Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  “How on earth did ye hear so fast?” Siobhán asked.

  “Bridie got a call,” Eoin said.

  Siobhán turned to Bridie. She was a petite woman with bouncy chestnut curls. Their neighbor and a dear friend, Bridie was also a whiz at crafting. She made scarves, hair accessories, and shawls that she sold in Courtney’s Gift Shop. Since her husband, Seamus, had been arrested a few months back, she’d been working part-time at the bistro. “Who called ye?” Siobhán asked Bridie.

  “Annmarie.” Annmarie was Courtney’s sister. She’d taken over the running of the gift shop, and apparently was also stepping into her late sister’s role as the gossip queen as well.

  “How on earth did Annmarie hear?”

  “She heard it from Peter, who heard it from Pat, who ran into Mike—” Bridie’s voice was picking up speed.

  “You know yourself,” James said. “The grapevine is alive and well.”

  Siobhán sighed. News did travel fast.

  “How was he killed?” Ciarán asked. He was the youngest, and the only O’Sullivan besides herself with red hair. Ten years of age going on fifty.

  “No such talk,” Siobhán said. “We have guests to soothe.”

  “We heard it was the best man,” Bridie said, stepping forward. “Is that true?” The teacups rattled on the tray. She was getting a mighty workout holding the tray for so long, but she didn’t seem able to let it down.

  Siobhán sighed. If she didn’t give them some details they would obsess on the murder all morning. “Yes, it was the best man, Kevin Gallagher.” Everyone but Bridie crossed themselves. “Sadly, this morning he was found dead in the woods behind the castle.” Ciarán was all ears and eyes. “He had a bump to the back of the head, and that’s all I’ll say.” Her mind flashed to Macdara. She wondered how the guards had reacted to his cap being found clutched underneath Kevin’s fingers.

  “A bump?” Ciarán said. “What do you mean?”

  “Who did it?” Gráinne demanded.

  “We’ll leave that to the guards this time,” Siobhán said.

  “Is the wedding off?” asked Ann, the youngest girl and the only blonde. She was caught between the desire to remain a child and the longing to be an adult. Siobhán didn’t envy her; it was a tough time of life.

  “I assume so, but please, no such talk. Especially not in front of the bride. Let’s keep them calm.”

  “How did he get the bump to the head?” Ciarán asked again.

  A large rock. He never saw it coming. Siobhán shuddered at the thought and kept her lips closed. The last thing she needed was to get Ciarán hyped up on another murder.

  James stepped up. Her elder brother was so handsome, and he had been clean and sober for the past six months. “Bridie will go out with the teacups.”

  “About time,” Bridie said like it was Siobhán’s fault. “Me arms are about to fall off.”

  James continued. “Ann, you can follow with the kettle, and the rest of us will tend to the breakfast. Understand?” One by one they nodded their heads.

  “I’ll do it.” Ciarán grabbed the teakettle and rushed toward the swinging doors leading into the bistro.

  “Hold your horses,” Siobhán said. He turned and waited. He looked like a traveler who had been sleeping on the streets. His hair was sticking up, and his T-shirt was wrinkled.

  “The state of you,” Siobhán licked her finger and then tried to calm down the stray hairs.

  “After the shock they’ve had, I don’t think they’ll care about Ciarán’s hair,” James pointed out. Siobhán sighed and allowed Bridie and Ciarán to go out with the tea. She grabbed a platter and headed to the oven, where she had a batch of brown bread warming. Would anyone eat it after what Brenna said? Perceptions counted. Brenna was poisoning everyone’s mind by accusing Siobhán of poisoning the brown bread. The nerve of that woman. Siobhán suddenly understood why Macdara had been so worried about his cap being found with Kevin. Even if a sensible person would see that in essence it should clear Macdara altogether, the association would still linger. Hopefully the guards wouldn’t announce the findings to anyone else.

  Siobhán set the tray of bread on the cooling rack and stepped into the dining room. Everyone now had a cup of tea, including Alice and Paul, who had been served in the back garden. Alice had her cup of tea in one hand and Trigger in the other. Siobhán stopped to gawk. Why, even the dog seemed smitten with Alice. Instead of squirming and scrambling to get down like he did with the young ones, or growling and bearing teeth like he did with Siobhán, the pup was cozied up to Alice’s chest, his chin resting on her shoulder. Siobhán half expected the mutt to treat her to an evil wink.

  Siobhán felt something move behind her and turned to see Colm Cahill standing directly behind her. He stared down at her with intense eyes. He smelled like cigars. “When can we return to the castle?”

  “Were you at the hilltop this morning?” Siobhán asked.

  Colm’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t answer to you.”

  Siobhán sighed. He was a man whose ego needed constant feeding. She placed her hand on her heart. “I didn’t mean to sound like a guard. I was very impressed to hear that you had announced your intention to visit the hilltop every morning at sunrise. No wonder you’re so successful; you’re a man of good habits.”

  Colm blinked, and his shoulders relaxed. He thrust his chin up. “It nearly could have been me!”

  “So you were headed that way?” His eyes narrowed again, and Siobhán smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “We would fall to chaos without our routines,” Colm said. “It was dumb luck that I overslept.” His eyes darted around as if he was expecting someone to jump out and call him a liar. Which he most definitely was.

  Brian had stated that he’d seen Colm arguing with the innkeeper that morning over a missing fax. Didn’t he know the guards were going to speak to everyone? Where did he go after he asked after the fax? And where had he been just before?

  Siobhán decided to play along with his lie. “So if you hadn’t overslept, you would have gone to the hilltop to smoke a cigar?”

  “And to watch the sunrise,” Colm said. “How did you know?” His eyebrow arched in surprise.

  Darn it. Siobhán didn’t want to bring up that she’d spotted the cigar butt at the crime scene. “The top of the hill has the loveliest view,” she said. “I was told you had announced your intentions previously.”

  “I was hoping to start a trend. I don’t approve of sloth. Earlier risers have the biggest bank accounts.”

  “And yet you slept in?”

  “How did you know about the cigar?”

  “You were smoking a cigar when I first met you.”

  Colm nodded. “Not bad for a bistro owner. I had planned to be up on the hill, but I had a late-night call with some overseas investors. By the time I awoke, I was late for Alice’s photo.”

  “Your late-night investors,” Siobhán said. “Was that the fax you were expecting?”

  Confusion, then suspicion played out on Colm’s face as it dawned on him that she’d just uncovered his lie. “Now you’re crossing a line! You have no authority to interrogate me.” Mentioning the fax had definitely hit a nerve. Who was it from? And if not Colm, who had taken it?

  “The guards are going to ask you the same questions,” Siobhán said. “You’d best be prepared to answer.”

  “I stumbled down to see if the fax had come in, then went right back to bed.”

  “You must have been angry that it was missing.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “If the investors were important enough for you to be taking late-night calls from them, surely the fax was equally important.”

  “Now you see here—”

  “And like me, I can see that when you’re angry, you’re actually quite energized. I just can’t imagine why with all that angry energy, you didn’t just storm up to the top of the hill and smoke a cigar.”

  “You insufferable servant. I had a s
ore head, that’s why. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll mind your own damn business.” Steam was practically rising from him.

  Now that she saw how easily he became enraged, she was quite clearly able to picture him bashing poor Kevin in the back of the head with a rock, then standing and smoking a cigar over his body. Jaysus. Murder was such a frightful business. And if he didn’t go up to that hill, Siobhán would bet her life on one thing: he certainly did not go back to bed.

  Colm crossed his arms. “When can I go back to the castle, get my things, and get out of this godforsaken village?” His tone was menacing; she was now persona non grata.

  “I’m afraid it’s going to be a while,” Siobhán said.

  Ciarán popped up next to Siobhán. He had to tilt his entire head back to look up at Colm. His freckles gleamed. “Investigations don’t happen as quickly as they do on telly.”

  Startled, Colm stared down at Ciarán. He shook his head, then pointed at Siobhán. “I saw you run into the woods.” He sounded like he was accusing her of something. “You were crouched down like a crab. Did you think we couldn’t see you?”

  “Ronan was headed to the crime scene with his fancy camera. I had to stop him from disturbing the crime scene.” Something clicked in place as Siobhán spoke. Where was Ronan? She scanned the crowd. He was nowhere in sight. Neither was the wedding planner, Brian. Were they together? Was anyone else missing?

  Colm leaned down. His breath could kill a racetrack full of horses. “Are you sure Kevin Gallagher didn’t just pass out from the drink and hit his head on that damned rock?”

  Siobhán gently scooted Ciarán toward Bridie and waited while Bridie scooped him up and steered him to the other side of the room. “Someone delivered a crushing blow to the back of his head,” Siobhán said. “He was found facedown.” She kept her eyes glued to his face, waiting for any kind of reaction.

  “Who’s to say he didn’t pass out and fall backward onto the rock?”

  “Then turned himself over?” Siobhán said, trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

  Colm straightened up. “It was a local then.” He wiped lint from his jacket.

  Siobhán pretended to contemplate his theory. “How would this local have gained entrance to the castle grounds?” She thought of the security guard, Val. Why, anyone could have slipped past that inexperienced lad, but she wasn’t going to offer him up as a scapegoat.

  “I agree,” Brenna said, stepping up. She twirled a strand of blond hair around her index finger. “It’s definitely a local. One of the robbers.” Her words were like little daggers she thrust at Siobhán.

  “Speaking of the robbery rumor,” Siobhán said in a cheerful voice, “I asked Carol and George Huntsman about it myself. Would you like to know what they said?”

  Brenna narrowed her eyes and let go of the strand of hair. It un-twirled like a disoriented ballerina. “Go on then.”

  “They claimed they never said any such thing.”

  The porch door slammed, startling everyone inside. Alice and Paul were just in from the garden.

  “Where’s Father?” Paul said, his voice cutting above the din. Heads began to turn. “Mam?”

  Faye’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “In all the excitement, I’d forgotten all about him.”

  Forgotten all about a husband and father? Was that likely? Possibly. Murder did have a way of knocking all sense out of your head. But so much sense that you would forget all about your missing husband?

  “Ronan and Brian aren’t here either,” Alice said, pointing from person to person as she silently tallied them.

  “I saw Ronan stop to snap a picture of a wall,” Susan said. “What kind of artist is enamored with a damp stone wall?”

  “We’re one of the few walled towns left in Ireland,” Siobhán interjected. “They carry great historical significance.” The medieval walls were erected at a turbulent time. Kilbane had once been a town of great strategic importance and as such was a frequent target during times of war. In Siobhán’s opinion, anyone who couldn’t understand or appreciate the walls didn’t deserve to set foot within them.

  Susan Cahill crossed her arms and glared in Siobhán’s direction. Siobhán really disliked the woman. But that didn’t necessarily make her a murderer. And her nails looked pristine. They were covered with a clear gloss. Too pristine to have picked up a large rock and lobbed it at the back of Kevin’s head. Unless of course she wore gloves. Or had time to clean up. Or perhaps she’d hired someone to do the actual deed. Siobhán looked around the room again. “What about Brian?”

  “I saw him dart inside the castle just before the guards arrived,” Brenna said.

  “Did anyone see him come out?” Siobhán asked. One by one, heads began to shake.

  Paul held up his mobile. “I’m going to ask Macdara to fetch our missing guests.” He hurried off to a private spot up front to make the call. Alice went to Faye’s side and linked arms with her.

  “I’m sure Martin’s fine,” she said. Faye smiled at Alice, but the expression never reached her eyes. She seemed extremely uncomfortable with Alice’s touch. That was an Irish mam for you. Never liked the woman who wanted to marry her son. Even a woman like Alice.

  “I want to go home,” Nancy Flannery said. Speaking of Irish mams. Siobhán hadn’t had a minute to spend with Macdara’s mother. “Will someone take me to the train?” Her delicate voice shook. Siobhán wanted to take her hands and comfort her, but Nancy was holding them firmly against her stomach, still clutching her handbag as if one of them might snatch it at any moment. Did she know Macdara’s cap was gone? Was that why she was clutching her handbag? Siobhán definitely wasn’t going to mention it—she had too much of a knack for mucking things up.

  “How do you feel about Dara being involved in this awful business?” Nancy asked.

  “Involved?” Siobhán said.

  “Being a guard.”

  “Oh,” Siobhán said. “He’s a terrific guard.”

  Nancy frowned. That’s not what she wanted to hear. “It’s too dangerous. He has many other talents. He needs to move to Cork City, find a nice lassie, and have children of his own.” She glanced around the bistro, as if counting out her brood.

  Nancy Flannery would be the luckiest woman in the world if her imaginary future grandchildren were half as wonderful as Siobhán’s siblings. But she kept her gob shut. “Macdara will be here soon,” Siobhán said. “Please, just have a cup of tea.” Nancy drew a breath, but then nodded. Gráinne, who had sailed into the dining room, escorted her to a nearby chair and saw to the tea.

  “I want to go home too,” Brenna wailed.

  “Nobody is going home,” Alice cried out. “The wedding is Saturday.”

  “Wedding?” Susan Cahill chimed. Her voice, so far calm and authoritative, had gone shrill. “You can’t possibly go on with the wedding.”

  “We are,” Alice said. “We are going on with the wedding.”

  “The wedding”—Colm said, drawing up to his full height and sending his voice hurtling across the room—“has most definitely been called off.”

  Chapter 7

  When Paul returned from his phone call to Macdara, he found his bride-to-be slumped in a chair, sobbing. “What now?” He immediately went to Alice’s side and began rubbing her back. Siobhán watched in fascination. She’d never seen such a caring man. Paul lifted his head and looked at her. “Macdara rounded up all our stray ducks. Including Father. They’re on their way.”

  Siobhán, embarrassed to be caught staring at him, nodded her head, then looked away.

  Faye cried out with relief. “Where’s Martin? Asleep all this time, was he?”

  “You can ask him when they get here,” Paul said. “Now why is my beautiful bride in tears?”

  “We’ve canceled the wedding,” Susan said. She sounded unusually chipper.

  “You can’t do that,” Paul said.

  “We just did,” Colm said. “The matter is closed.”

  Paul gen
tly let go of Alice and took a step toward Colm. “It’s our wedding. Kevin was my best man. He’d want us to go on.”

  “It’s our wedding,” Alice repeated, standing and wiping her tears with the back of each hand. “Our decision.”

  “Why on earth would you carry on now?” Susan said.

  Paul threw open his arms. “If nothing else, this proves how short life can be. I don’t want to waste another second.”

  “What would they say about us?” Susan said.

  “They?” Paul asked.

  “Society. The papers. Kevin’s mam.” Susan gesticulated each with her hands.

  Alice stepped forward. “We honor Kevin by going on.”

  “The decision has been made,” Colm said. “The wedding is off.”

  “Love should win,” Nancy Flannery said, startling everyone as she set her teacup down with a clink. “Love is the only thing can drive out such horror.” For the first time, Siobhán could see where Macdara got his stoic kindness. Maybe she had been too quick to judge his mammy. She tried to give her a nod and a smile, but Nancy wouldn’t look her way.

  A murmur ran through the group as they considered Nancy Flannery’s words.

  “It’s a private affair anyway,” Alice said, her voice suddenly girlish and hopeful. “We’ll tone down the celebrations.”

  “Is that how you want to marry, dear?” Susan Cahill said. “Under such macabre circumstances? Toned down? With tears in your eyes?”

  Alice squared her shoulders. “There will be tears in our eyes either way. Shouldn’t something good come of all this evil?”

  Paul wrapped his arm around Alice’s waist and pulled her close. Siobhán wasn’t sure what to think. Oh, she loved the idea of love winning out. But to marry under such a dark cloud!

  The front bell jangled, and seconds later Macdara appeared with Brian, Chef Antoine, and a silver-haired man she assumed was Martin Donnelly in tow. Siobhán had forgotten all about the chef. He was carrying a folded case. His chef knives, no doubt; he had stayed behind to collect them. Much like the knives, Siobhán would have to stay sharper. Where had he been all this time? Ronan was the last to slink in, clutching his camera to his chest. Martin immediately went to Faye’s side and took her hand. He had a handsome face, but he was barely taller than his wife. Paul hadn’t gotten his height from either of them. Genetics was a mysterious thing.