Either way, she had to stop Alison Tierney from selling the bistro. And Alison had made it clear that unless James was out in thirty days, their lease would default and she would be free to sell it. James would never forgive himself if he thought his arrest made them lose the bistro. He might never recover from it. Siobhán had to find the killer. She had to get them out of this living nightmare.
Siobhán opened the door to the museum, hoping Bridie was still in. The door squeaked, and the smell of days gone by came back to life. She wished she had more time to go through the place; she never got tired of the old photographs of people gathered in the town square, stretches of land where houses and shops now stood, stories of the soldiers who fought and died. But memory lane would have to wait for another day.
Bridie wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Siobhán glanced at the ladder. It was still pulled down. She strained to listen but didn’t hear a peep from above. Had Bridie left? The door was supposed to be locked after anyone left, but it wasn’t unusual for one to forget.
“Bridie?” Siobhán called out. “It’s Siobhán. Are you up there?” Upstairs, she heard the sound of something being dragged. She froze. It was followed by footsteps, and then there was a loud crash, followed by a woman’s cry. Siobhán ran to the bottom of the ladder.
“Hello?” she yelled up. “Are ye alright?” There was no answer. Why wouldn’t she answer? Why hadn’t she just gone home?
Siobhán took a deep breath and stepped onto the first rung of the ladder. Just then she looked up to see a large box hovering above the opening, directly above her head. Before she could react, the box came hurtling straight at her and slammed into her temple before crashing to the floor and scattering heavy tomes every which way.
Siobhán cried out as pain roared through her skull. She was still clinging onto the ladder when the first wave of dizziness hit her fast and hard. She swayed and fell to the floor. Was it Bridie up there? Had she done that on purpose?
Siobhán lifted her head, and through the little window she could see her scooter. Behind her the ladder creaked. Whoever had dumped the box of books on her head was on his or her way down. If it was the killer, Siobhán was never going to make it to the door in time.
But that wasn’t going to stop her from trying. As pain thudded through her head and the world around her turned slightly fuzzy, Siobhán began to slither along the floor to the exit.
Chapter 27
“Stay there,” a female voice bellowed out. Siobhán froze mid-slither. “Oh my God.”
It was Bridie. Siobhán recognized her voice, but her head hurt too much to turn it around.
“Did I do that?” Bridie appeared in front of her, alarm planted on her face.
“A box of concrete slammed into me head.”
“Oh my God, oh my God.” Bridie wrung her hands. “I had no idea you were there.”
“I yelled.”
“I didn’t hear you.” Bridie knelt down. Her hair was falling out of her pink sparkly headscarf and the top several buttons of her blouse were buttoned wrong. “Let me see.” Bridie gingerly removed Siobhán’s hand from her temple. “You have a goose egg, alright,” she said. “You need ice.”
“What were you doing up there?” Siobhán asked as Bridie helped her into a sitting position.
“I wanted to go through those books, but they were too heavy to carry down.” A crash came from upstairs, then footsteps.
Siobhán cried out. “Is there someone else up there?” She took in Bridie’s disheveled state again, the buttons on her blouse all awry.
Bridie glanced at her top, and for a second she looked stricken. Then she started to laugh. “Please, don’t be telling stories. You’ll know yourself when you’re married. You have to find ways to keep it exciting. And no one ever comes into this place anymore. I thought, of course, that we’d have a few minutes to ourselves.”
“You’re saying it’s Séamus up there. Right?”
“Course it is.” Bridie’s eyes narrowed. “Who else would it be?”
Siobhán ignored the question. “Why isn’t he coming down?”
“He’d be redder than me right now if he had to face ye.”
“But you said you didn’t know I was here.”
“I’m sure he knows now; we haven’t exactly kept our voices down.” Bridie offered Siobhán her hand and helped lift her up. “There’s no ice here. Do you want me to drive you home?”
Siobhán glanced at the ladder, then at the books splayed on the floor. They were thick volumes. That box could have killed her. Who was really up there with Bridie? Seeing as how it almost cost her her life, she deserved to know. “May I have a word with Séamus? Seeing as he’s already here?”
Bridie turned red and shook her head. “I told ye. He’d be too embarrassed.”
“Séamus,” Siobhán called out as loud as she could.
Bridie stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “What are ye doing?”
“No more games,” Siobhán said. “Who is up there?” Siobhán took a step toward the ladder, but Bridie cut her off.
“I told ye. Me husband.”
“Séamus,” Siobhán called out again.
“What in the world is wrong with ye?” Bridie said, hands on hips.
“Everything is wrong with me. My parents are dead. My brother is accused of murder. And that handsome Yank is in cahoots with Alison Tierney to buy my bistro!”
“What?”
“I just heard them talking about it. I already knew she was up to something. She told me that technically James has abandoned the property and soon the lease will be null and void. Now I know why she’s so eager to shove us out.”
Bridie looked truly distraught. “She can’t do that. We won’t let her.”
“You should have seen the look on her face when she came into the bistro and saw folks were still coming. She thought Niall’s murder would scare them off for good.”
Bridie gasped.
“What?” Siobhán asked.
“You don’t think she killed Niall, do you?”
“To put me out of business?”
“She’s been after that property ever since her da passed.”
“I know. And I don’t like her. But murder is a stretch, don’t you think?”
“Money is always a motive for murder,” Bridie said.
So is love, and betrayal, Siobhán thought. For all I know, it isn’t even Séamus up there. Maybe Niall found out you were having an affair and was blackmailing you. “Séamus?” Siobhán called out. She stepped closer to the stairs and called again.
“What are you doing?” Bridie said.
“I have to know it’s really him up there.”
“Excuse me?”
“When I came into the cycle shop that day—you looked like I’d just caught you at something. Like you were up to no good.”
“I told you. Niall was helping me buy a gear for Séamus’s racing bike.”
“His birthday is in December.”
“What are ye driving at?”
“Who buys birthday presents six months ahead of time?”
“Just what are you accusing me of? Murder?”
“I’m just trying to make the pieces fit.”
A second later came the clomping of boots, and Séamus popped into view. He was red in the face alright, but he was also sporting his usual grin. Bridie folded her arms across her chest and glared at Siobhán.
“Looks like the two of you are going to be chin-wagging for hours,” Séamus said. “And I’ve got to get back to the shop.” He winked at Siobhán, then came down and kissed Bridie on the cheek.
“How’s the scooter working out?” Séamus asked.
“It’s grand,” Siobhán said.
“Good on ye.” He kissed Bridie again, and was out the door.
The minute it shut, Bridie grabbed Siobhán’s hand and began to pull her toward one of the cupboard doors. Was she going to shove her in there?
“I have to get home,
” Siobhán said. “They need me at the bistro.”
“This will only take a few minutes.”
Bridie unlocked the door and swung it open. Siobhán stepped back. She’d grab an old fork to defend herself if she had to. There was a tray of them on the next shelf over. Imagine, historic flatware.
Bridie stepped back. “Have a look,” she said.
Siobhán stepped forward and looked into the cupboard. The shelves were crammed with boxes of all sorts and sizes. Some of them were wrapped. It was like a miniature gift shop. Siobhán spied another black and silver scarf. So much for it being one of a kind, she thought. Courtney had literally pulled the scarf right over her eyes.
Bridie snatched a package off the shelf and tossed it to Siobhán. She caught it. The return address was from a cycle shop in Dublin. “It’s the gear. Open it if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” Siobhán said, tossing it back to Bridie.
“I always buy me presents in advance,” Bridie said. “I like knowing they’re here, ready to surprise someone.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“Did you really think me capable of murder?” Bridie asked. She tossed her head of curly hair and for a second looked flattered.
“I thought Niall might have been extorting you,” Siobhán said. “Like he was me.”
“What are you on about?”
“I’d rather not say. It was all a big lie anyway.”
“Séamus and I have been there for you. You’re like family to us. I can’t believe you would think that of me. Come to think—why would you bring your young ones to me if you thought I was the killer?”
Bridie had her there. Siobhán hated that she’d just hurt Bridie. “I didn’t think you were a killer. I just thought maybe you were holding back a piece of the puzzle.”
“How so?”
“It was just the look on your face when I walked in on you and Niall. You looked as if you wanted to crawl under the floorboards.”
“I was nervous Séamus was going to walk in and ruin the surprise.” Bridie put the package back on the shelf. “They let me have this cupboard. Otherwise Séamus would find everything.”
“Those are all gifts?”
“Nah. Some are items to sell in the shop. Courtney likes to hold some back. Make them seem like one of a kind.”
“I know she does,” Siobhán said. She suddenly remembered the new glass jar in the garden. “Does Courtney carry mason jars at her shop?”
“You’d have better luck at the hardware store,” Bridie said.
“But did she have any? And did anyone buy one lately? Or maybe one has gone missing?”
Bridie shook her head. “Not that I’m aware. Why?”
“One of ours broke,” Siobhán said.
“The one in the garden?”
“That’s the one,” Siobhán said. She knew it. Everyone who was ever out there with Mam knew about their secret hiding place.
“I miss yer ma,” Bridie said. “I used to love our chats in your back garden. The kids would be running around, getting into things, she’d be kneeling on the ground, planting away, still able to carry on a conversation.” Tears came into Bridie’s eyes. She took a step toward Siobhán. “I didn’t kill Niall. You have to believe me.”
“I believe you.” Siobhán wasn’t sure if she did or not, but Bridie was so intense it seemed like the right thing to say. “You mentioned we weren’t the only reason Séamus quit competitive racing. What was the other?”
Bridie looked around the shop as if checking to see if any of the pictures on the walls were listening. “I was the other reason. I read that his racing shorts, not to mention sitting on the seat of a bicycle like that day in and day out for so many hours a day, could reduce the numbers of his little swimmers. I thought maybe that was the reason I haven’t been able to conceive. There. That’s my secret. Are you happy now?”
“I’m so sorry,” Siobhán said. “You would make the best mother.”
“Aside from being a killer and all?” Bridie smiled.
“Yes,” Siobhán said. “Aside from that.” Might as well joke about it, although Bridie was still hurt. Hopefully she’d eventually forgive her. “I’d better get me legs under me,” Siobhán headed for the door.
“I wasn’t even home,” Bridie called after her. Siobhán stopped.
This was news. Didn’t Séamus say she gave out to him for coming home at half one? Was Bridie about to lie to her? Again? “Where were you?”
“I spent the night in Charlesville. It was my sister’s anniversary. I was minding my niece and nephew. Ring her and ask her if you’d like. She’ll tell ye I was there. And Séamus was with Declan all night so that’s our alibis sorted.”
Except Séamus had already given Bridie an alibi. One she was now contradicting. It was no use calling the sister; of course she would lie for Bridie. Siobhán was right back where she started from. Gawd, this was a thankless job. Should she confront Bridie with her lie? No. They had somewhat patched things up. Confronting her without any additional proof would just get her riled up again and defensive. Besides, Bridie would probably just come up with another lie. Siobhán would do a bit more digging first, let Bridie think she trusted her again.
“I’d best get me legs under me,” Siobhán said again. Bridie followed her to the door, then put her arm on Siobhán’s before she left.
“We won’t let Alison Tierney take the bistro from you. Unless . . .”
“Unless?” Bridie’s fingertips were ice cold on Siobhán’s arm. She had an urge to shake her off, but she’d offended her enough in one day.
“Unless you don’t want to carry it on?”
“How could you ask me such a thing?”
“Please don’t take offense. I’m only thinking of you. It would be natural if you still wanted to go to Dublin. Start your life.”
“I wouldn’t leave my brothers and sisters.”
“Of course not. But they could go with you.”
“Alison said the same thing.”
“Did she now?”
“But all she wants is the money. I bet the Yank is willing to pay a fortune.”
“I’ll ask Courtney,” Bridie said. “I’m sure she knows more than either of us.”
“Thank you.” Normally Bridie would have hugged Siobhán, but this time she kept her distance and simply nodded. Oh, Jaysus. It was beginning to look like accusing folks of murder might have made Siobhán a good sleuth, but it also made her a terrible, terrible friend. And Siobhán knew more than anyone that there had been many, many times in her life when she couldn’t have survived without a friend. She had a sudden ache for Maria and Aisling. Hadn’t they heard about the murder by now? Why hadn’t they called? Because they were in Dublin, and their lives were going on without her. Siobhán would have to try and give them a call—remind her best friends that she was still alive.
Chapter 28
“Mary Murphy is having a wake?” Siobhán asked Macdara for the third time. “Like from days gone by?” The traditional Irish wake, in which the body was laid out in the home and people celebrated the life of the deceased, was a thing of the past for most of modern Ireland. Instead the funeral Mass and burial were the norm. Her parents had spoken of the Irish wakes of old, and her da especially always had entertaining stories to tell.
She’d always secretly wanted to experience an Irish wake, but when it came to Niall and the way he passed, she thought it was terribly morbid. Then again, maybe the killer would show up at the wake. For Siobhán, it would be a perfect excuse to see all the potential suspects in one place.
“She waited so long to get the body back I think she just wants to have him close for a while,” Macdara said, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his hair. He looked tired, and she had an urge to sit him down and give him a proper cuddle. But, of course, that was just as inappropriate as Mary Murphy holding a wake for Niall.
“I have a feeling she’s using the funds you raised to host it,
” Macdara said. “She’s even hired Pio’s band to play.” It was ironic, alright. Niall Murphy put down every bit of music that wasn’t screcching. She remembered him once listening to Pio play the spoons. The bollix! Pure shite. Niall went on for another ten minutes, colorfully advising exactly what Pio should do with those spoons. He’d never know that Pio would have the last laugh.
“Ah, sure lookit,” Siobhán said, “I don’t mind how she spends the money. It’s John Butler you should be worried about.”
Macdara raised his eyebrow. “I thought he had an alibi.”
Siobhán bit a smile back. If she didn’t know better, it sounded like Macdara was actually starting to listen to her. “He was very insistent that all the monies go directly to him. He doesn’t trust Mary Murphy to pay for the services.”
“We’ll let them sort that out for themselves,” Macdara said.
“This is going to be the strangest wake anyone has ever been to.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“What?”
Macdara shook his head. “You have that look in yer eye.” “What look?”
“The look that says you’re thinking Niall’s wake is the perfect place to continuing your snooping.”
“I was thinking no such t’ing.”
“I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”
“I look forward to it.” They locked eyes. A zap of fondness seized Siobhán as they openly regarded one another. Macdara broke off the connection, and without another word he was out the door.
A few nights later, most of the folks of Kilbane were inside Mary Murphy’s farmhouse, with Niall laid out in his bed, once again in a suit. Only this one was darker and looked like a thing of the past. Siobhán wondered if it had been his father’s. Candles flickered in the bedroom, and Siobhán couldn’t help but stare at the crucifix laid across Niall’s chest and the rosary beads clutched in his hand. So pale, so cold. So temporary.
In the old tradition, the bed sheets were pulled out and hung to the ground. She avoided looking at his chest, for every time she thought of it, she saw that flash of hot-pink protruding from his heart. Heartbreak. The method of killing feels like heartbreak.
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