“You panicked so much you took her handbag and mobile, drove off in her truck,” Siobhán said.
He nodded. “Given the broken window, I thought a robbery was the most logical. I didn’t realize I’d left Dylan Kelly’s manuscript on the counter.”
“This is unbelievable,” Dylan said. “What a plot twist!”
“You also interrupted the killer,” Siobhán added.
“Me?” Aiden pointed to himself. “I saw no one.”
“The killer was hiding under the bed. Where he or she dropped the gold coin.”
“How do you figure that?” Danny interjected.
“Ellen was taunting them with her stash. First with a painting. Then a tip to Molly. Then Eddie.”
“Such an insufferable woman!” Geraldine cried out.
“One more comment like that and we’ll have a third murder on our hands,” Jane said. “And I don’t care who locks me up!”
Joe Madigan stepped up. “If you think you know who it is, then just spit it out.”
“It was your daughter who helped me solve the riddle,” Siobhán said, turning to Mary and Joe.
“Lilly?” Joe said.
“She saw everything, she just didn’t know everything she was seeing.” Siobhán turned back to Joe. “You and Jane were having a secret affair. You two thought you were so good at keeping it a secret, but many people knew.” She pivoted on Mary Madigan standing like a block of ice by the door. “Including your wife.” Mary turned beet red. “At first I assumed you spent the weekend following your husband and Jane.”
Joe turned to his wife, shame stamped on his face. “You knew?” He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Is that why you didn’t tell me about this?”
Danny stepped forward to grab the envelope. He opened it. “I don’t understand.” He turned to Mary Madigan. “You were accepted at Glasgow School of Art?”
“Yes,” Mary said. “I leave in the fall with the children.”
“No you don’t,” Joe said.
“Not with my grandchildren,” Geraldine added.
“All your family drama aside,” Aiden said, pushing through the Madigans and squaring off in front of Siobhán. “If you know who the killer is, I demand you tell us right this instant!”
Siobhán would not allow this bully to push her. Especially when he’d been running from their questions since the beginning. “When I first visited the Madigan farmhouse, Joe told us about an unexpected visitor in the barn that night. I think it was the killer.”
Joe gasped. “I had no idea.”
“There was also a bottle of Powers whiskey on your counter. Odd, given that you’re all teetotalers.”
“It was for a still-life painting,” Mary Madigan cried. She turned to Annabel. “The assignment was to paint something we feared. Tell them.”
“Yes,” Annabel said. “That’s correct. Mary chose the bottle of whiskey, and Ellen did a series of paintings.”
Siobhán approached the fireplace where she had propped all of Ellen’s paintings. She began to line them up along the walls one by one. As the villagers exclaimed over them, once again she addressed Mary Madigan.
“You were the final person who was here that evening.”
“Why would she be here?” Joe barked.
“She was waiting. Hoping Ellen would never return home.”
“Waiting and hoping for what?” Joe sputtered.
“For the poison to take effect.”
“That’s absurd,” Geraldine said. She started to laugh. She stopped when she saw the look on Mary Madigan’s face. Pure defiance.
“I will consent that your pretext for having a bottle of Powers whiskey was Annabel’s class assignment.”
“Pretext?” Joe’s face was a contortion of emotion.
“When I spoke to Molly, she mentioned that Mary Madigan paid Ellen a visit shortly before the murder. Under the pretext of trying yet again to convince Ellen to donate a painting.” She turned to Mary Madigan. “Annabel, however, didn’t remember this. And why would you come here to do that? Why not wait until you were in class with Ellen?”
“See?” Joe said. “It makes no sense.”
“She came to switch Ellen’s usual bottle of whiskey—the one she always kept on the counter—with the poisoned bottle. The one I saw in your kitchen must have been Ellen’s original bottle.”
Siobhán pointed to the wolfsbane painting hanging on the wall. “You overheard Ellen talking about how deadly the roots were, didn’t you?” Mary didn’t speak, or move. “Then you practiced. On mice.”
“You?” Joe said. “You killed those mice?”
“Did she mutilate them too?” Danny asked. “Is that why there was blood in the sink?”
“Mary didn’t put the mouse in the sink or use a knife on them,” Siobhán explained. “Eddie did. After he found one of the poor critters poisoned. He cut the tail off.”
“Why on earth would he do dat?” Danny was growing frustrated.
“Because it was part of his riddle. Remember, he’d seen the killer. He was looking through the window when he witnessed Mary Madigan suffocating Ellen Delaney with her own pillow.”
Exclamations erupted. “What riddle?” Danny wanted answers.
Siobhán moved to the sink where the bloody words were starting to fade, taking on a ghostly quality. “Tree, Jane,” Siobhán said. She looked at Macdara. “Not Jane. Tree.”
“Who cares,” Geraldine shouted. “He’s saying Jane is the killer. That she sent her mother to die by the fairy tree!”
“No,” Siobhán said. “He was writing phonetically.”
“My God,” Macdara said. “He didn’t mind his h’s.”
Siobhán knew he’d get it. “Correct. Tree is ‘three.’ I wasn’t sure until he confirmed it in the tent, this time with three tic marks.”
“Three?” Danny said. “Three what? Three Jane?”
“Blind,” Jane answered, her voice filled with shock. “My name was code for ‘blind.’ ”
“Yes,” Siobhán answered. “Three blind.”
“Mice,” Macdara finished. “Three blind mice.”
“They all ran after the farmer’s wife,” Jane sang, her soft voice wobbling.
“Who cut off their tale with a carving knife,” Danny joined in. He whistled. “But there was only one mouse, like. Wouldn’t that make it ‘Three Blind Mouse?’ ”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate the grammar lesson if he was here to hear it,” Siobhán snapped. “Can we focus on what matters. Or shall I say who.”
En masse the group turned to Mary Madigan.
“A foolish riddle!” she sputtered. “It’s hardly proof!”
Joe barreled up to his wife. “Tell the truth. You’re a God-fearing woman. What did you do?”
Mary crumpled, tears gushing down her face. “How many times did we beg you to leave the cottage?” she said, whirling on Jane. “My poor boy got sick and even then you wouldn’t go. When I tried to explain that to her—she—she was so cruel. She had the nerve to say that maybe a fairy had stolen William and that he was a changeling. That’s why he was so clingy. I could have killed her right then and there.” Mary turned to Geraldine. “She didn’t just brag about the treasure. She was torturing us. Then she had the nerve to say that she’d purchased the cottage and it was never going to come down.” She whirled on Aiden Cunningham. “How could you?”
Aiden bowed his head. “I told you the sale didn’t happen. I had no idea she was spinning that lie.”
Danny MacGregor stepped forward. “Mary Madigan. Are you admitting to the murder of Ellen Delaney?”
“And Eddie Doolan,” Siobhán said quietly.
“Why on earth would she kill him?” Joe said.
“Because I’m not the only one who figured out that riddle. Mary did too. What a nice touch just now, acting surprised. But you already knew. That’s why you left me a note at Molly’s, hoping to distract me, and threw the rock into the window of the inn. You were hiding und
er the bed when Aiden came in. By the time you ran back to the farm, you were holding Ellen’s shirt. You spent the night in your own barn.”
“Why on earth would she do that?” Joe beseeched. “It’s her house.”
“Because she wasn’t supposed to be home. She couldn’t have Geraldine witnessing her return.” She turned back to Mary Madigan. “Later I saw your daughter wearing Ellen’s shirt. The one she wore camping. There were also strips of hay under the clothesline. You washed the clothes you wore that night, but after sleeping in the barn, you didn’t get all the bits of hay. After killing Ellen, you heard Aiden arriving. You dove under the bed. Dropped a gold coin. Ellen must have dropped her shirt on the floor right where you were hiding. That’s why you freaked out when you saw Lilly wearing it.”
Joe’s face was red. He turned to his wife. “Why would you bring that home?”
“I didn’t even know I had it. Ellen dumped it on the floor. I guess I didn’t realize I was clutching it until I reached the barn.” Her voice was depleted. She knew the jig was up.
“Did you dress her?” Jane said.
“Her lovely red outfit was already hanging on the door. I was being respectful.”
Siobhán had that piece of the puzzle slightly wrong. “You planted a teacup, hoping the guards wouldn’t test for poison.”
“Murderer!” Jane shrieked. She lunged in the direction of Mary’s voice. Macdara held her back. “Was it you who nearly ran over us on the road?”
Danny cleared his throat. “That was one of the guards. Racing to get to the scene and passed up the entrance. Sorry about that.”
Siobhán pivoted to Mary once again. “You didn’t just break in to kill Ellen Delaney,” she said. “Do you want to tell them about the gold?”
“Fools,” Mary Madigan said. “Give me a head start and I’ll tell you.”
“No need,” Siobhán said. She approached Deadly Herbs hanging on the wall. She took it off and turned it around. Taped to the back of the frame, filling every inch, were guineas.
The crowd moved closer as if the coins were magnets pulling them in against their will. “The hoard,” Geraldine said. “I knew it was here. I knew it.” The distraction worked in Mary Madigan’s favor. She lunged for the door, threw it open and bolted. Danny and Macdara ran after her. Moments later, a loud roar rang out. The sounds of an engine firing up. Outside the open door, the yellow bulldozer roared, wheels churning up dirt as it began to move.
“Everybody out!” Siobhán shouted. “Now!”
Chapter 33
The bulldozer plowed forward, heading straight for the cottage. The paid operator, who had been smoking a cigarette on the grounds, had his hands on top of his hard hat and was shouting up at her to stop.
“How does she know how to drive that thing?” someone asked.
“She’s been on tractors all her life,” Joe said. “It’s not that difficult.”
Despite the guards screaming at her, Mary Madigan rammed the bulldozer into the building. “Seems she doesn’t know how to work it completely,” Macdara said as the impact shook the cottage and rattled the windows.
“It was just a prop,” Siobhán said. “It would take a lot more than that yoke to bring the cottage down.”
“You yelled at us to get out,” Macdara said.
“Safety first,” Siobhán said. “Plus, I really didn’t want to miss this.”
Mary backed the bulldozer up and rammed it into the cottage again. Dylan Kelly was filming it, encouraging her. On the third go, the bulldozer shut off, and after, all they could hear was the grunt and whine of the engine shutting down, and her sobs. A gust of wind came through, followed by a creak. All heads swiveled to the front of the cottage where the door still gaped open. Then heads swiveled to the back door, a mirror image.
“Looks like the fairies got their way,” Geraldine said. “A free passage from front to back.”
* * *
Naomi’s Bistro comforted them with all the trappings of home. The kettle was on, the fire was crackling, and the pie was out of the cooler. “Thanks be to heaven we’re away from the fairies,” Gráinne said.
“I never got to see one,” Ciarán said. “Can we get a fairy tree?”
“You’ve got your pocket full of stones,” Siobhán said. “You can put them in a ring in the back garden.” Ciarán skipped off to do just that, their pup Trigger barking at his heels. They had dropped Jane off with Macdara’s mam. She would stay with her for a while before deciding her next move. Siobhán sat across from Macdara long after their pie was gone, enjoying a rare bout of silence.
“Want to set a date?” he asked her softly. “That is, if you’ll still have me?”
“I was giving it a bit of thought myself,” Siobhán said. “A ceremony at Saint Mary’s and then a reception at the abbey sounds just about perfect. What do you think?”
“I think,” he said, taking her hands in his, “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Now about the date. Is next fall too soon?”
The bell on the front door jingled and a familiar voice filtered into the bistro. Macdara arched an eyebrow. “Is that?”
James flew into the room, holding hands with Elise.
“Guess what?” James said.
“We’re getting married,” Elise trilled.
James’s grin spread ear to ear. “Next month.”
Elise jumped up and down. “We’re having the ceremony at Saint Mary’s and then—get this—the reception at the abbey!” The proclamation was topped off with an ear-piercing squeal.
Macdara, to Siobhán’s surprise, started to laugh. He tried covering his mouth, but that just made it worse. Soon, he was roaring with laughter. Siobhán didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or punch Elise in the face. “If you didn’t believe in the curse of fairies before,” Macdara said, “you might want to think twice about it now.”
“What is he on about?” James asked.
“Nothing at all,” Siobhán said, getting ahold of herself and stepping forward. “Congratulations, luv.” She hugged her brother, as Elise chattered in the background, mouth running about her wedding plans. Siobhán glanced out the back windows to the garden, where Ciarán and Ann were standing over his ring of stones in the grass.
Evil. Vengeful. Fairies.
I hear ye, Siobhán thought. I hear you loud and clear.
Believe.
Murder in an Irish Cottage Page 26
