?”
“The meals are on me,” Siobhán said. “Or no deal.”
Séamus winked. “If you sneak up on me like that again, I’m afraid it’s going to be me last meal,” he said with another pat to his heart.
Siobhán took it slow driving home, feeling the impact of every jostle of the wheels on the road. Despite a couple of bumps, she rather enjoyed the wind in her face. It was a gray day, but at least it wasn’t lashing rain. She wondered what her friends and neighbors would say when they saw her on the scooter. They wouldn’t know it was on loan, and Séamus certainly wouldn’t tell them. Siobhán didn’t know what was worse, being a borrower or being thought of as being wasteful at a time like this. Oh, they would talk, she could hear them now.
Buying a scooter when her brother’s been hauled off to jail. Some cheek!
A scooter, when they’re so dear, like. I heard she hasn’t even paid the rent this month.
Buying a scooter so she can snoop into our lives. They have a list, did ye know dat? And we’re all on it! Every one of us suspected of murder. And her brother the one in jail, like.
Siobhán tried to cut out the thoughts. She didn’t realize where she was headed until she found herself coming up along on the cemetery. It had been too long since she’d paid a visit. She parked the scooter under a birch tree, entered the small cemetery, and headed for the back row, where her parents lay. She should have brought her whittling knife and some wood. She’d been wanting to make her mother a bluebird. Next time. She didn’t even have flowers. They would understand.
She knelt on the soft grass beside the headstones, clasped her hands in prayer, and in a voice no louder than a whisper, she told them what was happening to them and to James. And then she promised them, swore on her life, that she would fix it. She would find the real killer, and she would fix it.
Chapter 24
The following day, once again it seemed as if all of Kilbane was in the bistro, their plates filled to the brim. Now that the initial shock had worn off, appetites had ignited. Comfort was sought, especially here, in the place where it all began. Sweets, and potatoes, and shepherd’s pie, and oxtail stew, and bacon and cabbage, and her brown bread, of course, and cuploads of Barry’s tea—it all helped ease the stress just a wee bit. Fear had a way of burning up calories; so did lookin’ over yer shoulder every few steps to make sure a fella wasn’t following you with a pair of hot-pink scissors.
Every table was taken, except for the one where Niall was found. It was still filled with prayer cards, candles, and photos. Whatever grudges folks had had against him in life were cast aside in death. In supporting Niall’s memory, they were taking a stand against a killer. Bustling from table to table, ferrying comfort, for a second Siobhán almost felt back to normal. She even made herself a cappuccino.
She was carrying a tray filled with dirty plates back to the kitchen when someone plowed into her. She dropped the tray, and it smashed to the ground with a clatter. She yelped, and several other tense patrons let out little cries of their own.
Siobhán looked at the person who had caused the collision and found herself staring up at the Yank, who was, hands down, the best-looking man she had ever seen. Absolutely gorgeous. At least six foot two, with black hair, and although she wasn’t a fan of romance novels, her mam had been, and there was no other way to describe them, and she felt ashamed for even having the clichéd thought, but what other words were there for it? He had right smoldering green eyes, like.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, bending down to pick up the plates. Chris Gorden, that was his name. What a nice accent. Not obnoxious at all.
“No bother, I’ll get it,” Siobhán said. He jerked back up, and she realized she’d sounded harsher than she intended.
“I’m always running into you,” he said. “Literally.”
“Eoin,” she yelled toward the kitchen. “Ciarán.”
“I’m on it,” Eoin said, coming out of the kitchen doors, followed by Ciarán with a broom and dustpan.
“Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself,” Siobhán said, gesturing to the broken plate. One death in here was more than enough.
“Again. So sorry.” He smiled. Gawd, what straight white teeth Yanks usually had, like little
white picket fences. His were no exception. And there was that dimple again too.
“Not a bother,” Siobhán said, friendlier this time. She wanted to smile, but she could feel someone’s eyes on her. She looked up to find Macdara watching them from his table a few feet away. His eyes may not have been smoldering in the romance sort of way, but he was looking at them as if he would have set Chris Gorden on fire if given the chance. Would you look at that. Macdara Flannery was fierce jealous.
The American stuck out his hand. “I’m Chris.”
Siobhán wiped her hand on her apron and shook. “Siobhán O’Sullivan.”
“I know,” he said with an even bigger smile. “How’s the running going?”
He was the first person who had asked her about it seriously. No jokes, titters, incredulity, eye rolls, or the slightest hint of sarcasm. She liked that even better than his perfect teeth. “Slowly but surely. Do you run every morning?”
“I’ll tell you the truth.” He stepped forward and lowered his voice so that he was almost whispering in her ear. It felt a little dangerous, having someone so good-looking so close. “I’m around the priory a lot. It’s amazing. Beautiful.” His eyes sought hers, then his gaze dropped to her lips. Siobhán felt heat rise to her cheeks even though she’d done nothing wrong.
She laughed nervously and took a step back. Macdara was still glaring in their direction. Chris was still talking. Some investigator she was; she’d totally lost track of what he was saying. Rule number one: do not start fantasizing about the suspects.
“To be among such rich history. To stand in a place where there are gravestones that say, ‘Here lies a knight.’ I mean I guess you’re used to that here. But for me? It’s magical enough being in a place where there’s no McDonald’s. But to have that beautiful abbey in your backyard? I can’t stay away from it.”
Murder in an Irish Village Page 18