“Speaking of paying the piper,” Mike said. “Have you given some thought as to what you’re going to do now?”
“You mean the bistro?” Siobhán asked.
Mike nodded.
“Do you think we’re finished?”
“I just assume folks won’t want to eat where a murder occurred.”
“I don’t think he was killed there.”
Mike arched his eyebrows. “No?”
“I think the killer is setting us up.”
“How so?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about the details of the investigation. But once the facts are in, I think it will be clear that he wasn’t killed inside the bistro.”
“I won’t say a word. I just hope it’s in time.”
“In time for what?”
“Alison Tierney. She’s been gunning to get your lease revoked since her father died, hasn’t she?”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Was it possible that Alison killed Niall just to shut down the bistro? That was preposterous, wasn’t it? Why was it every time she turned around there was a new suspect? How could they launch onto James so quickly with all these leads? She would have to pay Alison a visit. Siobhán stood. “Thanks for listening.” She stopped at the door. “You were up awful early yourself that morning,” she said. “Just like me.” Her mind flashed on his truck rumbling by, Mike waving out the window.
“Ah, right,” he said. “I was checking out a possible prowler.”
The hair on the back of Siobhán’s neck stood up. “How do you mean?”
“Declan gave me a bell. Said he was out having a smoke when he saw a few lads creeping around the back of the store.” O’Rourke’s was directly across from the back lot of the market. If only the alley had faced the store, then maybe Mike would have seen Niall and James fighting and been able to break it up. Or maybe he would have seen Niall leaving James in the alley. Then again, maybe it was Niall who Declan saw creeping about the back of the market. She was going to have to talk to Declan as soon as possible, too.
“Did you catch anyone?”
Mike shook his head. “They were gone by the time I arrived. I saw footprints alright. Looks like there had been several of them.”
“How many?”
“At least two. But possibly three.”
Siobhán had seen footprints around the abbey that morning as well. Was it the same culprits? Had Niall been running around with someone? Or running from someone or more than one someone?
Had the killer been following Niall, waiting for the exact right moment to strike? Maybe it wasn’t purposeful at all that Niall’s body was brought to the bistro. Maybe Niall had run to their place because someone was chasing him through town. God, this investigating stuff was tiring. For every question she asked someone, three or four more raised their ugly heads. She thanked Mike for his time. When she stood up, she accidentally brushed a pile of papers off his desk. They fell to the floor and scattered.
“Sorry, sorry.” Siobhán squatted down to pick them up.
“I’ll get them, no bother,” Mike said. She heard a chiming that she assumed was Mike’s mobile pinging. Siobhán started to gather the pile of scattered papers. Just as she lifted the last one, something fell out from between the pages in her hand. A maroon passbook stared back at her. It was an Irish passport. Was it Mike’s? Before she could mind her manners, she opened it. Niall Murphy’s face stared back at her.
Chapter 13
Could the man she’d lived down the street from all her life be a killer? A shiver of fear ran through Siobhán as she stared down at Mike, who was thumbing his mobile. She shoved the passport under the other papers and set them back on the corner of his desk.
“Sorry,” she said to the top of his cap.
Mike finished with his phone and glanced at the papers on the desk. “It’s alright, luv. The place is a right mess. I need to hire a secretary.” Siobhán could almost see the passport underneath the pile of papers, glowing like a possessed eye. She couldn’t think of a single reasonable explanation for the fact that he had a dead man’s passport on his desk. Maybe he would tell her if she just asked the right questions. Every person is like a lock, her da used to say. If you want to spring them open, you just have to find the right key.
Siobhán cleared her throat. “Besides the footprints, did you find anything else out back?”
A thick crease formed across Mike’s forehead as he frowned. Uh-oh, she had just put him on high alert. “Like what?”
Siobhán shrugged, as if she were just reaching for straws. “Maybe one of the lads dropped something?” Like his passport?
Mike reached down, pulled another can of Diet Coke out of the drawer, and popped it open. “I have several deliveries a week. Trucks are always pulling in and out, and lads are often acting the maggot, smoking, and all sorts of shenanigans. There’s cigarette butts, bottle caps, broken glass, rubbish—if the lads from the other night dropped somethin’, I’d never be able to pick it out from the rest of the lot.”
“So nothing out of the ordinary, then?”
Mike stood. He was short, but he was powerful. In fact, it looked as if he’d been lifting weights. “Sure, lookit, I’d best be back to work.”
“Thank you,” Siobhán said as she backed up to the door.
Mike cocked his head. “For what?”
“Your time.”
“I always have time for you, pet. You know that.”
“Thank you,” Siobhán said again. Did she sound frightened? It felt like it was taking forever to get out of here. She had to track down Macdara, and he had to get over here straightaway and confront Mike about the passport. Would he lie? Try to hide it? And if so, which one of them would Macdara believe?
Before leaving, she snuck around the back of the shop and scoured the yard. Mike was right. It was a dumping ground. Gum, empty packets of crisps, cigarette butts, bottles. Mike could certainly stand to tidy up more, but other than that, nothing seemed amiss. She shivered again as she thought of Niall’s passport buried on Mike’s desk and crossed herself as she hurried to find Macdara.
The woman who answered the phone at the gardai station said Macdara was out for a spot of lunch. Since the bistro wasn’t open, that left the chipper, or Jade’s, the Chinese restaurant. Then again he could have brought his lunch from home, but she didn’t picture Macdara as much of a domestic. She did indeed find him at Jade’s, sitting in a booth near the window, about to tackle a bowl full of noodles and other mysteries. Siobhán had never been one for Chinese food. She was like her mammy in that respect—a classic.
She approached Macdara’s table and waited until he looked up at her. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she said when he finally did.
For a second he looked thrilled. “Business or personal?” he said, looking into her eyes.
“Business,” Siobhán admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up.
The thrill was gone. He let his spoon clink in his bowl, then picked up his set of chopsticks and broke it in half. “How did you find me?”
“It’s a pretty small village and we’re not open for lunch, so I took a chance.”
“What can I do for you, Miss O’Sullivan?”
She flushed again at his sarcastic use of her name. She couldn’t let him goad her. Or distract her. “You need to go over to Mike Granger’s shop right away. Go directly to his office.”
Macdara let out a laugh and shook his head. “I do, do I?”
“Yes. He has—”
He jabbed his chopsticks in her direction. “First, you insist I question Sheila, which I just did, by the way. And now you’re telling me I have to talk to Mike Granger?”
“I was just there and he has—”
“What were you doing there?”
Siobhán hesitated. She couldn’t admit she was checking into Mike Granger or Macdara would be furious with her.
“I was doing my messages. Picking up a few bits and bobs is all.”
Macdara ey
ed her head to toe. “Where are they?”
“Pardon?”
“If you say you went over for a few bits and bobs, why aren’t you carrying a bit or a bob?”
“I-I.”
“You. You. You were back at it, weren’t you?”
“No. No. While I was in the shop, I realized I’d forgotten my handbag, so I had to leave. I’ll pick them up later.”
“Mike would have let you take your items home and then go back and pay.”
“Course he would. I just didn’t want to take advantage. But listen. While I was there—”
“So if we went over right now, you and me, you’re telling me there would be the bits and bobs you were going to purchase sitting right there on the counter?”
“I didn’t get that far. I realized I forgot my handbag before I even started. Only thing is—”
“I knew it. I knew there was a thing.”
“I got to talking with Mike in his office—”
Macdara held up his hand. “I told you to stay out of this.”
“He has Niall Murphy’s passport.”
“What?” As upset as he was at her, this bit of news stopped him.
“It’s on his desk underneath a bunch of papers. He doesn’t know I saw it.”
“Christ.”
“I’m not saying he did anything to Niall. The night of the murder, Declan saw a few lads sneaking about the back of his shop. Maybe one of them was Niall and he dropped the passport.” Except if that were the case why hadn’t Mike told her about it?
“Why would Niall have been carrying around his passport?” Macdara said.
“Excellent question,” Siobhán said. “You should get right on it.” Macdara pulled out his wallet, threw money on the table, and started for the door. Siobhán followed. “Didn’t even get my fecking fortune cookie,” he said.
“Sorry,” Siobhán said. “You could ask for it. And a doggie bag, too.”
“You’ve ruined me appetite. And I know what the fortune cookie would say. Beware of the redhead poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Very funny,” Siobhán said as they headed out the door and back toward the bistro and Mike Granger’s. She had to hurry to keep up with him. “What did you find out from Sheila?”
“Stay out of it,” he said.
“Did she explain the rubbish bag? The broken glass?”
Macdara stopped, turned. Siobhán almost knocked into him. Their faces were an inch apart. He was just as attractive close up as he was walking away. “When I have something substantial, you’ll know. In the meantime, don’t you have bigger things to worry about?”
“Like what?” Siobhán said.
“Like how you’re going to get folks coming back to the bistro. Maybe you could at least open for tea and brown bread, for a start. And just a wee bit of advice. Don’t be accusing your customers of murder.”
“You really think they’d come? After everything?”
“I do. Maybe not for the right reasons at the start.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there might be an idle curiosity about the fact that a crime took place there. Misery loves company—you know that yourself.”
He had a point. And did it really matter why they came, as long as they came and paid? Not to mention that if people started to gather at the bistro, they would naturally start to gossip. She could pick up on tidbits that way. Macdara couldn’t accuse her of sleuthing if people came to her and volunteered things, could he?
“You’re right, you’re right. Thank you,” Siobhán said.
Macdara looked surprised, and then a flush of pleasure crossed his face. That’s his key, Siobhán thought. He likes to be helpful. “What were you going to get from the shop? I can bring it back for you, if you like.”
Crisps, and wine, and chocolate. “It’s no bother,” Siobhán said. “If I’m going to be opening again I’ll have to make a new list anyway.” Macdara nodded, and with one last, lingering glance, he left her standing in front of the bistro and was on his way. Siobhán waited until he was out of sight, then turned and started walking from where they came. She had an idea, something that would help bring people back to the bistro. But first, she’d be needin’ a stamp of approval from the unlikeliest of places.
Chapter 14
Mary Murphy lived a bit outside of town, about a mile walk once you were past King’s Castle and the town streets changed into country roads. When you reached the hill, there was a drive to the left, and at the top sat the Murphys’ white farmhouse. In its day, when it had a bit of paint and charm, it was probably something to see. But now it was obvious that nobody with a hammer and nails or any bit of style had been around it for years. The porch was sagging, shingles hung askew from the roof, and the yard had become a junk heap.
It occurred to Siobhán that the lads had resembled their house—good bones obscured by neglect. The boys’ father had taken off when they were just wee lads. He was in a traveling band. Took off one day on tour and just never came back. Her heart broke for them, imagining them waiting every day at the edge of their drive for their da. Maybe none of this would have ever happened if he’d stayed to raise them. Maybe they’d have turned out to be nice lads, and maybe her parents would still be alive, Billy wouldn’t be in prison, and Niall wouldn’t have been murdered.
Siobhán stood at the top of the driveway and glanced at a car parked in the yard. It was covered by an old tarp, but it only took seeing a tiny flash of red for her to know that it was Billy’s car. Revulsion washed over Siobhán, and it took everything in her not to spin around and go back home. Mary Murphy was hanging on to the car either because she thought Billy would be back one day and want it, or because she thought she could get something for it. Maybe Siobhán would kick the tires later when she was sure no one was watching. More satisfying would be taking a baseball bat to every inch of it.
Siobhán held a pan of brown bread in front of her like a shield of hope, but despite her offerings, her sense of dread increased with each step she took to the front door. Mary’s windows were covered by heavy drapery. This was not a home where people were encouraged to drop by and say hello.
A bicycle was propped up along the porch. Niall hadn’t been driving since he’d been home. She wondered briefly if the bicycle was from Sheedy’s, and if so, did Séamus know he had it? She wouldn’t have put it past Niall to steal a cycle. Even so, Séamus wouldn’t be worried about that now, and certainly wouldn’t be coming after a mother who lost her son for the sake of a bicycle.
Siobhán rapped politely on the door and then stepped back. It felt like she waited an eternity. Just as she was about to give up, the door opened a crack. All that was visible of Mary Murphy was her straight nose, a single blue eye, and waves of white hair. Despite her demeanor, she had the looks of an aging movie star; she must have been quite the beauty in her day. “Why are you here?” Mary’s tone was clear. Siobhán was not welcome.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Siobhán said. “I’ve come to tell you that we’re absolutely shocked at what happened.”
“Are ye now?”
“I know you think it was James. It wasn’t. James would never have hurt Niall. Not in a donkey’s age.”
“They’re going to arrest him, you’ll see,” Mary Murphy said.
“He didn’t hurt Niall. You have to believe me.”
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“I brought some brown bread.”
“I don’t want it.”
“I’d like to invite you to the bistro—”
“Are you joking me?” The door swung open. Mary Murphy glared at her. For such a tiny woman she certainly did pack a lethal stare. The door began to swing shut again.
“For a fund-raiser for Niall.”
The door stopped an inch from slamming. Siobhán could hear Mary’s labored breath. Then she heard a shuffling, and the sound of a lighter being struck. Soon cigarette smoke snaked out of the tiny wedge in the door. Si
obhán covered her mouth and coughed as softly as she could. “A fund-raiser?”
“Yes. I’m sure there will be expenses. And we’d like to help.”
The door opened the rest of the way. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Bribe you?” How ironic. Given her interactions with Niall.
“Get me to saying that I think James didn’t do it?”
“No. James didn’t do it, but that’s not what this is about. I know what it’s like to struggle to make ends meet, only to have end-of-life expenses crop up.” It had wiped out their savings, having funeral services for her parents.
“Don’t just stand there. If you’re going to come in, come in. Shoes on the porch.” Siobhán knew Mary’s floor would be dirty, way dirtier than the bottom of her shoes, but she was in no position to argue. She tried to hand Mary the brown bread, but Mary didn’t move a muscle to take it, so Siobhán set it on the porch while she unlaced her shoes and left them by the door. Then she picked up the brown bread and stepped inside.
The smell of stale cigarette smoke was so overpowering she almost turned and hightailed it back home. This was worse than Sheila’s; at least she had bleached the place up and probably opened a few windows. The smoke in here smelled like it had been trapped for a lifetime, wedged in the heavy draperies and cracks in the floorboard. A deep sadness settled in Siobhán’s chest. Niall and Billy must have been miserable growing up here.
“Would you like a cuppa?” No. Siobhán didn’t want tea. She wanted to throw the bread and run.
“That would be lovely.”
Mary Murphy looked around as if she hadn’t expected Siobhán to say yes and didn’t know what to do now.
“Sit.” Mary pointed to her dining room table. Siobhán sat, noting as she did that aside from the suffocating smoke and unbearable darkness, except for a pile of magazines dumped on a chair in the corner of the kitchen the place was surprisingly tidy. Perhaps back in the day it had been messy because of the boys. She felt seized by pity for Mary Murphy. Whatever she thought of her, she had in essence lost both her sons, and she wouldn’t wish that upon any mother in the world.
Murder in an Irish Village Page 11
