Murder in an Irish Pub

by Carlene O'Connor

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No. You said, ’I’ll see him dead . . .’ ”

  “Semantics.” Shane waved his hand and blew air from his lips.

  Semantics, or is Shane making this up as he goes?

  “What did Eamon say in return?” Macdara asked.

  Shane rubbed his head, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. “He said, ’As you wish.’ ”

  “Like from the movie Princess Bride?” Siobhán said.

  Shane folded his arms across his chest. “Never seen it.”

  “You should,” Macdara said. “Excellent film.”

  “He’s seen it,” Siobhán said. “Everyone’s seen it.”

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “Try again,” Macdara said.

  Shane slouched. “I might have seen half of it.”

  He stopped speaking, but Siobhán could tell there was something else. “Go on,” she said. “Out with it.” She was the bad garda now and back in charge of the interview.

  Shane grinned. “You caught me. Brilliant film.” He bobbed his head. “Revenge always makes for a great story, don’t you t’ink?”

  “What would you know about revenge?” Siobhán kept a smile on her face.

  Shane shook his head. “Me? Nothing.” He opened his arms. “I’m a man of peace.”

  Siobhán leaned forward. “Someone else?”

  “It’s just a rumor.”

  “We like rumors, don’t we?” She turned to Macdara.

  He nodded. “I will admit it. I do like a good rumor.”

  Siobhán smiled at the bluffing eejit across from her and imagined the day he left Kilbane for good. “Rumor away.”

  Shane sighed. “All that yelling Rose is doing about her husband being murdered?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s all an act. A little drama for the crowds.”

  “That’s not a rumor,” Siobhán said.

  Shane glanced at Macdara.

  “She’s right. Not a rumor. Will you be needing a dictionary?”

  Shane shook his head. “The rumor is that Eamon wasn’t the father of dat baby.”

  “Who might be spreading that rumor?” Macdara asked.

  Shane glanced at the black curtain separating the interview rooms and jerked his thumb toward it.

  “We’re going to need a verbal answer,” Siobhán said.

  “Clementine Hart.” He threw up his hands. “That’s all I know. Am I free? I’d like to go home.”

  Macdara shook his head. “You were planning on staying for the tournament over the rest of the weekend. I’d appreciate if you’d stay.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Do I need to make it one?”

  Shane stood. “This is ridiculous. The man hanged himself.”

  “His widow doesn’t think so.”

  “And I told you, that widow is playing you.”

  “Based on a rumor you heard from Clementine Hart?”

  “Eamon Foley said his little swimmers were no good.” Shane waited for his message to land. “He’d been to a doctor and everything. Why don’t you see if you can get your hands on his medical records? Crowing like Rose’s pregnancy was some kind of gift from God. How did he phrase it?” He stared at Siobhán. “You’re big at phrasing.”

  She forced a smile. “I am.”

  “ ‘A miracle baby.’ ” Shane scoffed. “Dat’s what he said. The only miracle was that he was dumb enough to believe it could be his baby.” He shook his head and drummed his fingers on the table. “It was a gift, alright, but not the heavenly sort. She was knocking boots with someone else, and my guess is he finally figured that out for himself. That’s why he killed himself. Mystery solved, Detectives. You’re welcome.”

  Siobhán wrote a single word on her notepad: Sterile? Was there any truth to this? Would they be able to get his medical records? Shane was still talking out of his mouth.

  “Rose Foley is a miserable shrew and he wanted out of that marriage. If he wasn’t sterile, who knows how many snot-nosed brats he’d have running around? You know that’s why they really call him the Octopus.”

  Macdara kept an impassive face. “Do tell.”

  “He needed eight hands for all the colleens he bedded.”

  “You’re saying he was having an affair?”

  “That’s a soft word. Too soft for the likes of him.” His head swiveled to Siobhán again. “He likes them young too, that really riled up the missus. There was a black-haired beauty last night hanging all over him. What was her name?” He snapped his fingers. “Gráinne O’Sullivan.” He whistled. “Nice one, that.”

  Macdara screeched his chair back as Siobhán whittled an imaginary spear and stabbed him with it. “Stay the weekend. That’s an order.” Siobhán knew it wasn’t enforceable, but it was worth a shot.

  Shane gave a curt nod. He stood, then whirled around and jabbed his finger at the pair of them. “Don’t be telling anyone you heard that rumor from me. If there is a murderer running around, I don’t need to give the killer a reason to come after me.”

  * * *

  Siobhán and Macdara huddled outside the interrogation room. Concern was stamped on Macdara’s face. “How ya doing, boss?”

  Siobhán collapsed against the wall. “I blew it. I let him push all my buttons.”

  “That’s not my read.”

  “It’s not?”

  “The only reason he turned up the volume was because you were making him nervous. If you ask me, that was all the acts of a desperate man determined to hide the truth from us.”

  “It didn’t feel like that.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you. You did good.”

  “I’m going to kill Ciarán.”

  “Go easy on the lad.”

  “If you say, ’Lads will be lads,’ I’m going to clop you over the head.”

  “What if I say, ’You best watch that redheaded temper’?”

  “I’d clock you for that too.”

  “What lad wouldn’t sneak out to see the famous Octopus?”

  Maybe that’s what was really bothering her. What mother wouldn’t realize that? She wasn’t his mother. She didn’t have the instinct. No matter how hard she tried, she’d never replace the real thing. She’d let Ciarán down. The person she was most angry at was herself. Her mam would have had an ear out for a creak in the step. Or she would have been waiting at the bottom of the steps in her blue robe and knowing look. She would have sensed it the way some folks could feel the rain in their bones. “I keep seeing him around all of that drinking, and gambling, and smoking—and as it turned out, death.”

  “He wouldn’t have had all that in his head.”

  “I keep having to try and figure out what my parents would have done. It’s not fair.”

  “No. It’s not.” He stared at his shoes. “You want me to have a word with him?”

  “No.” Macdara was a good influence, but he wasn’t blood. He wasn’t their father. They’d keep this in-house. “Why didn’t you have more guards posted at Sharkey’s?”

  “We had plenty. Most in plainclothes. All say the same thing. It was a circus. You know yourself.”

  Siobhán nodded. “Any news on Amanda?”

  “I’m going to check in with my guards now on that. I suppose you’re going straight to Ciarán?”

  Siobhán shook her head. “I’d better wait until I have me temper a bit under control. Besides, I thought we were meeting with Clementine Hart next?”

  “We were supposed to.” Macdara held up his mobile. “I got a text.” He turned his screen to her. “She left the station.”

  “What?” These players! Maddening. “Why would she do that?”

  Macdara shrugged. “Said she’d be at the festival.”

  Why would she do a runner? “I’m on it.”

  “When you find her, schedule a new appointment—make sure she’s motivated to stick to this one—and text me the details.”

  “Is anyon
e watching the widow?”

  “I’ve got guards on all our suspects.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Why, Ms. O’Sullivan, is that a compliment I hear?”

  “Make it last. I won’t be giving them out like candy.”

  Macdara laughed. He looked as if he wanted to lean in for a kiss, but as usual resisted. “Good luck.”

  “Can I have the evidence bags?” Macdara took the playing cards in plastic bags and handed them to her. She expected a fuss, so she looked at him with surprise.

  “They’re just props. The original ones are in the evidence locker.” He gave her a wink that made her feel like she was floating.

  Siobhán smiled to herself as she left the station with the playing cards in their plastic bags. Macdara Flannery always did like a good prop.

  Chapter 12

  It wasn’t hard to spot Clementine Hart, not only because her gorgeous dark skin was in contrast with the pale Irish folks surrounding her, but because she had a regal presence, making the Queen of Hearts an apt nickname indeed. As Siobhán approached, she spotted Ciarán at the head of the fan pack, holding out his deck of cards. She had to force her mind elsewhere. She was going to have her word with him, and whichever brother dragged him out by his ear, but right now she needed to focus on Clementine Hart.

  But as soon as she had taken a step inside the circle with Clementine, she was bumped from behind. She whirled around to see Ann, her blond hair tousled, cheeks shiny red, standing before her breathless.

  “I found her!”

  For a moment Siobhán was lost. “Who?”

  “Amanda.”

  “Where was she?”

  Ann’s face clouded over. “I can’t be giving away our hiding places.”

  Siobhán sighed. Another thing she’d have to deal with later. “Where is she now?”

  “With the guards. They’re bringing her home now.”

  “Good girl.” Siobhán wrapped her sister in a hug.

  Ann pulled away. “Can I go see her?”

  “I think the family will need some time.”

  “She asked me to come over.”

  “I thought you had camogie practice?” Ann was a star at the stick-and-ball game.

  “No practice during the festival.”

  Siobhán wished there was. At least one of her brood would be preoccupied with something healthy. “You can invite her to the bistro tomorrow. Let the family have their time.” Ann’s shoulders sank with disappointment. Siobhán drew her in again. “It’s only a day. Where’s James?”

  “I dunno. He took off again.” Ann leaned in, her voice low. “I think he and Elise had a row.”

  James was keeping a low profile. Siobhán had assumed it was because of his addictions. But maybe there was more going on. They were all silently falling apart, and Siobhán had no idea how to put them back together. That’s it. She was going to have to schedule a family supper. Not tonight. But sometime soon. “Why don’t you go off and enjoy the festival then?”

  “With a murderer running loose?” Ann jutted out her hip.

  “If you stay close to the locals, you’ll be fine.” Siobhán did not want her siblings, or any of the folks in town, to stop living their lives. They would catch this killer. Her eyes flicked back to Clementine. She was still engaged with her fan club, but she threw a nervous glance at Siobhán, studying, it seemed, her shiny garda cap.

  “Amanda is going to be my best friend,” Ann crooned. “Muscles in her arms like a lad. From carrying heavy buckets of water to and from the barn.” Her eyes practically glowed. “I bet she can fight like a lad too.”

  Ann sounded infatuated. She was coming into an age where she would be finding herself. Some roads were harder than others, but Siobhán would make sure she always felt loved and supported. Or maybe Amanda would turn out to be a best friend. You could never have enough love, no matter what. Siobhán gently grabbed the back of Ciarán’s jumper, whirled him around, and nudged him toward Ann. “Why don’t the two of you spend some time together?”

  “I’m spending time with Clementine,” Ciarán said. Clementine sported the expression of a kidnapped victim.

  “Clementine and I have plans,” Siobhán said, mostly for Clementine’s benefit. “Why don’t the two of ye help Eoin sell his comics, alright?”

  “Graphic novels,” Ann corrected.

  “Graphic novels, so,” Siobhán said.

  “Can we get curried chips?” Ciarán’s eyes shone with excitement. How could he look so sweet and innocent, yet be keeping secrets from her at the same time?

  She glanced at Clementine. The same thing could be said of murder suspects.

  Siobhán wished she could have curried chips. Wander the festival without a single thought of cardsharps. “Go on then. Bring Eoin a basket too.” She dug in her pocket, handed Ann the euro, and gently shoved them off.

  She turned to Clementine with a smile and spoke loudly so the rest of the hangers-on would hear. “Ready for our lunch date?”

  “Lunch date or interrogation?” Clementine shot back, flashing a wide smile.

  “I’m a multitasker,” Siobhán said. “No reason it can’t be both.”

  * * *

  Siobhán found she needed the comfort and quiet of the bistro, so she brought Clementine in and they sat at a table in the back dining room with a view of the garden. Spring was springing all over the place. There were bluebells, with their little purple heads bowed down; patches of broom, which were so sunny and bright; pansies and violets, along with pink and red roses, to name a few. Her mam could have named all of them. Their herb section was looking fabulous, thanks to Eoin, and every so often he would pick them and hang them upside down in their kitchen like Mam would do. Siobhán liked plucking mint and dropping it into hot water, or even just inhaling it.

  Siobhán also liked watching the bees, butterflies, and dragonflies zipping around. Nice work if you could get it. At the end of the day the little things mattered most. The tiny little miracles every human being deserved. Another reason it so incensed her when a life was cut short. She couldn’t bring Eamon Foley back, but she could find his killer. She made herself and Clementine a mug of tea and grabbed some brown bread cooling in the kitchen.

  “This is amazing,” Clementine said after her first several bites.

  “It’s me special talent,” Siobhán said.

  “Can I have the recipe?”

  “No.”

  Clementine raised an eyebrow, then laughed. She jabbed a finger at Siobhán. “I like you.”

  “Thank you.” Siobhán liked her too. But she didn’t say it. She was on duty. Besides, Clementine could be a killer.

  “I didn’t stay long at Sharkey’s,” Clementine volunteered.

  “You didn’t stay long in our interrogation room either,” Siobhán quipped.

  “I have a hard time sitting still. It’s not like I’m hiding anything.” She opened her arms and grinned. “All here.”

  “Why didn’t you stay long at Sharkey’s?”

  “I wanted to be rested for the tournament and the men were behaving like absolute animals.”

  Siobhán tried to shove the image of Ciarán among all those animals out of her mind. “What time would you say you left?”

  “Half eleven.”

  “Are you sure?” That sounded way too early. Shane claimed he left at half one.

  “I wanted to be in bed by midnight.”

  Siobhán found herself lost for a minute in Clementine’s English accent. She demurred for a moment about the immaturity of men, bonding with the woman she wished were her friend. She pulled out the playing cards and laid them on the table between them.

  “Interesting.” Clementine reached for the bags and then stopped. “Can I touch them?”

  “They’re safe in the plastic, you can, sure.”

  Clementine picked up the playing cards and studied them closely. “Seems like something the wife would do, doesn’t it?”

  Shane was right. Cl
ementine was gunning for the widow, throwing her under the tractor at the first opportunity. “Why would she do that?”

  Clementine didn’t hesitate. “We were the competition.”

  “Whoever did this wanted to send some kind of message. What message would the widow be sending?”

  Clementine shook her head. “That’s your territory. I have no idea.”

  “Was Rose Foley at Sharkey’s that evening?”

  Clementine nodded. “She was storming in as I went out.”

  Siobhán didn’t need clarification. Every single time she’d seen Rose, the woman seemed to be on a warpath. Rose Foley had lied straight to their faces. Insisted that she had gone to bed. “Nathan Doyle mentioned you spoke with him that evening.”

  Clementine crossed her arms against her chest. “He’s an odd one, don’t you think?”

  Siobhán agreed, but kept her gob shut. “He said you were pressuring him to announce his decision.”

  “What decision?”

  Clementine knew very well what decision. She was stalling. Why? “About whether or not Eamon Foley was to be banned from the tournament?”

  Clementine made a steeple with her hands. “Pressuring him? Is that what he said?”

  “Yes.”

  “What a weakling.”

  “Pardon?”

  She tapped her long red nails on the table. “He says ’pressure,’ I say ’persistent.’ If I had been caught cheating, do you think he would have taken the evening to think about it?”

  “I would hope so,” Siobhán said. “He needed to review the tapes.”

  “Why couldn’t he do that right away?”

  “Namely because of the crowd. It would have been irresponsible not to control when and how the decision was rendered.” Clementine rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. “Why were you so persistent? Why couldn’t you wait for his decision in the morning?”

  “Once it’s after midnight, it’s the morning.” Clementine smiled.

  “You said you left at half eleven.”

  Clementine’s smile faded. “I’m still on London time.”

  “London time is the same as Cork time.”

  “Is it?” She smiled. “You have to be persistent to make it in this field as a female. Isn’t it the same for you? As a female guard?”

  “What time did you really leave Sharkey’s?”