Murder in an Irish Village

by Carlene O'Connor

  Now was not the time. Siobhán crossed herself, knelt, and said her prayers. She was about to leave when she heard several footsteps approaching, and angry voices. Whoever was coming in, they were arguing. They would clam up the minute they spotted Siobhán. She squatted down and slid underneath the bed, directly under Niall’s reposed body.

  She could barely fit, and to make matters worse the confining space was filled with dusty old magazines. Siobhán was definitely going to sneeze if she stayed under there for long.

  “You. Of all people to lie to the guards,” the male voice said. “Not to mention the rest of us.”

  Siobhán realized with a hitch in her heart that the voice belonged to Eoin.

  “I told James. He begged me not to tell.”

  And the second voice belonged to Ann. Siobhán crawled out from under the bed. “Begged you not to tell what, like?” she demanded, as she got to her feet and began brushing dust from her black dress. Ann screamed. So did Eoin.

  “Shhh,” Siobhán said. “It’s just me.” Ann kept screaming. Siobhán clapped her hand over her sister’s mouth. Ann jerked out of Siobhán’s grasp, throwing her off balance. She stumbled back and bumped into one of the bedside tables.

  “Watch out,” Eoin yelled. Siobhán whirled around just as the candle on the table toppled over.

  Siobhán lunged for the candle, but it was too late; a little flame was already licking at a lace doily as smoke and the smell of burning fabric rose into the air. Eoin leapt forward, and before anyone could tell him not to, he was grabbing at the bed sheet, pulling on it, as if he was going to use it to douse the flames. Niall’s body slid stiffly to the left as Eoin tugged on the sheet.

  “Stop that,” Siobhán said to Eoin. “Find water,” she shouted to Ann.

  “What in heaven’s name is this?” Father Kearney stood in the doorway, a bible clutched to his chest. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” he said as he stared at flames. His eyes then slid to Niall’s body lying sideways on his deathbed.

  “Oh Jaysus, what are ye doing to my boy, my precious boy?” Mary Murphy pushed her way into the room, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

  “Water,” Ann shouted running into the room and knocking into Mary Murphy. Whiskey sloshed on the floor, and Ann yelped.

  “Something burned me,” Ann said.

  “Her cigarette,” Siobhán said. “Hurry, douse the flames.”

  Ann reached for Mary Murphy’s whiskey.

  “Not alcohol,” Siobhán yelled. “The pitcher of water on the dresser!”

  Ann grabbed it and poured it over the dancing flames. There was a hiss, and then the fire was out. Water dripped down the side of the table and onto the floor. In the other room, the band struck up and began belting out a rousing rendition of “The Irish Rover.” Eoin, who had a beautiful voice, but only used it to calm himself down when he was nervous, began to sing along.

  On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six

  We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork . . .

  “My poor boy, my boy, my wonderful boy,” Mary Murphy cried. Siobhán glanced over at Niall. What was she on about? Sure, he was in a new position, but otherwise he wasn’t the least bit disturbed by the commotion.

  “I’m sorry,” Siobhán said. “We were saying a prayer, and I backed into the table.” She stared into Mary Murphy’s eyes without blinking. She had just lied in front of Niall, his poor mother, and Father Kearney. She was going to have to go to confession.

  “It’s bad enough you couldn’t even bother cleaning yourself up to pay your respects,” Mary said, eyeing the streaks of dust on her dress. “But you almost set him aflame. If he had wanted to be cremated, I would have done it myself.”

  Siobhán gasped at the comment, but as Mary Murphy drew closer, the smell of whiskey reminded her of the state of mind Niall’s mam was in.

  Ann started to pray out loud as Eoin and Father Kearney straightened Niall’s body. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not haunt.”

  “What?” Siobhán interrupted. Did she just say haunt?

  “He leadeth me to greener pastors—”

  “For feck’s sake, Ann, has it been that long since we’ve gone to Mass?”

  Father Kearney cleared his throat. “The 23rd Psalm isn’t part of the Roman Catholic Mass,” he said, sounding quite affronted.

  Siobhán cocked her head. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Father Kearney said.

  “It has been awhile so,” Siobhán said. “Thanks for clearing that up, Father.” Father Kearney nodded, then frowned.

  Eoin’s voice intruded into the room.: “She’d got several blasts, she’d twenty-seven masts, and we called her the Irish Rover.”

  “I still don’t get what I said wrong,” Ann said.

  Siobhán turned to Ann. “It’s want, and pastures. Not haunt and pastors.”

  “Are ye sure?” Ann turned to Father Kearney, who simply stared.

  “We know it’s not part of Mass, Father, but surely you can help us out,” Siobhán urged.

  “It’s want, and pastures,” Father Kearney said reluctantly.

  “That’s odd,” Ann said.

  “Greener pastors?” Siobhán said. “What in the world would that mean?”

  “I thought it meant one that was more pure. Fresh, like.”

  “I have been a terrible guardian,” Siobhán said.

  Father Kearney put his hand on Siobhán’s back, and then Ann’s. “Perhaps we should give Mary Murphy a bit of peace?”

  “Of course.”

  Just as Father Kearney began to herd the O’Sullivans toward the door, Mary Murphy threw herself on the bed next to Niall, sobbing. “I thought wakes were supposed to be happy, like,” Eoin whispered.

  “Shh,” Siobhán said. Just as they’d almost reached the exit, Ciarán bounded up. Siobhán could tell by the looks of him that he’d been stuffing himself with sweets.

  “What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake?” he said, upbeat.

  “Not now,” Siobhán said.

  “One less drunk,” Ciarán exclaimed. Mary Murphy wailed louder. Father Kearney pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I don’t get it,” Ann said.

  “I’m sorry, Father Kearney,” Siobhán said. “Please forgive us.”

  “Amen,” Ann said. Siobhán felt so traumatized that for a moment she forgot all about Ann and Eoin’s exchange. What secret was Ann keeping? It was even more infuriating that James knew something he hadn’t told her. It was hard enough figuring out this murder without her own kin turning against her. Didn’t they know she was doing this all for them?

  The second they were home, Siobhán was going to have to get to the bottom of it. Just as they entered the sitting room and Siobhán was considering having a gawk at the food table, someone touched her arm. She turned to find Chris Gorden standing in front of her. He looked so handsome in his suit that for a second Siobhán forgot she was standing in front of the man who might put them out of business.

  “I was hoping I would see you here,” he said.

  “I won’t be staying long,” Siobhán said. “I have a bistro to run.”

  “I’m sure you could close for a day,” Chris said.

  “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” Chris tilted his gorgeous face like a curious dog.

  “I don’t care who you are, or what you’re doing here. But if you think you’re going to buy that property out from under us, you’ve got another think coming.” She started to walk away. Darn him. She really wanted to try Courtney’s soda bread. Chris grabbed her arm. Siobhán yanked free and glared at him.

  He held his hands up and backed away as if he was slightly afraid of her. “I was told you wanted to sell the bistro.”

  “You were lied to. It’s our home. It’s our family business. Everyone knows that.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “That’s because you don’t belong.�
�

  “I’d like to.”

  “Then stop making deals with Alison Tierney. She’s been out to get our property ever since her father died.”

  “I didn’t know anything about this.” He looked around. “Again. She said you wanted to sell. That you’d be off to Trinity College in the fall.”

  “That was the plan before my parents were killed in a car accident and I was left to take care of my siblings and the bistro. If I left now they’d be orphans. Alison knew my plans had changed.”

  “Oh my God. I am so sorry.”

  “I don’t want your pity. I’m just telling you like it is. That bistro is the only thing keeping me and my siblings fed, and housed, and clothed.”

  “Alison must have misunderstood.”

  “Guess again. I told ye she’s been trying to kick us out ever since her father passed away. He had a generous lease agreement with my father. Because, believe it or not, folks around here used to look after each other.”

  “I believe it. I’ll back out of the sale.”

  Siobhán put her hands on her hips. “The town loves Naomi’s. Whatever you put there would fail. Nobody would support you doing a thing like that to us.”

  “Did you just miss the part where I said I’ll back out of the sale?”

  “Just like that?”

  “Of course. Alison assured me you wanted to sell.”

  “We don’t.”

  “Which is why I’m going to back out of the sale.”

  “I see.”

  “You still look rather pissed.”

  “Are you really into Celtic myths?”

  “Okay, non sequitur, I can deal. I take it you’ve been asking around about me?” His grin turned wolfish.

  “I’ve been asking around about everybody,” Siobhán said.

  “So I’ve heard. Am I on your list? I have to be, right? As an outsider?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He was actually at the very top of the list, and not by name; he was listed as: The Yank.

  “Why don’t you go on a date with me, and I’ll tell you everything there is to know about me.”

  Siobhán’s heart tap-danced even though she was shaking her head no. Why was her heart doing that? Was it beating this fast because she liked the Yank or because she was terrified that Macdara would find out and think she liked the Yank? “This isn’t a good time.”

  “I heard. I’m sorry.” He moved in closer and bent down so that he could whisper in her ear. It made her shiver. She prayed Macdara wasn’t here and watching. She hadn’t seen him, but the house was packed, and he could be anywhere. “I saw your brother that night. He wasn’t in any shape to murder anyone.”

  “I know,” Siobhán said. She took a few steps back. “But knowing it and proving it are two very different things.”

  “If anyone can prove it, I bet you can,” Chris said.

  “You don’t even know me,” Siobhán said.

  “I know enough,” Chris said.

  The Yank smiled, and Siobhán grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the table along with a glass. She was most generous with the pour. Chris watched her with an amused expression on his gorgeous face. She threw back the whiskey and glared at him. “What?”

  “May I be blunt?”

  “You’re American, aren’t you?”

  “You are the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “Oh.” An embarrassed warmth spread through Siobhán, and she couldn’t think of an appropriate response. She poured herself another glass of whiskey instead. Chris raised his eyebrow. Siobhán held up the bottle. “Do you want one?”

  “With you? Absolutely.” He found a glass, and Siobhán poured. They clinked glasses.

  “Sláinte,” Siobhán said.

  “May he rest in peace,” Chris said.

  “Right,” Siobhán said. She avoided his gaze. He shouldn’t be hitting on her like this at a wake, and she shouldn’t be enjoying it so much. “Alison Tierney is going to go absolutely mental.”

  “I’ll tell her I’m looking for something less centrally located,” Chris said. With his perfect teeth shining at her, and his dimple so close up, it was hard to tell whether or not he was messing with her.

  Chapter 29

  Siobhán had completely wasted the opportunities at the wake. She didn’t learn a thing apart from the fact that her own siblings were hindering her investigation, she was slightly drunk because she drank two whiskeys but didn’t have a bite to eat, she hadn’t joined in on a single tune, she’d almost set fire to the deceased, and she’d flirted shamelessly with a Yank.

  As the O’Sullivans trudged home, she brooded on her bad luck. “All of our suspects were there, and I didn’t learn a single thing.”

  “What’s to learn?” Gráinne said. “Everyone was drinking and singing.”

  “And telling jokes,” Ciarán said. “There once was a man from—”

  “Enough,” Siobhán said. Ciarán shook his head but clammed up.

  “I felt bad for Mary Murphy,” Ann said. “I don’t think I’ve cried as much in me life as she did today.”

  “Especially after you knocked over the candle,” Eoin said to Siobhán.

  “It wouldn’t have happened if the two of ye weren’t whispering secrets,” Siobhán said. Ann’s eyes went wide.

  “What secrets?” Ciarán said.

  “Yea. What secrets?” Gráinne said, squinting so hard her eyes were like two black slits.

  “We’ll talk privately when we get home,” Siobhán said.

  “All of us?” Ciarán said.

  “No,” Siobhán said. “Miss Ann and I.”

  Ciarán’s hand grasped Siobhán’s. It was slightly slimy. She didn’t want to know. He started to swing it. “Can I get a puppy?”

  “Maybe,” Siobhán said.

  Ciarán stopped. “Really?”

  “Might deter intruders if we had a watch dog,” Siobhán said.

  “Deadly,” Ciarán said.

  “I’d rather have a cat,” Ann said.

  “There’s no such thing as a watch cat,” Ciarán said. He looked at Siobhán. “Right?”

  Siobhán didn’t answer, and soon they fell into a rhythm as they headed downhill toward home and a light rain began to fall. Siobhán found herself oddly soothed by the collective sound of their shoes on the pavement—shorter clips from Gráinne who was trying to walk in heels, the shuffle of Eoin’s loafers, and the occasional squeak of Ciarán’s runners.

  Once inside the bistro, Siobhán made a fire, put the kettle on for tea, and turned to Ann.

  “I just want to go to bed,” Ann pleaded. “Can we speak later?”

  Siobhán shook her head. “Out with it.”

  “Promise you won’t be mad?” Ann asked.

  Siobhán sighed. She’d certainly heard this request before. “I promise,” she lied.

  “The text that Gráinne got that night. I peeked. It was from Niall.”

  Siobhán exhaled. Thank heavens it wasn’t anything new. “I already know,” she said. “Gráinne told me. This was how long before you heard the glass breaking?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes.” Tears filled Ann’s eyes. Siobhán pulled her in for a cuddle. She kissed the top of her head. “You’re not mad?” Ann asked, voice quivering.

  “I just want this to be over for all of us,” Siobhán said.

  “I thought people would get the wrong idea about Gráinne if they knew,” Ann said.

  Siobhán opened her mouth to half-scold and half-console Ann again when Ciarán cried out from the back room. She didn’t even know he was downstairs. Oh God, if there was another dead body in the bistro she was going to lose it. She pulled away from Ann and flew into the back dining room.

  “What’s wrong?” She rushed in to find Ciarán hovering over the table where Niall was found. It still was a makeshift shrine, filled with little trinkets. He was holding up a folded note. Individual letters had been cut out of a magazine and pasted crookedly onto the
page, like a ransom note from a movie.

  It made Siobhán’s spine tingle, but she was determined not to scare her siblings any more than necessary. She flashed back to the pile of magazines she’d spotted in Mary Murphy’s house. Had Mary written the note? Anyone in town could get hold of a magazine. Siobhán was reaching, as usual.

  Soon she heard feet pounding down the stairs, and a few minutes later the rest of her brood poured into the dining room. They stared at Siobhán. “He’s alright,” she assured them. “He found a note is all.”

  “You put me heart in crossways,” Gráinne said, stepping up and ruffling Ciarán’s hair.

  “I thought for sure there was another body,” Eoin said.

  “What does the note say?” Eoin asked.

  Siobhán took the note and read it out loud.

  Stay in the kitchen and out of everyone’s business

  The first is always the hardest

  Oh God, she should have read it silently first. Her siblings’ faces were stamped with fear. When would she ever learn?

  “What first? What’s the hardest?” Ciarán asked.

  “The first murder,” Eoin said. “He’s threatening to kill us.”

  “Me,” Siobhán said quickly. “He or she is threatening to kill me. And it’s nothing to worry about. Just a sick joke.”

  One by one the O’Sullivans grabbed for the note to have a look-see.

  “Now we’ve all got our paw prints on it,” Ciarán said.

  “Gawd, that’s true,” Siobhán said.

  “Should we call Macdara?” Gráinne asked.

  “Let’s wait,” Siobhán said. “I want to think on this.”

  If it was the killer who left this note, it meant she was on to something. Had the person who left this note attended the wake? Siobhán went to the back door. It was locked as it should be. The front door had been locked when they came in as well. Séamus had already seen to the locks, and this time there wasn’t a spare key in the garden. So how had they gotten in this time?

  “Could they be climbing up to the bedroom windows?” Eoin said. Siobhán glanced at Ciarán.

  “If you say ‘little pitchers’ I’m going to scream,” Ciarán said. “I’m not a baby, like.”