Murder in an Irish Village

by Carlene O'Connor

  Chapter 22

  She was daft, that’s what she was. Completely mental. There was no other explanation for why she was lurking in the back of Butler’s Undertaker, Lounge, and Pub while her siblings were about to go into the front so they could distract him. She hadn’t wanted to involve them, but she couldn’t do it alone, and they were just as determined as she was to help James.

  She would sneak in, find Butler’s office, and see if there was anything about a loan, or any paperwork that reflected a need for twenty thousand euro. And then what? Was it a crime to need twenty thousand euro? Who in town didn’t need twenty thousand euro? She’d have to find something else, something to connect him to Niall.

  It took twenty minutes of hiding behind a bush on the side of the house before the back door opened and a lad stepped out. He wedged a concrete block between the door and its frame, stepped a few feet away, and lit a cigarette.

  Gráinne would text when they had Butler preoccupied. Gráinne was the one who insisted that wouldn’t be a problem. “We’ll tell him Ciarán is terrified of death now, and we thought seeing the business end of it would calm him down.”

  “I’m not terrified of death,” Ciarán insisted. It took a bit of coaxing to convince him to pretend he was. Maybe this was all a horrible idea. Siobhán’s nerves were twitching, and she just wanted to get it over with, but the lad smoking his cigarette was staying close to the door. How was she going to get him to move away? She could throw a rock, but that was silly. He wasn’t a dog that would trot over to investigate. Right? He’d probably look to see who threw something, not where it landed. God, they made these things look so easy on telly. She didn’t even see any rocks lying around.

  A text beeped in from Gráinne. Siobhán glanced at the lad, but thank God, he hadn’t heard it. She immediately switched her mobile to vibration mode. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? She wasn’t built for breaking and entering. Or even just entering. Are you in? He’s letting Ciarán lie in caskets.

  For heaven’s sakes. She was a terrible guardian. Lad out back smoking. Too close to door.

  A few seconds later she got a reply. Eoin coming.

  Great. She was getting them all trapped in a life of crime. Terrible, terrible parenting skills. What was Eoin going to do? He was more likely to aim a rock at the lad’s head, and then she’d have two brothers in jail.

  A minute later, Eoin strolled around back, passed Siobhán huddled by the side without even a glance and approached the lad. Eoin was pointing and shouting, and soon running across the field with the lad following.

  Siobhán didn’t have time to guess what whopper of a lie had incited that; instead, she darted to the back door. Once through, she pulled the concrete block in behind her and thought, this is it, as the door clanged shut behind her. She was in the cellar storage room, and immediately the smell of chemicals, probably embalming fluid, overwhelmed her. She coughed, then threw her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound.

  She tiptoed through the storage room, past bottles, and linens, and long plastic tubes—Jaysus, she didn’t want to know—and then stepped into a second room, larger than the storage area. This was the preparation room, no doubt, for in the middle was the furnace, and there was a large drainage sink on one wall, along with several steel gurneys about the room, and at the other end the refrigeration unit for the bodies.

  She hurried through the preparation room, looking left or right, for any clues at all. Ridiculous, she scolded herself. Absolutely insane. She was grateful business was slow; she certainly didn’t want to run into a dead body. What she did know, from multiple visits here while making the arrangements for her parents, was that just beyond this prep room was a foyer that led to John Butler’s office.

  Siobhán shivered. It was freezing down here. She crossed through the preparation room to the foyer. Just beyond was the door to Butler’s office. From here she could see that it was shut, and through the gap under the door she could tell the lights were off. What if it was locked? The previous times she’d been down here the door had been open. Her phone buzzed and she jumped. At least she was in the right place if she died of fright.

  You in?

  Yes

  She was in alright. But what in the world was she thinking? She was too jumpy. This was madness. She had turned and started back the way she had come when a woman’s voice called out from the direction of the office. “Help. Help.” It was as plain as day, and every single hair on the back of Siobhán’s neck stood at attention. Shite. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard it, could she? She hightailed it back to the office door before common sense could grab hold of her.

  “Hello? Hello?” Siobhán put her ear to the door. Whoever the woman was, she was still talking, but Siobhán couldn’t make out what she was saying. Maybe she was tied up and couldn’t open the door. Siobhán turned the doorknob, and almost to her disappointment, it swung open. There wasn’t anyone there, yet she could still hear a voice. She stood in the doorway, taking in the empty office, perplexed.

  “How did ye like that?” the woman’s voice said. “I’m going to scream. Untie me. You brute.” A girlish laugh filled the room. A blinking red light drew Siobhán’s attention to the desk. An answering machine. The voice was coming out of an answering machine. Unlike Mike Granger’s office, John Butler’s desk was wiped clean except for the answering machine and a single blue folder in the center of the desk. “I’ll see you soon.” The answering machine clicked off. Siobhán’s heart continued to thump in her chest. What was that? Who was that? She was already in; should she look around? At least open the blue folder and have a peek?

  She took a few steps beyond the door. The woman on the phone sounded like a lover. Siobhán had taken John Butler for a lifetime bachelor. Or maybe it was just too creepy to think of him with a woman. There were even rumors that he was gay.

  Siobhán took another step in and reached for the folder. She opened it. It was empty.

  A book lay on the desk underneath the folder, along with a set of handcuffs. Why did John Butler have handcuffs? Siobhán leaned in to have a look at the book. Bad Boy in the Bedroom. Oh, Jaysus. That explained the handcuffs. And the message. And that’s what she got for snooping. She dropped the book and placed the blue folder on top of it.

  Next she crossed herself, took a step back, and bumped into the door. It slammed shut with a bang that continued to echo inside her head. She glanced at the ceiling. Had they heard that? Her phone vibrated. It had to mean yes, they’d heard it. She reached for the doorknob, turned it, and pulled. It was locked. How was that possible? Maybe she was just nervous, maybe it was just stuck. Siobhán tried to open it again. Just as she managed to pry it open, her phone vibrated, making her jump. Another text from Gráinne.

  John’s coming!!!

  She had just started to type back when she heard someone clomping down the stairs. Her eyes darted around for a place to hide. The desk didn’t have a back, so it was no use hiding under there. There was nothing other than a bookshelf and a filing cabinet. The footsteps clomped toward the door. More people seemed to be clomping down the steps. They sounded like a herd of clumsy cattle. Her brood, no doubt, trying to stop John from entering his office. Why hadn’t she listened to Macdara and just kept her nose out of it?

  Siobhán flattened herself behind the door and threw her hands up to protect her face.

  John Butler’s voice rang out. “I asked you to wait upstairs.”

  “Don’t go into that office,” Ciarán yelled.

  “What?” John Butler was on high alert. Feck.

  It was still open a crack; she’d forgotten to shut it. Before she could formulate a better plan, the door swung open. Siobhán screamed and darted out. She slammed into John Butler’s chest. He screamed along with her, in a pitch so high Siobhán expected to hear dogs barking in response.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Siobhán said. John Butler clutched his chest and bent over, as if trying to catch his breath. From this vantage point, Siobh�
�n could see that he had a massive amount of gel in his hair. No wonder it never moved. Behind him, Ann, Grainne, and Ciarán stood grim-faced and wide-eyed.

  “I told ye not to open it,” Ciarán said.

  “What on earth is going on here?” John said. His fear had dissipated; he was browned off now.

  “I heard a woman yelling for help,” Siobhán said.

  “In here?” John’s eyes darted around the office.

  “Turns out it was just on the phone,” Siobhán said, pointing to the red light blinking on the answering machine. “But the door shut behind me, and I thought I was locked in.” John reached out as if to push Play. Siobhán clamped down on his arm.

  “No,” she said. “It’s a lady friend.” She tried lifting her eyebrows to make her point. John frowned and reached for the phone again.

  “A lady friend doing a bit of role play,” Siobhán said.

  “What are you on about?” Ciarán said.

  John turned to Siobhán. A light must have gone off in his mind for he backed away from the machine, then glanced at the blue folder, or more likely the book it was covering up, with a blush. “What were you doing down here to begin with?”

  “Yes,” Gráinne echoed from outside the office. “What are ye doing here?”

  “Looking for you guys,” Siobhán said.

  “Down here?” John said.

  “I texted Gráinne, and she said you were giving her a tour of the mortuary,” Siobhán said. “Obviously it was a little white lie.”

  “I was only foolin’,” Gráinne said. “Can ye see my nose growing?”

  “Why would your nose be growing?” Ciarán said.

  Gráinne put her hands on her hips. “Seriously? Has she never read ye Pinocchio?”

  “Who?” Ciarán said.

  “The wooden puppet, like,” Ann said. “Mammy once read it to us.”

  “I don’t remember,” Ciarán said.

  “Remember yer one they called Jeep or something like, and the wee grasshopper with spectacles?” Ann said.

  Siobhán felt like she was watching a spectacle right now.

  “No,” Ciarán said.

  “Geppetto,” Siobhán said.

  “Like the ice cream?” Ciarán said.

  “No,” Siobhán said. “That’s gelato.”

  “You’ve never read it to me,” Ciarán said, looking very much aggrieved. John Butler glared at Siobhán as if she was responsible for what came out of their pieholes. He lifted his gold-tipped cane and whacked the top of the desk as hard as he could. Everyone jumped. “What are you doing here? And if I don’t believe you I’m going to call Garda Flannery!”

  Siobhán put her hands up, then herded her brood out the door. “It was an honest mistake. When you listen to yer message you’ll see why I thought your lady friend was in need of help.” She emphasized “lady friend” so he would get the point.

  “Why don’t we take this conversation upstairs,” John said, with another red-faced glance at his answering machine. “Unless you want to go through me drawers?”

  “God, no,” Siobhán said. John reddened even more, and from the flash of heat across Siobhán’s cheeks, so, it seemed, did she. John Butler exited his office and herded them upstairs. It smelled like baby powder, and dampness.

  Siobhán wanted to go home, but John’s face was set with determination. She was going to get to leave when he said so. Siobhán asked Gráinne to take Ann and Ciarán home.

  “I want to stay,” Ciarán said. “I want to see what he says.”

  “See what I say about what?” John said.

  “Was Niall Murphy blackmailing you?” Gráinne said.

  “Blackmailing me?”

  “Go home,” Siobhán said to Gráinne.

  “We would have been home if you had just asked him in the first place,” Gráinne said.

  “Why would Niall Murphy have been blackmailing me?” John sputtered. His head bobbed, and his pale complexion turned slightly gray. He looked like a man who’d seen not one, but many ghosts.

  “We’ll ask the questions here,” Ciarán said.

  “Hush,” Siobhán said. She turned to John. “Rumor has it Niall had been bullying people into giving him twenty thousand pounds.”

  “Bullying how?”

  “Something about a video. Pretending to have evidence of wrongdoing.”

  “Just what are you accusing me of?”

  “Murder,” Ciarán said.

  “Oh my God,” Siobhán said turning to her siblings. “You have to keep your gobs shut.”

  Eoin walked into the room. He was flushed. John pointed at him. “Where did he go? Was he snooping around my place too?”

  “I was just out havin’ a smoke,” Eoin said. Siobhán glared at him. She wanted to sniff his breath but figured now was not the time and place. He’d better not start smoking. Her parents would never forgive her if she didn’t stay on top of that. This wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to deal with any of this.

  John Butler pointed at Siobhán, his finger shaking with rage. “I’m calling Garda Flannery and having you arrested for breaking and entering.”

  “You opened the door and let us in,” Gráinne said.

  “All except one,” John said, pointing at Siobhán again. “And you set me up. All of you.”

  “We didn’t mean any harm,” Siobhán said. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “I heard you were sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” John said. “Fancy yourself a detective superintendent, do you?”

  “You would do the same thing if a dead body turned up in your home.” Siobhán stopped when she remembered who she was talking to. “I mean, if you weren’t an undertaker, like.”

  John yanked out his wallet and pulled out a receipt. “I don’t know where you’ve picked up your techniques, but you’ve forgotten the first rule of any murder investigation.” He shoved the receipt at her.

  “What is this?” Siobhán said. It was a receipt from a hotel in Cork stamped with the date and time.

  “My alibi,” John said. “I wasn’t even in Kilbane the night Niall Murphy was stabbed.”

  And right then Siobhán knew what it felt like to be the biggest eejit on the planet. Alibis. She’d been so focused on motives, means, and opportunities, she’d forgotten all about alibis.

  Ciarán stepped up to John Butler and stuck out his hand for a shake. A perplexed John Butler weakly accepted the ritual. “We’ll take ye off the list straightaway,” Ciarán said.

  “List?” John Butler said.

  “We’d better get our legs under us,” Siobhán said. “Your next brekkie is on the house.” And before John could call the guards, or Ciarán could explain how they’d started a list of suspects that pretty much included every single soul in Kilbane, Siobhán hustled her brood through the funeral home and out the front door.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, Siobhán had just officially unlocked the front door of the bistro for their grand reopening when Macdara entered in uniform. He stood in the doorway like a man about to deliver bad news. Siobhán gestured to his usual table, but he didn’t make a move. Instead he shook his head and glanced around. Siobhán’s heart clenched as the thought stabbed her in the heart. He’s here for James.

  “Would you like a cup of tea and some brown bread?” Siobhán said. She glanced outside and noticed folks queued up on the footpath.

  “I asked them to wait,” Macdara said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” Siobhán said. “No.”

  “The blood on James’s shirt was a match for Niall’s.”

  “Drops of blood,” Siobhán said. “Just drops.”

  “I told ye what the pathologist said. Drops are enough.”

  “He’s being framed.”

  “The order has come down from the detective superintendent.” Macdara glanced toward the stairwell leading to their bedrooms. “Please tell me he didn’t skip town.”

  “Of course I didn’t.” Jame
s stepped into the room.

  “You can’t do this,” Siobhán said, turning to Macdara.

  “It’s alright,” James said.

  “It’s not.” Siobhán didn’t know whether to beg, scream, or pray.

  James walked up and took Siobhán’s hands. “No crying. No fuss, ye hear? As long as you and the rest of the six are okay, then I’ll be okay.”

  Siobhán squeezed his hands. They were so cold. He was frightened to death but doing his best to be brave. “I’ll get you out. I swear.”

  James winked at her and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Nod and smile,” he said softly. “Just nod and smile.” He turned to Macdara. “Can we do this outside?” Macdara gave a nod, then put his arm on James’s elbow and started to guide him out.

  “Wait!” Ciarán came barreling out of the kitchen, followed by the rest. They threw themselves at James.

  “He’ll be home in no time,” Siobhán said, prying them off. Faces were already staring in, gobbling up their misfortune. And although it took only a matter of seconds, watching James get marched out to Macdara’s car, as the folks outside watched, was the second-darkest moment of Siobhán O’Sullivan’s life. And then, in they came.

  Siobhán wanted to close and lock the doors forever, yet here they were, her friends and neighbors, filling up the seats. They knew better than to ask what had just happened, and so the conversation that filled the room was about the weather, and the latest game, and the state of the Irish economy, and the latest horse race or hurling match; they talked about everything and anything other than James, and the O’Sullivans, and murder. It made the nightmare that much more surreal. Siobhán didn’t realize she was standing still until Eoin got her moving.

  “Come on,” he said, touching her elbow. He was holding out an apron. It was her mam’s. Siobhán took it with a nod, biting the side of her mouth to fend off the tears. Eoin and Ciarán headed to the grill, Ann began seating people, and Gráinne took up residence behind the counter. Siobhán took a deep breath, put the apron on, and got to work. She smiled, and delivered Irish breakfasts, wetted the tea and made cappuccinos, and chatted with folks about nothing, as if her heart weren’t breaking, as if it were any other day. For the first time in a while, she had no interest in asking anyone questions, and she realized with a sinking heart, as she held the kettle and poured endless cups, that despite what her mam always said, it simply wasn’t true. Not everything in life could be made better by a biscuit and a cup of tea.