“How did it go with Geraldine?” Jane was eager for details.
“I’m going to speak with Danny,” Siobhán said. “If there are any inconsistencies between her account and that of Joe and Mary Madigan, I’ll make sure he knows about it.”
Jane slapped the table and laughed. “Are you listening to this, Dara? She’s a sly one.”
“Honestly, that’s not my intent,” Siobhán said. “But it’s best not to engage in rumors while in the middle of an investigation.”
“I’m not asking you to engage in rumors, I’m asking you what Geraldine said. Word for word.” Siobhán shot Macdara a look, hoping for a little emotional backup, but he was suddenly examining the walking stick as if it was speaking to him. “You can’t keep it from me. She’s my mam.”
“I’m sorry. My goal is the same as yours. To find your mother’s killer. I can’t bring you into the investigation.”
She shook her head. “Cousin Dara will tell me. Unless you’re going to keep it from him as well, like?” Siobhán didn’t answer; she was too busy mentally whittling the words “MEAN GIRL.” Jane reached out for Macdara’s hand. “Are you okay with your fiancée keeping secrets from you?”
“We’re just here to enjoy our lunch,” Macdara said, setting the walking stick down. The tip of his boot nudged Siobhán’s toe under the table. He was not okay with her keeping secrets from him. What did he want her to do?
“Maybe you can help me,” Siobhán said. “What can you tell me about Eddie the seanchaí?”
“Why? Did he say something?” Jane leaned forward eagerly.
“It’s what he didn’t say. I tried to talk to him and when I wouldn’t let him touch my hair, he bolted.”
“Touch your hair?” Macdara said.
She shrugged. “It’s a thing.”
“You let me touch your hair,” Jane said with a smirk.
“Different situation entirely.”
Jane laughed, but quickly sobered up. “As far as I know, his name is Eddie Doolan and he’s homeless.”
“As far as you know?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t smell him.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It’s quite possible he’s homeless.” Siobhán hoped she didn’t sound as judgmental as Jane. She was not the type of person who looked down on others’ hardships. She was grateful for the roof over her head and the food that was always on her plate, and despite sharing it with five siblings— which meant the water was often cold by the time it was her turn—she was grateful for their shower and bathtub. It didn’t make her a better person that she had these things, it made her a luckier person. And although it could be argued that one made their own luck, it was equally true that fate could be a cruel mistress. As her mam used to say, “There but for the Grace of God, go I.” She teared up just thinking about it.
“He sleeps outside,” Jane continued. “I’ve heard people throw coins into his cup, but it’s either not enough to get a place to sleep or he doesn’t want to.”
“Is he a local?”
“No. He arrived just after we did.”
Another new resident in this tiny village? What were the odds of that? “Strange,” Siobhán said. “Do you know why?”
“All I know is that he’s the only person in this village that is hated more than Mam and I.”
“Is there a chance you know Eddie from Waterford?” Could he be Ellen’s stalker?
Jane’s head jerked up. “No. Why on earth would I know him from Waterford?”
“Have you learned something?” Macdara asked.
“It seems they all arrived in the village around the same time,” Siobhán said. “That seems curious.” If Jane was aware that her mother had a stalker, now would be the perfect opportunity to bring it up.
“I’ll leave that to you,” Jane replied. She wrung her hands. “I guess now it’s just me and Eddie left for this village to hate. I keep forgetting Mam’s gone.”
Siobhán reached over and patted her hand. “That’s normal, pet. It takes a while.”
Their pie and pints arrived and for a moment everyone buried themselves in them, each preferring it to the discussion at hand. Siobhán was wondering what brought Eddie the wandering storyteller into town at the same time as Ellen and Jane. She was going to have to dig into Eddie Doolan a bit more.
“Get out!” The reprimand came from the publican. Their heads swiveled to the bar.
“Speak of the Devil,” Macdara said, filling Jane in on what was happening.
Eddie was back, pleading a case to the publican. “Picture this, story night!”
“I said no.” The publican stood with his arms folded across his chest. “Off with ya.”
“A nice turf fire, pints all around, some music, and a story that will enthrall ye.” He raised his voice to a theatrical level, gesturing around.
“My mother was murdered and all you can talk about is story time?” Jane rose from her chair, matching Eddie’s theatrical tone.
Eddie lumbered toward them, his eyes wide, his hands reaching. “Murdered?” Although he was a performer by trade, his shock seemed genuine to Siobhán. He leaned in. “Was it the fairies?”
“No,” Siobhán said. “It was a person. A human being.”
“They can look like humans,” Eddie said, clasping his hands to his chest, his eyes darting around as sweat dripped down his broad face.
“It happened last night,” Siobhán said. “You hadn’t heard?” That seemed nearly impossible. She had to remind herself he was a performer, an actor. Was he acting now?
He looked to the ground. “I heard she died. I thought . . . well, she was an older woman, a bit on the heavy side—”
“She was only in her sixties!” Jane said.
“A bit on the heavy side,” he repeated.
Jane turned her head toward Macdara and Siobhán. “Eddie feels big to me. Is he big?”
“He’s . . .” Macdara said, looking up at the gentle giant.
“Big,” Eddie said. “I’m big too.”
He reminded Siobhán of a child. A giant child in desperate need of a wash.
“And wide,” Jane said. She waited. “There you have it, no denials.”
Eddie smiled as if he hadn’t copped on that Jane wasn’t being nice. “Who murdered Mrs. Delaney?”
“The guards are looking into it,” Macdara said. “Where were you Friday night and Saturday day?”
“Me?” Eddie repeatedly poked at his chest with his finger. He stammered the words, revealing a slight stutter that seemed to disappear when he was in storytelling mode. “M-m-m-m me?”
“Yes, y-y-y-y-y-you!” Jane said.
Siobhán gasped. Macdara shook his head at his cousin, although Siobhán had no idea whether Jane could see it. The verdict was in. Jane Delaney was not a nice person and, cousin or not, she was no longer invited to the wedding. Making fun of a man’s impediment was just downright cruel. As a blind woman, didn’t she realize how the worst part of a disability was dealing with the ignorance of well-meaning people? Even well-meaning stupid people would be hard to take. “It’s okay, pet,” Siobhán said to Eddie. She reached into her handbag and handed him twenty euro. “You can tell the official guards where you were, luv, and in the meantime, the pie here is delicious.”
He clasped the money in his hands and bowed. “My d-d-d-d-d-eepest sympathies,” he said.
“You should try singing,” Jane said. “It will help with the stutter.”
“I kn-kn-kn-know.” He bobbed his head. “I can s-s-s-sing.”
“Save it for the shower,” Jane said, turning her back to him.
“Your mother,” Eddie said, slightly singing it. “Your mother was murdered.” It sounded so eerie in his singsong voice.
“You catch on quick,” Jane said.
Eddie nodded, his lips moving silently as if he was singing to himself, before he turned and fled yet again.
Chapter 14
There was a moment of sile
nce as if Eddie Doolan had suctioned all the thoughts out of their poor heads when he departed.
“Is it me or is there something a little off about that man?” Macdara said at last.
“Mental illness is common among the homeless,” Jane said.
Siobhán squirmed in her seat. Was there any heart underneath that cold exterior? She wished she had her scooter so she wouldn’t have to be trapped in a car with her. “He seemed genuinely frightened.”
Jane pushed back from the table. “You’re falling for his stories then.”
“Shall we get our legs under us?” Siobhán was tired of Jane, tired of this village, and couldn’t wait to get home. “I’m going to hit the jax before we leave.”
On her way to the restroom, Siobhán stopped at the corner of the bar where calling cards were piled up. She scanned to see if there were any from Primo Limo. She did not see any for them but there were several others: a jeweler, a furniture maker, a charity shop, and Annabel’s art classes.
“Can I help you, luv?” the publican said. “Is everything alright?”
“Just having a nose around,” she said. “Where is the jax?”
“That-a-way.” He pointed to the restrooms, situated at the back of the bar.
She pocketed several of the calling cards and gave him a nod. “Cheers.”
* * *
Before they could leave for Kilbane, Danny and Sergeant Eegan summoned Macdara and Siobhán to Molly’s Café. To Siobhán’s relief, Jane seemed happy to have more time to shop, and didn’t put up a fuss about not being invited. They had just reached the café when Macdara gently pulled Siobhán aside. “Now?” Siobhán said, with a glance in the window. Danny and Sergeant were standing, looking at the paintings, waiting for them.
“It’s hard to get you alone,” Macdara said. “You seem angry with me.” Siobhán had trouble meeting his gaze. “Did you learn something from Geraldine?”
“Has your cousin always been so . . . harsh?”
Macdara shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know her that well. My guess is that she’s always been this way.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course. Why do you think we were estranged? My mam barely talked to her own sister. They weren’t easy to get along with.”
“I think Jane is lying about her alibi.”
“Do you?”
“Have you seen proof that she was in Dublin?”
“No. But she hasn’t been able to get her luggage bag. I assume there’s something in there.”
“She had ages to open it before the guards arrived. Or she could tell us the name of the conference, the hotel where she stayed. Anything.”
“I hear you. But her mother was just murdered. I understand if it’s not the first thing on her mind.”
Siobhán chose her words carefully. Her quarrel was not with Dara. “I have cousins I haven’t seen in ages. I’m trying to understand.”
“Trying?”
“She’s a manipulator and you’re different around her.”
His jaw tightened. “I see.”
“Dara.” She’d hurt him. Before they could resolve it, a tap sounded on the window next to them. They both jumped and turned to see Danny motioning them inside.
“Ironic,” Macdara said, pointing a finger-gun at Danny and heading for the door. “Because you’re different around him.” Danny, not to be outdone, produced two finger-guns, and he twirled, then blew on them before sticking them into imaginary holsters.
Sergeant Eegan waved them over to the counter the minute they entered. He was jotting things down in a notebook. Siobhán filled them in on everything she’d learned from Geraldine—how Mary Madigan had lied about being with her mother-in-law for the weekend, and the story about Primo Limo, and the odd mention of Ellen staying the night near the fairy tree as if that would somehow settle the dispute. Lastly, she filled them in on the rumor that in Waterford Ellen had a stalker.
“Stalker?” Macdara said. “Is that the exact word she used?”
“’Tis.”
“It’s true,” Garda Eegan said. “At least I heard it from a few other heads, who supposedly heard it from her.”
“Heard what exactly?” Macdara was on high alert. Relations must have been strained if Ellen hadn’t even reached out to him when she was in danger.
Garda Eegan shook his head. “I’m short on the details. Heard she had a stalker, some kind of nuisance on her doorstep in Waterford. Here for a fresh start.”
Macdara turned to Siobhán. “Is that why you were asking Jane about Eddie Doolan?”
“Eddie?” Garda Eegan said. “The storyteller? The beggar?”
Siobhán nodded. “He came to town the same time as Ellen and Jane.”
Garda Eegan rubbed his beard. “Ellen and Jane were here a good year before Eddie showed up.”
Danny leaned forward. “Are you suggesting Eddie Doolan is her stalker?”
“Do you know where he’s from?” Siobhán asked.
“He said he’s a Mayo man,” Danny answered.
If that was a lie, at least he was telling consistent stories. “Did you ever look into him?”
Garda Eegan waved his hand. “I’ve moved him along when I’ve found him sleeping on the footpath. But mostly he isn’t a bother. Some folks like his storytelling.”
“Maybe you’ll have a look at him now?” Macdara said. His hands were clenched; he was dying to get involved.
“We will,” Danny said. Instead of comforting Macdara, the utterance from Danny seemed to perturb him more.
“What about Primo Limo?” Siobhán said, wanting to ease the tension.
“They’re not part of Ballysiogdun,” Sergeant Eegan said, examining the calling card she’d handed him. “They’re out of Cork City. We’ll give them a bell.” He practically crumpled the card as he shoved it in his shirt pocket, and Siobhán was relieved she’d taken the number down for herself.
“Jane mentioned that Aiden Cunningham holds a lot of power here. Especially when it comes to the cottage.”
“What about our councilman?” Eegan asked. “You’re not accusing him of being a killer, are you?” He leaned back with a hearty laugh.
Danny gave Siobhán a reassuring look. “We’ll question everyone and we won’t close our options until alibis are checked and rechecked.”
“Thank you,” Siobhán said. Sergeant Eegan could learn from Danny if he wasn’t so threatened by the younger guard. From an investigative perspective, everyone should be considered equally guilty until proven innocent. Otherwise, you could be misled by your own bias. Everyone was capable of killing.
“When can we hold the service?” Macdara asked.
The sergeant nodded his understanding of the question. “The pathologist is expected tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Siobhán said. The sooner the better.
Macdara stood. “We’re heading back to Kilbane now. We’ll start on the preliminary arrangements.”
“We’d like to be there,” Sergeant Eegan said. “Keep us informed.”
“Good,” Macdara said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“In case our killer will be there too,” Danny said. He caught the stares-all-around. “I’m stating the obvious again, aren’t I?”
Macdara patted him on the back. A smidge too hard from Siobhán’s observation. “And, unfortunately for our killer,” Macdara said, “we’ll be watching him.”
“Or her,” Siobhán said.
Macdara nodded. “Or her,” he agreed.
Chapter 15
It was late Saturday afternoon when the sight of Saint Mary’s steeple rising above the stone walls of Kilbane welcomed them back. The minute they drove through the Ballygate entrance, the knot in Siobhán’s stomach loosened. Home. “Mam should be checked into the Kilbane Inn by now,” Macdara said.
“Bring her to the bistro.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Do I sense tension?” Jane asked. Everyone had been qu
iet on the drive home, like boxers retreating to their corners before the next round.
“Not at all,” Siobhán said. Except I don’t think she likes me and that was before she knew I was going to marry the golden boy.
“I’m sure Mam is looking forward to seeing you as well,” Macdara said to Jane.
It would be a few days before Ellen’s body was released, but in the meantime they could comfort one another, dedicate a mass to Ellen Delaney, and even hold a wake. Macdara dropped Jane and Siobhán off at the bistro, then headed for the inn. The bell dinged as they stepped into Naomi’s, giving Siobhán a mini shot of joy. She could hear chattering as she walked in, and was overjoyed when they stepped into the dining room to find that all her siblings were home, even James. Jane’s demeanor immediately brightened as she was introduced to the rest of the O’Sullivan Six, as they were affectionately nicknamed by the town. She squeezed Ciarán and Ann, and allowed Gráinne to make style suggestions as they guided her by the fire that James was tending.
Eoin and Bridie were in the kitchen as the bistro was filled, which was slightly unusual for after lunch, but not surprising given the news of Macdara’s aunt being murdered in Ballysiogdun had already spread through Kilbane. Siobhán entered the kitchen to see how the pair was holding up. Pans of food lined the counters.
“What’s this?” Siobhán asked, nosing around.
“What do you think?” Eoin said. “The neighbors. We look busy, but mostly we’re selling tea and brown bread because everyone is bringing their own food.”
“Good,” Siobhán said. “Why don’t you two take a break? We’ll officially close and just let everyone help themselves.” Eoin and Bridie were happy with that, and Siobhán took over cleaning up the kitchen—it was the least she could do. In fact, she soon found that scrubbing pots and pans and washing down the cooker and the counters was calming. Before she knew it at least an hour had passed, and she returned to the dining room to join the others and fix herself a much-needed cappuccino. It seemed as if twice as many folks were now in the bistro, and discussing not only the murders—fairies were on the lips of her neighbors here as well. The bell dinged, and moments later Macdara entered with his mam. Nancy Flannery, a petite woman with the same brown curls as Macdara, was wearing a linen rose-colored skirt and suit jacket and a white blouse. Suddenly feeling underdressed in her denims and a T-shirt, Siobhán went to hug her, but Nancy stepped to the side as if she feared being run over.
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