Murder in an Irish Pub

by Carlene O'Connor

  The minute they were outside, Siobhán stopped. “Did you just realize what I just realized?”

  “That I don’t know how long it’s been since I bought you flowers?”

  “No.” Yes . . .

  “That Shane Ross is our killer?”

  “No.”

  “Spit it out, Siobhán.”

  “ ’Can’t beat the Dead Man’s Hand . . .’”

  “I thought about that for a second, but the handwriting is completely different.”

  “Yes, different because they were written by different men.”

  Macdara frowned. “Then I’m not following.”

  “What if the note we found on Eamon wasn’t a suicide note? What if it was an autograph for a fan?”

  “My God.” Macdara began to pace. “If you’re right—if that wasn’t a suicide note—it’s one more check in the column that Eamon Foley did not kill himself.”

  Haven’t I been insisting that all along? “I’m right,” she said. “Eamon Foley was murdered.”

  “It would help if we could confirm he signed that as an autograph to someone. No one has mentioned it so far.”

  Siobhán was way ahead of him. She plowed forward.

  “Where are you going?”

  “There’s no time to waste. We’re going to have to divide and conquer.”

  * * *

  One hour until the wake . . . Siobhán was in her best black dress approaching Sharkey’s. But before she could reach the door, someone stepped out in front of her. She was shocked to see Greg Cunningham. On second glance she was a tad disappointed that Layla wasn’t with him. “Are you here for the wake?”

  He shook his head. “I gave me donation though.”

  “That was so kind of you.”

  He thrust his hand out. A tiny piece of paper was protruding from his fingers. “Another note from me bird.” He turned before she could ask any more questions. She opened it: Who are you? Eddie

  Eddie Houlihan.

  She tucked it in her handbag and headed inside.

  * * *

  Sharkey’s had been transformed. Flowers sang from every surface, white lights had been added around the room, candles flickered from tabletops covered in white linen, and it smelled as fresh as the spring air. Rory had a turf fire going, and all the food was waiting on a long banquet table in warmers. A photo of Eamon Foley took center stage. In front of it sat two large donation boxes. By the end of the evening they would be stuffed. There were gorgeous flower arrangements nearly everywhere you looked and a giant wreath in front of the storage room. Volunteers were already here, as well as Father Kearney. It didn’t take Siobhán long to spot Eddie Houlihan. He disappeared into a hallway, pushing a mop. She hurried after him.

  “Wet floors,” Rory Mack yelled as she ran past.

  Eddie turned to find her in front of him and visibly jumped.

  “Apologies,” Siobhán said. She held out the note from the pigeon.

  His eyes widened. “You know Layla?”

  She smiled. “Yes, we’ve met.”

  He grinned, revealing a gap between his teeth. “I love Layla.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “She likes me.”

  “Does she?”

  “Yes, she visits me nearly every day.”

  “Did you send a note with Layla to Greg Cunningham?”

  His cheeks brightened. “I just wanted to tell somebody.”

  “Why him?”

  “He’s like me.”

  “Like you?”

  “He doesn’t have many friends.” Her heart gave a squeeze for the lad. He must be so lonely. When this mess was over, she’d have to see about doing something to rectify that. Lonely lads could get themselves into trouble. “I send him a lot of notes.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Listen. You’re not in trouble. But you must tell me everything. When did you discover Eamon’s body?”

  “It was half six Saturday morning.”

  Half six. If Rory’s account was correct, and he left at four in the morning, then the killer (if it wasn’t Rory) was lying in wait. Most likely, dead soon thereafter.

  “How did you discover him?”

  “I came early because you wouldn’t believe the mess.” I believe it. I saw it. “I knew I’d need most the day to clean.” He gulped. “I noticed the storage room door locked right away, because that’s where I’d left the mop.”

  “We didn’t find a mop in the storage room.”

  “It’s where I left it.”

  “When?”

  “Friday evening.”

  “What time?”

  “Before midnight.”

  She glanced at his mop. “Where did you find it?”

  “This isn’t it. I had to buy a new one. The old one was disgusting.”

  Siobhán felt pinpricks on the back of her neck. “Where did you find the old one?”

  “Leaning in this back hallway. Filled with gunk.”

  The killer forgot to take the mop with him. Maybe he heard Eddie coming. She was grateful the lad hadn’t walked in at the wrong time, and grateful he didn’t seem to realize the danger he could have faced. “Filled with gunk . . .” Gunk like rope fibers?

  “What did you do with it?” she asked. They’d thoroughly gone through the rubbish and they didn’t find a mop.

  “I tossed it in the rubbish bins down the street.”

  “Why?”

  He looked away. “Rory would have told me to keep using it. He’s like that. But it was disgusting.”

  “Down the street where?”

  He looked shifty again. “In town, actually. I put it in Liam’s rubbish.” He looked at her, his face pure panic. “Am I in trouble? It really was a dirty mop.”

  “No, luv.” She sighed. All rubbish bins had been collected this morning. It was likely their mop was long gone. But another piece of the puzzle had just clicked. “Did you notice rope in the storage room?”

  He shook his head.

  “Come on.” Siobhán tugged on his sleeve, guiding him out to the patio. It, too, had been transformed. The debris was gone, the cigarette buckets emptied and washed, and a lovely tablecloth covered the picnic table. Flowers had been grouped in pots and set along the edges.

  “Tell me how you saw into the storage room.” She pointed to the venting window. “When I arrived, there was no ladder. I had to fetch one. So how did you get up there?”

  He nodded to the picnic table. “I pulled it over. Then I climbed until I could hang on to the ledge and pulled myself up.”

  God, it must be nice to be that strong. She was going to have to start lifting weights. Garda college gave her some muscles, but she handn’t kept up their rigorous regime. Only so many hours in a day. “Why did you go to all that trouble?” His face turned beet red in a hot second. “Ah,” she said. He’d seen the trail of urine. “You were doing a wellness check. Making sure whoever in there was okay?” The nods came rapidly. “Why didn’t you call the guards?”

  He swallowed. “I’d never seen a dead body before. But on telly they always suspect the person who finds the body. Plus, I even got his autograph.”

  She patted his hand. “I know what a shock it was. I experienced it m’self.”

  “I’m sorry. Would he still be alive if I called 999?”

  “No, luv. Then what happened?”

  “I dragged the picnic table back, and turned to go. Layla was sitting on the picnic table.”

  “You feed her brekkie, don’t you?”

  “I save the chips from the night before. How did you know?”

  “She’s looking a little plump and Greg had thought she’d gone soft in the head because she only flies local. I think she’s smarter than he realizes. Who wouldn’t give up long-distance flying for free chips?” She finally got him to smile. “Were you here all Friday evening?” A nod. “Did you speak with the Octopus?” A second nod. “That’s right. Because you got
his autograph. May I see it?”

  He pawed the ground. “Someone stole it.”

  Siobhán’s heart thumped. “Did he write you anything special?”

  Eddie nodded. Then swallowed. “I thought it was great craic. But now . . . it’s not. . . .”

  Siobhán knew what the autograph said. “Can’t beat the Dead Man’s Hand.’ ”

  Eddie gasped. “How did you know?”

  She was right. That wasn’t a suicide note. “Did you see or hear anything suspicious?” He shook his head. “Did you mop the storage room?”

  “When?” he asked.

  “Friday evening or Saturday morning?”

  “I mopped it Friday morning. I shouldn’t have bothered.”

  “Why?”

  “It was a mess. This entire place. Took me ages to clean. At least I didn’t have to do the storage room.”

  A professional cleaning company had taken care of the crime scene. Not a job anyone would envy. “Do you know any way in or out of that storage room besides the main door?” Eddie shook his head again. “Did you see anyone marking playing cards with a black marker?” Another shake. He’s not a chatterbox. “Just one more question, luv, you’re doing great. Did you tell anyone you lost the autograph?” He shook his head. “Okay, luv.” She patted his hand. “Let’s keep this little talk to ourselves.”

  Chapter 30

  By the time she went back inside, there were twice as many people roaming about. The drunken toasts had begun and they filtered through the room. “Four blessings upon you. Older whiskey. Younger women. Faster horses. More money.”

  “Sláinte!” Pint glasses clinked.

  A drunken male voice called out. “Let’s drink to California, way out by the sea, where a woman’s ass, and a whiskey glass, made a horse’s ass out of me.”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  “Merry met and merry part, I drink to thee with all my heart.”

  Siobhán was wondering if things were getting a bit too rowdy, but then she noticed Rose’s face lit up like a firecracker. She was enjoying the banter. Siobhán sighed. It was best to let them at it. Death had a funny way of making you long for any distractions—even, or especially, if it was a tad crass. She was saved the trouble when the band started playing “Danny Boy” and everyone joined in.

  “Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes, are calling. . . .”

  She passed Margaret standing in a clump with Liam and Mike.

  “How’s that electric heater working out?” Liam said as Siobhán walked by. Siobhán stopped, turned.

  “I hate it,” Margaret said. “It makes a clicking sound. Click, click, click.”

  “Sorry there, Margaret. You should have brought it back to me.”

  Margaret shrugged. “Beats all that firewood.”

  Shane Ross lied. Again. He had to be their man. The stolen diamonds. The gloves. The markers. He’s the one who bought the flowers for Rose. Two questions remained: Was the widow in on it? Or was he a lone dark horse and she was one of his victims?

  She approached Rose, looking down as she did, fumbling in her handbag, digging out the handkerchief. She came up from behind.

  “There you are.” Rose turned, as if expecting someone else, then blinked. “Oh. It’s you.”

  Siobhán took her hands. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Siobhán hurried off, feeling Rose’s hard eyes on her back. Next she got a pint of Guinness from Rory and hurried over to Nathan Doyle. He was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes glued to Shane Ross. Just as she reached them, her drink spilled. “Clumsy me!” Ale sloshed on the floor. She touched Nathan’s arm. “Do you mind running for the mop? We wouldn’t want the widow to slip.”

  “It’s no bother,” Nathan said. She watched as he headed off. He returned moments later with Eddie Houlihan trailing after him.

  “Thank you, Eddie,” Siobhán said.

  “Not a bother.” When he was finished cleaning, Siobhán followed Eddie Houlihan back to the hallway for another little chat.

  * * *

  Macdara arrived, looking devastatingly handsome in his dark suit. She had to resist the urge to kiss him. Siobhán quickly filled him in on her conversation with Eddie and the bit she overheard from Margaret about her new electric fireplace. “It really looks like Shane Ross is our guy. Do we really have to let him leave to break into Celtic Gems?”

  “We don’t have enough to arrest him.”

  “What if we get Rose to flip?”

  “That’s assuming Rose is in on it.”

  “She is if Shane Ross is the father of her baby.”

  “I’ll have to alert Nathan,” Macdara said. “Although I don’t think he needs more convincing, he’s been the one trying to convince me how dangerous Shane Ross is.”

  “Trying to convince?”

  “It was my fault. I didn’t have that feeling around Shane. He’s very good at hiding his true nature.”

  She knew what he meant. Shane was edgy, but likable nonetheless. With his slim build and floppy hair, he just didn’t paint a menacing portrait.

  More trad musicians had arrived and were setting up in the corner. Rose Foley walked by. Her black dress barely covered her knees. She was wearing a sweeping black hat with a veil and three-inch heels.

  Hardly looking like Shane’s victim.

  Shane, Clementine, and Nathan, all wearing black, gathered in a clump. Clementine’s dress was modest, the most subdued outfit Siobhán had seen her in so far. The donation boxes were already getting fed. It wouldn’t be long before everyone, including their suspects, would be gone. Siobhán found herself staring at Shane Ross, tracking his every move.

  She began to think back to her last encounter with Shane at the jewelry store. Was Rose the woman he was going to propose to?

  Macdara was in her ear. “I see those wheels in that big brain spinning. What are you thinking?”

  “Shane told me you were the one who put him up to asking me to look at rings.”

  Macdara bowed his head. “I’m very sorry about that.”

  “I know.” (“That sergeant. He asked me to show you the rings. To see which one you liked,” Shane had said—something was bothering her. Why couldn’t she put her finger on it?)

  “We know why he was lying. He couldn’t exactly admit he was casing the joint.”

  “Did you get any report on him from Dublin?”

  “They’re not going to hand over files on an undercover operation.”

  “All of this rests on believing every word we’ve been told about Shane Ross. We’ve observed nothing sordid from him ourselves.”

  “Casing the jewelry shop?”

  “What if he was thinking of proposing to his girlfriend?”

  “We’ve caught him in a ton of lies. Where is this coming from?”

  “You. You stopped trusting your gut when it came to how you felt about Shane Ross. I have the same feeling, Dara. I still feel like we’re all being played.”

  “He’s the third-ranked poker player. If anyone’s capable of playing us, it’s him.”

  He was right. But then why did she have this relentless, nagging doubt? “In order for Shane Ross to be our killer, he has to know how to disable security cameras. Figure out a way out of a locked room. Know how to cut brake lines—”

  “He’s a cat burglar, Siobhán. Sounds like it would fit his skill set to me.”

  “But what if he isn’t a cat burglar? Do we still see him with that skill set?”

  “I need a pint, you’re wrecking my head.” He took her hand, squeezed it, then dropped it.

  She couldn’t blame him. She was wrecking her own head. One minute she was convinced Shane Ross was their man, and the next a little voice inside her warned she was off the mark.

  Macdara touched her shoulder. “Don’t forget we’re here to pay our respects.” Siobhán thought the best way to pay her respects to the dead man—and that was the individual she worked for, no
matter what—was to find out who killed him. “I know what it is. We’ve been handed the killer with a neat little bow. Is it possible you’re still spinning because you didn’t figure this one out?”

  Siobhán took a deep breath before responding and forced a smile. “Anything is possible, Dara.” It’s just not probable.

  He placed his hand on the small of her back. “We’ll know soon. If Shane Ross tries to break into Celtic Gems, then he’s our man.”

  If Shane was their man, then Macdara was right. But if he wasn’t, waiting could turn out to be the most dangerous game of all.

  Chapter 31

  They were an hour into the memorial when Siobhán stepped onto the back patio. There she found a few young ones playing with sticks. Before they spotted her, the tallest one whirled around with his stick, catching Siobhán’s handbag and nearly yanking her arm off with it. They were all squeals and apologies as the lad swiped it from the ground to hand it to her as if he hadn’t been the cause of the trouble.

  After a gentle reprimand a strange feeling came over her. She was close to figuring something out. It hovered at the edges of her mind. But before she could work through it, her mobile rang. The conversation was quick. It was a nurse from the hospital. The waitress was awake and only wanted to speak to the redheaded woman who had saved her life. Siobhán checked her watch. Nathan predicted that Shane would sneak around after two or three. If Siobhán wanted to hear what the waitress had to say, she’d better slip out now. She called a taxicab, asking it to wait down the street.

  * * *

  Her name was Emily and she was in Room 301. Siobhán entered to find her sitting up in her hospital bed, face cleared of makeup, eyes pinned on the door as if she’d been holding her breath waiting for her visitor. She looked so young. Siobhán’s heart went out to the girl, regardless of what she was wrapped up in. “Good to see you alert.”

  “Thank you,” she squeaked. “You saved me life.”

  “You remember?”

  Emily shook her head. “But everyone is talking about it. They say you dragged me out of the car.”

  “Anyone would have done the same.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Siobhán pulled a chair up near the bed. Emily wrung her hands. Siobhán looked toward the empty hallway. “I thought there was supposed to be a guard at your door?”