“She told me she knew nothing about it.” Geraldine stopped pulling weeds and blew on a strand of her hair that had fallen in the way. “But I saw her answer the door, like.”
“I see.”
“And then there’s this.” Geraldine took off her gloves and reached under the apron into the pocket of her dress. She pulled out a calling card and held it up for Siobhán to see: PRIMO LIMO. “This was on Ellen’s counter.”
“On the counter? Are you sure?” Didn’t Jane say that Ellen loathed anything cluttering the counter? First the stack of papers, now this. Maybe Ellen only kept things neat when Jane was around. Perhaps she was a more relaxed housekeeper when she was alone? Or someone else was cluttering up the cottage. The killer?
“Yes,” Geraldine said, watching Siobhán intently. “Is that important?”
“I don’t know,” Siobhán answered honestly. “Did you see anything else on the counter?”
Geraldine pondered the question. “No. Just the card.”
“Which you plucked?”
Geraldine stared at her shoes. “I don’t know why I took it. I really don’t.”
She not only took it, she was keeping it close. “You know why.”
Geraldine’s face twisted into a sour expression. “I don’t like liars. Ellen Delaney lied straight to my face.”
Perhaps she thought it was none of your business. “What was she wearing?”
“Heavens, I wouldn’t be able to tell you dat.”
“Was she dressed up?”
“No. A housecoat of some sort. That’s all I know.”
“Then why did you say she must have been going somewhere fancy?”
If Geraldine were a portrait she would be titled: Woman Who Swallowed a Live Fish. It took her a moment to recover. “Why, because of the limo, of course.”
“Maybe the driver was lost. Asking for directions.” Siobhán didn’t believe this for a second, but Geraldine was hiding something, she was sure of it.
“She was so upset when I brought up the limo she didn’t even let me finish me tea and biscuit. Rushed me out of the house saying she had to take care of something right away.” She handed Siobhán the calling card. “Maybe yer man can shed some light on the situation.”
Siobhán tucked the card away. “Thank you. Before I leave—can you please tell me your version of the strange events of Friday night?”
“I was standing out on the porch catching the evening breeze when strange lights appeared in the distance, followed by lilting music. Flutes. I saw a figure trudging across the field. At the time I had no idea who it was, although I realize now it must have been Ellen.”
“Where do you think she was going?”
“To spend the night near the fairy tree.”
This story had just taken a strange turn. “Why do you think that?”
Geraldine tapped her lip with her finger. “I heard a rumor.”
Or you’re about to start one.... “Go on.”
“Someone bet Ellen that she couldn’t spend the entire night near the fairy tree.”
“Who was this someone?”
Geraldine shook her head. “I can’t say for sure.”
Siobhán doubted that. “Where did you hear this rumor?”
“My daughter-in-law. She heard someone in her painting class mention it.”
Yet another reason Siobhán needed to meet this Annabel. “Why do you think Ellen would make a bet like that?”
“Ellen Delaney was on a mission to prove the town wrong about the fairies and therefore save the cottage. If she had managed to spend an entire night near the fairy tree and fairy ring, she could have presented that as proof that either the fairies don’t exist, or they had no quarrel with her.” She sighed. “I take no pleasure in saying I told her so.”
There was a lot of detail in Geraldine’s guess. “Is this pure conjecture on your part or did Ellen tell you she planned on spending the night near the fairy ring?” It was a very specific theory. Too specific.
Geraldine began to blink rapidly. “I’m just connecting the dots.”
“I see.” Siobhán didn’t know anyone who would come up with those dots let alone connect them. She had a feeling Geraldine was indeed the one who had goaded Ellen into the bet. Was there more to her plan? “Then what?”
“I was awoken in the middle of the night by the music. Flutes. I put on my robe and slippers and stepped outside. You should have seen the lights. The skies were glowing, as if responding to the music. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And then came the scream.” She shuddered. “The wail of a banshee. That’s when I saw Ellen flying through the meadow on her way back to the cottage.”
“If it was evening how could you see her so clearly?”
“It was the summer solstice. The longest day of the year. Not to mention the light of the full moon.”
“Did you see anyone following her?”
“No. But the scream woke the children up, so I was tending to them.”
“Maybe that’s when Lilly saw the pretty lights and people dancing?” Geraldine yanked weeds out with a vengeance, sending dirt flying in Siobhán’s direction. Mention of her granddaughter only made her clam up. Siobhán edged closer. “Why didn’t you go over to the cottage to see if Ellen was okay?” Wasn’t that the point of living in a small village? Neighbor looking out for neighbor?
Geraldine stared and blinked some more. “I should have. But I was terrified. I wasn’t going to leave the children.”
“But that morning you left them having a lie-in and walked over to Ellen’s cottage.”
“That’s different. In the light of day it’s alright. Different story in the dark of night. You know yourself.”
Ireland did fall to black at night, but earlier Geraldine had argued that there was plenty of light on this eve. “Why didn’t you call her? Or the guards?”
Beads of sweat broke out on Geraldine’s cheeks. “I don’t know. Do you think it would have helped? That she wouldn’t have been killed?”
Siobhán had no intention of consoling her. She should have called the guards. “Did you see anyone snooping around the cottage? Did you hear glass breaking?”
“Is it the window you’re on about?”
“’Tis.”
“I didn’t hear it break. I noticed it the next morning when I passed the cottage.”
“You didn’t knock then, see if she was home? See if she was alright?”
Geraldine dropped her basket and sheers and took off her gloves. She wiped her brow. “I thought she was playing a trick on me.” Her lip quivered. “That’s why I didn’t check on her. And I’ll regret it the rest of me life.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“A trick?”
“Yes. First she insists she’s going to spend the night by the fairy tree—”
“Insists?”
“I’m not saying any more.”
“It could help catch a killer.”
“I’ve told you all I know. You didn’t know Ellen. But she wasn’t the type who wanted neighborly help. I knew whatever went on that night was either a trick that she orchestrated herself, or it was the work of the fairies. When I found out she was dead, I had my answer.”
“I see. I hope you’ll tell the guards the unvarnished truth.”
“You want the truth? That cottage is coming down now even if I have to set it on fire myself.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“If you want to catch Ellen Delaney’s killer, you should start with her stalker.”
Despite the sun beating down on them, the words sent a chill through Siobhán. “Stalker?”
“Yes, didn’t Jane mention it?” Geraldine frowned. “Or did Ellen tell me not to mention it to Jane? Was she keeping her out of it? I forget.”
“What do you remember?”
“Ellen said something about a man in Waterford who wouldn’t leave her alone. She said he showed up everywhere—the post office, the market, even followed her to her doctor’
s appointment one day. She was so afraid of him that she left town.” Geraldine sighed. “And yet, she died anyway. Maybe when it’s your time, it doesn’t matter how you go, just that you go.”
If everyone had that attitude, justice would never be done. “Did she say anything else about this stalker?”
Geraldine cocked her head. “Like what?”
“Like who he was? Like if she ever saw him here in Ballysiogdun. Like—did she call the guards?”
“I can see you’re disappointed in me for not asking. You see, I didn’t even know whether or not I believed her. I mean . . . she’s not your typical stalking victim, is she?”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“She wasn’t some pretty young thing. If you told me you had a stalker, or several, I’d believe you. But her? Why on earth would anyone be following her around, like?”
Chapter 13
“Engagement stick?” Macdara arched his eyebrow as he stared at her gift.
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” They stood on the footpath in front of the chemist. Jane was inside, getting any essentials she would need. Siobhán had almost volunteered that they had a chemist in Kilbane as well, when she realized that Jane probably felt more comfortable in her home stores, where she had an understanding of the layout and where everything was located. There were so many little things that sighted people took for granted.
Macdara twirled his engagement stick, then pounded the ground several times. “You shouldn’t have.” From the tone of his voice, he really meant it.
“Don’t mention it.” She took the stick back.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just going to use it while we’re here.” She grinned; he shook his head.
“You two are adorable,” a voice said. Siobhán turned to find Jane standing in front of her, holding her bags from the chemist.
Macdara took the bags. “Right then. Are we off?”
Siobhán was anxious to get back to Kilbane and away from all this talk of fairies. But her stomach growled. “I’m so hungry I could eat a small horse.”
Macdara nodded to the public house across the street. “Why don’t we have lunch before we head off.” Siobhán planned on contacting Primo Limo as soon as possible, but she would have to do it in private. She’d quickly learned that even when you thought Jane wasn’t paying attention, she was actually absorbing every word. Because of that, Siobhán was not yet ready to ask Jane about Geraldine’s account of the calling card on the counter, the bet to spend the night near the fairy tree, or the mention of a stalker in Waterford. Siobhán was going to have to speak to Macdara first, or more likely—Danny. He never did get a chance to show her whatever was in the sink, and if Siobhán tried to make up an excuse to delay their return to Kilbane, Macdara would see right through it. Should she just tell him?
Jane was usually by his side. Macdara would not like it if Siobhán went around him for information—who was she kidding, he would loathe it—but she could not give Jane anymore ammunition than necessary. Not until she was cleared as a suspect. And as horrible as it was to imagine a daughter killing her own mother, statistics proved that murders were often committed by those closest to the victim. No one could push buttons like your family could. And from the sounds of it, Ellen Delaney had treated her grown daughter like a child. Siobhán could see how that might drive a person to her breaking point. Jane was a suspect, there was no getting around it.
The seanchaí from the farmers’ market was guarding the entrance to the pub, using his theatrical voice to entice people inside. “Listen to the tales of yore.”
“Eddie Doolan,” Jane said with a slight snarl. “Don’t encourage him, he’s a bit soft in the head.”
Storytellers. The bearers of old lore. In ancient times, Celtic lore was never written down. Neither was history for that matter. Or laws until the monks started to keep records. Before that, stories were kept by colorful characters memorizing long lyric poems, which were to be recited by bards. The seanchaíthe would rise to carry on that tradition. Storytelling became an art form, passed from one generation to the next, enthralling crowds with legends, myths, and history. In modern day the few who practiced the craft did so mostly at festivals.
“Hurry, hurry,” he said, dancing after them as they tried to pass. “There’s no time to waste now—the fairies are out for revenge. The cottage, she must come down.” He thrust a tin cup at them. Siobhán dug in her handbag for some change, then tossed it in. He flashed a grin, two-stepped, and bowed.
Jane whirled on him. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He jumped as if he hadn’t realized who she was until she was standing right in front of him. Siobhán glanced at Macdara to see if he would try and temper his cousin, but he was staring off into the distance, clearly wishing he was anywhere but here. It wasn’t his place to teach his cousin manners, but head-in-the-sand was not his best look.
“Please,” Eddie Doolan said, leaning in. His breath reeked of onions. “The winds have been stirred, death is still near. Do you dare and defy the fairies now?”
“Where are you from?” Siobhán asked.
He frowned as if you weren’t supposed to talk to him like he was a person. “I go where I’m needed,” he said at last. “I’m only doing me job.”
“You’re not needed here,” Jane said.
“How long have you been here?” Siobhán continued.
His eyes darted left and right as if he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “I travel often for work,” he said. “Originally I’m a Mayo man.”
“Lovely.” He was talking and she wanted to keep that going. “Do you have family or friends here?”
“Can we go inside?” Jane said. “I’m famished.”
“Find us a good spot, I’ll be right in,” Siobhán said.
“Does she ever take a break?” Jane asked, turning to Macdara.
Dara lifted his head. “Believe me, you should be happy she doesn’t.” He locked eyes with Siobhán and gave her a nod. Thank goodness. The Dara she knew and loved was still in there.
Jane wagged her finger at Siobhán. “Remember he’s a storyteller. He’ll spin whatever tale he thinks you want to hear.”
“I love hearing tales,” Siobhán said. Were there any stories in particular that Jane didn’t want the seanchaí to spill?
“You and I need to catch up on everything soon,” Macdara said to Siobhán as he opened the door for Jane. “Don’t be long.”
Eddie relaxed the moment Jane was out of sight. “She’s blind,” he said, leaning in as if it were breaking news.
“She is,” Siobhán agreed. “She’s also a very capable woman.”
He frowned as if that didn’t compute. “She can’t see.”
“That is the definition of blind.”
He shook his head and leaned in. Siobhán was forced to take a step back. “She can’t see the truth.”
“What is the truth?”
“She’s in danger here. She must not stay.”
“Danger?” Siobhán looked him in the eye. “From you?”
He leaned back theatrically, whipping his cape around as he poked his own chest. “Me? From me?”
“Are you threatening her?”
He took the side of his cloak and bowed low. “I am but the messenger.”
Siobhán did not know what to make of him. Bumbling, and sweet, and theatrical, and as much as she hated the way Jane put it—maybe he had some cognitive delays. At the least, he seemed confident in his storytelling, but cripplingly shy when it came to real conversation. So much drama for such a little village. “Did you see the mysterious events of Friday evening?”
He straightened up, his hair now standing straight from static. “Your hair is gorgeous,” he said. As he reached out to touch it, she brought her arm up and blocked him. “I want to touch it.”
“No, thank you.” He withdrew his hand as if he’d been scalded. “It’s not just you. I don’t allow any strangers to
touch my hair.”
“I’m a stranger,” he admitted. Then nodded as if he’d just figured it out.
“My name is Siobhán. Or, if you prefer, Garda O’Sullivan.” He took a step back. “Your name is Eddie?”
He blinked. “I don’t remember names. I never remember names.”
“It’s okay.”
“I remember songs. I sing.”
“You are very talented.”
He gave a bow, then stood and flamboyantly gestured to the door. “They’re waiting.” His demeanor had changed instantly the minute she said she was a guard.
“I’d like to hear more of your stories.”
He turned and bolted, his coins rattling in his cup as he ran.
* * *
Dark wood paneling and sconce lighting gave the pub a homey feel. A small group of trad players were set up in the corner, their instruments ringing out with jaunty tunes. Siobhán ordered a ham-and-cheese toastie, curried chips, and a mineral. She really wanted two ham-and-cheese toasties, but resisted. This way she could have a slice of pie for dessert. There was something about this village that just made her want to sit down and eat comfort food. Macdara ordered fish and chips and a Guinness, and Jane sat in front of her potato-and-leek soup barely touching it. Siobhán’s heart squeezed for her. “You know,” she said. “Why not get something indulgent? A slice of pie?”
“Pie,” Jane said as if she’d never heard the word. She waved the publican over. Siobhán felt a silly flush of pride. “I’ll have a pint of Guinness.”
Macdara and Siobhán exchanged a look. “I’ll have a slice of lemon meringue pie, as well, like,” Macdara said as he slid his Guinness over to Jane. “And she’s sorted with this pint.”
“We’re engaged,” Siobhán said.
“Congrats,” said the publican. “One slice of pie and one Guinness coming up.”
“Two slices of pie, please,” Siobhán said. “And a Guinness for me too.”
“If you’re having Guinness and pie, then I’m having Guinness and pie,” Macdara said, clearly outraged.
Jane slid the pint back to Macdara. “Three slices of pie, and two pints of Guinness.”
He nodded and hurried away before they could change the order again.
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