Murder in an Irish Village

by Carlene O'Connor

  Gráinne came running back into the room. “Garda Flannery is on his way.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him we had a break-in.”

  “That’s it?”

  “He’ll catch on when he’s here, won’t he?” Gráinne gave her a withering look. Siobhán didn’t have time for her teenage attitude.

  Just then Ann came tripping down the stairs. Her face was even paler than usual. “James isn’t in his room.”

  All of her siblings looked at Siobhán. “He never came home?” Eoin asked.

  “Not a word to Garda Flannery,” Siobhán said.

  “Why?” Ciarán said.

  “It’s our business, that’s why,” Siobhán said.

  “Niall Murphy?” Gráinne said. Her voice rose and cracked. “Are ye sure it’s him?”

  “It’s him,” Siobhán said. “By God, it’s him.”

  “No,” Gráinne said. “No, no, no, no.” She rushed toward the body, but Siobhán threw out her arms and blocked her. Gráinne wailed.

  “Settle,” Siobhán said. “Settle.”

  “It can’t be Niall, it can’t be,” Gráinne said.

  “It is,” Siobhán said. “It definitely is.” And why are you acting like you’ve lost a dear friend? Siobhán didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all, but now was not the time to grill her younger sister. Girls got crushes on bad boys all the time. Thank God, he was never going to get the chance to take advantage of her. Siobhán crossed herself. Awful, thinking such things of the dead, but she couldn’t help it.

  “You hated Niall, didn’t you?” Ciarán asked Siobhán.

  “Hate is a strong word,” Siobhán said.

  “Do you think someone was running with the scissors?” Ciarán said.

  “What?” Siobhán stared at her youngest brother. He was deep in thought. So much for keeping him from the body; he’d obviously had a peek.

  “You aren’t supposed to run with scissors,” he said.

  “No,” Siobhán said. “You’re not.”

  Suddenly, he pointed at her. “You were running. And you hated Niall. Were you running with scissors?”

  “No, I wasn’t running with scissors,” Siobhán said. “And I didn’t hurt Niall Murphy.”

  “Why?” Gráinne said. “Why?” Her body was shaking.

  “Everyone outside now,” Siobhán said. “Some fresh air will do us good.” Siobhán ushered them out the door. They huddled on the footpath. Murdered. In their bistro. The sun might have been rising, but it was going to be a dark day. A very dark day indeed. Siobhán rang James on his mobile. It went to voice mail. She left a message telling him to come home. There was an emergency.

  She didn’t want to call Declan O’Rourke, the publican at James’s favorite watering hole. Soon news of the murder would spread like wildfire. No use alerting anyone to the fact that James wasn’t home last night. Not until she had to. Siobhán knew he couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Niall’s murder, but tongues would wag. Please come home, James. Come home. Where in the world was he?

  The local gardai station was just down the street, and Macdara was at the bistro within five minutes. It was early still, and he looked as if he’d just been roused from bed. His hair was wavier than she’d ever seen it and sticking out of his cap like weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. Siobhán had an urge to pat it down. A second gardai car pulled up, but only Macdara had stepped out of his vehicle. For a second everyone just stood and stared at each other.

  “A break-in?” Macdara said, looking everywhere but at Siobhán. “Everyone alright?”

  “Niall Murphy is dead,” Gráinne wailed.

  “Dead?” Macdara said, finally meeting Siobhán’s eyes. “Niall tried to break in?”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “Well, we don’t know. He was just sitting in our back dining room.”

  “And you killed him?” Macdara asked, voice tinged with the first sign of panic.

  “Of course not,” Siobhán said. “He was dead when we found him.”

  “Murdered,” Ciarán said. “With scissors.”

  Macdara took off his cap and scratched his head. “Are ye jokin’ me?” The five shook their heads in unison. “Where is he?”

  “Still sitting in the back dining room,” Siobhán said. Macdara raised his right eyebrow, then gestured to the door.

  “Let’s have a look.” Siobhán opened it and let Macdara go in first. The rest filed in after him. Siobhán told her siblings to stay in the front room as she followed Macdara to the threshold between the spaces. Macdara took in the body from a distance and gave a low whistle. “Niall Murphy? You sure?”

  “We’re sure,” Siobhán said.

  “Dead,” Ciarán said. “As a doornail.”

  Siobhán turned and silenced him with a look.

  “In a suit?” Macdara said.

  Dressed for his own funeral, Siobhán thought. God, how awful. I’m so awful.

  “You sure it’s murder? Not a heart attack?” Macdara asked. The look on his face said he was thinking of every Irish breakfast he’d ever had at the bistro and adding up the cholesterol. So far he had not ventured into the back room, and the other two members of the gardai were standing in front of their vehicle smoking and having a laugh. They hadn’t pulled up expecting a murder. And why should they? There had never been a murder in Kilbane in her lifetime. The only one she had ever heard wind of was way before she was born. A woman was murdered in the bathroom of a pub. It was the husband who done it. Story goes she came to drag him home and he wasn’t having it. He killed her in the ladies’ room. After he did the deed, he sat in his regular stool and drank a pint while waiting to be arrested.

  Bet it was the best pint of his life, her da had joked only once before getting the death glare from their mam.

  Oh, boy, Sheila Mahoney was not going to be happy to see her scissors used in this manner. Guess they were sharper than she realized. Had Pio taken them to the pubs last night like Siobhán had suggested? Were they going to blame her? Should she confess to that bit now?

  Why was Macdara just standing there? Shouldn’t he have gloves, and crime-scene tape, and a camera, and a notebook? Siobhán stared at him, trying to convey these things, but for once he didn’t seem to notice her.

  “Do we call Butler’s to pick up the body?” Siobhán asked, hoping to jolt Macdara into action.

  “We do nothing until the detective superintendent arrives,” Macdara said, taking out his mobile. “He’ll have to declare it a crime scene. Then the state pathologist will have to come out, and she’d be coming from Dublin.”

  “Until then, he just sits there?” Siobhán said.

  Macdara tilted his head. “I don’t think he has anything else in mind.” He walked a few feet away and placed his call.

  “Oh, Jaysus.” She sounded just like her mam, but she couldn’t help it. Niall Murphy would be sitting there for some time. The bistro was ruined. Siobhán crossed herself and tried to shove the thought out of her head. Macdara finally approached the body. He reached into his pockets, as if to pull out a pair of gloves but came out empty-handed. Siobhán gestured toward the kitchen. “I have some disposable gloves. Will those do?”

  “Yes, please,” Macdara said. Siobhán nodded but didn’t move. “Can you get them now?”

  “Sorry.” Christ, what a right eejit she was. She whirled around and hurried into the kitchen. She retrieved an entire box of gloves from the supply cabinet and sprinted back with them.

  “Can you take a pair out of the box?” Macdara said. Siobhán did so. Macdara nodded as he put them on. Siobhán stepped back with the box. Macdara circled around until he was standing directly in front of Niall. “Did ye touch anything?” he asked glancing up. “Anything at all?”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “I don’t think so.”

  “I touched his shoulder,” Eoin said. “To wake him up, like. It didn’t work.” Macdara frowned. Siobhán said a silent prayer.

  “And our DN
A is going to be all over the place,” Ciarán said. “Because we own the place, like.” Macdara raised his eyebrows. Siobhán and Eoin shot Ciarán a look. Ciarán shrugged. “Well, we don’t technically own it, but we have a long lease, like.” He looked up at Siobhán. “Don’t we?” His big eyes, his freckled nose, his pale Irish complexion. She never wanted him to grow up. She ruffled his hair.

  “A hundred years, like,” she said. Actually there were sixty years left on the lease. But Alison Tierney, who’d inherited the property after her father died, was desperately trying to find a loophole, even hired fancy lawyers from Dublin to nose into the lease. Alison wanted to sell the property, but so far no one was willing to yank the business away from the O’Sullivan Six. Besides, no one wanted to lose out on Siobhán’s brown bread. But a murder on the property—that might just be a game changer. The worst day of Niall’s life might just be Alison’s best. Who would eat at the bistro now? Siobhán didn’t have to be psychic to guess that a murder on the premises was anything but appetizing.

  Macdara looked up as if a brilliant thought had just occurred to him. “Where’s James?”

  “Sick,” Ann said.

  “He’s out,” Siobhán said.

  “Watching telly,” Ciarán said.

  Macdara cocked his head. “Well, which is it?”

  “He’s out sick. Probably watching telly,” Eoin said. Siobhán looked at him. You’re welcome, he mouthed.

  “Rouse him, will ye? I’ll need statements from all of you.” Macdara took out his mobile phone and placed another call. Out the window, the other two guards snapped to attention, tossing their cigarette butts into the street and running for the door. Macdara didn’t even turn around. He was staring at Siobhán. “James?”

  “He’s not here,” Siobhán said. She wasn’t going to lie. It would make things worse. Besides, Macdara knew James couldn’t hurt anyone. Not really.

  Macara gestured to the ceiling. “I thought he was out sick watchin’ telly.”

  “No. He’s just out,” Siobhán said.

  “Did ye ring him?” Macdara said.

  “Straight to voice mail,” Siobhán said. “I think he forgot to charge it. You know yourself.”

  Macdara pointed to Niall’s chest. “Are those your scissors?”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “I don’t know.”

  “Which is it?” Macdara stared at her.

  “Sheila’s been tossing them out like candy the past two days. I took a pair, but I can’t be sure those are mine.”

  “Will you check around for them?” Macdara said.

  Siobhán nodded. “Ann and Gráinne, will ye look around for the scissors? Last I remember they were in the cabinet under the register.”

  “Gráinne had them last,” Ann said.

  “Did not,” Gráinne said.

  “You had them last night,” Ann said.

  “Liar,” Gráinne said.

  “Am not,” Ann said, hurt stamped in her voice.

  “Just look for them,” Siobhán said. Gráinne grabbed Ann by the arm and pulled her out of the room. Siobhán wanted to call James again, but she didn’t want Macdara to pick up on her stress over it.

  Siobhán pointed at Niall’s head. “I don’t know if that means anything.”

  “Go on,” Macdara said.

  “He wasn’t bald when he was in here yesterday,” Siobhán said.

  “You think that’s relevant?” Macdara said.

  “Course I do. He must have gone to Sheila Mahoney.”

  Macdara stared at Niall’s head. “He could have done it himself, no?”

  “I suppose so. Easy enough to check, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “It’s settled then. You’ll be needing to talk to Sheila straightaway.”

  Macdara shifted in place and ran his hands through his own hair. “Hold on. Are you saying Niall went to the salon, got his head shaved, then Sheila Mahoney stabbed him in the heart with a pair of her own scissors and dragged him across the street, into the bistro, and set him up in one of your chairs, like?”

  “Of course not,” Siobhán said. “But folks spill all their secrets to their hairdressers, don’t they? I bet Sheila knows why he was getting himself shaved and all suited up.” Should she tell him about seeing Sheila this morning running into her shop with a rubbish bag?

  “Right, so,” Macdara said. “Why was Sheila passing out scissors?”

  “Grand reopening. They match the hot pink on the background of Sheila’s new sign,” Siobhán explained. “She wanted me to keep a box of the scissors by the register, but I told her no. So she was going to have Pio hand them out at the pubs during his sets.” Siobhán left out the bit about being the one to suggest it.

  Macdara looked up as if he could see across the street from back here. “Sheila has a new sign?”

  “She copied ours, so,” Siobhán said, trying not to sound bitter.

  “She copied our sign?” Ann said, returning with Gráinne from the front room. “Bollix. Are ye gonna let her get away with that?”

  “Did you find the scissors?” Siobhán asked.

  “No,” Gráinne said. Ann folded her arms and stared at the ground. Macdara wrote something down in his notebook. Siobhán was dying to know what it was. She turned to Gráinne. “Will you take Ann and Ciarán over to—”

  “Hold up,” Macdara said. “I’m going to need everyone to stick around.”

  “Yes!” Ciarán said.

  “Hush,” Siobhán said. “Show some respect.” Siobhán was glad he wasn’t frightened, but she certainly didn’t want him enjoying this. Who knew being a parent was so hard?

  “Should we finish breakfast?” Ann asked.

  “No,” Siobhán said. “We won’t be open today. Unless you’re hungry?” Ann shook her head no, quickly followed by the rest.

  “Do you always start breakfast this early?” Macdara said.

  “No,” Siobhán said. Why were they all in the kitchen so early? She glanced at the young ones.

  “We were doing it for Mam and Da,” Ciarán said. Siobhán’s eyes filled with tears. The one-year anniversary. Technically the one-year anniversary of the crash was in three days. But the O’Sullivan Six had decided to celebrate the last day the eight of them were together.

  They’d all had breakfast before Naomi and Liam left for Waterford. The last breakfast they’d ever share. Everyone had been in such a hurry. Their dad joked that the eggs were too hard. “Like bullets,” he said. “Your mam is in such a hurry to buy a fancy crystal bowl.” Mam had given him a look, then when he buried his face in his plate without another word, she let a little smile escape her lips.

  They sat and ate together; then, when everyone was finished, there were kisses good-bye. Her mam never left a room without kissing someone on the cheek. Then she started worrying and going on about emergency numbers. She gave them the number for the hotel. And her mobile. And her da’s mobile (neither of them had ever actually used their mobiles, but this wasn’t mentioned by any involved). Then she gave them the number to the Waterford Crystal factory in case they were taking a tour when Siobhán tried to call, and that’s when her da threw up his hands and said, “Oh, for feck’s sakes, will ye stop?” Then Siobhán laughed and herded her mother out the door. And the worst bit of all was the relief she’d felt when they were gone. She loved her parents but felt she was due for a bit of a break. A bit of a break, imagine! Now she’d give anything—anything—to have even one single moment back.

  “We were supposed to have a special breakfast,” Siobhán said to Macdara. “To honor our parents.” Macdara watched her with those probing eyes of his until she looked away. How was it he always made her feel as if he could read her mind? She couldn’t believe her siblings were making the breakfast. Shame on her. Siobhán had forgotten all about it. Because she was too busy obsessing over Niall Murphy. Billy didn’t do it. I have proof. You had your chance. Don’t forget it. Oh, God. She should have told someone. Could it have somethi
ng to do with why he was killed? She swallowed hard.

  Macdara was still talking. “And when you first came down, you didn’t see Niall in the dining room?”

  “It was dark,” Gráinne said. “We didn’t even look over.”

  “Went straight into the kitchen,” Ann said. Siobhán didn’t know why, but everything that came out of Ann’s mouth sounded rehearsed. She wanted to tell the kid to relax. Macdara looked at her as if expecting her to say something.

  “And where were you?” he said when she didn’t.

  Alibis. Was he actually asking them all their alibis? He was good. Subtle. It didn’t dawn on her until now that that was what he was doing, and she was surprised by how much it hurt. What did that mean? Did she have feelings for Macdara Flannery? He was a garda. It was his job to solve the crime, and they were standing at the scene of the crime. It could be one of them. That’s what he was thinking. That’s what everyone would soon be thinking. Even she was thinking it. James. Where was James? Oh, God. She suddenly longed for Father Kearney. He would comfort her. He would assure her that no one was thinking any such thing. “I was running,” Siobhán said.

  “But not with scissors,” Ciarán interjected.

  Macdara stared at him for a moment, and then threw his head back and laughed. He had one of those laughs that warmed you up inside. He finally settled down and looked at her.

  “Running?” he said. “Running what?”

  Chapter 6

  “Running,” Siobhán repeated. “For sport, like.” Macdara continued to stare. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  Macdara turned red and shook his head. “It’s just . . . you seem fit to me,” he said under his breath.

  Siobhán flushed. He went from accusing to flirting? Why was she always the most attracted to him at the worst possible times? She was inexplicably angry with him. “I didn’t see him when I first came in either. I was going back upstairs to—” She stopped. Macdara knew James was gone, but he didn’t know that when James left last night, he was furious and probably had gone out looking for Niall Murphy. Macdara also didn’t know Niall had threatened her and asked for ten thousand euro. How had things gotten this complicated this fast? And why was she so afraid to tell him now?