Top O' the Mournin'

by Maddy Hunter

  “You told Alice to bugger off?” I gasped at Ashley. “But she needed your help!”

  “Hel-looo? Golden Irish Vacations guests aren’t asked to fill out evaluation forms for the tour leader, so I can say anything I want.”

  “You’re a poor ambassador of Southern hospitality,” Tilly scolded.

  Ashley shrugged. “I’ll fill you in on a little secret. Southern hospitality? It’s all smoke and mirrors. Pure hog-wash. All right, ladies, I’m getting real tired of the small talk, so why don’t we save some time here and cut to the chase.” She played a little peekaboo with her gun, waving it at them with a theatrical flourish. Nana reacted by nearly choking on her breath. Tilly remained calm. Tilly had probably fended off hordes of flesh-eating cannibals in New Guinea, so this was no big deal.

  “I’m not sure I understand what this is all about,” Nana complained as Ashley herded them in my direction.

  “Meet the Ballybantry ghost,” I informed them.

  “You’re the ghost?” Nana exclaimed.

  “Ta-da!” chimed Ashley.

  “Is that gun loaded?” Tilly asked.

  “It’s loaded,” I warned. “So, please, do what she says.”

  “You’re the ghost,” Nana repeated. “Oh, my word. OH, MY WORD,” she cried when she saw Etienne. “What happened? He’s not dead, is he?”

  “The portrait fell on him. He’s not dead, but he’s bleeding badly.”

  “Did you call an ambulance?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “What’s that thing between his legs?”

  “It’s a cross between a G-string and a thong,” I explained.

  “It’s his penis,” said Tilly. “Although it’s more typical in our culture to refer to it by its various euphemisms. Dick. Prick. Peter. Pecker. Mickey. Roger.”

  “I didn’t know they could grow to that size,” Nana said in awe. “You suppose it’s real?”

  “Of course it’s real! Why does everyone think it’s not real?”

  “Have you looked?”

  “I don’t need to look!”

  Nana gave a little suck on her teeth. “I’d look.”

  Tap tap tap.

  “Kee-REIST!” screamed Ashley, glaring at the door.

  “What are we having in here? A freaking convention?”

  “That’ll be George,” said Nana. “He’ll be wantin’ to let us know when to expect the cab. He made the phone call for us. He’s such a gentleman.”

  Ashley jabbed her gun at the two empty chairs near me. “Sit,” she instructed Nana and Tilly. “And no funny stuff. Or else what happens, Emily?”

  “Swiss cheese,” I droned.

  Nana furrowed her brow at me. “I thought there was no such thing as Swiss cheese.”

  Ashley thumped to the door. Nana angled her head to observe Etienne from another perspective. “I don’t recollect your grampa’s bein’ that big. You s’pose your young man takes vitamins? Do you have any idea what kind?”

  “Well, if it isn’t George,” Ashley enthused. “Come on in. Join the crowd.”

  “I just wanted to give Marion a message,” he said as he crossed into the room. “The taxi will be here in—Is that a gun?”

  “Bingo.” She poked it in his face and motioned him toward us.

  He raised his hands in the air like a nabbed TV bad guy and marched in our direction. “Does this mean we won’t be needing the cab? I should probably call them back to cancel. I mean, that would be the polite thing to do. Holy cow!” he blurted when he saw Etienne. “What happened to him?”

  “Picture fell on his head,” said Nana.

  “No. I mean about his roger.”

  “IT’S REAL ALREADY!” I shrieked.

  George nodded matter-of-factly. “Looks like the trend to downsize is affecting more than just the Hershey bar these days.”

  We all stared at George with eyes as round as teacups. Nana’s mouth contorted into an O of surprise before sliding into a euphoric smile. She caught my eye. “You can forget about those vitamins, dear.”

  Ashley stood to the side of George, panning her gun from left to right at all of us. “Well, are we all here? Or are we expecting more guests?”

  “It would be nice if Jackie and Tom stopped by,” Nana suggested. “They’re a real interestin’ couple.”

  “The ambulance should be arriving shortly,” I reminded Ashley. “Are you planning to hold the paramedics at gun-point too?”

  “That pistol of hers only holds six bullets,” George observed.

  “And she’s spent one already,” I said. “So that leaves five. If you’re hoping to kill all of us, you better hope there’s only one paramedic, else you’re going to be a few bullets short.”

  From a great distance, we heard a faint whir of a far-off siren. I cocked my head, straining to hear, then smiled. “I’d guess that’s the ambulance now. Luck of the Irish. They’re early.”

  She did a shifty thing with her eyes, looking a bit indecisive, before bolstering herself up on her crutches. “All right, y’all. Everybody up.” She urged us to our feet with her gun. “Form a line now. Short people in front. And no arguing! It’s not an exact science.”

  Nana took her place at the front of the line, followed by George, me, then Tilly. “I’d like to be at the back a the line once,” said Nana, “just to get a different perspective.”

  “Very good,” Ashley complimented us. “Now, very slowly, walk toward the closet.”

  “What are we gonna do once we’re there?” asked Nana.

  “You’re going inside,” said Ashley.

  I saw Nana shake her head. “Tilly just come out of the closet. I’m not sure she’s keen on headin’ back in again.”

  Ashley shadowed along beside us as we marched to the deep-set mirrored closet that flanked the bathroom door. “Stop right there,” she directed when we were about five feet away. “Don’t anyone move.” She hobbled around us, slid open the closet door, backed inside, switched her gun to her left hand, then with her right, pressed something near the hanging rod that caused the wall behind her to glide open, revealing a hidden passageway of dark, unlit stone and a smell of dankness that hit us full in the face.

  “Well, would you lookit that,” Nana marveled.

  “Secret passages,” I muttered. That’s how they’d been able to leave their bloody footprints, and rearrange furniture, and steal personal items, and scare people to death. They could come in through the closet and leave again without ever being seen. I wondered if the passages had shown up on the detailed map I’d seen in Ashley’s tour bag. Duh! Why hadn’t I been more curious?

  “The whole castle is a maze of hidden passageways,” Ashley explained as she hobbled back into the room. “Of course, no one knew that until we did the renovations. They’re great to creep around in, but I think their real beauty is you can hide lots of bodies in there without anyone ever finding them.” She brandished her pistol at us. “Poof! All gone.” She motioned Nana into the closet. “Go ahead, sugar. Time’s a wastin’.”

  This gave a whole new meaning to the term “walk-in closet.” Nana poked her head inside the enclosure, gave it the once-over, and popped inside. George followed close on her heels. I knew if I stepped inside that closet, it would be all over, and I wasn’t ready for it to be over. I didn’t want to die! I needed a plan!

  Scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch.

  Ashley focused her pistol on me. “Stop that scratching.”

  “But I itch!” I felt a slight movement behind me. From the corner of my eye I saw Tilly’s walking stick swing suddenly upward and drive hard into Ashley’s wrist. Wump! The pistol flew out of Ashley’s hand and dive-bombed onto the floor. “Get her gun!” I screamed, lunging onto the floor to grab it.

  Ashley knocked it away with her crutch. It skidded across the carpet. I scrambled to my feet. Ashley thump-hopped across the room after it, then whipped around, standing guard over it. Letting one crutch fall to the floor, she balanced herself on her good f
oot and cast and seized her remaining crutch as if it were a Medieval battering ram. “Stay where you are,” she threatened, swinging the crutch by its footpiece in a broad arc. Whoosh to the right. Whoosh to the left. “I can decapitate someone with this thing!”

  Standing a safe distance away from her crutch, I took my shoe off and gunned it at her. She whacked it with the crutch and sent it high-flying into the window. “Give it up,” I warned, chucking my other shoe at her. She caught it on the fly and whacked it into foul territory in the other direction. She might be a miserable failure as a person, but she was an excellent hitter. “Did you play a lot of softball in Georgia?”

  “Debutante’s League. I had a four-oh-six lifetime batting average.”

  “Somebody throw me a weapon!” I cried.

  I heard a flurry of activity behind me. A rush of footsteps. Tilly shoved a clothes hanger into my hand. I gauged the size of the hanger. I gauged the size of the crutch. I tossed the hanger aside. “I need something heavier!”

  I glared at Ashley, trying to psyche her out. When she inched to her right, I inched to my left. When she inched to her left, I inched to my right. “Go for the gun and I’ll be on you like green on a leprechaun,” I taunted.

  “Here you go, dear,” said Nana, handing me the crystal paperweight with the colorful kites.

  “Eh! I can’t use that,” I gasped, handing it back to her. “Etienne gave that to me. I think it’s Waterford.”

  Nana checked the bottom. “Waterford. You’re right. I wouldn’t mind buyin’ some Waterford while we’re here.”

  More footsteps. The echo of sirens was getting louder, and closer. Ashley slanted a look at the window, then with an air of defiance, took aim at her gun with her crutch and batted it under the bed. “You want it?” she said, grinning at me. “Go get it.” She cleared a path for herself with vicious swings of her crutch and limped toward the one escape route that was still open to her—the closet.

  “Emily!” I turned toward the sound of George’s voice and yelped as his artificial leg came rainbowing through the air at me. “Try that!”

  Eh! I caught it against my chest with an “Oof,” then hefted it slightly to test its weight. Alone, it might have been too light, but with the steel-toed boot, it was perfect. I chased after Ashley, swinging the leg like a club. “Stop where you are!” I yelled at her.

  She stopped and planted her feet. Whoosh! She swung the crutch at me, just missing my head. BOOM! I slugged the crutch pad and arm piece with George’s leg, sending shock waves up her arms.

  “Ow!” she whined. She jabbed the crutch at me again. I backhanded another powerful blow to the arm piece. CLONK! Crrrrack.

  “Hit her again,” George yelled, balancing one-legged behind me.

  “Bitch!” she shrieked at me, staring at the splintered wood. “OoohhhHHHH!” She launched herself at me, swinging the crutch berserkly. I ducked. George didn’t. The crutch caught him with an uppercut to his jaw. THUNK! He looked dazed for a millisecond, crossed his eyes, then collapsed to the floor like a ton of bricks. Well, maybe half a ton, what with his leg detached and all.

  “George!” screamed Nana. “You killed him! You killed George.”

  Ashley regarded him without remorse. “I hope he is dead. I’m so sick of all you helpless old people.”

  An odd look crossed Nana’s face. She narrowed her eyes at Ashley, made a wavy gesture with her hands, then crying, “EEEEEYAAAA!” she executed four quick skips across the floor and—BAM!—snapped her leg out and kicked the crutch out of Ashley’s hands.

  Ashley’s mouth fell open. My mouth fell open. “EEEEEYAAAA!” Nana raised her knee and with a rapidfire thrust—WOOF!—drove the ball of her foot into Ashley’s gut. Ashley doubled over, gasping for air, clutching her stomach. “EEEEEYAAAA!” Nana jumped straight up in the air, spun around like a top, then with her knee up and leg straight—WHAM!—smacked the top of her foot into Ashley’s cheek.

  BOOM! Ashley slumped to the floor in a lifeless heap.

  I stared at Nana, agog. “What was that?”

  “A spinning roundhouse kick.”

  “You…How…Where did you learn to do that?”

  “The senior center.”

  My voice was at a pitch that could shatter glass. “That’s what they’re teaching in senior aerobics these days?”

  “I told you, dear. The step aerobics class filled up, so I had to settle for my second choice. Tae Kwon Do.”

  KABOOM!

  I screamed as the door to the hall flew back on its hinges and Michael Malooley stormed into the room wielding a really big gun. “Don’t anyone move!” he hollered, crouching into a defensive stance and two-handing his gun.

  Shit. I forgot about him. “Behind you!” I yelled, pointing toward the hall.

  He spun out of his crouch and leveled his gun at the door. I charged at him from behind, clutching George’s leg like a caveman’s club, and took aim at the back of his head. CLUNK! He wavered stupidly for a moment before he fell forward, crashing facedown on the carpet with a resounding THUMP!

  Groans from Ashley. Writhing. Whining. Pathetic mewling sounds as she regained consciousness. Tilly stood over her with her walking stick poised to thwack her if she made a wrong move.

  “I knew the two of you were in this together!” I called across the room at Ashley. “So who exactly is Michael Malooley? One of your relatives?”

  Ashley rolled painfully onto her side to face me. “He’s a bus driver.”

  “Sure he is.”

  I heard the ambulance squeal into the parking lot, engine roaring, siren screeching. I hunkered down beside Michael, removed his wallet from his back pocket, and flipped it open.

  “Who does his driver’s license say he is, dear?” Nana asked as she hovered anxiously over George.

  “His driver’s license identifies him as Michael Malooley. But he has another ID here that says—” I paused. “It says he’s Detective Michael Malooley. Pearse Street Garda Station. Dublin. And it gives his badge number. Oh, look! Here’s the badge. It was hiding.”

  I looked at the badge. I looked at Michael. I felt a familiar sinking feeling in my stomach. “Oops.”

  Chapter 15

  “Dr. Mortimer, please dial four-one-six. Dr. Mortimer, four-one-six.”

  It was after midnight, and I sat with my legs dangling over the side of a gurney in the emergency room of the local hospital. Michael Malooley occupied a chair in the cubicle with me, pressing an ice pack to the back of his skull.

  “I’m really sorry about your head,” I apologized for the tenth time.

  He shrugged. “A minor concussion. If it wasn’t for the throbbing and the lump, I’d hardly be knowing anything was wrong.” He gave me a wink. “I got off luckier than yer Swiss friend.”

  They’d whisked Etienne off to another part of the emergency room when we’d arrived, and despite my inquiries in the intervening two hours, I’d received no updates on his condition. It was driving me crazy. I rocked forward on the gurney, angling a look through the slit in the curtain that surrounded the cubicle. “They’ll let me know how he is soon, won’t they? I asked them to let me know.”

  “They’ll be letting you know. I’ll see to it.”

  Ashley had complained of head and stomach pains back at the castle, so the paramedics had called a second ambulance to Ballybantry to transport her to another hospital. George had regained consciousness and decided he was okay, so he stayed behind with Nana and Tilly, but the crew decided I needed to be transported with Etienne because I had the worst case of hives they’d ever seen and needed immediate medical attention.

  So here I sat, dressed in a hospital gown that fit like a tent, looking like a tribal chief who was plastered from head to toe with ceremonial war paint—known to the rest of the world as calamine lotion. I was an utter mess, but thanks to a dose of antihistamines, at least the itching had stopped. “What’s going to happen to Ashley?’ I asked Michael.

  “She’ll be arrested, along
with the people who helped run the operation. The desk clerk. The relatives in the construction company. Her cousin in the village police force who kept covering up for them. It was a clever plan they had. I’m suspecting they all expected to get rich when Ashley’s family bought the castle back. These days, you can be renting a castle out for parties and catered affairs and asking fifty thousand dollars for a weekend. And there’s those who can afford it, most particularly yer pop stars and Hollywood elite. That’s a lot of money to come into a wee village in Ireland. It wouldn’t take many of those weekends to turn ordinary laborers into the monied class. I fancy they were looking at it as their due for the wrong that was dealt them four hundred years ago.”