Murder at an Irish Wedding

by Carlene O'Connor

  She stared at it for a moment as if it might be ticking. She bent closer. No sound. No smell. She nudged it with her toe. Nothing jumped out. She grabbed it, slung it over her shoulder, then made a beeline for Alice’s door. Hands shaking, heart still thundering, she unlocked it and stepped in. She wanted nothing more than to flee the castle, but she could hardly leave without the bride’s wedding dress. Despite her determination, her heart was still Irish dancing in her chest. She could have been killed. Who had pushed her, and why? If they were after her handbag, why didn’t they just take it? Was someone toying with her? Val?

  Val said the electricity had gone off due to the storm. But it was no accident that the lights went out when they did. Was there a control switch at the top of this stairwell? She could have asked the Huntsmans if they had bothered to stick around. How could the guards be so incompetent as to let them go?

  Siobhán forced her attention back to Alice’s room. Unlike her parents’ ransacked room, it was all in order, filled with photos of her and Paul, congratulatory cards, and a bouquet of fresh flowers. Siobhán approached the closet and slid it open. There she was greeted by a gorgeous designer wedding gown. It was so silky Siobhán longed to touch it. A slim, long gown with a V neckline trimmed in delicate Irish lace and pearls. Sleeveless and clinging, no doubt to show off Alice’s stunning figure. When you looked like Alice Cahill, the dress was the understudy, because she was the star. Hanging next to the dress was an elegant veil trailing to the floor. Siobhán was reminded what this weekend had meant to Alice. Her wedding day. Was it possible to still have the fairy tale?

  She was about to slip the wedding dress into the garment bag when a rubbish bin underneath the writing desk caught her eye. It was filled with crumpled pieces of pink stationery. Either the guards hadn’t noticed it, or they had looked through it and deemed it wasn’t important. Siobhán hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to touch anything other than articles of clothing. The receipt from Martin’s room had been easy enough to slip into her handbag, but she couldn’t hide an entire rubbish bin of paper. It looked as if Alice had been writing someone a letter and having a difficult time with it. They wouldn’t miss one or two, would they? Siobhán hurried over and snatched the lucky number three out of the garbage. She heard footsteps coming down the hall and dropped three crumpled balls into her handbag.

  “Hello?” The door swung open, and Val stared accusingly at her. “What are you doing?”

  “A girl can admire a wedding dress, can’t she?” Siobhán barked. Val blushed. What if he had been the one to mess with the lights and push her down the stairs? Siobhán tried to wave him away. “Why don’t I pack Alice’s room while you pack Paul’s?”

  “Already done,” he said. Would he have had time to pack Paul’s room and shove her down the stairs? He didn’t appear to be sweating or out of breath.

  “Maybe you should wait for the guards by the Cahills’ room,” Siobhán said. She wasn’t going to mention what had happened. She didn’t know why exactly, other than the fact that whoever shoved her would be expecting her to tell. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. It would be their little secret. Had she been shoved by the killer or someone else? If she told the guards, they would tell Macdara, and he wouldn’t let her out of her sight. She didn’t want to stop investigating. She was more determined than ever to find the killer.

  “Hurry it up,” Val said.

  Resisting the urge to kick him in the shin, Siobhán set to placing the dress into the garment bag while Val stood and watched. She would have to look at the crumpled notes later, and she hoped it wouldn’t cause any fuss that she’d removed them. Helping with an investigation was one thing; interfering with it was quite another.

  Chapter 14

  The limo pulled up to the Kilbane Inn with everyone’s belongings apart from Susan and Colm’s. The guards had been just as surprised as Siobhán and Val at the state of the Cahills’ room and ordered it sealed until they could go through it piece by piece. Siobhán hadn’t been allowed to remove a single stitch of clothing. Susan Cahill was going to explode when she found out. Siobhán expected it might very well be the last straw, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Susan declared all-out war. Her heart ached for Alice and Paul. Maybe they should just elope. Margaret O’Shea, the owner of the Kilbane Inn, was already waving at Siobhán through the window. At least Siobhán had been able to throw a little business her way. A frail woman in her early seventies, Margaret had a handicapped leg and got around with the help of a walker. Siobhán could hear it clacking as Margaret made her way to the footpath. At least there was a break in the rain, and the sun was even peeking out.

  Val began unloading the boxes and garment bags.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak with ye,” Margaret said as Siobhán picked up Alice’s wedding dress.

  “No need to thank me,” Siobhán said. “Let’s start with the bride’s room.” Margaret clacked over to the door to Alice’s room and waited for Siobhán to catch up.

  “Thank ye? Thank ye? I’m furious with ye.” Margaret slammed down her walker.

  “What on earth is the matter?”

  “You’ve brought a killer to me inn!”

  “Now, Margaret.”

  “Don’t ‘Now, Margaret’ me. It’s one of them that’s done it, isn’t it?” Her lips curled.

  Siobhán sighed. She didn’t want to lie. “It looks so.”

  “I’m not going to get a wink of sleep. I’ve got me knitting needles under me pillow.”

  “I’ll sleep here myself if that will make you feel better. You can take my room above the bistro.” Siobhán felt free to make the offer; Margaret would never leave the inn, just as she would never admit she was thrilled to have the business. She’d have let a room to Jack the Ripper as long as he paid up front.

  “’Tis a shame, a woman my age watching over her shoulder.”

  “I’ll ask Macdara to have a guard keep watch.”

  Margaret’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Why haven’t you cracked the case yet?”

  “Me?” Siobhán said. “I’m not a guard.”

  “Drop the act, O’Sullivan. We all know you figured out that other mess.”

  “That’s not going to happen this time.”

  “Bringing danger right to me door, you are.”

  Siobhán stopped. “Would you rather I send them off to Charleville?”

  Margaret waved her hand in dismissal and opened the door. It was a plain room with a small bed. The walls were the color of cream, and except for a wooden cross hanging on the far wall and a mirror above the dresser, there wasn’t a stitch of decorations. Maybe Siobhán would whittle a pair of doves for Alice. Siobhán had learned to whittle from her grandfather, who thought the activity would help calm down the young hothead. He was right. She’d taken to the hobby straightaway and was quite good at it. She’d stopped whittling after her parents’ death but picked it up again a few months ago. She liked to sit by the fire with a cappuccino and whittle away. The room could definitely use some cheering up.

  “I’ve sprinkled every room with holy water,” Margaret said, “seeing as how Father Kearney ignored me request to come and bless the rooms. Still. Perhaps they could do with a few more crosses?”

  “I’d say you’re all good now,” Siobhán said with a forced smile. Margaret watched as Siobhán hung up the wedding dress and placed Alice’s box of belongings next to the bed. She made a mental note to bring her some fresh flowers.

  “If there’s a murder at my inn, I’ll be closed down for sure,” Margaret said, shaking her head.

  “There will not be a murder at your inn.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Everyone is watching now.” Siobhán crossed herself. “Besides, it’s highly unlikely that we’re dealing with a serial killer.”

  “Serial killer?” Margaret screeched.

  “I said highly unlikely.”

  “How reassuring.”

  “And the body was found i
n the woods.”

  “So?” Margaret shuddered. “That’s why I abhor nature!” Margaret spent most of her time at the desk watching soap operas on an old black-and-white telly.

  “It suggests the killer wanted their victim in a remote spot. Your inn is far from remote.”

  “Oh, Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph. I’ll never forgive ye.” Margaret crossed herself, then removed a small vial from her pocket and sprinkled herself with what Siobhán could only assume was holy water. Heavens. You’d think she’d brought werewolves and vampires to her door.

  Siobhán sighed. “Should I ask them to leave?” she suggested once again.

  Margaret made a tsk-tsk sound. “That would blacken me name.”

  “Tell you what. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if you see or hear anything suspicious, I’ll have me mobile on twenty-four-seven.”

  Margaret looked around, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the tall man with the loud voice.”

  “Colm Cahill?”

  “That’s the one. Yelling at his poor wife and daughter. The bride ran from the room in tears. And they’d only just settled in for a lie-down.”

  “Where is everyone now?”

  “Where does everyone go? Out to the pubs.” She made another tsk-tsk sound. “I don’t like that young man with the camera either.”

  “Ronan.” The images of the photos he took of Alice swam through her mind. “Apparently he’s an up-and-coming artist,” Siobhán said.

  “Well, I wish he was an out-and-going artist. He’s been taking pictures of me. No doubt to have a laugh at my expense.” Margaret slammed her walker down.

  “Now, Margaret. Perhaps he views you as a worthy subject.”

  “I’ll give him a picture.” Margaret made a fist and shook it.

  “Where is his room related to the bride’s?” He shouldn’t be staying here at all. What were the guards thinking?

  Margaret cocked her head to the side and looked at Siobhán out of one eye. “That’s a peculiar question. Why?”

  “I think the bride is tired of having her picture taken too.”

  Margaret snorted. “She gets her picture taken for a living.”

  “Exactly,” Siobhán said. “Who wants to feel like they’re at work all day?”

  Margaret’s brow furled in confusion.

  Siobhán had to get her hands on that camera. If Ronan wasn’t the murderer, there was a high likelihood that he had photographed everyone who went into the woods that morning around the same time as Kevin. That would go a long way to helping them nail down the killer. Then again, Siobhán knew she had zero chance of getting the temperamental artist to part with his work. After reassuring Margaret another dozen times that nobody would be murdered at her inn, Siobhán finally slipped away.

  * * *

  All Siobhán wanted to do was fall into her chair near the fireplace, prop her feet up, and have a cup of tea. She was still smarting from the shove down the stairs. Alas, when she opened the door to the bistro and saw that the wedding guests were not in the pub, as Margaret had suggested, but rather lounging in Naomi’s as if it was their own living room, Siobhán knew she was never going to get that chance. The place was jammers, and not only with the wedding guests; townsfolk had swarmed the place as well. Technically, they were supposed to be closed down to cater to the wedding guests, but James must have sensed an opportunity to make a little off the lookie-loos. Her brood was running about serving tea and sandwiches, evoking Siobhán’s never-dormant guilt reflex. They needed a break too, although from the looks on their faces, they were all too happy to have the colorful and wealthy guests back in the bistro. Siobhán was relieved that Susan and Colm Cahill did not seem to be in the crowd; she wasn’t quite prepared to tell them that she hadn’t been able to bring back their things.

  Alice and Paul were draped in chairs near the fireplace, and Eoin, Ciarán, Ann, and Gráinne were hanging onto them as though the gorgeous couple had volunteered to be life rafts and they were adrift at sea. Siobhán headed for her cappuccino maker as she kept one ear to her brood, curious to see what they were chatting about.

  Ciarán was holding up a giant book. “Here it is,” he said, thrusting it at Alice. “My Big Book of Poisons.” Her eyes widened.

  Siobhán dropped her espresso cup with a clatter and was on him in no time. “Your what?”

  “From Gorden’s,” Ciarán said with an ear-to-ear grin. “It lists every poison in the world.”

  “Why do you need a big book of poisons?” Martin asked. He was hovering near the fireplace with a cup of tea. “Seems a wee one would do the trick.” He winked. Ciarán frowned.

  Poor Alice was holding the book like it was a dead rodent. Siobhán quickly took it out of her hands. Jaysus, it was heavy. It had a black leather cover with a boiling cauldron on the front.

  Siobhán felt like a failure. She had no clue Ciarán had a big book of poison. What else were they keeping from her? Siobhán turned just as James was coming in from the back dining room, his arms filled with plates. She hoisted up the book.

  “Gorden’s,” James said, flashing a grin.

  Siobhán sighed. She was always the last to know.

  “I’d love to see it,” Brenna said, sauntering over from her perch near the window.

  “Oh.” Ciarán’s nose twitched. He only wanted Alice to have it.

  Brenna grabbed it out of Siobhán’s hands. “T’anks.”

  “Did you know there are poisonous plants all over Ireland?” Ciarán said, kneeling in front of Alice.

  “Well then, petal, it’s a good thing I don’t have a green thumb.” She patted him on the head and laughed, and Ciarán laughed, although Siobhán knew for a fact that he didn’t understand the joke.

  “I loved everything gory when I was a lad too,” Paul said, catching the concern on Siobhán’s face. “It’s either that or he’ll be playing with toy guns and swords.”

  “But looking at a thing like that at a time like this?” Siobhán turned to see who had just spoken. Nancy Flannery was planted directly behind her, lips pursed in disapproval. Her tone was reprimanding as well, and it was clear that Siobhán was the target.

  Brenna chewed on her bottom lip, nodded, and handed the book back to Ciarán.

  Siobhán swept up the book. “Why don’t we put this away for now?”

  “For now?” Nancy Flannery said. “I’d throw it in the trash.”

  Nancy’s comment made Siobhán want to keep the book even more. “Nothing wrong with learning what to avoid in the world,” Siobhán said, stopping short of what she really wanted to say: People can be just as poisonous as plants.

  Ciarán swallowed. “I didn’t mean to frighten ye,” he said to Alice. “It’s just a book.”

  Alice took Ciarán’s hand. “You didn’t frighten me, luv.”

  “You should be studying your school subjects, young man,” Nancy said. “Not filling your mind with such nonsense.”

  “School doesn’t start until Monday,” Ciarán said. “And it makes complete sense to me!”

  “You should be getting a head start,” Nancy said. “Mathematics would do you good.”

  Siobhán wanted to smack her. Then again, she was the old-fashioned sort, and probably lonely. Not to mention she was Macdara’s mother. It would do Siobhán good to be patient and understanding.

  “Poor lad, running around an orphan,” Nancy started to say. The words were like a slap in the face.

  “Mrs. Flannery!” Siobhán said. “He’s not running around, as you can see; he’s perfectly still. More to the point—he’s certainly not an orphan.”

  “What’s an orphan?” Ciarán asked, wide-eyed.

  “Why don’t you put this book back in your room, and we’ll talk about it later,” Siobhán said.

  “His vocabulary could use some work too,” Nancy said.

  “As could your manners,” Siobhán snapped.

  Nancy gasped. Siobhán had done it now. And the woman deserved i
t. But she would never forget the comment and probably never forgive it.

  “It’s all about plants,” Ciarán said, gazing down at the book. “Just regular old plants.”

  “It was either that or Zombies of the Peat Bogs,” James said swooping into the group. “I thought this would bore him. Give him less nightmares.”

  “We need to look for these plants. Dig them all up so no one gets poisoned.” Ciarán turned to Nancy Flannery to see if that would satisfy her. Her pinched face looked as if she’d already been chewing on poisons.

  Ciarán thrust the book at Siobhán. “I don’t want it.”

  Siobhán took the book and kissed Ciarán on the top of the head. “It’s alright, luv.”

  “Come on,” James said. “Let’s take the ball out and play.”

  “Good idea,” Siobhán said. She glanced at Gráinne and Ann, who were sitting next to the fireplace just staring at Alice.

  “You two go out and play too.”

  “Play?” Gráinne said rolling her eyes.

  “Get some fresh air,” Siobhán said. That reminded her. “How did clothes shopping go?”

  “What do you care?” Ann said.

  “I care very much. I want to see everything you bought.”

  Ann rolled her eyes, and Gráinne punched Ann’s arm. “We’ll show ye later.”

  “Thank you,” Siobhán said. It was odd to have Gráinne coming to her defense for once. She was going to have to make a point to spend some alone time with Ann.

  “Do you need anything for the wedding?” Gráinne asked Alice. Siobhán frowned. She tried for the life of her to remember the last time Gráinne had asked if she needed anything. She was pretty sure the answer was never.

  “Aren’t you a dear.”

  “Something borrowed, something blue?” Gráinne’s eyes sparkled.

  Alice clasped her hands together. “That would be grand, luv. Surprise me.”