Murder in Ballyhasset

by Noreen Mayer

  Libby noticed his hands covered in flour and the table full of dirty pots. A spicy smell wafted from the oven as she took a seat.

  She said, with embarrassment, 'I have to ask you this. Was your wife ever unfaithful?'

  'No, never,' Mick said, with a frown.

  'What about Dr Shane Collins?'

  'Never heard of him.' Mick stared at her defiantly, with his arms folded.

  Libby remained silent for a few moments. Either he doesn't know or he's lying, she thought. Either way he's keeping his mouth closed, he won't tell me anymore.

  'Pamela Kelly said Kathleen bullied her at work,' she said.

  'I don't believe that.' He clenched his jaw.

  'Pamela has no reason to lie,' Libby added.

  'Sometimes Kathleen could get overheated, but only if she felt someone was idling.'

  'Pamela worked hard,' Libby said, 'so Doctor Raman says, anyway. Kathleen still gave her a hard time.'

  'Kathleen worked really hard, and she expected everyone else to do the same. She got up very early, she came home late. She studied even during the weekends. Kathleen was totally dedicated to her work. She was completely honest.'

  'That's not exactly what I heard,' she said, knowing she sounded a bit harsh.

  The planning officer glared at her. 'I've lost my best friend.' His jaw tightened. 'I can't listen to you insulting Kathleen.'

  'You hired us to find out who killed her.' Libby's face reddened. 'So that's what we're doing. Pamela didn't like Kathleen, I'm just telling you why.'

  'I hardly think Pamela was responsible for killing her, do you?' He sneered at Libby. 'She wouldn't be capable. She's just a silly fool.'

  She frowned. 'I thought you didn't know Pamela well?'

  'I don't,' he replied, 'I've only met her a few times.'

  Then how do you know she's a fool? Libby wondered silently. Pamela managed to qualify as a doctor, so she must be bright. She said, ‘Have you remembered anything else since we last spoke, anything that might give someone a reason for murder?'

  'Like what?' He gazed at her blankly while placing one of the dirty pots in the sink.

  'How about her past? Any family feuds or fights over money, shameful secrets.' She paused, thinking. 'Weird relatives, anything like that?'

  He shrugged. 'No, sorry, I can't think of any.'

  'Someone must have hated Kathleen to kill her so brutally,' Libby said sharply.

  'Kathleen had a fairly normal family.' He remained silent for a while. 'Except of course, her parents died when she was twelve. They died in a plane crash.'

  'How awful.' Libby grimaced. 'What happened to her after that?'

  'She and her sister went to live with their aunt.'

  'That must have been tough for her, for them both.'

  'I guess so. Kathleen never spoke much about it.' Mick cleared the rest of the pots from the table. He placed them in the sink and filled it with water.

  'Did you both date for long before you got married?' Libby asked.

  He sighed. 'Ten years, and I knew her long before that. I lived down the road from her.'

  Libby looked at him with curiosity. 'Where were you born?'

  'Glenealy, it's a town in Wicklow full of rocky hills, very pretty.'

  'I know it, a beautiful little place.' Libby smiled.

  'I spent all my childhood there. So did Kathleen. We were both Protestants. Well, I still am, of course. There's very few of us genuine Protestants left in the village.'

  Libby replied, 'Everyone knows everyone else, in a small village. Just like here in Ballyhasset.'

  He nodded. 'We all used to stand outside the church on a Sunday to gossip.'

  'Was there a good community spirit, then?' she asked.

  He smiled. 'Plenty of busybodies, anyway. They arrange garden fetes and Friday night bingo.' He looked up at a clock that stood on the wall, put on oven gloves, and took out a steaming casserole dish from the oven. 'It's ready,' he said. A spicy curry smell filled the kitchen. Libby felt her stomach rumble.

  'So Kathleen's family life was happy.'

  'I'd say so.' He paused. 'She argued with her sister a bit. But they were the best of friends, most of the time.'

  'It's the same with me and my sister, all sisters have rows.'

  Suddenly, a tall buxom young woman of about twenty appeared in the kitchen. She headed to the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice. She wore a short dressing gown, and her long red hair was tousled as if she just had out of bed. Her feet were bare. She glanced at Libby, her eyebrows raised. Then she turned to Mick. 'Who's this?' she asked, gesturing to Libby.

  Mick answered, 'This is Libby. She's finding out who killed Kathleen, she's a private investigator.'

  'Pleased to meet you.' The young woman held out her hand and Libby shook it warmly. 'I'm Kathleen's sister, Georgie.' Her voice was low and brisk. She looked remarkably like the dead woman, except she was very much alive.

  'I hope you find her killer soon. We're all devastated.' The half-dressed woman's voice was bitter. 'Kathleen was the closest family member I had, the only one really, after our parents died. Apart from my aunt, of course. We went through a lot together, my sister and I. I miss her.'

  ***

  Back at the office, Libby made a cup of tea for herself and Dawn. Libby told her about Kathleen having a sister.

  'How did you get on with Mr Doody?' Dawn asked.

  Libby ignored Dawn's question, she was deep in thought. 'I'm sure she's sleeping with Mick.'

  'Who?' asked Dawn.

  'Kathleen's sister,' Libby replied.

  Dawn looked at her with a frown. 'How do you know?'

  'She appeared in the kitchen wearing her dressing gown. They were very relaxed together, she and Mick.' Libby paused. 'Of course, I've no proof they're carrying on together.'

  Dawn asked eagerly, 'Could she be our killer then?'

  Libby shrugged. 'Hardly likely. The sisters were the only family each other had. And Mr Doody said they were close.'

  'The doctors are our main suspects.' Dawn's hands cradled her mug.

  'Could be any one of those doctors, Pamela, Shane or Raman,' Libby added in a gloomy voice. 'Or even the nurse Gina. None of them liked Kathleen much.'

  Chapter 11

  Early on the following Saturday afternoon, Libby drove to Brendan's house on Albany Road in Ballyhasset. She had decided to take up Brendan's offer to meet him for a swim. It was a good opportunity to see the man outside work and in a more relaxed state. Also she felt a vague attraction to him.

  Perhaps I'm just lonely, she thought. Being single can be confusing. On the one hand, she yearned for the simple comfort of companionship; someone to discuss her day with. On the other hand, once she got used to being alone, she'd wonder why she ever took on the aggravation of a relationship.

  The house was a small Georgian building that stood at the top of the road. The road sloped acutely down to meet the main coast road below. A hedge surrounded the property. She remembered Conor lived a few doors down on the lower part of the road nearer the sea.

  She rang the doorbell on the outside gate. Brendan opened the front door and his casual attire of denim flared jeans and an open-necked check shirt made him look handsome indeed.

  'Come on inside, Libby, how are you doing?' His green eyes sparkled at her. Brendan's mood had transformed as if by a miracle, she was relieved to notice.

  Feeling her apprehension melt away, she smiled back at him warmly. 'Fine. Isn't the weather wonderful? Summer has come at last.'

  She followed him into the sitting room. They both sat down on the sofa.

  'We can take a drink first if you like, before we go sailing.' Brendan opened a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass, handing one to Libby.

  The wine tasted pleasantly fruity. She felt lazy. 'I think I'll pass on the sailing,' she said, 'I'm not really dressed for it.' She wore only light trousers, a T-shirt and sandals.

  'A wise decision,' Brendan agreed, 'there's not en
ough wind today, anyway.'

  I'd prefer to know you better before I go out on a boat alone with you, she thought. He had drunk little of his wine, she noticed and added, 'You work long hours, don't you, Brendan?'

  'I sure do but it's the price of owning your own business unfortunately.' He stood up and walked towards the window. 'Did you know you can see the sea from here?'

  Libby walked over to the window and gazed out. 'Beautiful view. You can see the large rocky area and the hills beyond.'

  'Fancy a swim now?' he asked.

  Her face lit up. 'Why not?'

  A short while later, Libby emerged from one of the bedrooms, wearing a tight red swimsuit, flip-flops on her feet and a large towel draped over her shoulders. Brendan met her and smiled. He looked quite attractive in his black trunks, she thought, noticing his trim athletic figure and flat stomach.

  ***

  Brendan's dog, a slim energetic red setter, accompanied them to the beach. They crossed the main road to Seapoint Beach, walked up to the sandy bathing area, near a set of rocks. They parked their belongings on the sand along with the other sunbathers who littered the sand. Their windbreakers flapped in the breeze. The sun was brittle along the water's edge, where children splashed through the waves and submerged themselves, shrieking as the cold water hit them.

  After Libby took off her towel she ran down towards the water. The sea was choppy and the shock of the cold water sobered her quickly. She plunged her whole body down and swam a slow crawl. The water suddenly seemed warm then. Brendan joined her in the water. She watched him swim far out and then back in towards her and slowly Libby forgot all the stresses and strains of the last few weeks.

  The red setter swam with them for about ten minutes but then became bored. He left the water and planked his wet body on Libby's towel for a few minutes before he ran off to chase a seagull near the water's edge. The couple emerged from the sea, out of breath. They raced up and down the beach for a few minutes to generate heat then settled in a shallow recess scooped into the dunes by wind and tides, and sat down on their damp towels, exhausted.

  Eventually they returned to Brendan's house in their wet swimming costumes. Back in the spare room, she changed into her normal clothes. Brendan told her he would cook a meal for the two of them. Libby smiled saying she was starving. He prepared a salad, and then put a ready-made lasagne in the oven to reheat. They drank a glass of red wine each. 'I depended a lot on ready-made foods when I lived in the States,' he said apologetically. 'Bit of a habit now, as I live alone.'

  'How long did you live in America?' she asked.

  'Not long, eight years,' Brendan replied. 'I grew up here in Ballyhasset and went to university in Cork City. I went to live in New York straight after college.'

  'What made you decide to come back here?'

  'An uncle left me and my sister two houses here. Then I set up the accountancy practice and shortly afterwards, Conor joined me.'

  'And do you plan to stay in Ireland for good, now?'

  'Yes, I love Ballyhasset, it's the most beautiful place in the world,' said Brendan.

  Libby smiled. 'You and I are alike, I think, we both like living by the sea.'

  'I'm sorry to hear your marriage broke.' He gazed at Libby, his green eyes filled with concern.

  'Yeah, we split up recently.'

  'Who left who?' Brendan asked.

  'Derek left me two years ago. He said he felt bored with his job and with me. So he took leave of absence from the Gardaí and went to Africa.'

  'Did he stay out there long?'

  'A full year,' Libby replied. 'He met a nurse ten years younger than him. He lives with her now. She's ever so nice, so I heard.' Libby knew her voice sounded bitter, but she didn't care. 'I heard your wife died, I'm sorry. Do you have children?'

  'No, I don't. We weren’t married long.' Brendan frowned. 'I saw your son, he's a fine boy.' He drank a little wine.

  'Yeah, Andrew's great. The only problem is, he wants to be a fisherman.'

  'Dangerous job - fishing,' Brendan said, his brow creasing.

  She nodded. 'I'm trying desperately to talk him out of it. He's leaving school this year, and I want him to go to college. He's a bright boy.'

  'I went to college,' said Brendan with a smile. 'I loved it. However, you should let Andrew decide for himself. Don't put pressure on him.'

  Libby said, 'You're right. I'm not fit to choose careers for anyone, to be honest. I've changed jobs myself a few times.'

  'What did you do before this?' asked Brendan.

  'I was a secondary school teacher,' Libby answered. 'In Cork City, at a private boarding school. I worked there for eleven years, teaching science.'

  Brendan looked at her with interest. 'Why did you leave?'

  'The school closed,' Libby said, her voice tinged with regret.

  'That was unfortunate.'

  'Yeah, it was a great job,' Libby said, 'I loved teaching. But we lost pupils to a new school nearby, which was free.' Libby paused. 'Eventually, poor St Edna's couldn't meet its debts, and closed.'

  Brendan gazed at her with sympathy. 'You couldn't get another teaching job?'

  Libby shook her head. 'Not locally. I tried for a year. I gave grinds to students. Then my father died and left me his share in Mooney's Detective Agency.'

  Chapter 12

  Libby dropped in to Brendan's sister on Sunday morning. She lived in the terraced house two doors down from Libby, on High Street. A sturdy, tall woman of around forty, with a pleasant smiling face, opened the front door. She wore a flowing black dress that reached her muscular calves, and black Doc Marten boots. Her long thick hair was jet-black and hung around her face.

  'I'm your brother's new tenant for Number 5,' Libby said with a smile.

  'Oh, you're the private detective, right?' Her eyes sparkled. 'Brendan told me he met you. I'm Nuala.' She shook Libby's hand, her bracelets jangling.

  Libby smiled. 'Pleased to meet you. Brendan asked me to drop my month's rent in to you.' Nuala took the envelope, and slipped it into a purse, which hung around her neck.

  'Won't you come in and have a cuppa?' She opened the door wide.

  'I'm dying for one,' replied Libby, stepping into the hall.

  She brought Libby into a dark kitchen, which held a huge black Aga cooker. The room was full of flowers, and not just the real variety. As well as a vase of sweet peas on the windowsill, there were red painted roses on the kitchen presses, yellow tulips on the curtains and a tablecloth with blue forget-me-nots. An enormous cat sat asleep on an old armchair beside the cooker. A young girl of about five sat at the table eating a bowl of something.

  Nuala said, 'Lorna, say hello to Libby.'

  'Hello,' said the little girl shyly.

  Libby smiled at her. 'This is a lovely room.'

  'It cheers me up.' Nuala flicked her hair back from her face. She boiled the kettle and searched for tea bags in the cupboard.

  Libby glanced around at all the flowers, thinking it was a little too fussy for her own taste. 'Yes, I can see why.'

  'I strive to be positive at all times,' said Nuala with a wide smile. 'These bright colours stimulate my creativity, you see.'

  'What do you do?' asked Libby curiously.

  'I'm an artist.' Nuala handed her a mug of tea.

  'Do you ever paint the scenery round here?'

  'I sure do.' She beamed. 'I paint our fabulous West Cork views, especially Glengariff Bay.'

  'I think Glengariff Bay is fantastic,' replied Libby. 'The sea with the mountains behind, just heavenly.'

  Nuala nodded. 'Or Goguane Barra, the forest. Have you ever been there?'

  'I have,' said Libby, 'I love that little old medieval church up there. Fantastic. I'd like to see them sometime, your paintings.'

  'I run a gallery in the town, near the church,' Nuala replied. 'Some of my pictures are hanging there.'

  'I must call in, so.'

  'Do, I'll show you around.' Nuala's eyes lit up when she smiled. 'W
e can have a chat. Listen while you're here will you sign my petition?'

  'What for?' asked Libby.

  'I'm organising a little demonstration march against the apartments going up on the seafront. Those ugly buildings will take away our lovely promenade walk.'

  'I agree with you,' said Libby, 'You had a protest this morning, I hear. The whole town is talking about it.'

  'We did,' Nuala replied. 'And we're having another one tomorrow.'

  Nuala got out a big hardback notebook. Libby signed it, and put her address on the page. There were plenty of signatures, she saw. 'I love the promenade walk,' she added. Then she went over to peer at the two large photos pinned to the white walls. One photo was of two young men, one of whom appeared to be a younger Conor Reilly. She recognised him by his fine blond hair. 'Who's in this picture of young men?'

  'Brendan, my brother, and his friend Conor Reilly. Conor used to live next door to us.' Nuala continued, 'My mother took those photos. This used to be her house. I never had the heart to get rid of them.'

  'Do you see much of Conor?' asked Libby.

  'I do, he works with Brendan.' She gazed at Libby curiously. 'Why do you ask?'

  Libby thought for a moment. 'Do they get on well, the two lads?'

  Nuala tossed her long hair back. 'They are a lot different from each other, but they are the best of friends.'

  Libby was curious. 'How are they different?'

  'Brendan dominates Conor all the time. He's much bossier.'

  'Is Brendan older?' Libby asked.

  'Yes, but only by two years,' replied Nuala. 'Brendan always protected Conor when they were at school.'

  Libby went over to the second photo, noting how yellow it was. It was of a boy around ten years of age, laughing and holding the hand of a small dark man with a moustache. 'Who is the man?'

  'That's my father. He's dead now.'

  'Do you miss him?'

  'Not at all. He was a monster. He was brutal to my mother. He beat her up regularly and no one knew about it except me and Brendan.'