Siobhán made their drinks and then found Gráinne in her bedroom, chatting on her mobile and surrounded by at least five bottles of nail polish. Buoyed with caffeine, Siobhán left a grumpy Gráinne in charge of taking down the tent.
Wrestling with a finicky tent pole, Gráinne was still at it when Siobhán and Macdara headed off. Macdara’s grin said it all.
“The O-ring is caught,” he whispered to Siobhán. It had latched onto the edge of the table. Gráinne wrestled with it like it was a mortal enemy, dragging the table across the street instead of releasing it.
Siobhán hated to admit that Gráinne struggling was amusing to watch. “Should we help her?” she whispered to Macdara.
“Give her a few more seconds,” Macdara said, clearly enjoying it as well. Eoin ruined their fun by ambling over and sorting it out in seconds. “I loosened it for you,” Gráinne said.
“It’s not a jar of pickles,” Eoin shot back good-naturedly as Siobhán and Macdara headed to the station.
* * *
Henry Moore’s farm was a gorgeous sprawling place with a solid white barn and a stone farmhouse. Amanda was in the field brushing Midnight. He was a magnificent creature. Henry Moore stepped up as soon as Macdara and Siobhán emerged from the car.
He held his hands up as if they were here to arrest him. “I haven’t seen or heard from dat woman since I threw her off me farm.”
A sheepdog ambled up and sniffed Siobhán’s shoes. She scratched its head and it backed off, affronted. It had taken Trigger a while to like her as well. Was she some kind of dog repellent? It rubbed against Macdara’s legs, and when he patted it on the head, the shaggy thing practically purred.
Macdara cleared his throat. “We’d like to hear from you exactly what happened when she was here.”
“And Amanda,” Siobhán added. “We need to hear from her as well.”
Henry Moore jabbed a shovel into the ground. “Leave her out of this.”
“You wouldn’t want to keep talking to Garda O’Sullivan in that tone,” Macdara said. “And we will need to speak to your daughter.”
Henry’s eyes slid to the left; then he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Amanda turned and headed their way. “How about Midnight? Will you be wanting his statement as well, like?”
If only the horse could talk. “We’ll wait for Doctor Dolittle on that front,” Macdara said with a smile. “Now how about you start from the beginning?”
“There isn’t much to tell. That woman stormed up here with yer man and a rope.”
Siobhán had to interrupt. “She had a rope?”
“Said she wasn’t leaving me property without her horse. Can you believe dat?”
Yes. Siobhán could believe it. Did he not remember being the drunken eejit that bet the horse in a poker game with the Octopus? “A rope?” she said again.
Macdara took a step forward. “Did she leave the rope?”
“No. She took it with her.”
“I understand you have a standing order for rope with the hardware shop?” Siobhán hoped her tone was light.
Henry Moore stabbed the ground with his shovel. “Is there a problem?”
“Did you bring rope with you to Sharkey’s that Friday night?”
Henry Moore squinted. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”
“You’d better not be here to take my horse,” Amanda said as she approached. Her cheeks were flushed, her nostrils flared. She stared at Siobhán. “You promised.”
“No one is here to take your horse.”
“I hope you’re listening,” Macdara added. “Because if we have to send guards out again looking for you and your horse in the middle of a busy investigation, we’re going to be mighty sore about it.”
Amanda regarded Macdara as if deciding whether to punch him or ask him to dance. “Yes, sir.” Dance it is.
“Did Nathan Doyle say or do anything while they were here?” Siobhán asked.
Amanda scrunched her eyebrows. “Nathan Doyle?”
“The big fella who was with her.”
Macdara shifted beside her. Anytime she mentioned Nathan Doyle lately, Macdara was like a jumpy rabbit. Definitely something up with him and that man. She was going to get it out of him today.
“He only spoke with her. Whispering to her, like,” Amanda said.
“Seemed the fella was trying to calm her down,” Henry Moore said. “I have no quarrel with him.”
“He should stay off our property,” Amanda said. “Everyone should stay off our property!”
Siobhán wasn’t going to indulge Amanda. She turned back to Henry. “Can you tell us if the rope looked old or brand-new?”
Henry Moore shaded his eyes from the sun. “Why are ye on about the rope?” He dropped his hand and leaned in. “Do you think it has something to do with the rope the man used to hang himself?”
“You sound confident it was a suicide,” Siobhán said.
“I t’ink it was. I don’t know any man who would go to the trouble. There’s much easier ways to kill someone.” He slid a look to his daughter, obviously trying to clean up his descriptions. Amanda Moore didn’t look the least offended.
“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Amanda said. “If you want to get away with murder, that is. Although poisoning would be good too.” The adults all stared at her. She didn’t seem to notice.
Henry Moore stood still, but his face registered surprise and then concern. “Do you see what these tragedies are doing to our young ones? All the shows on telly about solving crimes? It’s a disgrace, I tell ye. A disgrace.”
“It’s life, Da. Same as you always said. Life on a farm means getting close to both life and death.” She faced Macdara and Siobhán. “I’ve seen things born, and I’ve seen things die. It doesn’t scare me.”
Siobhán made a mental note that she didn’t want Ann spending too much time with this girl. “How long were Rose Foley and Nathan Doyle here?”
“No more than ten minutes. He had to drag her off, screaming and threatening.”
“Any chance she said where she was going next?”
“Why don’t you ask yer man? He’s the one who was with her.”
“You never answered my question about the rope.”
“It looked brand-new, I’d say.”
“Was it the exact rope you buy from Liam?”
“I didn’t pay much attention.” He was on high alert now. “You’re saying the rope I buy is the exact rope used to hang the Octopus?”
Siobhán did not respond. Henry Moore whistled. “It’s common enough. And Liam doesn’t just sell to me, don’t you know.”
Macdara leaned in and whispered to Siobhán. “How many times have we questioned him and this is the first time he says that Rose brought rope with her?”
Siobhán nodded. “What are you thinking?”
He glanced over at Amanda. “We need to question the stonewalling father and teenage psycho separately.”
Siobhán stepped up to Henry. “We’d love a mug of tea.”
He leaned on his shovel and sighed. “You best come in then.”
Chapter 21
The farmhouse was plain but tidy. Henry put the kettle on, placed biscuits on the table, and tended to their tea. Macdara kicked off the pleasantries. “Where’s the missus?”
“On a bus trip to Waterford with the ladies.”
“Ah, lovely,” Siobhán said. She loved Waterford. Her mam always collected Waterford Crystal. For a second she lost herself in the pleasant memory. Soon all the reluctance seemed to go out of Henry Moore and he began to talk.
“It was a foolish thing, betting the racehorse. But I had a pair of aces and a pair of fives. It seemed like Lady Luck was shining on me.” Henry Moore clenched his fist. “Turns out she wasn’t a lady a’t’all.”
“Blaming Lady Luck,” Macdara said with a wink. “That’s a first.”
“What went down after you lost the racehorse?” Siobhán said. “I’d like to know every little detail.”
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“That’s a woman for you. Making you relive every second of the worst day of your life.” Henry looked to Macdara, hoping for a shared laugh.
“That’s a guard for you,” Macdara corrected. “I’d like every detail m’self. If you’re going to disparage her for it, you’d better toss me under the same tractor.”
“Apologies.” Henry bowed his head. “Sensitive, are ye?”
Macdara placed his hand over his heart. “I am indeed.”
Siobhán was torn between gratitude that he’d come to her defense and fury that she didn’t rise to it herself. She felt sorry for Amanda. She worked that farm as good as any lad, maybe better. Siobhán had a suspicion that no matter what Amanda did, it would be lacking in her father’s eyes. It must be a frustrating way to grow up. No wonder Amanda was so attached to her horse. Animals loved a person unconditionally. The purest form of love, untainted by ego. She made a mental note to bring a little treat home for Trigger.
“Take us back to Friday night,” Siobhán said. “And your interactions with the Octopus.”
“I might have lost me temper,” Henry said at last. “He was mocking me. Dancing around like an eejit crowing how he now owned a racehorse.” Henry shook his head. “He wouldn’t know the first thing about dat horse. Not the first thing.”
Yet, you bet the horse anyway . . . Now that Siobhán knew the wife was out of town, Henry Moore’s foolishness made a bit more sense. Had she been here to stop it, he might not be a murder suspect right now. Along with her firecracker of a daughter.
“Dancing around. What else?”
“I tried to get him to play me again.” Henry Moore rubbed his face as if trying to wash the memory out of his skin. “I had that sinking feeling in my gut. I needed to make it right.” He looked up as if pleading with them. “I just wanted to make it right. But Eamon said he was done playing. Asked for another jar. He was already wobbling. Started bucking around and cracking a whip like he was on me horse.”
Your daughter’s horse . . .
Siobhán stirred sugar into her tea. “Amanda was there, wasn’t she?”
“I swear, I didn’t even know she was there.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And don’t go lecturing me. The wife is the one that disciplines her. I’m useless. That night everyone was there. You know yourself.”
He’s talking about Ciarán. Her fists clenched. She reached out for a biscuit. Then two.
“Go on,” Macdara said.
“Eamon danced around in the middle of the pub. Bucked like he was on a horse.” He winced. “Pretended to whip a horse.” He dropped his head. “That’s when Amanda lost it. I heard her scream. I knew that scream was me Amanda, even before I turned and saw her in the corner with her friends. They were all dressed like grown women on the prowl. I blame the guards for not putting a solid boot down on the evening. Why did you let it get so out of control?”
Macdara didn’t rise to the bait. “You heard Amanda scream and then what?”
“She got Eamon’s attention.”
He was stalling. “Got his attention how?” Siobhán prodded.
Henry Moore could barely lift his head. “You sure someone hasn’t told you this already?”
Macdara sighed. He was getting impatient as well. She slid the tin of biscuits closer to him. “We need to hear it from you.”
Henry sighed and pushed away from the table. “She jumped on his back.”
“What?” This was news, and Siobhán could see it all so clearly. Why had all their witnesses left this out of the story? Siobhán had a feeling the place was so packed and chaotic that everyone there had a different experience.
“Then what?” Macdara urged.
“She was pulling his hair, and he was whipping around, trying to buck her off him. I was pleading with her to get off. But she was crazed. It’s all me fault. I didn’t know she was there. I had a pair of aces and a pair of fives! A group of lads started to circle him. That’s when Shane Ross and the black woman cut in—”
Siobhán interrupted. “Do you mean Clementine Hart?”
“If that’s her name, I do.”
“Yes,” Siobhán said through clenched teeth. “That’s her name.”
“I figured you’d know who I meant.” He waved his hand as if Siobhán was being ridiculous. She clenched her fists. She wasn’t here to fix people; the more they let their true selves shine, the more she’d learn. But still. She wanted to swipe the biscuit tin from the table and spend a few minutes knocking him over the head. God, that would feel so good.
“Then what?” Macdara questioned.
“I managed to pull Amanda off his back. Shane and Clementine each grabbed one of Eamon’s arms and dragged him outside. Shane came back in and assured us all—every last one of us—that they wouldn’t be taking our money, or my horse, or anything else that was bet.”
Shane Ross playing the white knight or plotting Eamon’s demise? Yet another little tidbit the man ranked number three forgot to mention. “Are you sure?”
“Ask anyone. The place erupted in cheers, everyone wanted to buy him a pint.”
“The Octopus was outside when Shane declared this?”
“I never saw him again after they dragged him out.”
But Rory Mack had seen him after that. Because he and Eamon were the last ones left in the pub. Or is that a lie too?
“Then what?”
Siobhán was starting to think Macdara was like an old record player stuck on those two words, but then again, every time he asked it, Henry Moore came out with something else.
“Shane made the announcement, Clementine called for drinks on them, and the place went sideways. You know yourself.”
She did know. A packed pub. Free drinks. Adrenaline. Folks taking their money back from professional poker players. That must have truly enraged the Octopus. Had he taken the rage out on anyone in particular? Could that act have ignited a murderous rage in the target? Had Amanda confronted him? Did he mock her again? Insist he was going to keep her horse? Henry’s story was weaving all over the place. Was that just his natural, bumbling way, or was he trying to misdirect their attention?
“What then?”
“I took my daughter home, what do you t’ink?”
“Was she still worked up about the horse?”
Henry’s eyes slid over to Siobhán. “No more so than any colleen that age.”
“She didn’t believe Eamon was going to go along with Shane’s proclamation?”
“We’ve still got the horse, don’t we?”
Macdara’s mobile buzzed. He took a few steps away, then hung up. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.” He touched Siobhán’s elbow. “We’re needed elsewhere.”
Siobhán leaned in so she could whisper. “What about Amanda?”
“I’m afraid it will have to wait.”
They said their good-byes to Henry Moore and headed out to the car. Macdara revved the engine and peeled out of the farm. Siobhán clutched the seat. “What’s the story?”
“Tom Howell phoned the guards. Celtic Gems has just been robbed.”
Siobhán watched her rearview mirror as they pulled out of Henry Moore’s farm. Amanda Moore was a solitary figure against the green fields, hair blowing in the wind, eyes fixed straight ahead as if none of her secrets would come out if she could just stand still.
Chapter 22
Tom Howell ushered them into the shop as soon as they arrived. Siobhán was expecting broken glass on the door, or the windows, but everything was intact. Nor did the inside look as if it had been broken into. Macdara followed Tom to the counter. Tom pulled out a tray of diamonds.
Was this a setup? Was Macdara Flannery about to propose? Siobhán had half-a-mind to turn and run. “Oh, my God” tumbled out of her mouth. Macdara turned and gave her a quizzical look. She stood frozen just inside the door. He frowned.
“What’s the story?”
“What’s going on?” That probably wasn’t the best way to handle a surprise proposal,
but this wasn’t the way she imagined it going down. Near the abbey maybe, at sunset. With champagne and chocolates. Not wearing her garda uniform in the middle of a case, while Tom Howell witnessed it all with his overpowering cologne and slicked-back hair. “What are you doing?” She heard the panic in her own voice.
Macdara’s frown deepened. She’d never pegged him as this good of an actor. Did she have the wrong end of the stick again?
“The most expensive diamond ring in me case is missing,” Tom said.
Siobhán crept forward. Sure enough, there was an empty spot in the tray. She knew immediately which ring was “missing.” The one she pointed out to Shane Ross. Perhaps Macdara thought this was the perfect way to propose. He knew she loved solving mysteries. He wanted to create one for her. “Now how would someone know it was the most expensive? Maybe they just thought it was the prettiest.” She couldn’t help but laugh.
Tom Howell did a very good job of looking offended.
Macdara turned to her. “What on earth is the matter with you?”
“I can’t help it. The two of you!”
“The two of us . . . what?” Macdara said.
Tom pointed to the case. “Do you not see an empty space where a thirty-thousand-euro ring should be?”
Siobhán gasped. “Thirty thousand euro?” She turned to Macdara. “It’s too dear. You can’t. I won’t accept it.”
Macdara held his finger up to Tom. “Would you excuse us for a minute.” He took Siobhán by the elbow and dragged her outside. “What are you on about?”
Now she wasn’t sure again. He was taking it too far. Was this part of the game? He didn’t like the fact that she’d copped on. She was ruining his proposal. Emasculating him. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. I have no idea what I was on about.” A grin appeared on her face without even asking her. She glanced around. “I bet the light at the abbey is pretty this time of day.” Last night’s storm had faded away, and although it was overcast, the sun was making attempts to peek out. Perfect weather for a proposal.
Macdara leaned in. “Are you. . . . taking something?”
Murder in an Irish Pub Page 17
