Siobhán straightened her spine. “Are you sure?”
“Course I am. He complains every year that between Christmas and Saint Stephen’s Day nobody pays it much mind.” Siobhán just learned a valuable lesson. Publicans may not tell you the big things, but sometimes it was the little things that made all the difference. He had no idea he’d just exposed someone in a lie.
A December birthday. So why did Bridie say the gear was a surprise for his birthday? What had she and Niall really been doing that morning?
Chapter 16
When Siobhán arrived back at the bistro, she was loaded down with bags from the market. She might as well start preparing for the fund-raiser. She’d go mental with too much time on her hands. Ann, Ciarán, and Eoin were playing upstairs, while James and Gráinne were having a chat in the back dining room. Siobhán got the distinct feeling they were arguing. She sighed. Tensions had been high with everyone since this business with Niall, but it was time to confront Gráinne. If there was still something she was holding back, Siobhán had to know what it was. She hurried to put away the groceries, then approached the secretive duo.
James stopped talking the second Siobhán entered the room, and Gráinne looked away, but not before Siobhán could see that she’d been crying.
Siobhán had had it. She faced Gráinne. “What was going on with you and Niall?”
“Again?” Gráinne said. She glared at James.
“Were you—seeing him?” Siobhán hated to ask the question.
“No!” Gráinne flew out of her chair.
Siobhán pulled her back down. She glanced at James. “Was there anything on the phone?”
He shook his head.
“See,” Gráinne said.
“You erased everything,” James said.
“Start telling us what’s really going on,” Siobhán said. “Because from where we’re standing, it looks like you’re heartbroken.”
“He was way too old for me.” Gráinne rolled her eyes.
“I just came from Mary Murphy. She said to say hello. To you, Gráinne. Why would she do that?”
Gráinne shrugged.
Siobhán threw her arms open. “James is protecting you. And he could go to jail.”
“Don’t put that on her,” James said. “It’s my fault for drinking and letting Niall goad me.”
Gráinne’s pretty face was positively ashen. Siobhán pressed her anyway. “I saw your reaction when we found Niall. It was more than shock. I know you’re sixteen, and I’m just your sister, and you have your right to your secrets—”
“T’ank you.”
“Under normal circumstances. But this is not normal. And you aren’t getting up from this table until you tell me what was going on between you and Niall Murphy.”
“Nothing. Nothing was going on between us. Not like you think.”
“So what exactly are we missing here?”
“Nothing.”
“If you don’t tell us, you’re grounded.”
“You’re not my mother.”
“She’s your legal guardian,” James said.
“Because you were too drunk to do the job,” Gráinne said.
“Mo náire thú!” Siobhán said. Shame on you.
“I deserve it,” James said. “But what I said still stands. Answer your sister.”
“I won’t,” Gráinne said. “It has nothing to do with either of you.”
Siobhán wished more than anything she were still just a big sister. Gráinne used to come to her with things she didn’t want to tell Mam. But all that changed. Now she went to Ann. Gráinne had no clue how much that hurt. Was Ann hiding things from her as well? She’d have to work on her later.
“We’re not messing, Gráinne. This is important.”
Gráinne stood. “It has nothing to do with the murder.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t kill him, and—” she stopped.
“And what?”
“And neither did the other person.”
“What other person?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Don’t you see? Everything is important. Just tell me and let me decide—”
“You’re not a detective. I heard Garda Flannery tell you as much. He told you to stop poking your nose into the murder.”
“So you’d rather I tell Garda Flannery that I think you’re hiding something and let him have a go at you?”
“Siobhán,” James said. “Calm down.”
“Now is not the time for her to be stubborn and childish. Not when so much is at stake.”
“You two are the stubborn ones. I’ll tell Garda Flannery what I know. Not you.” Gráinne took off and was soon out the door of the bistro. Siobhán started after her. James grabbed her arm.
“Let her cool down.”
Siobhán stopped and turned to James. “Do you think they were? Romantic, like?”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“I could kill him. She’s only sixteen.” Siobhán stopped, looked at James.
“I felt the same way. But I didn’t kill him. At least I don’t think I did. I couldn’t do that. Could I?”
James looked at her for a desperate second. Siobhán put her hand on his arm. “Of course not. Of course you couldn’t.”
“How do you know?” Wild pain was reflected in her brother’s eyes.
“I know,” she said, turning his chin so that he’d look her in the eye. “I know.” James nodded, then slumped back into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Siobhán sat and proceeded gingerly. “Declan says Niall left the pub before you. He also said Séamus tried to get you to go home. Do you remember that?”
James rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand, then massaged his forehead. “Do we have any headache tablets?”
“I think I’ve used them all up.”
“I’ll go to the store.”
“Do you remember fighting with Séamus?”
“Fighting with him?”
“Not physically. I guess he tried to accompany you home, and you told him to feck off.”
“Oh, Jaysus. There’s another person I owe an apology to.”
“Maybe we can pay them a visit later.” Siobhán was dying to talk to Bridie again. “I take it you don’t remember?”
“I know Séamus was there. But no, I don’t remember that bit.”
“So somehow you ended up back in the alley, and someone beat you up.”
“Someone?”
“How do we know it was Niall? Declan assumed it was because you were fighting earlier—”
“And because I had drops of his blood on me.”
“We don’t know that yet. It might be your own blood, like.”
“We’ll know soon enough.” James drooped like he had the weight of the world on him.
“You should have never let them take your clothing.”
“Why? I want the truth as much as anyone. If I did this—”
“You didn’t.”
“But if I did, I’d want to know. I couldn’t live with meself if I did it.”
“There’s no way you fought with him in the alley without getting a punch in yourself. And Niall didn’t have a scratch on him. You know. Apart from the scissors, like.”
“So who beat me up?”
“Maybe the killer.”
“Why?”
“To frame you.”
“Maybe you should let Garda Flannery handle this.”
“Because I sound crazy?”
“A wee bit, yea.”
“I’m doing this for you, James!”
“And I thank you, but I don’t want you running around stirring up the pot. It’s not safe.”
“I’m convinced you didn’t have a physical fight with Niall.”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Think, James. Do you remember anyone else hanging around that night?”
“No. I don’t remember a thing. Why?”
“I think the kill
er beat you up to make it look like you fought with Niall. You could have even been passed out while he beat on ye.”
“If you’re right—and I’m not sayin’ ye are—but if you are, then someone went to a lot of trouble just to set me up.”
“To get away with murder.”
“But what if Niall was coming here to see Gráinne? What if he tried something, and—” James stopped, shook his head.
“You think Gráinne killed Niall?” Ann said.
Siobhán and James looked up. Ciarán, Ann, and Eoin stood before them. They all seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“No,” Siobhán said.
“He does,” Ann said, pointing at James.
“He’s worried that Niall came here to see her that night. That’s all. And whether she knew it or not, maybe he did,” Siobhán said. “But that’s only if he was stabbed here. Which I have my doubts. Because there was hardly any blood. But even if he was here when he was alive, there’s no doubt that somebody else stabbed him. Gráinne wouldn’t have had the strength.”
“She’s pretty strong,” Ann said.
“Not strong enough to come up behind someone with a pair of scissors and jam them into his heart,” Siobhán said.
Ann gasped and put her hands over her mouth.
James looked at Siobhán. “How do you know the killer came up from behind?” he asked. Siobhán pulled out the chair where they found Niall.
“Sit there,” she said to Eoin. After a squint and a shrug, he did.
Siobhán stood behind the chair. “He was found sitting here. So assuming he was alive when he came in, we might also try assuming that he was alive when he sat in the chair. Like he’s waiting for someone.”
“Gráinne,” Ann said.
“There’s no other reason he’d be sneaking into our bistro.”
James looked doubtful. “So supposin’ for a minute he did manage to get in. Why is he just sitting in the chair, like?”
“That was my question,” Eoin said.
“Maybe he was waiting for Gráinne to come down. Maybe that’s what she’s hiding.”
“She would have told me,” Ann said.
“Can we just move past that for a second? I want to play this out.” The others remained silent as Siobhán backed up. “The killer could have followed Niall here. He already has the scissors in his hand—” She began to sneak up on Eoin from behind.
“Or she,” Ciarán said.
“Excellent point,” Siobhán said. “He or she comes from behind.” Siobhán held her hand up as if she was carrying the murder weapon. “And before Niall even turns around, the deed is done.” Siobhán quickly imitated the scissors going into Eoin’s heart.
James stood up and paced around. “You wouldn’t need as much strength, coming up from behind like that.”
“That’s true,” Siobhán said. Would you look at that. Instead of proving her sister couldn’t have done it, she’d just discovered the opposite.
“So it could be a woman,” Ann said.
“It looks that way, so” Siobhán said. Even a woman as tiny as Bridie.
“Wouldn’t Niall have heard someone sneaking up on him?” Eoin asked.
“He had drink in him; he could have been sleeping,” Siobhán said.
“But if it were Gráinne, she would have had to come down the stairs. She’d be coming up in front of Niall. Not from behind,” James said.
“Unless they struggled first and he was only put in the chair after,” Eoin said.
“She didn’t have a scratch on her, either. Even if she is hiding something about Niall, she didn’t kill him any more than you did,” Siobhán said to James.
“Then what is she hiding from us?” James asked.
“I know what she was hiding,” Ann said. Everyone looked at her. “She got a text in the middle of the night. That’s what woke me up. Not the glass breaking.”
Siobhán stepped up to Ann and put her hands on both her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
Ann nodded, eyes wide. “Will I go to jail?”
“Of course not. Why would you go to jail?” Siobhán asked.
“Because I didn’t tell Garda Flannery about the text,” Ann said, tears spilling out of her eyes.
Siobhán knelt in front of Ann and wiped her tears. “It’s okay. Do you know who the text was from?”
“No. I swear. I have no idea.” Ann shook her head violently. Her reaction seemed a bit extreme. Either she was still afraid she was going to be arrested for lying, or she was lying. Siobhán was trying to figure out how to get more out of her without Ann having a complete meltdown, when a man cleared his throat, startling all of them. Siobhán whirled around. John Butler from BUTLER’S UNDERTAKER, LOUNGE, AND PUB stood in the bistro. His expression suggested that he wanted to tower over them, but his stature undermined him. John Butler hadn’t been blessed in the height department. As usual, his white hair was slicked back, and his thick black glasses were halfway down his nose, which forced him to peer down through them, always giving Siobhán the impression that he thoroughly embraced the idea of looking down on people despite lacking the actual inches to do so. In his right hand he clutched a gold-tipped cane that was his constant companion. With his gray trench coat and matching top hat, he always struck Siobhán as a character in a play. And she wasn’t far off; he often did act in the local productions of the Kilbane Players. He swept off his hat and rested it on his chest. For a split second, Siobhán wondered if he was here to challenge one of them to a duel. “Hello,” he said. “Please pardon the intrusion.”
“Hello,” the O’Sullivans answered in discordant unison.
“Siobhán, it’s most urgent that I speak with you. Would you mind stopping over when you’re done with . . .” He gestured at the air around them. “Whatever it is you’re doing?”
Chapter 17
Butler’s Undertaker, Lounge, and Pub was situated in an old stone house. The bar was the first room you entered when you walked in, although the atmosphere was a bit more somber than the other pubs about town. It boasted the same dark wood, to be sure, but heavy drapes on the windows, a pair of flowered sofas, and boxes of tissues propped up on nearly every available surface distinguished it from the typical pubs. There was an adjacent room, separated by a curtain, where viewings and funerals were held, and Siobhán didn’t even want to think about the mortuary in the basement. Her parents were taken here after the accident, as was pretty much everyone else in town who died. Butler had no competition, and he was the fourth male in his family to, literally and figuratively, undertake the family business.
He gestured to one of the sofas. Siobhán perched on the edge, her handbag taking up more space on the sofa than she did. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until she sat on the pillowy cushions. Between the soft music, the plush sofa, and the box of tissues on the table in front of her, she felt as if she could lie down and have a good cry. Maybe sleep for days. It was better not to get too comfortable.
“I’ll get right to the point,” John Butler said. “I heard you’re having a fund-raiser for Niall on Sunday week at the bistro.”
News traveled fast. Looks like Siobhán wouldn’t have to spread the word at all. “That’s right. I’ve already spoken with Mary Murphy, and she’s agreed. I hope to see you there.”
“May I ask you a personal question?” John Butler arched one of his theatrical eyebrows.
“You may.”
“Why are you having a fund-raiser for Niall? After what that family has put yours through?”
“Because it’s what my mam and da would have wanted.”
“Very well then. Am I to assume the proceeds will be for his burial services?”
So that’s what this was about. Why wasn’t he dealing directly with Mary Murphy? “Yes, that was the intent.”
“So I thought. May I suggest that you deal directly with me? I’ll speak with his mother and handle her choices for the services, of course, and then I can send you the bill directly.”
“It won’t be for the full amount, a deposit has already been put down for a portion of it.”
“Mary Murphy?”
“No.”
“May I ask who?”
“You may, of course.” He stopped and waited.
“Well, who was it?” Siobhán asked.
“I’m afraid that information is confidential.” John Butler crossed one leg over the other.
If not his mother, who would pay for a portion of Niall’s funeral? And why? “Would you be willing to divulge the name of the person to Garda Flannery?”
Butler put his hand over his heart. “Whatever for?”
“It’s just odd, don’t you think? Niall wasn’t exactly loved by the town. Why would someone pay for part of his funeral?”
“Why are you having a fund-raiser for him?”
Because James is the top suspect in his murder, and I don’t want the town to think we have anything to hide. Because he was found, maybe even killed in our bistro, and I want to replace that memory with a more positive one so I don’t have to shut my doors forever. “I told you. I believe it’s what my mam and da would have wished.”
“You are doing it out of the goodness of your heart. There’s no reason to think that this other donor isn’t doing the same thing.”
“But if Garda Flannery asked you directly, as part of his investigation, you would have to tell him, would you not?”
“I suppose so. But Garda Flannery hasn’t asked me, and he doesn’t even know to ask me, because you’re the only person I’ve told about it. And I’ve already asked you to keep this between us. Which I assume you are going to do, aren’t you?”
“I just think it could be important.”
“I assure you, it’s not.”
“Perhaps if you could truly assure me by telling me the name, I wouldn’t have to go to Garda Flannery.”
Butler stood up. “I won’t take any more of your time. If the fund-raiser is to help with Niall’s service, I implore you to deal directly with me.”
Siobhán stood as well. It was obvious she wasn’t going to get John Butler to spill his secrets. But he was willing to talk about Mary Murphy, so she continued along that line of inquiry. “Is there any reason to think that if the money went directly to Mary Murphy, your portion would not arrive in a timely manner?”
Murder in an Irish Village Page 13
