Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  Colm turned to Macdara. “When can we return to the castle? We must pack and go home.”

  “Daddy!” Alice cried. “Please.”

  He turned on his daughter. “If you intend to go on with this circus, it will be without your mother and I. We’re off as soon as we can toss our luggage into the limo.”

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible, sir,” Macdara said. “The detective sergeant was quite clear. No one is to leave Kilbane until there’s been a full investigation.”

  “Are we suspects?” Faye said.

  “Yes,” Macdara said. “We’re all suspects.”

  “Ludicrous,” Susan said.

  “It’s procedure.” Macdara used his calming voice.

  “You’re definitely all suspects,” Ciarán said. Siobhán hadn’t noticed him lurking by the fireplace, gawking at everything and everyone.

  “Cheeky lad,” Susan said. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “School starts next week,” Siobhán said. The snobby wedding guests were now getting on her nerves. Siobhán had never mentally slapped so many people in her life.

  “I can start taking alibis if ye like,” Ciarán offered, thrusting up his index finger.

  Macdara hid a smile and placed his hand on Ciarán’s shoulder. Siobhán’s heart gave a squeeze. “We’re going to let the guards handle it,” he said gently.

  From across the room, Nancy Flannery studied the exchange with a definite look of disapproval. It was all too clear. She saw the O’Sullivan Six as an impediment to the future she wanted for her only son.

  Was she right? But what about what he wanted?

  Naomi and Liam O’Sullivan had had only two goals for their children: healthy and happy. They never would have foisted their ideas on a single one of them. It was only now sinking in what rare and special folks they were, how lucky they had all been to have been born to them. Siobhán would have taken the twenty-one years she had with her parents over a hundred years with any other. She just wished she could somehow give the young ones longer with them. Sharing her memories and stories was the only thing she could do now, and she intended to keep those stories coming as long as possible. In that sense, their presence in their lives was strong. Once in a while, Siobhán swore she could even smell her mam’s soft perfume.

  “If we’re stuck here anyway, might as well go on with the wedding,” Brenna said.

  “It’s certainly too late for refunds,” Brian chimed in. Colm glared at him, and Brian buried himself in his iPad.

  “That’s the spirit,” Alice said with strained enthusiasm.

  “We won’t force anyone who doesn’t want to participate,” Paul said. “But Alice and I are getting married. Who’s in?” He looked to his father. “Dad?”

  Martin nodded. “We need something to occupy our minds. I say on with the wedding.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Paul said. “Mother?”

  Faye rubbed her rosary beads. “If I thought delaying the wedding would bring Kevin back or offer anyone a bit of peace, I’d say postpone. But since we’re stuck here anyway, perhaps it would be a wonderful way to honor to Kevin’s memory.”

  “One of us is a killer,” Ronan said. “Doesn’t that worry any of you?” He had his camera poised and began snapping their horrified reactions.

  “Stop it, or I’ll knock that yoke out of your hands,” Paul said. Ronan flashed Paul a searing look, but let the camera come to a thudding rest against his chest. Paul cleared his throat. “We must assume that someone had a personal motive to kill Kevin. As horrible as that is, I truly believe the rest of us will be safe.” He looked around as if the killer might confess. “Be assured. The guards will be watching our every move. There will be no more violence.” Siobhán couldn’t tell if he was pleading with the killer or threatening him. Or her. Or creating a distraction if, in fact, he was the murderer.

  Motive was the thing Siobhán needed to suss out. Who wanted Kevin dead, but most importantly, why? Certainly he’d shaken almost every single apple in the cart last night, but so far none of his shenanigans seemed to warrant such a merciless repercussion. A blow to the back of the head suggested two things: fury and cowardice. This was personal, and yet the killer didn’t give Kevin a chance to see it coming. Thus the killer was a coward. Siobhán studied the pale Irish faces in the group and sighed. It hardly narrowed the field.

  Alice must have been thinking along the same lines. “Kevin was harmless,” she said. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting him dead.”

  “You called him a nuisance,” Brenna said.

  Alice’s beautiful eyes flashed with anger. “So that makes me a murderer?”

  “Brides are supposed to be murderous on their wedding days,” Brenna quipped.

  “You have no sense of decorum.” Alice turned her back on her maid of honor.

  “Why did you choose me to be your maid of honor then?” A needy whine crept into Brenna’s voice.

  “You’re my oldest friend,” Alice said. Her shoulders sagged.

  “But not your dearest?” Brenna fired back.

  “Why are you always looking for a row?” Alice said. “Haven’t we had enough drama?”

  Brenna blinked and clamped her mouth shut. Siobhán sighed. All relationships ran deep. There was definitely a load of water under their bridge. But if Siobhán went diving into everyone else’s pond, she was very likely to drown.

  “We all thought Kevin Gallagher was a nuisance,” Colm said, steering the conversation back to the murder. “Hardly clears up the mystery.”

  “I’m ashamed to say that my last words with him were quite angry,” Paul said. “He’s not himself when he drinks.” Paul placed his hands over his eyes, and for a moment Siobhán thought he was having a good cry. But when he removed his hands a minute later, his eyes were dry.

  “Where were you, Mr. Donnelly?” Brenna asked, staring at Martin.

  Martin Donnelly began to brink rapidly. “When?”

  “All morning,” Brenna said, her voice turning stern.

  “I was wandering around this quaint little town,” Martin said. “Until I began to feel ill. At that point, I returned to my room and fell asleep.”

  “Did you eat any of Siobhán’s brown bread?” Brenna asked straightaway.

  “Who’s Siobhán?” Martin asked.

  Siobhán reluctantly raised her hand as everyone stared. Martin nodded and gave a slight bow. “Pleased to meet ye.”

  “You as well,” Siobhán sang before whirling around on Brenna. “Martin wasn’t anywhere near my brown bread. It must have been something both Alice and Martin ate last night.”

  “We both had lemon meringue pie,” Alice said. “Chef Antoine made it.”

  “My lemon meringue is beyond reproach!” Chef Antoine shouted. He was draped in a chair by the fire, looking as if he was contemplating throwing himself into the flames. “I’m sick of cooking for rich people!”

  “You can cook for us,” Ciarán said.

  The chef grimaced. “Not that sick.”

  “Your father and I had the pie, and we’re fine,” Susan said. A chorus of “Same as” rang out around the room. A satisfied smile crept over Chef Antoine’s broad face.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when the news came,” Martin said. “It’s a terrible, terrible shock. What time did this dastardly deed take place?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Siobhán said gently. “What time do you think Kevin locked you in your room?”

  Paul frowned.

  “What’s this?” Macdara asked.

  Paul filled Macdara in. “I couldn’t open me door this morning. Thought maybe Kevin was having a laugh.”

  “Interesting,” Macdara said. “He would have needed a key for that, don’t ye think?”

  Paul shrugged. “I suppose so. I didn’t think about it.”

  “Who let you out?” Siobhán asked. “Mr. or Mrs. Huntsman?”

  “The missus,” Paul said.

  “If Kevin did lock you in, he may have done y
ou a favor,” Macdara said.

  “A favor?” Alice asked.

  “If we can prove Paul was locked in his room at the time of the murder, it’s as good an alibi as any,” Macdara said.

  Paul gave a wry smile. “That’s a bit of relief.”

  “You think we’re going to need alibis?” Alice cried.

  Siobhán placed her hand on Alice’s arm. “Routine questions. Nothing to worry about.” She wished Macdara hadn’t just publicly cleared Paul. What if he was lying? They couldn’t prove whether or not he was actually locked in. At the least, Macdara should have waited until Carol Huntsman corroborated his story.

  “Kevin was killed somewhere between half one and half nine,” Macdara said. “I’d like everyone to write down the time they came home last night, the time they awoke, where they went, and what they did.”

  Brenna dropped her jaw, and her eyes widened. Sweat dappled her forehead. She swallowed hard. Given the unruly sight of her when they’d first met, and her obvious nervousness now, Siobhán was convinced that Brenna had slept with Kevin. It was normal that she would be embarrassed, mortified even, but this was no time for lies. Paul was staring at Brenna too. Did he know? Siobhán would have to speak to Macdara about it when they had a minute alone together.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Brenna said. She pointed at Macdara. “Even the guard argued with Kevin. You were furious with him, weren’t ye? All because he was swiping your cap, having a laugh.”

  Paul stepped toward Brenna. “Just what are ye playing at?” he said. “Macdara is the most honest man I’ve ever met.”

  “It’s alright,” Macdara said. “Yes, I was annoyed with Kevin for swiping me cap. In fact, he had it with him.”

  Siobhán flinched. Why did he just announce that?

  Because he wasn’t in detective mode; he was in friendship mode. And all of the suspects were in his blind spot.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Nancy cried out. “I thought it just fell out of me purse. Your man must have sneaked up on me and lifted it.”

  Macdara quickly tried to soothe her. “Not your fault,” Macdara said. “I’m the one who should have made sure to keep it on me head.”

  “Wait,” Brenna said. “Are you saying that your garda cap was found at the crime scene?”

  Regret crept into Macdara’s eyes. Finally. Cop on. You shouldn’t be giving away any information. “A garda cap was found at the crime scene,” he said. “And mine is missing.”

  “Wipe that smirk off your face,” Alice said to Brenna. “We all know Kevin was taking the piss last night.”

  “We can’t just ignore evidence,” Brenna said.

  Paul shook his head. “Macdara wouldn’t be daft enough to kill a man and then leave his own cap behind.”

  “Unless that’s exactly what he wants us to think,” Brenna said.

  Macdara came up to Siobhán from behind and nudged her. “Can I borrow a notebook?” he whispered.

  “Nothing would make me happier,” Siobhán said.

  “I’ll fetch it.” Ciarán ran off to get Macdara a notebook.

  Just then Bridie entered into the dining room in a tight black dress overplayed with a white frilly bib, black stockings, and high heels. All she was missing was a feather duster and a pimp. Even Chef Antoine sat up in his chair and dropped his jaw. All conversation screeched to a halt. Siobhán couldn’t even remember what she’d just been thinking about. Siobhán heard her mam’s voice in her head, clear as day: Mother of God.

  “If anyone would like an Irish breakfast, it’s ready,” Bridie said, curtseying in front of Alice and Paul as if meeting a king and queen.

  “Jaysus,” Brenna said, her eyes raking over Bridie’s outfit. “The killer definitely has to be one of them.”

  Chapter 8

  Siobhán stood in the back garden, hoping the sight of it would calm her nerves. The summer lords-and-ladies were going to seed, but the violets and pansies and white clovers were in bloom, along with a plethora of others Siobhán couldn’t name, and she took her time breathing in their sweet, warm scents. This too shall pass. The herb garden was choked with weeds. Siobhán would make it a point to organize it this year, and she would never let it get this overgrown again. It was healthy and calming to get one’s hands in the dirt. Her da knew the name of every single leaf. Siobhán could tell mint from parsley, but that was as far as her green thumb reached. Bunches of herbs tied with string used to hang upside down from the ceiling of their kitchen. Once they were dry, her mam would chop them and place them in little glass jars, labeled with her beautiful handwriting, waiting for use. Siobhán wanted to keep up the tradition and silently added that to her to-do list. There just weren’t enough hours in the day.

  Trigger was digging in a patch of dirt by the fence. She approached, ready to scold. His back was to her. He froze when she was just a few feet away and began to snarl. He hadn’t even bothered to turn around and look at her. If he wanted to dig a tunnel out of here, she might as well let him. She backed off and began to pace.

  That Brenna was strumming her last nerve. If she made one more crack about Siobhán’s brown bread or how the killer had to be one of them—why, Siobhán couldn’t be responsible for her actions. A person could only take so much. Siobhán’s head was so filled with noise she didn’t even know someone had stepped outside until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around to find Macdara in front of her, holding out a cup of tea.

  “Thank you.” She smiled as she took the cup and failed to mention that she’d almost kneed him in the groin.

  “Not a bother.” Macdara gave her a smile, then shook his head. “Let’s have it.”

  “Have what?”

  “I can hear you thinking from in there.” Trigger stopped digging, trotted over, and whined at Macdara’s feet. He bent down and patted the dog’s head. Siobhán could have sworn she heard him purr. Cheeky mutt.

  “Brenna is my top suspect.” Siobhán began to pace around the herb garden.

  “Because she keeps slagging on your brown bread?”

  “Amongst other things.”

  “Go on,” Macdara said.

  “I’m pretty sure Brenna and Kevin spent the night together last night.”

  “Did someone tell you they spent the night together?”

  “I deduced it.”

  Macdara groaned. “In other words—no.”

  “Her tousled appearance, the smug look on her face, the way she announced how she’d seen Kevin go for a walk this morning, and the repeated knowing looks Paul kept giving her.”

  “You’re saying Paul knows they spent the night together?” Macdara asked. Siobhán nodded. He didn’t look too happy to find out Paul was keeping a secret from him. “Sleeping with a man is a far cry from killing him.”

  “True. But she’s definitely covering it up. And that narrows down the time of death.”

  Macdara pulled a notebook out of his pocket and jotted something down. “Who else?”

  Siobhán stopped pacing. “Colm Cahill. He and Kevin are almost identically built. Easy to sneak up and hit him from behind.”

  Macdara frowned. “What does build matter if the person snuck up on Kevin from behind?”

  “Kevin was at the peak of the hill. The killer came up from behind, on the incline. So he or she would have already been at a lower position. Situated so, I think a short person would have had trouble striking and killing Kevin with one blow.”

  Macdara shook his head. “Not if he or she got lucky with the trajectory.”

  Siobhán sighed. “Anything’s possible, but for now I’m trying to figure out what’s likely. And that’s not all. Remember, Colm had announced his intention to walk to the top of the hill every morning to watch the sunrise.”

  “But he didn’t that morning.”

  “Suspicious, isn’t it?”

  “You think he’s lying?”

  “First he said he slept in. But Brian saw him arguing with Carol Huntsman over a missing fax. So then he c
hanged his story. Said he got up, argued about the fax, then went back to bed.” Macdara nodded and took another note. He was taking her seriously. “And I smelled cigar smoke in the woods.”

  “Motive?”

  Siobhán stopped and looked to the sky as if the answers might be written there. The clouds were almost black now, but the rain had yet to hit. “Kevin groped Susan on the stairs last night. He was protecting his wife’s honor.”

  Macdara rubbed his chin. “That’s not enough.”

  Siobhán agreed. “I think it has something to do with the missing fax.”

  “I’ll ask the guards to search for it.”

  “He seems rather eager to cancel the wedding,” Siobhán added.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Why?” Siobhán said. “Paul seems wonderful.”

  “Does he now?” Macdara’s voice was playful, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he was covering up a touch of jealousy.

  Siobhán laughed. “He’s also madly in love with Alice. Anyone can see that. Doesn’t Mr. Cahill want that for his only daughter?”

  Macdara sighed. “He believes the Donnellys are beneath him.”

  “He believes everybody is beneath him.”

  “True. But everybody isn’t marrying his only daughter.”

  “So he doesn’t approve.”

  “He does not. But surely you’re not suggesting that he staged a murder just to get out of a wedding?”

  “I’m simply postulating theories,” Siobhán said. “Now onto Martin.”

  “Paul’s father?” Macdara sounded surprised. “He’s a decent man.”

  “He was missing throughout the entire ordeal. You have to admit that’s odd.”

  “I’ll ask around town. If he was scouting about in Kilbane, as he claimed, then someone will have seen him.”

  Siobhán nodded. “Ronan is next. A temperamental artist. And from his jittery demeanor I would surmise he might even be a drug addict. He was obviously upset about the camera, and he was eager to photograph the body.”