Nancy’s eyebrow shot up. “Does he know what?”
“That Ellen owned the cottage?”
“I assumed he did. I assumed you did too.”
“We were not aware—have you mentioned it to him since you’ve arrived?”
Nancy shook her head. “There’s been no time.”
“Who else knows that Ellen owns the cottage?”
“If she wanted it kept secret, I’d say no one but those involved directly in the sale.”
What if someone had found out? Was that a motive for the murder? Was there a poor soul in that village who was so superstitious that they would kill in order to have the cottage torn down? It seemed ludicrous. Yet . . . this new information had to have some meaning. A hidden ownership. Hard to pull off in a small village.
As Siobhán pondered these troubling new revelations, Nancy pushed back from the table. “Such messy business. Who would want that old thing now? If the village offers me what we paid for it, and Jane and Dara agree, I’m going to just take it and let them do what they will. There will be no peace in that cottage.”
“Listen to me.” Siobhán stood and rushed to Nancy’s side. “You cannot tell anyone else about this. And you should never be alone. Do you understand?”
“What are you on about?” Panic rose in her voice, and Siobhán wished it didn’t have to be that way, but it was better than placing Macdara’s mam squarely in danger.
“It’s not safe to discuss this with anyone right now. Even Jane.” Especially Jane.
“What are you on about?”
“The cottage is at the center of the murder. Until we have a killer behind bars, you must not let anyone know that you own it.”
“I will certainly tell my son.”
Siobhán nodded. “Of course. We will tell Macdara straight away, and the guards. But you cannot let anyone else know.” She stopped. “Does Jane already know?”
Nancy shook her head. “Not from me. I wouldn’t put it past Ellen to keep her in the dark.” She paused. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course not.” What if Jane found out? How betrayed would she have felt? Even now Nancy Flannery was speaking as if the cottage now belonged equally to Macdara. Had Jane found out her mother owned the cottage, then killed her thinking it would all be hers?
The thought was chilling, but not as chilling as the next thought. Were Macdara and his mam now in the crosshairs of a killer?
Nancy Flannery looked posed to cry. Siobhán reached for her hand again, determined to bring the mood up, at least for a bit. “At least our engagement is something to celebrate,” she said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she gasped. What an eejit! It was all this stress, making her blurt out secrets. Maybe Nancy Flannery was going deaf and hadn’t heard her. Macdara was going to kill her for spilling the beans. To his mam. Butterflies swirled in Siobhán’s stomach. She could pretend she had said something else. What rhymed with “engagement”?
“Engagement?” Nancy said, raising her voice, sounding the most alarmed she had all weekend.
“Arrangement?” Siobhán said, as if that’s what she’d said and now didn’t know why.
“You said ‘engagement.’”
“Did I?”
“Yes, Siobhán. You did.” It was Eoin’s voice. Siobhán turned to find her siblings, all five of them, huddled in the back doorway, gawking at her with a strong dose of suspicion and enough hurt to let Siobhán know she hadn’t just fumbled the engagement ball, she’d completely obliterated it, and her brood looked as if they wanted to shove her in the penalty box for life.
Chapter 19
It was hardly the time for an emergency family meeting, but there was no other way around it. They were all gathered in the dining room of the bistro, her brood standing in front of her like a firing squad. A phrase from an American show on telly rose to mind: “Whoops. My bad.” She was smart enough to keep her piehole shut. Speaking of pie, she could really use a slice right now. She’d already given in on the second cappuccino, and was currently clutching it like a security blanket. She was now wearing her engagement ring, trying to be chipper. Nearly an impossible task given that both Nancy Flannery and Ann were crying. Nancy, definitely not in a good way, and Siobhán wasn’t so sure about Ann. When she pressed her, she just said, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.” Macdara stood near his mam, his head bowed. His skin tone had turned green when he’d learned what Siobhán had accidentally revealed.
“I love all of you, we both do,” Siobhán said. “It’s just that—it’s going to be a very long engagement and so there wasn’t any need to spill the beans just yet.”
“And yet you did,” Macdara muttered.
“Just popped out!” she said with a cheer she didn’t feel.
Nancy’s head swiveled from Macdara to Siobhán like a heat-seeking missile. “How long of an engagement?” She looked eager, as if wanting every extra day to try and figure out how to put a stop to it.
“Months,” Macdara said.
“Years,” Siobhán said at the same time. They looked at each other.
“Well, which is it?” Nancy looked to her son.
He sighed. “We’ve both been busy. We haven’t had time to sit down and properly plan it out.”
“We will,” Siobhán said. “But you must all forgive us and let us focus on getting justice, solving this case.” Months? What was he on about—months?
“When you get married are you going to stop solving cases?” Ciarán asked.
“Of course,” Nancy Flannery said.
“Of course not,” Siobhán said.
Heads ping-ponged from her to her future mother-in-law. “You’re going to remain a guard and try to be a wife and mother?” Nancy sounded like a judge, clearly ready to deliver her verdict.
Siobhán groaned. This was why she hadn’t told anyone, this right here. She would be the one expected to do it all. The planning, quit her job, stay home and have babies. That wasn’t going to be her exact path. “I’m still going to work. We’re not in any hurry.”
“Are you both going to live here?” Ann asked.
“Here?” Nancy said. “Surely you’ll want to get a bigger place. Or . . . a place of your own.”
Siobhán tapped Macdara on the shoulder. “Why don’t you show them your engagement stick?” And if one more person says one more thing, beat them over the head with it.
“Everyone stop talking,” Gráinne said. “It’s an engagement. We should have a party.”
“We’ll celebrate when we catch the killer,” Macdara said. “Can we move on to the other topic on the agenda?”
Siobhán glanced at Nancy, who was suddenly looking around the bistro as if inspecting it for flaws.
“Can I wear that ring when you’re not?” Gráinne asked.
“Not on your life,” Siobhán said. “I mean it.”
“Okay, okay.” Gráinne was still staring at it.
“You have no idea how serious I am.”
Gráinne rolled her eyes, but Siobhán could tell the message had landed.
Nancy stood. “Jane. Are you aware that your mother and Aunt Nancy purchased the cottage?”
Oh no. No, no, no, no. Siobhán wished she was holding that engagement stick now more than ever. She had just begged Nancy not to mention that to anyone. Her future mother-in-law had no respect for her. It was proof whether Siobhán wanted to admit it or not.
Jane’s face scrunched. “What cottage?”
“The one in Ballysiogdun.”
“You’re joking me,” Macdara said. His eyes found Siobhán’s and she wondered if he saw panic in them.
“There’s no way,” Jane said. She tapped her cane as if sending out an SOS.
“Your mother called me. I paid for half of it. It wasn’t that dear.”
The price was hardly the point. Jane began to pace, her cane swinging wildly. “You were fine to leave me out of it?”
“The subject never came up. I assumed if your mother wanted
you to know, she would tell you.”
“I am so sick of being treated like a child.”
Macdara approached his mam. “How much?”
“I understand this is a shock,” Siobhán said. “But this information must not leave this room.” She tried catching everyone’s eyes as if to hammer in the warning, but they were all consumed with the revelation to understand how dangerous it was.
“Mam?” Macdara was determined.
Nancy Flannery brushed her hand in the air as if waving away a bothersome fly. “Fifteen thousand euro, luv.”
“Why didn’t you come to me first?”
“I don’t need your permission to lend my sister money.”
“I don’t like anyone taking advantage of you, even if that someone is your own sister.”
“Now my mother is a shrew, is that it?” Jane barked.
Macdara didn’t reply or even look at Jane.
“I’m happy I helped out,” Nancy said, lifting her chin into the air. “Otherwise the guilt would be eating me alive right now.”
“Someone in that village assumed the cottage would be bulldozed,” Siobhán said, hoping Jane and Macdara would calm down and focus. “But what if they discovered the cottage now belonged to Ellen Delaney and—”
“They took matters into their own hands.” Macdara was back on the trail.
“It’s possible they tried negotiating with her first. And when that didn’t work . . .” Siobhán didn’t need to repeat the gory details.
“This is outrageous. We never intended to stay that long.” Jane was still stuck on the betrayal. Siobhán felt for her, but prayed she’d realize that all hurt feelings had to be put aside until the killer was caught. Being overly emotional could get a person deeper into danger. “Why?” Jane said, pacing across the bistro, her cane tapping furiously. “Why did she keep it from me?”
“We’ll be probing into the details with the guards,” Siobhán said, raising her voice to be heard. “But I must stress something. There is a chance that this is dangerous information.” Did she have to whip out a pail of red paint and splash “DANGER” across the bistro?
“Danger?” Ciarán’s interest was piqued.
“See?” Nancy said. “This is how you want to raise your children?”
Siobhán could feel herself vibrating with anger.
“Mother,” Macdara said.
“What’s wrong with how she’s raising us?” Ann piped up. Her tone was feisty and protective.
“Nothing at all,” James said, placing an arm around Ann. “We’re doing just fine.”
“Better than fine.” Eoin grinned. “We’re deadly.”
“She’s definitely not the worst,” Gráinne said with a wink to her older sister. “Apart from hounding me about uni when I’m meant to be a stylist to the stars.” She raked her eyes over Nancy. “There’s no discount for family, although I still may be able to help you.”
Nancy blinked, then turned to Macdara. “You could have married that nice Australian girl. She had such a lovely, petite figure.”
Siobhán no longer wanted to eat pie; she wanted to plant it in Nancy Flannery’s face. There. She said it. Or at least thought it. She had to keep it under control. This was no time for a family blowout. “Until we know who killed Ellen Delaney and why, I am simply asking—no, begging—you not to speak of this again. Not even to each other, not when someone could be listening.” She stared at Nancy until they made eye contact. “And you may not approve of my profession, but my siblings, despite everything life has thrown at them, are doing just fine.”
The O’Sullivan Six stepped closer to Siobhán.
“We’re all fine,” Macdara said. “Please, let’s all calm down.”
“I’m going to have a word with Aiden Cunningham,” Jane said. “You bet I am.”
Siobhán threw her most desperate look to Macdara. This was what she was afraid of. Mouths racing like a flame along a wick. Attached to a bomb.
“No,” Macdara said. “You won’t say a word.” Jane’s chin remained thrust in the air. “Siobhán is right. Leave the investigating to us. Your lives depend on it.”
“Does my mother have a will?” Jane asked.
“We’ll sort that all out,” Macdara said. “I need your word, all of you, that you will not share any of this information.”
One by one, everyone gave their word. Jane’s lips were terse, her answer gruff. “Fine.”
Siobhán hesitated. There was one more possible secret that was being kept from Jane, and now that the dangerous bit was already out, she was curious to see Jane’s reaction. “It has also come to my attention that Ellen may have been romantically involved with Aiden Cunningham.”
“More secrets.” Jane sounded like she wanted to start swinging her cane at their suspects. But this time she didn’t sound surprised. Just resigned.
“Is it possible?”
Jane chewed on her lip. “I doubt it was true love. But if mother wanted something from him, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
How romantic. Siobhán glanced over at Macdara, now sitting near his mammy. All his lecturing about her not telling anyone about the engagement, yet all the while, he hadn’t mentioned it to his own mother. If he had, this drama could have, should have been avoided. Then again, Siobhán was the one who had wanted to keep it a secret, and he was just honoring her wishes. This was her fault; she just hated to admit it. But just like she warned Jane against letting her emotions get the best of her, Siobhán needed a clear head for this inquiry. She would have to sort this out with Macdara later.
Macdara’s mobile rang and Siobhán was so relieved for the interruption she wanted to marry the caller. “Yes. Yes. Here? She’ll be there.” He clicked off. “Jeanie Brady is on her way to Butler’s with Ellen’s body,” Macdara said. “She wants you to meet her there.”
Not marry the caller. Perhaps buy her some pistachios. Siobhan grabbed her handbag, this time housing her trusty notebook. It was preferable to the mobile where it felt like her notes were buried in the ether. “What about you?”
“I want to look into the purchase of the cottage. Make sure it’s legit.”
“Be careful.” Even looking into the matter could draw the attention of the killer.
“Keep me posted.”
“You do the same.”
He walked her to the door, and then held her back. “About my mam . . .”
“Not now, Dara.”
There was way too much to say, too little time. “Later, boss.”
Chapter 20
Jeanie Brady was waiting for Siobhán on the footpath outside Butler’s Undertaker, Lounge, and Pub. “Can we take a walk?” Jeanie said the minute Siobhán approached. “I need to stretch me legs.”
“Of course.” They headed in the direction of the town square, Jeanie taking the lead. She was a brisk walker, and Siobhán had to double-step it to keep up.
“I’m confident she was poisoned and that it caused her to fall ill, foam at the mouth, and possibly be in a state of delirium.”
There was hesitation in her voice. “But?”
“There were no traces of poison in the teacup.”
“Is it possible that the tea was poisoned but it wouldn’t leave a trace in the cup?”
“Not remotely possible.” Jeanie Brady’s eyes gleamed. “Do you want to know why?”
“I certainly do.”
“There wasn’t even a trace of tea in the cup.”
A red herring. Either Ellen Delaney was in the habit of having a clean teacup next to her bed, or the killer thought it was a good distraction. He or she hadn’t picked it up off the floor because the killer had placed it on the floor.
“Then why are you suspecting poison? The foam?”
“She had a high level of alcohol in her blood. Whiskey.”
“You think her whiskey was poisoned?”
“I do.”
“Yet we didn’t recover a bottle.”
“Exactly.”
&n
bsp; Siobhán stopped walking. “She was rumored to be out in the woods that night. Something about spending the night near the fairy tree to prove no harm would come to her.”
Jeanie Brady visibly shuddered. “That didn’t work out so well.”
“We need to search that area for a bottle of whiskey.”
“I would say that’s a good use of your time.” She jabbed her finger at Siobhán. “Better you than me.”
“You don’t believe in fairies and curses, do you?”
Jeanie gave a nervous laugh. “Me?”
“You seem a bit . . . on edge.”
Jeanie sighed. “It’s not fairies or the dead we should fear. It’s the living.”
As Jeanie continued through town, Siobhán could see where they were headed—Annmarie’s gift shop. It was originally called “Courtney’s” after her late sister, but even though the sign hadn’t changed, people now simply referred to it as Annmarie’s. Jeanie was being led to the imported pistachios that Annmarie kept in stock. Siobhán had the feeling she was about to lose Jeanie Brady’s attention. She stopped her on the footpath just outside the shop. “What else did you find?”
“Her official cause of death is suffocation.”
“The pillow?”
“Yes.”
“Could it have been done without the poison?”
“I believe they worked in tandem. The alcohol rendered her helpless, unable to fight back.” She gazed longingly into the window of the gift shop. “Grisly business.”
“Do you have samples from the plants in her garden?” Siobhán had no idea what kind of investigation the guards were running, and so far she’d resisted hounding Danny for facts.
Jeanie shook her head. “I’ll put in a request to do just that. But those tests can take ages. And that’s when we know which poison to look for. You know yourself—anything can be poisonous. The difference between medication and poison is . . . ?” She left it hanging, waiting for Siobhán to answer.
“The dose,” Siobhán said.
“Correct! The difference is in the dose. But with a poisonous herb garden right at the crime scene, it would be helpful if we could narrow our suspect list.” Plants. Plants were their suspects. Jeanie gestured to the store. “I’m going to just pop in; are you coming?”
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