Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  “Or her,” Siobhán said.

  “What?”

  “You said him. The murderer could be a her.”

  “You’re so busy henpecking that ye missed my point.” Macdara was starting to sound browned off.

  “Sorry. Good point,” Siobhán began to pace, then stopped. “You’ll need to question Ronan, hint that you think he killed Kevin over a stolen photograph. Monitor his reaction very carefully.”

  Macdara shook his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  “You are going to question Ronan, aren’t you?”

  “The detective superintendent will appoint the detective sergeant, who will appoint a guard to question all the suspects. Including me.”

  That sounded like an awful lot of appointing, but Siobhán kept her gob shut on the rankings of the Irish guards. “Including you?”

  Macdara threw open his arms. “I’m a wedding guest.”

  “I’m not,” Siobhán said pointedly. There was no need to mention that Alice had invited her ipso facto.

  “I had to invite my mam,” Macdara said. “I had no idea she was into fashion models.”

  “Who isn’t?” Siobhán said. “Of course you had to invite her.” You also should have mentioned it.

  Macdara sighed. “I should have told you. Are you browned off with me?”

  A mind reader to boot. She was going to have to watch herself around Macdara Flannery. “No. I’m too distracted with other things.” She glanced at the body. “Do you have a notebook?”

  Macdara gestured to his tracksuit. “I’m not on duty.”

  “Do they have pockets?”

  Macdrara sighed and showed her. There were pockets in both the jacket and the pants. Plenty of room for mysterious objects to hide. Kevin would have at least had his room key and cigarettes and a lighter on him. Siobhán wished they could turn him over and go through his pockets. She crossed herself again. “Bet you wish you had brought a notebook.”

  Macdara started counting on his fingers as he spoke. “Newton pack, cigar butt, Antoine smokes Marlboro Reds, Ronan’s smashed camera, and check the pockets of the deceased.”

  Siobhán smiled. As guards went, he wasn’t too bad. “Don’t forget Chef Antoine found the body, and Ronan was inappropriately thrilled.”

  Macdara groaned. Siobhán stepped forward and touched his arm. Macdara stepped in closer. “I was so happy to see you this morning,” he whispered as he placed his hand on her back. “And now I take it all back.”

  Siobhán laughed and gently shoved him away. “I’m happy to help.”

  “You want to help? Go back to the castle and keep the others calm.”

  “I’m not leaving you here. There’s a killer on the loose!”

  “I’d say the killer is long gone,” Macdara said. “Or he’s back at the castle.”

  He had a point. Now that she’d seen the crime scene, she wanted to take a close look at how all the guests were behaving. Maybe she’d spot something amiss. She started to leave and then turned back. “Have you heard anything about robberies in Kilbane as of late?”

  “Robberies?” Macdara said. “Of course not.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  “Brenna said that the Huntmans warned their guests about going into Kilbane. Told them people were being robbed right on the streets.”

  Siobhán was pleased to see a perplexed expression come over his handsome face. “I’ll speak with them.”

  “I already did. They denied it. So either the Huntsmans are lying or the maid of honor is.”

  “You have to stop.”

  “Also, did you see the state of her this morning?”

  Macdara frowned. “The state of who?”

  “The maid of honor. Brenna. Looked like she was having a tussle in the sheets. Do you think it could be with our man there?” She nodded toward the body.

  “You seriously have to go.”

  “I’m going.” Siobhán glanced at the body again. “Should I tell them it’s Kevin?”

  Macdara shook his head. “Not until he’s been positively identified.”

  “I’m sure Antoine and Ronan have already told them.”

  “You’re right. But still. There’s a procedure to follow.”

  “Of course. Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea and some brown bread?” She flushed as she remembered Brenna’s accusation. Her brown bread couldn’t have made Alice sick, could it?

  “Yes. But not here. Now go.”

  Siobhán took one last look at poor Kevin. This was the moment the sun chose to peek out from beneath the clouds and shine down through the late-summer trees, directly upon Kevin’s mortal coil. She might not have seen it otherwise. Something gold, something shining from underneath his hand. From his cap. “What’s that?” Siobhán pointed.

  “What?” Macdara didn’t seem to cop on.

  “His hat—it just lit up. Or there’s something underneath it? See? It’s a shiny piece of gold.”

  Macdara edged closer, then fell to his haunches and leaned in as close as he could without touching him. He then shot to his feet, startling Siobhán. “Jaysus,” he said. “Mary, Joseph, and Jaysus.”

  She had never seen Macdara this rattled. It’s true what they say: one’s face can drain of all color, go white as a bedsheet. The little hairs on Siobhán’s arm stood at attention. “What is it?”

  “It’s me cap,” Macdara said. “It’s the shield of me garda cap.”

  Mary, Joseph, and Jaysus. “How do you know it’s yours?”

  “I joined them in the pub last night after me shift. Kevin was yanking it off me head all night long. We had a bit of a row over it.”

  “Even so, couldn’t it belong to another guard?”

  Macdara shook his head. “Mine has a splotch of white paint at the tip from the time I had a run-in with a few wee spray-painters. The splotch is there. It’s my cap alright.”

  Siobhán leaned forward until she could make out a splotch of white paint on the tip, just like he said. She tried to think through the implications. “So Kevin grabbed it off your head last night and you just let him keep it?”

  “Of course not.”

  She waited for him to explain, and when he didn’t, she jumped in again. “So why is it underneath his hand?”

  Macdara sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “The final time Kevin snatched it, I might have hollered at him a bit. Mam put it in her handbag. We left early. I saw her to her room. Then I forgot all about it.”

  “Did she reach into her handbag for anything on the way home? Perhaps it fell out.”

  “That’s the only possibility. If he snuck into me mam’s room—God help me—I would’ve killed him myself.”

  “Don’t repeat that.”

  Macdara stared at the cap, then looked back at Siobhán. “This is going to make me a top suspect,” he said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re going to know a guard wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave his own cap with the murder victim.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “You’re not thinking of removing it, are ye?” Siobhán asked.

  Macdara looked as if she’d slapped him. “Do ye or do ye not know me?”

  “I’m sorry. Of course. I take it back.”

  Macdara ran his hand through his hair as if imagining his cap was back on. “It’s going to look worse if they see I’ve let you all over the crime scene.”

  “I’m off,” Siobhán said. “Don’t stand with your back to the hill.”

  “What?”

  “The killer could still be out here.” She pointed at Kevin. “You don’t want to turn your back like he did.”

  “Whichever way I turn my back is to the hill,” Macdara pointed out. He was right. They were at a peak that had slopes in both directions.

  “Ah, right so. Just keep turning in circles then,” Siobhán said.

  “Mig
hty helpful,” Macdara quipped.

  “Not a bother.” Siobhán turned and hightailed it out of there while she still had the last word.

  Chapter 6

  Once the first set of guards arrived, Paul Donnelly was escorted up to the crime scene, and although they couldn’t touch the body and get an official proclamation until the state pathologist arrived from Dublin, Paul confirmed that he believed the deceased was indeed Kevin Gallagher. Any further examinations would have to wait. Siobhán hoped the pathologist would hurry. It looked like a hard rain was coming. What if it washed away precious evidence? Upon her suggestion, the guards agreed to erect one of the tents from the castle yard around the crime scene, thus keeping it as dry as possible. Macdara didn’t seem happy that she offered the suggestion, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

  While the detective superintendent was on his way from Cork City, he let it be known that he didn’t want the wedding guests trampling all over the castle grounds, so they all agreed to be escorted to Naomi’s Bistro. Macdara and the Huntsmans were asked to stay behind. The rest of the guests piled into a waiting limo, and Siobhán led the procession on her scooter. This wasn’t exactly the way she had imagined their entrance into Kilbane. As her scooter and the limo passed through Ballygate, the first of the town’s four original entrance gates, followed by the limo, curious folks peeked out their windows while others ran out to the footpath, for even getting mowed down by the Cahills’ limo would be a story they could tell in pubs for the rest of their lives.

  Sheila Mahoney stood outside her hair salon smoking a cigarette. Her husband, Pio, poked his head out from the window above her. Mike Granger was sweeping the footpath in front of his fruit and veg market, but he stopped to wave. Peter Hennessy was carrying boxes into his hardware shop but still managed to nod his head. The smell of curried chips wafted out from the chipper. The early drinking crew gathered in clumps in front of O’Rourke’s, just off their graveyard shifts and ready for pints. Siobhán took in all the shops, which were warmed up with colors: yellows, blues, greens, pinks, and the occasional spot of red; she was proud of her village, and the cheerful paint saw them through many a gray day. Add to it the cobblestone streets, gas lamps dotting Sarsfield Street, and the occasional cheerful mural, and Kilbane was a place where everyone was made to feel welcome.

  Minutes later they had arrived at Naomi’s Bistro, and just the sight of her mam’s name scripted into the robin’s-egg-blue sign above their door gave Siobhán a bit of peace. Parking was plentiful given that the entire town had conspired to leave spaces right in front of the bistro for the full weekend celebration. In no time, the wedding guests filed into the foyer of the building, and immediately the smell of a good Irish breakfast wafted their way. The entryway, normally stuffed with wellies and jackets, was now clear, and the floors were shining from a recent polish. Ahead of them was a set of stairs leading to the family’s upstairs dwelling, and to the right, French doors led into the bistro. Siobhán stopped at the threshold, as if to relish the sight. It was a quaint bistro, with windows looking out onto Sarsfield Street, a fireplace in the front room, and more seating in the back adjacent to the yard and garden.

  “How lovely,” Alice said, taking in the room. Siobhán could only imagine the McMansion that Alice had grown up in and would probably continue to occupy, but the sentiment seemed genuine and was followed by a fresh flood of tears. She’d been hysterical since the discovery of the body. And in her grief, she’d seemed to regress. Instead of leaning on her groom-to-be, she was being propped up by her father. Siobhán had heard a lot of rumors about Colm Cahill and his ruthless business dealings, but at the moment all she saw he was a father trying to comfort his only daughter.

  Everyone else was deathly quiet, even Brenna. They had been delivered a great shock, Siobhán knew, and it would take a while for the reality to sink in. Siobhán told herself she had better appreciate the curtain of silence while it lasted. For once they realized they were all suspects, hostilities would be aired and accusations would fly. And to think, this was supposed to be one of the happiest times of the young lovers’ lives.

  “Make yourselves at home,” Siobhán said. “We were expecting you tomorrow, but we’ll have breakfast out in no time at all.”

  “I couldn’t imagine eating at a time like this,” Brenna said. “Especially after Alice’s reaction to your brown bread.”

  “That’s enough,” Alice snapped. “I told ye it was my nerves. You scarfed down two slices, and you’re fine.” Brenna seemed to shrink from her words. Or maybe the hostilities would start right away, like. Alice looked at Siobhán with a polite smile. “Your offer is much appreciated. But I dare say I don’t think any of us have an appetite.”

  Heads began to nod around the room.

  “Of course,” Siobhán said. “We’ll just have tea then.”

  The guests began to explore the bistro, distracting themselves by taking in all the little details. Every table was covered in delicate lace special-ordered from Waterford. The cost had been extravagant, but now that Siobhán saw it in all its glory, it had been well worth the extra cabbage. The bridal table, holding pride of place in the front room, was the most lavishly decorated of all. A Waterford Crystal vase was prominently displayed and filled to the brim with roses—a dozen white yokes with two red ones cozied up in the middle. Long tapered candles were ready to be lit, and their best china, a gorgeous pale blue, was set with the polished silver. And thanks to their friend and neighbor Bridie Sheedy, every linen napkin had been folded into an elegant swan and placed on top of the china.

  “You went to such lengths to please us,” Alice sobbed.

  “You should have a lie-down,” Colm said. He looked at Siobhán. “Do you have a bed upstairs?”

  “Of course,” Siobhán said, mentally trying to figure out when she had last washed the bedding. She had thought of everything but the wedding guests needing a nap.

  “I’m fine.” Alice wiped her tears with the handkerchief her father handed her.

  Paul stepped up and took her arm. “I’ll mind her.” A look of disapproval flashed across Colm’s face, but it quickly passed, and he nodded his consent. Siobhán couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be under that man’s thumb. If anyone was up for the job, Paul Donnelly seemed to be the man. He had just lost his best man and presumably his best friend, yet he seemed to be holding it together. She had a feeling waters ran deep behind those calm brown eyes, but of course it was just a feeling. Siobhán made a mental note to gather information about Paul and Kevin’s friendship. She was definitely going to have to get hold of a notebook straightaway.

  A shrill series of barks sounded from the back garden, and Siobhán practically jumped out of her skin.

  “Jaysus, that nearly put me heart in me crossways!” Susan Cahill said, clutching her chest.

  Siobhán flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. He’s a new pup.” Trigger. That cheeky little yapper! He was costing them all precious hours of sleep, treating them to his nightly serenades. He had a perfectly good dog house and plenty of room to run and dig, yet his snout was constantly pushed up against the back window, begging to be let in. Truth be told, he was on her last nerve, and she got the distinct feeling the dislike was mutual. With the rest of The O’Sullivan Six (as they were known about town), he was a bundle of love, but for some reason he always flattened his ears and growled at Siobhán, actually bearing teeth, like. Ciarán figured he was afraid of her hair. James said he was afraid of her height, until she pointed out that he was taller and Trigger greeted him with licks. “You’re just not a dog person,” Gráinne offered. I’m not a yappy little dog person, she wanted to retort, but Ciarán was so in love with the mutt that she zipped her piehole.

  She glanced at the window now, and sure enough, there he was, drooling all over the recently washed panes. She wished to heaven that Ciarán had never brought home that pup. But there was no taking him away from the lad now.

  “He’s adorable,�
� Alice said. “May I fetch him?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t want him in here,” Siobhán said. “He’s a holy terror.”

  “May I step into the garden then?”

  “Of course,” Siobhán said. “Apologies if it’s a bit overgrown.” A bit. You couldn’t find Godzilla out there if he was dropped from the sky. Her father had always taken meticulous care of the garden, especially the herbs. She would have to make a point to tend to it soon.

  “I love nature,” Alice said. “Even when it’s a bit on the wild side. You should speak with Carol Huntsman. She has the soil from her gardens imported. It’s dark and silky.”

  “I love dark and silky,” Paul said, running his fingers through her hair. He winked, and Alice blushed. The lovers slipped outside. Siobhán felt a pang for them and couldn’t decipher if it was jealousy or worry. She turned back to the rest of the guests.

  “The kettle is on the cooker. Tea will be out in no time. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” A cozy fire would be in order. Siobhán set the kindling in for a quick light and hurried into the kitchen to greet her brood. When she pushed through swinging doors, Ciarán, Ann, and Gráinne stumbled back. Ear-wigging! She’d nearly wiped out the nosy trio.

  James and Eoin were at the cooker, where black and white pudding sizzled on the grill alongside the rashers, and their neighbor Bridie stood holding a tray of teacups, ready to be served. They all stared at Siobhán with wide eyes.

  “They won’t be eating,” Siobhán said. “Just tea for now.”

  “More for us,” Eoin said with a grin. Fifteen and rail thin, Eoin had an appetite that was growing along with his limbs. He was wearing a Yankees cap backward and an apron that said CHI-TOWN RISING. Siobhán had no idea what Chi-town was or why it was rising. Eoin had never been out of Ireland, save a single trip to London, yet he loved ordering American items off eBay.

  “You’re like a divining rod for dead bodies,” Gráinne piped up. She had just turned seventeen a fortnight ago and was a raven-haired stunner. Whom you constantly wanted to pummel.