“My fault,” he said. He flashed perfect teeth. They were in the town square, the only part of town that was well lit at night, to keep lads from vandalizing the castle. It was bright enough to see a dimple appear on the left side of his face. “Are you okay?”
“Right as rain.” She took off again, too flustered to talk. He couldn’t have been in Kilbane long or surely she would have seen him in the bistro. She’d have to ask Courtney or Declan about him; they were always the first two to get the gossip.
“What’s your name?” he called after her, but she kept going. Looks like he’d be asking around town about her as well. She thought of Macdara and felt a bit of shame flare through her. It was normal to find more than one man attractive; she knew that, of course, so why was she apologizing to Macdara in her head?
She reached the end of the street and gazed out at the remains of the astounding Dominican Priory set farther back in the field, just across the river. Kilbane’s most precious landmark was founded in 1291, donated to the Dominicans, and cared for by the White Knights. The original settlement was said to be comprised of a modest stone chapel and a few wooden buildings. But almost immediately the bishop of Limerick, who was the feudal lord at the time, sent his armies to kick out the Dominicans.
In true Irish spirit, the Dominicans appealed all the way up to the king of England, who granted the monastery back to them. The White Knights became the patrons of the monastery, and their importance and wealth grew under the earls of Desmond, and the priory blossomed as Kilbane became one of the wealthiest and most strategic towns in Ireland. The magnificent cloister was added in the fourteenth century with the stunning five-light east window. The ornate arched structure was separated into five distinct openings by intersecting stone arches. It must have been absolutely stunning when the glass was in place and the sun would strike just so. In the fifteenth century the Franciscan Bell Tower was added and the abbey came alive with sound. Where there is light and music, there are spirits. It must be so for the Dominicans brewed beer and had two stills along the river dedicated to that purpose.
Sadly, when the fortunes of the earls of Desmond began to wane in the sixteenth century, so too did Kilbane’s. In the 1570s, during the Desmond Rebellions, Kilbane was attacked and the monastery was burned. Even then, many Dominicans returned. And then came the Reformation and the vicious dissolution of the monasteries by the English king Henry VIII. Despite this, Kilbane stayed strong and the monastery stayed Catholic. But as the English government took more control, in swept the Cromwellian armies, and twice more Kilbane was attacked and burned. The monastery eventually became a burned-out shell.
But it was the most beautiful burned-out shell Siobhán had ever seen, its turbulent and fascinating history a testament to the Irish spirit. Growing up with it practically in her backyard had inspired Siobhán’s love of medieval history.
She was so proud of the amazing piece of architecture. She could spend hours within it, searching for stone carvings of heads and flowers that still adorned the ancient structure. The best bit was in the centre of the choir. There lay the tomb of the last White Knight, Edmund.
Kilbane had much to be proud of, and Siobhán felt as if the history of the town was actually a part of her, as integral to who she was as her blood and bones. If it could withstand everything it had, surely she could withstand a morning run.
But once she reached the monastery, she’d be running in the pitch black. She gripped her flashlight as her feet sank into the soft grass. The path was broken up by little holes, the product of bored boys with sticks and spades. Siobhán would have to watch her step. It wouldn’t be such a good start if she sprained an ankle. A horse was grazing by the stream at the far end.
It was a horse that belonged to one of the travelers, or tinkers, as everyone in town called them. Siobhán tried not to use the disparaging term, but it was hard not to be enraged by some of the behavior of the itinerants who set up camp on the outskirts of Kilbane. They didn’t pay taxes or electric bills, yet many of them had their RVs rigged up to the power lines, and the areas surrounding their camps looked like junk heaps. They didn’t treat their animals much better. This brown and white horse, tied to a tree by a short rope, was so skinny that in the daylight you could clearly see his ribs. Once she’d tried to feed him, and one of the travelers had come tearing across the field to run her off, screaming and hollering at her. All for trying to feed the poor thing!
Presumably they brought the horse here to graze on the grass and drink from the stream. Fortunately, his owners weren’t around at this hour of the morning, and Siobhán hurried over with her carrots. The horse whinnied if she got too near, so she dropped the carrots at his feet and turned back to the abbey. She could hear him crunching as she jogged away.
She flicked on the flashlight as she started around the circumference of the monastery. She trained her eyes on the bell tower, where kids often climbed to the top just to get into all kinds of mischief. Teenagers came for a different kind of mischief. Siobhán knew that included James and Eoin, but she was hardly going to fault a couple of teenage boys. Gráinne and Ann claimed that it wasn’t their style to make out with lads here, but Siobhán had her doubts. After all, she had come here as a teenager to shift boys or chin-wag with her girlfriends about shifting boys. But the kissing was as far as it went. She had never drunk or smoked, or shagged any lad here, but it was obvious the lads and lasses were doing it these days. As if the holes weren’t bad enough, one had to watch out for broken beer bottles and other unmentionables.
She kept the light shining just ahead of her on the ground. Large footsteps could be clearly seen in the mud. Had the gorgeous American been running here as well? She looked closer and noticed they were covering up a slightly smaller set of footprints. Maybe he’d been here with a girl. Siobhán gripped the flashlight as she wondered who it might be, and picked up her pace. By the time she’d run around the grounds, she was sweating and a pain was starting to form in her side. That was enough for today. She turned and headed for home. She kept her eyes peeled on the road back home, but there was no sign of the handsome Yank.
Chapter 4
Siobhán checked her watch as she neared the bistro. Thirty minutes. That’ll do. The street lamps emitted a soft glow, but it was still dark. However, across the way, the shutters were thrown open in Sheila’s salon, and every single light was ablaze. Stranger yet, the front door was wide open. How very odd.
Had Sheila just stepped out? Siobhán looked left and right, but didn’t see a sign of Sheila or Pio. She turned her eyes to their bedroom window. Like the O’Sullivans, most of the people who owned businesses on Sarsfield Street lived in a flat above the shop. There was no use living farther away when your hours were so long. But Sheila and Pio’s bedroom was dark. Yet there didn’t appear to be anyone downstairs. Should Siobhán go over and shut their door? Why, anything or anyone could wander in.
Siobhán started across the street, then stopped. What if they were being robbed? Maybe Siobhán should just go inside her own home and call Macdara.
Just then a little red pickup truck rumbled by. Mike Granger stuck his hand out the window and waved. Siobhán waved back. Maybe nobody in town could sleep today. Mike usually opened the market at eight. After that, Peter’s hardware store would open at nine, and Courtney’s gift shop at ten. The only establishments that opened earlier than their bistro were a handful of pubs that catered to the graveyard shifts.
Just then, a figure appeared from around the side of Sheila’s salon, hurrying through the tiny walkway that separated it from the chipper next door. It could have been Sheila, but Siobhán couldn’t see for sure. The person was wearing a hooded rain jacket, even though there wasn’t a drop in the sky. He or she was the right size and height for Sheila, round and short. Definitely had to be Sheila. She was carrying a large rubbish bag with both hands and appeared to be sinking underneath the weight of it.
Siobhán lifted her hand to wave, but Sheila didn’t even
glance in her direction. Instead she hurried into the salon and slammed the door. Seconds later the shop plunged to black. Strange. Why was she carrying a rubbish bag into the shop? Siobhán didn’t want to know. Sheila probably wasn’t the first wife to go through the rubbish, literally trying to dig up something on her husband. Siobhán liked Pio, but that didn’t mean she could vouch for his fidelity. He was, after all, a musician. At least they hadn’t been burgled.
Siobhán unlocked the front door of the bistro and slipped inside. She locked the door behind her, passed the staircase leading to their upstairs dwelling, and turned right where French doors led into the entry of the bistro. They wouldn’t open for several more hours, but Siobhán wanted a few quiet moments in the space before she showered. She made a beeline for the counter on which sat her pride and joy, a state-of-the-art espresso machine. Despite a few old-timers grumbling about her trying to change up the joint, her cappuccinos were to die for. Siobhán threw open the shutters. If only she could stand here for hours, drinking cappuccinos and daydreaming.
Instead she would have to shower quickly and start the brown bread and Irish bacon. She crossed back to the French doors and was about to head upstairs when she heard voices coming from the kitchen. Her knees locked up as she strained to listen. Someone was definitely in the kitchen. Her siblings wouldn’t be awake for another hour. Siobhán grabbed the rolling pin next to the register, held it up to her right shoulder, and positioned herself near the kitchen door. On three, she told herself. One. Two.
Siobhán burst through the door before she even hit three. Voices and the clattering of dishes rose to greet her along with the smell of bacon and black-and-white pudding sizzling on the grill. The meaty patties filled the kitchen with a sharp, sweet aroma. Gráinne and Ann were kneading the soda bread, Ciarán was cracking eggs, and Eoin was lording over the grill. Siobhán’s stomach rumbled. Running sure did work up an appetite.
“What’s this?” Siobhán asked.
“It’s a surpise,” Ann said.
“Surprise,” Ciarán said, jumping into the air with his arms out.
“Take a shower,” Eoin said without looking up. “I can smell you from here.”
“Look,” Ciarán said, tipping his bowl to show her the eggs. “No shells.”
“Maith an buachaill,” Siobhán said. Good boy. Her mam used to say it to Ciarán all the time. Siobhán wanted to keep up the effort. Ciarán grinned, exposing a gap between his teeth. She could eat him up.
“Are you surprised?” Gráinne said.
“You could have knocked me over,” Siobhán said. “I was going to smash someone’s head in with this rolling pin.” Siobhán thunked it down on the nearest counter. Four faces turned to her, beaming. Oh, no. They were up to something.
Last time they’d pulled something like this, Ciarán had wanted a puppy, Eoin a car (even though he was only fifteen), and the girls had wanted to escape to London for the weekend. As if!
“Go on take a shower and change, will ye. It’ll be ready when you’re done,” Eoin said. “And wake James while you’re at it.”
Siobhán’s smile faded. Apparently they hadn’t even noticed that James wasn’t in his bed. “Are you sure I can’t help?”
“We’ve got it,” Gráinne said.
“Suit yourself.” Siobhán whirled around and exited the kitchen. Maybe there was hope for them, after all.
She was just about to cross through the dining room when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a figure sitting in the back dining room. Was it James? Heart pounding in her chest, she stopped and stared. There was someone there alright, but it wasn’t James. Although she could only see the back of his head, the man appeared to be completely bald. Mike? Couldn’t be; he’d just passed her in his truck. The man was seated at the same table Niall had occupied the day before.
Whoever it was, he was sitting like a statue. She thought of calling out to the man, but none of it felt right. Siobhán slowly stepped backward until she reached the kitchen door. She backed into the kitchen and grasped the doors to keep them from making a noise as they swung shut.
“You still smell,” Eoin said.
Siobhán whirled around and put her index finger over her mouth. Eoin raised an eyebrow. “Did you invite a friend over?” she whispered.
“What are ye on about?” Gráinne said.
“Did anyone hear James come in last night?” Siobhán said. “Did he bring a friend?”
“I think I heard him,” Ann said.
“You were dreaming,” Gráinne said.
“Who has the mobile in here?” Four faces stared at her, uncomprehending. The O’Sullivan six shared three mobiles between them, a rule her parents threw down and one Siobhán had been too heartsick to break. James had commandeered one and Siobhán the other. That left the younger four squabbling over the third. Siobhán’s was upstairs in her room. The work phone was next to the cash register. She was going to have to rethink the three-phone rule.
“Gráinne always has the phone now,” Ann said.
“Shut your gob,” Gráinne said.
“Why do you need our mobile?” Ciarán asked.
“Quiet. Did any of you invite a friend over?” Siobhán asked.
“None of us have friends,” Gráinne said loudly.
“Shh.” Siobhán bypassed the rolling pin and snatched a large knife off the counter.
“What are you at?” Eoin said.
Siobhán shushed them again. “Turn off the grill. And stay in here.”
“But we’ve only started,” Ciarán said. “It’s still mooing.”
“It’s pig, you eejit,” Eoin said.
“Oinking, so,” Ciarán said.
Siobhán waved her arm. “There’s some yoke out there.”
“But we’re not open,” Ciarán said.
“What yoke?” Eoin stepped up and squared his shoulders. She was grateful he was tall, like James, and awake.
“You’re giving me a fright,” Ann said. Her blue eyes were wide, strands of her blond hair stuck up in the back like antennas. Siobhán was going to have to give her a trim soon.
“Not me,” Ciarán said. “Let’s give him a wallop!”
“You’re staying here,” Siobhán said. “Eoin and I will go.”
“You’re taking the piss,” Gráinne said. Her eyes were wide too, her dark hair pulled back and held with a band.
“There’s some yoke just sitting in the back dining room,” Siobhán whispered, pointing.
“Did he see you?” Eoin said.
“His back was to me. I think he’s asleep.”
Eoin grabbed an even larger knife, and before Siobhán could stop him, he hit the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gráinne grab the rolling pin, and before long the O’Sullivan clan was armed. Ann had a spatula, and Ciarán lofted a tea kettle. Siobhán didn’t know if he was going to serve the stranger tea or scald him. She wanted to yell at the younger ones to go back into the kitchen, but maybe they were better off staying together.
Siobhán flipped on the light to the dining room as they poured into the front room of the bistro. Makeshift weapons aloft, they inched toward the stranger. Whoever he was, he was wearing a gray pinstriped suit. The only suits they saw in here were after weddings or wakes. Not even Sunday Mass. The light didn’t cause him to stir. Whoever he was, he must be dead asleep.
“Hey,” Eoin yelled. “You there.”
“Put your hands up and slowly turn around,” Ciarán said. They all stopped and glanced at him. “CSI,” he whisper-yelled.
“On how many episodes of CSI did they take down the criminal with a tea kettle?” Siobhán asked.
Ciarán shrugged.
The man at the table did not move. Eoin took another step.
“Bugger off,” he said loudly. The man still did not stir.
“Is he asleep?” Ciarán said.
“Probably pissed,” Ann said. He was sitting awfully straight for a drunk man, Siobhán thought. Eoin was the first to reach
the man. Holding the knife aloft in one hand, he touched the stranger’s shoulder with the other. The man’s body shifted, and his head fell to the side. Eoin yelped, then jumped back, and darted around to the front of him. A second later the knife dropped from Eoin’s hand and clattered to the floor.
“Jaysus,” he cried out. He planted his fists in front of his mouth.
“What?” Siobhán said. “Is he asleep?” But even as she said it, she knew it was something far worse.
“Feck!” Eoin said. “Feck, feck, feck.” He bit his fist.
Siobhán reached his side. The first thing she saw was the blood. Not a lot, just enough to form a cloud in the centre of his chest. Protruding from his heart was a pair of scissors with hot-pink handles.
Siobhán let out a scream. “Oh my God, oh my God.” She couldn’t stop saying it.
The dead man’s eyes were wide open, like two black holes staring into an abyss. Siobhán screamed again and slapped her hands over her mouth as if to shut herself up.
“What?” Gráinne yelled. “What?” The three younger ones tried to move forward to see, but Eoin held them back.
Niall Murphy. Oh, God in heaven. The dead man was none other than Niall Murphy.
Chapter 5
Siobhán had wished Niall Murphy dead so many times since yesterday, and now here he was, as if mocking her. If only she could take back every evil thought. Had she caused this somehow? Or had it been James?
No, don’t even think such a thing. Siobhán crossed herself. Not James. He would never do such a thing. Would he? The terrible thoughts pierced her like stinging nettles. Oh, God. Nobody deserved this, not even Niall.
“Gráinne, call the guards. Ann and Ciarán, watch out the front window for them,” Siobhán said. She wanted them all to focus on something, anything, other than the body in the back of the bistro.
“I want to see, I want to see,” Ciarán shouted.
Siobhán pulled him into her. “No,” she said squeezing him tight. “No.”
Murder in an Irish Village Page 4
