Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  “I’m surprised Chef Antoine isn’t at the top of your list,” Macdara said.

  “Chef Antoine,” she repeated. “Just because he discovered the body?”

  “As a guard, I’d have to look closely at him for that.”

  Siobhán tagged on. “And don’t forget his reaction when you said he couldn’t leave the castle grounds. We should check with Brian. If Chef Antoine had any wedding-related errands to run, he would be the person to ask. Maybe we should start there.” Siobhán headed for the door.

  Macdara stepped in front of her. “There’s no we.”

  So much for wanting her advice. Siobhán took a deep breath. “You asked for my theories.”

  Macdara held up his hand. “You misunderstand. There’s no we—there’s just you.”

  Siobhán blinked. “What?”

  “The detective sergeant made it clear. I’m barred from investigating.”

  An uneasy feeling ran through Siobhán. She hated the saying, but it fit: like someone walked over her grave. “The cap,” she said.

  Macdara nodded. “I would have been a suspect anyway. I’m a wedding guest.”

  “You told them about your row with Kevin?”

  “Of course,” Macdara said.

  “They don’t really think you’re guilty?” She hoped he didn’t pick up on the panic in her voice.

  “If I were them, I wouldn’t rule me out.”

  “They know you. You’re one of them. Not to mention you’re the best investigator they have.” She meant it too.

  Macdara accepted the compliment with a simple nod of his head. “Luckily we have the second best investigator to help us out.”

  Siobhán was about to ask who when she caught him staring at her. Her. He meant her. “Second best?” She held his gaze until he laughed.

  “Don’t push it. I mean it, though. You have a quick mind, a wicked memory, and you’re good at reading people.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.” This time Siobhán wasn’t teasing.

  His eyes softened. “Then I’m going to have to work on that. Because I can think of a hundred nicer things right off the top of me head.” He moved in as if to kiss her. Trigger growled and yipped from below. The door swung open. Paul poked his head out. “Macdara?”

  Macdara jerked back. “Yes, boss?”

  Paul held up a mobile phone. “The detective sergeant wants to speak with ye. He has some news.”

  Chapter 9

  The wedding guests crowded around Macdara as he delivered the message from Detective Sergeant O’Brien. “Each of you must write down everything you’ve done since you’ve arrived at the castle.”

  “You’ve already asked us,” Susan said.

  “I asked you to write down everything you’ve done since last night. Sergeant O’Brien cast a wider net.” Everyone just stared at him.

  “Everything?” Ronan said. “Even the juicy bits?” He scanned the crowd as if he had something juicy on every one of them.

  Macdara cut him off. “You heard the instruction.”

  “Washing our teeth?” Ronan persisted.

  “If you’d like.”

  “That won’t be a problem for Brian,” Brenna said. “He already logs everything he does in that iPad.”

  “It’s called organizational skills,” Brian said. “And she’s right. I do. Will they accept an electronic copy? I can e-mail it immediately.” He was probably the type of lad who always raised his hand first in school. Poor thing. He had undoubtedly been beaten up a lot as a young one. Good on him that it didn’t stop him.

  “Why don’t you just use pen and paper?” Macdara said.

  Brian chewed his lip, but obediently nodded.

  “Are they going to analyze our handwriting?” Ronan asked. “If we don’t dot our i’s and cross our t’s, does it mean we’re guilty?”

  “Keep it simple,” Macdara said, irritation cracking through his voice. He turned to Siobhán. “Do kids these days know how to use pen and paper?”

  “Quite a waste of time to write down everything that’s already perfectly typed,” Brian said, sounding stressed.

  “Just do it, please,” Alice said.

  Brian had the decency to look ashamed. “Of course.”

  “I’ll round up some biros and notebooks,” James said. “Siobhán has loads of them.”

  “Thank you,” Siobhán said.

  “Notebooks you’ll be using for school any day now yourself, won’t you?” James whispered to Siobhán as he ambled away to fetch them. Cheeky. She had been procrastinating picking an online university. James wasn’t going to let her forget it.

  “You’re a suspect too,” Brian said, pointing at Macdara.

  Macdara nodded. “I’ll be writing down my activities as well.”

  “We’re supposed to just hand them over to you, another suspect?” Brian certainly seemed to enjoy calling Macdara a suspect.

  Macdara’s eyes flicked to Siobhán. She got the message. “I’ll collect them.” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.

  “You’re going to read them all,” Brenna said. “That’s not fair.”

  “We’ll put them in a sealed envelope, and Siobhán will deliver them to the guards.” Macdara looked at her long and hard until she nodded.

  “I’ll find an envelope large enough,” Siobhán said. And perhaps one that has some age to it so it wouldn’t be difficult to peel it open with a bit of steam from the kettle.

  “You said a few bits of news,” Paul said. “Is there more?”

  Macdara nodded. “Kilbane Castle will be off-limits for the rest of your stay.”

  “The wedding,” Alice cried.

  Brian hit himself on the head with his iPad.

  “That’s it then,” Colm said.

  “What about my belongings?” Susan Cahill said. “If I don’t get out of this tracksuit and into Armani tout de suite, you’re going to have to cart me off to hospital.”

  Ciarán, who was lingering behind Siobhán, piped up. “Who’s Armani Toot Sweet?”

  Gráinne, who was lurking in the doorway, gawking, piped up. “He’s a clothing designer, you eejit, and obviously he has a sweet tooth.”

  “Oh my God,” Alice said, smiling at Ciarán. “I just want to eat you up.”

  “What about me?” Eoin said. “Do you want to eat me up as well, like?” He was leaning against the counter, grinning. Alice actually blushed. Where did the lad get the confidence? Siobhán had never even seen him smile at a girl, let alone flirt so shamelessly. It was an alarming revelation that she could love her siblings so much yet never really know them, and despite wishing otherwise, she certainly didn’t have any control over them. James walked behind Eoin and knocked the baseball cap off his head.

  “Morons,” Gráinne said. “Can I go upstairs now?”

  “Me too?” Ann said. Apparently adults were boring even when they were discussing murder.

  “Of course,” Siobhán said. “Thank you for the help.”

  Ann turned before she reached the stairs. “Are we still going school shopping with ye?” she asked Siobhán. Gráinne leaned on the bannister to listen.

  Siobhán smoothed Ann’s unruly blond hair away from her face and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. I forgot all about it.”

  “Not a bother,” James said. “I’ll take them.”

  Ann shook her head and pulled away. “Mam always went to the shops with us before school.” Ann’s voice carried across the room. Siobhán could feel a dozen pair of eyes on her back.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “You promised.”

  “This is work.”

  “How is it work? You’re not a detective.”

  “Your brothers and sisters are going with ye.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Eoin said. “I don’t need new clothes.”

  “Me neither,” Ciarán said.

  “We’ll get a few bits and bobs and then curried chips while we’re waiting for the colleens,” James sai
d to his brothers.

  “And we won’t get curried chips?” Gráinne pouted.

  “You’ll get them after,” James said.

  Curried chips did sound good. If Ann wasn’t so browned off with her, she would have asked that they bring her some as well.

  “You said you’d go!” Ann pouted.

  “You’re going anyway, and after you’re getting curry chips. There’s no need for a pity party,” Siobhán said.

  “Indeed. Even if I threw one and invited ye, ye wouldn’t come anyway.” Ann stomped her foot, then whirled around and ran up the steps to her bedroom.

  “She’ll be fine,” James said off Siobhán’s pained look. Siobhán didn’t admit the worst of it. Ann was right. Siobhán didn’t have to investigate this murder. She could go to the shops like she’d promised. Watch them try on outfits and eat curried chips. She just couldn’t shake the feeling inside her that was driving her to stay and investigate. She wanted to solve this mystery. She wanted to catch the killer. It wasn’t her job, but somehow she felt as if it were. A calling of sorts.

  “Don’t worry,” Gráinne said. She was still hanging on the staircase. “I have a better sense of fashion than you anyway.” She winked at Siobhán and then thundered up the steps.

  “She’d better not come home dressed like Britney Spears,” Siobhán called after her.

  “Who’s dat?” Gráinne yelled back.

  “Thank you,” Siobhán said to James.

  He nodded. Bridie came out of the kitchen and glided over to Siobhán. Thankfully, she’d changed out of her outfit and was back in dress pants and a modest top. “The Frenchman is snooping around the kitchen,” she whispered. “My shift is finished. Unless you’ll be needing anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” she said to Bridie. “See you tomorrow.” What was the chef doing snooping around their kitchen?

  “I’m on it,” James said, passing out the last of the notebooks and biros. He headed for the kitchen as the guests chose seats in which to sit and write down their alibis. Siobhán refilled mugs of tea, her fingers tingling as she watched everyone begin to write.

  “I’ll speak with the sergeant about all of your belongings,” Macdara announced to the group when they had all finished and their writings had been sealed in a large envelope. Macdara handed the envelope to Siobhán, who tucked it into her handbag as everyone watched. The detective sergeant would be paying her a visit to collect it. She only hoped she might have the opportunity to do a little peeking before that happened.

  Brenna flopped down in a chair. “If there’s no wedding, how on earth are we going to pass our time in this wasteland?”

  “I know,” Alice said turning on Brenna. “Let’s spend it figuring out where I’m going to get married now that the castle is off-limits.”

  “I’ll marry you anywhere,” Paul said.

  “You can have the wedding at Saint Mary’s and the reception here,” Siobhán said.

  “Here?” Susan said in a tone that clearly conveyed her horror.

  “Your place is so lovely,” Alice said gently. “I was just so looking forward to an outdoor wedding.”

  “Just before sunset,” Paul chimed in. They took a moment to drown in each other’s eyes. Colm cleared his throat and rolled his eyes.

  “The abbey,” Siobhán said. “If the weather holds, you can have the reception at the abbey.”

  “And if it rains, you can have it here,” Bridie added. “You can always go out to the back garden for a wee bit of the outdoor experience.”

  That meant Siobhán was definitely going to have to have it tended to. She sighed. It seemed sometimes that life was nothing but work.

  Alice clasped her hands together and looked at Paul. “It sounds wonderful,” Paul said.

  “Wonderful,” Alice repeated. She was smiling, but her voice was cracking like an egg. Siobhán admired her determination to have her day, no matter what. The vows hadn’t even been taken, yet they were already taking them to heart—through good times and in bad. This was definitely bad. The bride was in need of a little help, and that’s what friends were for. Even ones who had just met.

  “I’ll talk to Father Kearney,” Siobhán said.

  “I’ll call Margaret at the inn,” Bridie chimed in. Several minutes later, at least a few of their problems were sorted. Father Kearney would meet with the wedding party later this afternoon to render his decision, and Bridie had gotten through to Margaret. The Kilbane Inn had enough room to accommodate the guests. It wouldn’t be as fancy as the castle, but it would do. Unfortunately, Margaret needed a few hours to make the rooms extra tidy. Another delay. The group was getting antsy.

  “Let’s take a stroll around Kilbane before it starts lashing rain,” Alice said. “Siobhán, could you lead a tour?”

  “Of course,” Siobhán said. “Let me get something sorted first, and then we’ll get our legs under us.” She hurried into the kitchen. Chef Antoine was hunched over a large pot on the stove. James was directly behind him. They were laughing.

  “Everything alright in here?” Siobhán asked.

  “It’s grand,” James said. “We’re making an Irish stew.”

  “Stew!” Antoine said. “I love this stew!” He held up a fat carrot in one hand and an onion in the other like they were trophies he had just won. He began talking to himself. “Guinness, Bailey’s Irish Creme, Jameson. Roast beef carving station, but instead of potato soup for a starter, I am going to serve this stew. Sláinte!”

  “Cheers,” Siobhán said. “With that menu, no doubt all the wedding guests will be drunk.”

  “An Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hold onto one blade of grass and not fall off the face of the earth,” James piped in. She shook her head. He winked. “Except me,” he said. “I will be a sober Irishman.”

  “Good lad,” Siobhán said. She turned back to the chef. “Did you hear that the wedding will be moved to Kilbane?”

  Antoine’s bushy eyebrows furled, and he whacked the carrot down on the counter. “I have to cook from here?” He gazed around the kitchen, no longer looking as charmed with their ways.

  “We should have everything you need, and there’s an herb garden out back,” James said.

  “We’re going for a stroll,” Siobhán said. “Would you like to join us?”

  Chef Antoine shook his head. “Mais non. This kitchen is not equipped. I have too much to do.”

  “I’ll help,” James said. “If there’s anything special you need, we can go to the shops.”

  The chef looked around again. “Can we go to Paris?”

  “You’re supposed to take the girls school shopping,” Siobhán gently reminded James.

  “Chef Antoine can go with us,” James said. “Charleville will have everything he needs.”

  Siobhán thumped Chef Antoine on the back. “Charleville,” she repeated. “At least it sounds French, non?”

  “Named after King Charles the Second,” Antoine said. “English. Not French.”

  “Can’t have everything.” Siobhán quickly backed out before he could retort. She met with the wedding guests on the footpath. “Are we ready?”

  “Why are we going for a walk when it’s obvious the rain is going to come lashing down?” Brenna barked as she cast an uneasy glance at the darkening sky.

  “The fresh air will do us good,” Alice said.

  “Maybe it will wash away our sins,” Ronan said with a grin. “But I doubt it.”

  “Plenty of places to duck for cover, if need be,” Siobhán said, hoping everyone would ignore Ronan.

  Paul held up his hands. “Before we start the tour, I have a request.” Everyone stopped to listen. “After supper I’d like us all to meet at O’Rourke’s to raise a pint for Kevin.” A murmur went through the group. “It’s the least we can do.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” Brenna repeated. After everyone agreed, they began their stroll.

  “Welcome to Sarsfield Street.” Siobhán was proud of the town’s
tidy streets. They passed the chipper, and the hardware store, and Butler’s Undertaker, Lounge, and Pub, and the Kilbane Players, and Courtney’s Gift Shop. They came to a stop in front of Chris Gorden’s new shop, Gorden’s Comics. Siobhán had been disappointed. She thought for a moment that he was going to open a proper bookstore; she would have been there all the time. Probably a good thing, as the Yank had a bit of a crush on her. And with his movie-star good looks and the newness of her relationship with Macdara, a girl didn’t need any unnecessary distractions. Staring at the fangs and skeletons in the poster before her, she knew she had made the right choice. She wouldn’t have imagined the Yank would do well with a comic book store, but the lads and even lasses in town seemed to love it. Vampires, and zombies, and heaven knew what else. Ciarán and Eoin were here every spare moment they could find. Especially now, standing in front of a window filled with blood and gore seemed altogether wrong, so Siobhán hurried them past it.

  Soon they were approaching the town square, with King John’s Castle rising proudly in the middle, and Saint Mary’s Cathedral, with its spiral steeple, off to the left. In the fourteenth century the town square had been a bustling market filled with fruit and veg, and trinkets from far away. Now the gardai station was located in the square, Siobhán counted six guards gathered out front, their blue uniforms flashing.

  They want the murderer to know they’re watching, Siobhán thought. She held up in front of the castle and waited for the others to gather around. Unlike sprawling Kilbane Castle, King John’s Castle was a four-story structure rising sixty feet above the active town square. A double set of wide-arched openings at ground level allowed visitors to freely pass underneath the impressive structure.

  “King John’s Castle was built in the fifteenth century,” Siobhán said. “It’s a good example of a peel tower. It was once used as an arsenal in the war with Cromwell, and later as a military hospital.” An image of cots filled with bandaged soldiers filled her mind before she continued. “The nineteenth century brought the addition of the large windows,” Siobhán said, pointing up. “And in its next incantation it was used as a blacksmith’s forge.” She could just imagine the horses lined up to get their new shoes, the blacksmith’s hammer tapping away, the clack of wagon wheels. From the back of the group, Macdara was trying to suppress a smile. She supposed she sounded rather like a schoolgirl reciting a report. But she truly loved history. From the looks on everyone else’s face, she was apparently the only one.