Murder in an Irish Village

by Carlene O'Connor

  Siobhán was trying as politely as possible to find out if Butler was worried that Mary Murphy wouldn’t pay him at all. Niall did hint that she was desperate for money. Was she also trying to get a better solicitor for Billy? Had she been aware of Niall’s crazy accusations? Siobhán should have questioned her harder when she’d had the chance.

  “I don’t wish to speak ill of anyone. But, as you know, this death business is a delicate business.”

  “As I know?”

  “Sorry. I just mean you’ve been through the grief process yourself. People aren’t always able to handle the business end of it. I’m afraid Mary Murphy falls into that category. And, please, don’t let this leave this room, but there’s been some talk of her hiring a new solicitor for Billy. A quite expensive one at that.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. People don’t realize the service we struggle to provide. Of course, I’m thrilled to say that most of the residents of Kilbane are in good health. Everyone is aging gracefully. Good for them. But not so good for business. I need to get paid, or I’m afraid I’m going to have to shut my doors.”

  “I didn’t realize things were that bad.”

  “As I said, times are changing. People are exercising, and eating healthy. You can’t smoke in the pubs anymore. I’ve heard even you have taken up running.”

  Even me?

  “And did you see that Mike Granger had kale in his shop? Kale. Can you believe dat?” John Butler looked absolutely devastated. “There just aren’t enough people dying around here anymore.”

  “I promise to deal directly with you, but you have to tell me who put the deposit down for Niall. If I agree there’s nothing suspicious, I won’t go to Garda Flannery.”

  Butler sighed. “He was working at Sheedy’s cycle shop. Did ye know that?”

  “I did,” Siobhán said.

  “Bridie Sheedy brought in his last paycheck is all.”

  “Oh.”

  “So you see, nothing amiss at all.”

  “You’re quite right. That was the decent thing to do.”

  But as Siobhán walked home, she couldn’t help but turn it around in her mind. Bridie Sheedy had lied to her about Séamus’s birthday. She hadn’t wanted Séamus to know she was in the shop that day. Now it was her bringing in the paycheck and not Séamus. Had Siobhán’s original suspicions been correct? Had Bridie been having an affair with Niall? Despite the age difference, such things did happen. She’d promised not to say anything to Séamus. But now she wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  Siobhán was halfway back up the street when she realized she’d left her handbag on the sofa. She hurried back and walked in. John was no longer in the sitting room, so she picked up her handbag and started to leave.

  “I need that loan,” she heard John say. She looked around. He was standing in a small vestibule just off the main sitting room. “Whatever amount, but I’d prefer something north of twenty thousand euro.” Siobhán froze. Twenty thousand euro? She heard Niall’s voice in her head.

  Yer one would give me twenty thousand euro for it.

  Was it just a coincidence? Or had Mary Murphy picked up extorting where Niall left off, and John Butler was “yer one”?

  Siobhán didn’t realize she was frozen in place until suddenly John Butler whirled around and caught her. He frowned deeply, as if she had been deliberately eavesdropping. Is that what he thought?

  She held up her handbag. “Forgot this,” she said.

  “Oh my,” he said. “How unfortunate.”

  Siobhán replayed his words all the way home. Oh my. How unfortunate. What a creepy little man. She had her purse back, so what was so unfortunate? Or was it a warning? How unfortunate that you caught me? Was it a threat? Was John Butler a killer?

  Chapter 18

  “Do you think anyone will come?” Ciarán asked as he stood at the window in the bistro gazing out on Sarsfield Street.

  “Yes,” Siobhán said ruffling his hair. “It’s a fund-raiser for Niall’s mam. Everyone will come.”

  The O’Sullivan Six had spent the past two days cooking for the fund-raiser, and here it was, Sunday morning. Siobhán and Gráinne were barely speaking. Gráinne had denied getting a text in the middle of the night, insisting that Ann had been dreaming. This set Ann off on a crying jag and once again put Siobhán and Gráinne at odds. Siobhán wasn’t sure what to believe. Ann did have remarkable hearing. But who was to say she wasn’t dreaming? Or maybe she heard something else. All Siobhán knew for sure was that this was tearing them all apart. Hopefully putting their minds on helping others would patch things up a small bit.

  As soon as Mass was over, the place would begin filling up. It would have been nice if the O’Sullivan Six had shown up for Mass, but there was too much to do to get ready. Father Kearney wouldn’t be happy with them, but hopefully he would understand. The next hour flew by as they put the finishing touches on everything. Candles and plates, and silverware, and flowers, and mountains of food. Siobhán was nervous. It had to go well, or no one would ever eat here again, and they might as well just pack up and leave.

  The doors were to open at eleven, but at half ten, folks were already lined up to be the first inside.

  “See?” Siobhán said. “I told you.”

  “Wow,” Ciarán said.

  “Deadly,” Eoin echoed. They high-fived. When Siobhán threw open the doors, Mary Murphy was front and centre, dressed all in black, including a hat with a black lace veil. Once she made her entrance, everyone else began to spill in after her. It wasn’t long before the bistro was filled with voices and goodwill.

  “Holy cow,” Ann said, weaving her way through the crowd until she spotted Siobhán. “Do we have enough food?” They turned to look at the tables behind them, piled with eggs, and bacon, and black and white pudding, and ham, and brown bread, and potatoes. It was quickly disappearing as people made their way down the line.

  “We’ll keep an eye on it and make more if we have to,” Siobhán said, dreading the thought.

  “Can we afford this?” James said.

  “We can’t afford not to,” Siobhán said. Ciarán was hanging out next to the tin marked DONATIONS.

  “He’s worried someone is going to steal it,” Eoin said.

  “No one is going to steal it,” Siobhán said.

  “The killer might,” Eoin said.

  “That’s how we’ll catch him,” Ann said, eyes wide and hands clasped. “Oh, I hope the killer tries to steal the money.”

  Siobhán shook her head. They were all going a bit insane. James was now weaving his way toward Siobhán as well with a grim look on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Siobhán asked.

  “They all think I did it,” James said.

  “Are they saying that?” Siobhán asked.

  “Of course not. I can just tell. Do I have to stay?”

  “Tongues will wag harder if you hide,” Siobhán said.

  James lowered his voice. “I fought with Niall. And everyone knows it. I wish I could take it back.” Siobhán wanted to hug her brother, but he’d never allow it. Not when he was feeling vulnerable.

  Siobhán kept a smile on her face while speaking in a whisper to James. “A lot of people fought with Niall. The town knows what he was like. We’ll get through this. Do it for us.”

  James nodded. “Can I at least stay in the kitchen?”

  “Mingle a little longer. Then you can hide in the kitchen.” She left her brood all gathered by the front, picked up the tea kettle, and began to make the rounds. It was a relief to see their neighbors back in the bistro, and quickly every table was filled except for the one where Niall was killed. Already anticipating as much, they’d placed a picture of Niall on the table, along with a candle, a rosary, a Celtic cross they’d bought on their trip to the Aran Islands, and a guest book to sign. She wondered if the killer would end up signing it. Would he or she be so bold? Not tha
t you could tell a killer by his or her handwriting. Still, it was a disconcerting thought, the killer being among them, offering comfort, eating and drinking and chatting like he or she was just another neighbor, hiding in plain sight.

  In between running back and forth to the kitchen, refilling cups with hot water, and making cappuccinos, Siobhán chatted with her neighbors and friends, but she was quick to extricate herself whenever the conversation turned to the murder. She didn’t want Mary Murphy—or Macdara Flannery, for that matter—to think she was holding this fund-raiser just for the gossip.

  Speaking of Macdara, he had yet to make an entrance. Was he on his way, or was he out investigating the case? She longed to see him, but when that familiar warm flush shivered through her at the very thought of him, she convinced herself that his presence would help deter a killer. That was the reason he was on her mind, nothing more. She was still silently wrestling with her feelings for Macdara when she found Bridie by her side, tears spilling out of her eyes.

  “This is so nice of you,” Bridie said. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” Her tears seemed genuine, and Siobhán forgot all about grilling her about her lies. Today was a day of mourning. Siobhán hugged Bridie.

  “You were good to Niall too,” she said.

  “How do you mean?” Bridie suddenly sounded on edge.

  “You gave him a job in the shop.”

  “Ah, right. It wasn’t for long.” Tears pooled in Bridie’s eyes.

  “Did Niall ever mention being afraid of anyone?” Siobhán asked before she could stop herself.

  “You’re wondering who could have killed him,” Bridie said. It was a statement not a question.

  Siobhán nodded.

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Bridie clutched Siobhán’s hand and squeezed so hard Siobhán had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. “Going over and over it in my mind. At first I thought maybe it was someone from his time in Dublin.” Bridie took out rosary beads, giving Siobhán the perfect opportunity to retract her hand.

  “It could have been, don’t ye think?” Siobhán said.

  “Except he never mentioned having trouble with any Dubliner,” Bridie said. Siobhán wanted to ask her if she’d ever suspected Niall of being on drugs, but she feared that was crossing a line. Bridie seemed to like Niall, and Siobhán couldn’t afford another enemy.

  “Did you ever get that gear for Séamus?” Siobhán asked.

  “Yes,” Bridie said quickly. Almost too quickly. “I haven’t given it to him yet, so please, not a word.”

  “How was Niall able to help you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You said he was helping you order the gear.”

  “He asked Séamus about his broken one for me. If I had asked, Séamus would have been suspicious.”

  “Is his birthday coming up?” Siobhán smiled despite the pain in her stomach. She hated this charade.

  “It’s been a year since Séamus has raced,” Bridie said, expertly skirting the real question. Who knew Bridie Sheedy would be so adept at avoiding the truth? Siobhán had better be careful or Bridie was going to get defensive.

  “I’m sorry,” Siobhán said.

  “Whatever for, pet?”

  “He gave up racing to help us out, didn’t he?” Siobhán knew the bistro wouldn’t have survived had Seamus and Bridie not stepped in after the accident to help them out. It was probably the first year Seamus hadn’t competed. Maybe they owed him a trophy.

  Bridie put her hand on Siobhán’s shoulder and patted it. “You’re not the only reason.”

  “Why else?” Siobhán really wanted to know. It sounded like there was a story there.

  Bridie stretched her neck like a gyroscope and scanned the room. “There’s Courtney!” she cried out as if Courtney had been missing for ages. “I need a word. Excuse me, Siobhán. The food is lovely, just lovely.”

  Bridie hurried away. She definitely meant to get away from Siobhán. She had really hoped to eliminate her as a suspect, but Bridie was acting too squirrelly. Why wasn’t anyone in this town normal? Siobhán set to mingling again, and as she maneuvered through the crowd, she spotted Sheila and Pio lingering by the back door; even from a distance, they looked clenched, like vibrating coils about to spring.

  Where was Macdara? Did he say something to Pio and Sheila to make them look so defensive? Were they angry with her? She didn’t want to face them until she found out. She’d had enough surprises to last a lifetime. But Macdara wasn’t anywhere in sight, and Pio and Sheila were openly glaring at her. It would look even worse if she didn’t go over to say hello.

  Siobhán took a deep breath and headed over to the surly couple. “I’m getting a lot of compliments on my hair,” Siobhán said, touching her locks, hoping flattery would melt the glacier that was Sheila.

  “Well, if it isn’t our nosy neighbor,” Pio said.

  “Me?” Siobhán said.

  Pio stepped forward. “You think we killed him, is that it?”

  “Of course not,” Siobhán said in a low voice. “But now’s not the time.”

  Sheila put her hand on Pio’s arm. “For once I agree with the hothead. Now’s not the time. We’re here to support Niall’s Mam.”

  Pio didn’t advance again, but he didn’t back up either. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the look of a man who hadn’t been sleeping. He was such a talented musician. She was even hoping he’d play the spoons for them. Looked like those utensils were not coming out today, and thanks be to God; given his demeanor she shuddered to think what he would do with them if he had the chance. Siobhán had better start mending fences. If not for her, then at least for the sake of the business.

  “I don’t know what Macdara told you. I was concerned when I saw the door to your shop wide open and all your lights blazing. Then Sheila came running up the side of the house with a rubbish bag. And then there was a pile of broken glass in the salon. It struck me as odd, that’s all.” She left out the bit about Sheila’s black eye and the smell of bleach. It was odd. She was right to say something.

  “Sheila already told you. She broke a vase. Truth is—”

  Sheila clamped down on his arm. “Don’t,” she barked.

  Pio’s eyes blazed. “She thinks we’re murderers! While her brother is the one that did it!”

  “Quiet,” Siobhán said. “James did no such thing.” People were starting to look their way. This was so inappropriate. “Let’s step out into the garden, shall we?” Siobhán opened the door and was prepared to shove the two of them out if she had to, but to her surprise they stepped out willingly. There was only one patch of wildflowers growing out back, and Siobhán purposefully moved toward them. Pio started to follow, but Sheila remained rooted to the spot.

  “See!” Siobhán said.

  “See what?” Sheila said.

  “You’re allergic to flowers.”

  “So?”

  “So why would you go to the trouble to glue a vase back together when you’re allergic to flowers?”

  Sheila began to blink rapidly. Pio sucked in his lips. They definitely looked guilty.

  Sheila turned around and went back inside. She slammed the door shut. Pio looked at Siobhán. “I understand you’re having a rough time of it since your parents passed. So we’re going to forgive you.” He pointed at Siobhán. “Once,” he said, sternly. “No more.” Then he too, turned and went back inside. At least he didn’t slam the door. Siobhán went back inside as well, and immediately James came up to her. Sheila and Pio were still standing in the spot by the door.

  “Is there a problem here?” James looked at Siobhán, then at Sheila and Pio. This was all Siobhán needed, James getting into an argument. She took his arm and guided him away from the surly couple.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? Who killed Niall?” Pio called after James. Siobhán whirled on him.

  “This is a fund-raiser for Niall. Don’t you dare start a scene.”

  “He’s the murderer,” Pio
said pointing at James, wobbling as if he was dancing with himself. Was he drunk?

  “I’ll have Garda Flannery throw you out.” Siobhán glanced around. Where was Macdara?

  “Why don’t you let me do that right now?” James said. Séamus and Mike caught Siobhán’s eyes. Within seconds they stepped up and formed a protective barrier between James and Pio. Séamus squared his shoulders, and Mike actually flexed his biceps.

  “Everything alright here?” Séamus asked.

  “They were just leaving,” Siobhán said, pointing to Sheila and Pio.

  “Let’s go,” Sheila said. “She’s out of brown bread anyway.” She grabbed onto Pio’s arm and started hauling him toward the door. But before they could make their escape, Mary Murphy stepped in and blocked their path.

  “You,” she said, pointing as Sheila. “How could you pass out deadly weapons to everyone in town?”

  Sheila threw her hands up. “They weren’t meant as weapons. Scissors is all they were. Siobhán is the one who suggested I pass them out at the pubs.” Everyone looked at Siobhán. She wanted to deny it, but she’d reached her quota of lies for the day. She hung her head instead.

  “You should have kept track,” Mary Murphy cried out. “You should have kept track of every single person you gave one to.”

  “If it hadn’t been the scissors, it would’ve been something else,” Pio said.

  “But we’d have fewer suspects then,” Mary said. Siobhán was slightly relieved. Did this mean Mary Murphy wasn’t convinced it was James? What changed her mind?

  Father Kearney cut into the group. He was a portly man with a cherubic face. He smiled like a shepherd who was trying to stop his flock from going over the edge of a cliff. “Let’s remember why we’re here,” he said. “To honor the memory of Niall. To support a mother in her time of grief. Let’s not allow one tragedy to beget another.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Siobhán said. “Maybe you could lead us in a prayer.”

  “I can indeed.” Father Kearney put his arm around Mary Murphy and began to gather folks around the table with Niall’s picture. Sheila herded Pio out of the bistro. Siobhán watched them through the window. The minute they were outside, Pio shook free of Sheila’s grip and she stumbled. He didn’t even reach for her. Sheila called after him, but he didn’t look back. He opened the door to their home, and a second later it slammed shut in Sheila’s face.