Suddenly, he stopped, as if he’d startled himself, as if for a moment he’d forgotten who she was and why he was here. He stepped back, stared at her, and there it was. An undeniable, inappropriate spark. Her parents were dead and she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t know how to forgive herself for that, or if she even should.
Since then, the very air between them had changed. An intimacy she couldn’t shove away had filled the gaps between them, and she wasn’t the only one appalled by the development. He often looked at her as if he hated her for making him feel again. Surely he didn’t want to love a young, orphaned woman suddenly stuck with a family bistro and five siblings to look out for, and she couldn’t fall in love with the man who had stirred feelings in her while bringing her the worst news of her life. It wasn’t even a real relationship and it was already doomed.
Usually he only visited on weekdays, when he was off duty and the bistro was less crowded. Truth be told, he looked good in his common clothes as well. He was a bit of a clothes horse, which was intriguing. He always wore nicely pressed denims and a stylish shirt.
Did he go into Dublin to shop for the latest fashions? His cologne smelled dear too; she doubted they sold a scent that alluring at the pharmacy in Kilbane. She knew they didn’t for one day she went in and sussed them all out, just to see what he was using, and not only did she not come across his cologne, she spent the rest of the day sneezing and being blessed.
Despite her ambivalence, the atmosphere lifted whenever Macdara was nearby. Not that she would ever do anything more than daydream about him. He was too old for her—at least thirty years of age he was—and besides, she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life in Kilbane like Macdara seemed poised to do.
He was sitting by the front window with a heaping pile of food in front of him, a cup of Barry’s tea, and an extra helping of brown bread. He caught her eye and smiled. Her cheeks heated up as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She jerked her head in the opposite direction. That wasn’t odd at all, Siobhán. Way to go. She picked up a few empty plates from neighboring tables and took them into the kitchen. Next she poked at the fire that crackled in the front room before tossing more kindling on it.
Gráinne and Ann had control of the dining room, and the lads were manning the kitchen. Besides tending to the register, Siobhán’s main job this morning was to warn folks to watch their step. For as soon as she wiped up one set of wet prints from the floor, two more feet walked across it.
She had just set the mop in the corner when the bell jangled and in walked Niall Murphy. Before she could even say a word, he strode to the back of the bistro and took a seat at the last empty table. He gave her a look, as if daring her to challenge him.
Siobhán whirled around and burst into the kitchen. “Niall Murphy is here,” she announced to her brothers, who turned in unison. Shock was stamped across Eoin’s boyish face, but James was deathly still, his expression hard to read.
“Why?” Eoin said. Siobhán shook her head. There was no reason why. Not anymore.
“Well, how do you like that?” James slammed the spatula onto the side of the grill, and Eoin jumped. James had two years on Siobhán, but they were negated by his love for the drink. In many ways he needed just as much minding as the young ones. But he had been doing so well lately. Would Niall Murphy ruin all his progress in one fell swoop? James was finally on the straight and narrow, helping out in the bistro and about to get his six-month Pioneer Pin. Siobhán never thought he could stay sober for that long. She’d die before she’d let another Murphy boy pitch their lives upside down.
“Toss him out,” Eoin said with a jerk of his hand. At fifteen, Eoin was already taller than Siobhán. Ciarán, who was supposed to be doing the dishes but was really testing out a toy boat in the sink full of suds, watched the exchange with wide eyes. Siobahn could practically see his ears flapping as he soaked in every utterance. He was still young, thank God, but a bit cheeky at ten years of age.
“Hush,” Siobhán said. “We’re not like that.”
“I’m like that,” Eoin said. “That’s exactly what I’m like.” His eyes sparked. He often reminded Siobhán of a cannon about to fire, his lanky body bottled up and ready to blow. God help her.
“Niall Murphy,” James said, as if testing out the name. His chestnut hair was curled at the edges, testament to the heat in the kitchen. Eoin had the exact same hair, but his was tucked under a backward Yankees cap. He’d never been to New York, let alone America, and had never even seen the team play on telly. But it was a rare day he wasn’t wearing that cap. Eoin had a strange addiction to ordering American shite off eBay. But if he limited it to small items and if it kept him from going down the same road as James, Siobhán couldn’t see the harm in it.
“I’ll do the honors,” Eoin said. He grabbed a bowl of potato leek soup and spit in it. Ciarán careened in, plucked up a thick slice of brown bread with soapy fingers, licked it top to bottom, and dropped it on the platter next to the soup.
“Deadly,” Eoin said. He and Ciarán high-fived. Ciarán had to stand on his tiptoes to reach Eoin’s hand. He was the only one besides Siobhán with dark red hair. But unlike her porcelain skin, he had a mountain of freckles dotting his face.
“Don’t be cheeky,” Siobhán said as Eoin grabbed a saltshaker and upended it into a cup of tea. “We’re not serving him that. James?”
James nodded, removed the offending offerings from the lads, and upended them into the trash before turning to Siobhán. “What’s he doing here?”
Siobhán bit her lip and shrugged. She was dying to tell James what Niall had said to her in the cycle shop, but now she knew she couldn’t. If Niall Murphy uttered a word to James about Billy being innocent and wanting ten thousand euro, James would be raging, that was for sure. The sooner Niall Murphy went back to Dublin, the better. “I just wanted you to be prepared. We’ll all be polite, hear?”
“Why are we being polite?” Siobhán didn’t even hear Gráinne come into the kitchen. She stood in front of her, right hip jutted out, manicured hand on top of it like she was posing for a soap on the telly. Siobhán still wasn’t used to how pretty Gráinne was; at sixteen she was a raven-haired stunner. Too bad her personality wasn’t anywhere as refined.
“Niall fecking Murphy is in the house,” Eoin said. “And we can’t even spit in his soup.”
“Language,” Siobhán said.
“I saw him already,” Gráinne said. “I talked to him.”
Siobhán felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. “What did he say?”
“Why are you freaking out?” Gráinne said.
“Why are you talking like a Yank?” Siobhán said. Although she knew the answer to that. Internet and the telly. The door burst open and Ann barreled in. At thirteen, she was just a hair taller than Ciarán, and the only blonde of the lot. Their da used to say, “I never did like the milkman.”
“There’s a row in the dining room!” Ann said. “Niall Murphy and Mike Granger are about to get into fisticuffs!”
Chapter 3
The O’Sullivan Six rushed out of the kitchen and burst into the dining area. Sure enough, Mike Granger and Niall Murphy were circling each other around a table, chests out and fists up.
“A amadáin!” Mike called Niall a fool in Irish.
“Éist do bhéal,” Niall replied. Shut your mouth.
Siobhán was furious. They were acting the maggot in her bistro. Garda Flannery and Séamus Sheedy circled around them.
“Take it easy now,” Macdara said.
“Settle,” Séamus echoed. The rest of the patrons were out of their seats, a few standing on them, craning their necks to have a look. Several had their mobiles out and were snapping pictures.
“What’s going on?” Siobhán said. She stepped up next to Macdara. He put his hand on her waist and gently pushed her back. “Stop it,” she called to the men. “This is a family place.”
“I want him out of this town,” Mike Grang
er yelled, spit flying. His biceps bulged under his shirt. He owned the food mart at the end of the street and was living proof that hauling boxes of produce could turn you into a he-man. Mike had been a dear friend of her da’s. They grew up together, and even opened their shops at the same time. Siobhán felt a squeeze of love toward him for trying to protect them, but at the same time was ashamed of herself for it. Niall wasn’t the one to blame. Like it or not, he had a right to be here. The overhead light shone on Mike’s bald head as he circled the table.
“I’m my brother’s keeper, is that it?” Niall said. Siobhán froze, praying he wouldn’t start in about Billy being innocent.
“Let’s take it outside,” James said, pushing his way in. Panic seized Siobhán. It sounded like he was including himself in that invitation.
“You are good for nothing, just like your brother,” Mike said. Macdara stepped up, took Mike by the arm, and pulled him back. Siobhán glanced at Niall. Sweat dotted his forehead, and the crazy look he’d had in his eyes yesterday was even more pronounced today. Now that Mike was somewhat subdued, he pushed his chest out and looked wildly around at all the people staring at him.
“This is my home too,” Niall shouted. “You might have scared me mother, but you don’t scare me.”
“Nobody has been scaring your mother,” Siobhán said. Right? She’d never heard a word about it.
“Of course this is your home too,” Gráinne said. She sounded as if she meant it. As if she didn’t want Niall to be upset. Alarm bells rang in Siobhán’s head, but there was no time to make sense of it.
“Shame on all of yous,” Niall shouted, his eyes landing one by one on those gathered around him. “You’re all going to know the truth. And by this time tomorrow, you’re all going to have to face it.” He whirled around, then closed the distance between himself and Siobhán until he was right in her face. “Especially you,” he said. “You had your chance.”
Macdara and James immediately stepped between Siobhán and Niall. Macdara gave a warning nod to James, and to Siobhán’s relief he fell back. Macdara and Niall squared off.
“Niall Murphy.” Bridie Sheedy stepped up, despite Séamus trying to hold her back. This time she wore a pink headband with sparkles. “You’re better than this. There’s no need for a scene.”
Niall ignored Bridie and thrust his finger at Siobhán. “You had your chance. Don’t forget that.”
“What chance?” James said. “Siobhán?”
Siobhán shook her head as if she had no idea what Niall was going on about.
“Get a move on, or hand to God, I will take you into the station,” Macdara said. It struck her now more than ever that the guards should be allowed to carry guns. What good would a baton do in a real crisis? The crowd parted as Niall Murphy marched toward the front door. Halfway there, he whirled around and instead headed for the back door. It led to their private back garden, and customers weren’t supposed to use that door.
“Hey.” James started after Niall, but Siobhán grabbed his arm and held onto him with all her might. She didn’t care which way Niall went out as long as he was gone and stayed gone.
That evening the O’Sullivan Six sat in the front room of the bistro, with the shutters thrown open so they could catch the remaining light of the day as they had supper together. The bistro was only open for breakfast and lunch; suppertime was for family.
Niall’s appearance had cast a somber pall over the clan, and the argument between Mike and Niall had them all twitching. Siobhán couldn’t help but feel there was more to the story. Of course, Mike would be protective of them; everyone in town was, to some extent, but the fight she witnessed had seemed personal. What had Niall ever done to Mike? Siobhán didn’t want to think about it during family dinner, so she tried to lighten the mood.
“I’m going to start running,” she announced. It was true. She was going to get in great shape; she was going to become a morning jogger.
James looked up from his bacon and cabbage and frowned. “Running what?”
“Running,” Siobhán said. “Like for sport.”
“Without anyone chasing you?” Ciarán said.
“Are ye joking me?” Ann said. “Why would you ever want to do that?” She flipped her blond braids behind her with disgust.
“When?” Gráinne demanded.
“Early, like,” Siobhán said. “Very early.”
“Who is going to prep the breakfast?” Gráinne said, eyes narrowing into tiny slits.
“I’ll be back in time.”
“See that you are,” Gráinne said. “Everyone likes your brown bread the best. Even better than Mam’s.”
Siobhán didn’t like to admit that, but it was true. She crossed herself anyway.
“Is it because of what the lads have been saying about your arse?” Eoin asked.
Siobhán’s fork clattered to her plate. “What lads? What have they been saying about me arse?”
“Don’t answer that,” James said. Siobhán glared at him. James shrugged. “Best he learns now,” he said. “Best he learns now.” When they were finished with the meal, James ordered the rest of them out of the room.
“They’re supposed to clean up,” Siobhán said, picking up a plate. James took it out of her hand and gently pushed her down in her seat.
“I’ll do it myself. But first you’re going to tell me exactly what Niall Murphy meant when he said you had your chance, and that we’ll see, we’ll all see.”
“How would I know?” Siobhán said. James gave her a look. She should have known better than to try to lie. James had this uncanny ability to see into her. Even more than her parents ever had. That is, when he was sober.
He plopped into the seat across from her, folded his hands together, and leaned forward. “Spill the beans. All of ’em.”
Siobhán looked over his shoulder. Her eyes caught her mam’s apron, hanging on the hook behind the register. Usually it gave her comfort. It did nothing for her now. This was bad. She could feel it. “Just some nonsense he said at the cycle shop.”
“Are ye still going to see that fecking pink scooter?”
Now that Sheila’s shop had gone pink Siobhán had decided she liked the black scooter better. Not that James needed to know any of it. “Is that what you want to talk about now?”
James shook his head. “What nonsense?” He leaned forward, his brow furled. He was a dog who wanted his bone alright, and he’d be at her until she gave it to him.
“He said Billy was innocent. That he had proof.”
“What?” James rose from his chair.
“I told you. It’s nonsense.”
“Go on.”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“Siobhán O’Sullivan.”
“He said he could get a lot of money from yer one, but he wanted to do the right thing and sell it to me first.”
“A lot of money from who? Sell what?”
“I don’t know. He was talking nonsense. He just said ‘yer one.’ ”
“Are ye jokin’ me?” James was practically bouncing around the room.
“He’s mental. I mean it. Sick in the head.”
“He’s mental, alright. If he’s not, he will be when I get through with him.” Fists curled, James headed for the door. Siobhán threw herself at him and grabbed his arm. He yanked it away.
“Don’t,” she said. “I’m begging you.” Siobhán literally dropped to her knees. James turned around.
“Get up.”
“I need you. We need you.”
“If you think I’m going to let that arsehole threaten me sister and spread nasty lies about our parents, then you must be the one who’s mental.”
“It’s not worth it. It’s not worth everything we’ve been through.”
“Get off the floor.” James held his hand out.
Siobhán took it but remained kneeling. “Promise me, James. Promise me you’ll let this go.”
James sighed, then gently hauled Siobhán to her feet. “
I can’t promise.”
“Promise me,” she said again.
He headed for the door. “Lock up.”
“Where are you going?” But James didn’t answer. He simply headed for the French doors that separated the bistro from the hallway. Once he was in the hall, James was either heading for the staircase on the right, or the main door straight ahead. Siobhán had a feeling he wasn’t headed upstairs for a rest.
“Wait. Stay here. Just for tonight.” She hurried after him. But he was already out the front door. It slammed behind him. She got back down on her knees. She closed her eyes. She clasped her hands. And for the first time in nearly a year, she prayed.
The next morning, Siobhán was up before the birds. She crept into the room the lads shared. Eoin and Ciarán were fast asleep, but James’s bed was empty. Not a crease on it. He’d been away all night. Did he get drunk? Confront Niall Murphy? Where was he now? Siobhán had tried to stay awake and wait for him but had succumbed to sleep just after midnight. She should have called Macdara. She should have gone looking for him.
Siobhán used her gnawing worry to fuel her first run. She kept at it, one step at a time. At half four there was a marked chill in the air, but at least it wasn’t lashing rain. The sky was still dark, and the houses were shuttered. A few street lamps created a glow along Sarsfield Street. Siobhán liked listening to the echo of her runners hitting the pavement. She passed King’s Castle in the centre of town, cut right at the corner, and then slammed into someone’s chest.
She jumped back with a half scream.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the stranger said. He had an American accent. Siobhán stepped back and took in the man. The Yank was a tall lad, and was about her age. Who was he? Where had he come from? Gorgeous was the only word that popped into her head. He looked like a movie star. If she had known men like him were out running in the wee hours of the mornin’, she would have started a long time ago. “Sorry,” Siobhán’s voice was barely a whisper.
Murder in an Irish Village Page 3
