Murder in an Irish Village

by Carlene O'Connor

  She looked at Ciarán. “I have a plan,” she said. “But I need your help.” He nodded, and she whispered the plan into his ears.

  Ciarán took off running out the front. A few seconds later, Séamus darted out after him.

  “Macdara is here,” Ciarán yelled, just like she’d told him to do. “Macdara is here.” Séamus whipped his head around just as Ciarán threw the brick with all his might. It clocked Séamus on the temple. He roared out in pain and let out a string of curse words.

  Good on ye! Siobhán wanted to cheer, but this was no time to celebrate. Ciarán ran toward the trees on the left side of the property.

  Siobhán raced inside the shop, propped open the front door with a wooden board Séamus must have used for that purpose, and grabbed a key. She fumbled with it, and it fell to the floor. She grabbed another and and hopped onto the first scooter in the line. It was one of the pink ones. She inserted the key and turned it, but it didn’t start. She raced back and grabbed every single key. Her hands had never shaken so much in her life. She prayed Séamus hadn’t caught Ciarán yet. He was quick, and she’d told him to go into the woods.

  On the fifth key the scooter roared to life. She revved the engine and backed it up, sending bicycles clattering to the floor. She veered left, then straight, and drove the scooter right out the front door, praying it wouldn’t flip as she drove it off the landing and down the little hill. It bounced a good one, but she’d had enough practice and managed to keep it steady.

  Praying, and concentrating with all her might, she headed for the line of trees where Ciarán was hiding and Séamus was pacing like a wildcat. At the sound of the scooter, he whirled around. Siobhán aimed straight for him. It took more resolve than she’d thought, aiming to mow down a grown man, but she kept coming at him until he dove out of the way with a yell.

  “Ciarán,” she screamed, pulling up alongside the trees. “Now.”

  Ciarán darted out from behind a birch and hopped on. She’d forgotten helmets, but there wasn’t any time. She silently prayed to her mam and da to keep them safe.

  “Hold tight,” she screamed. “Don’t let go.”

  Séamus was running back toward the shop. Siobhán shot forward, as fast as she could without tipping them over. She hesitated at the road. Behind them a motorcycle roared to life. He was going to catch up with them.

  Siobhán hit the gas, taking the scooter as fast as she could once again, and this time she made a beeline for the field. She knew the terrain. If she concentrated hard enough, she could avoid the holes that marred the ground. She knew them like she knew the back of her hand. Maybe Séamus wouldn’t be that lucky.

  “He’s following us,” Ciarán shouted.

  Sure enough, the throaty roar of the motorcycle gave no doubt that he was upon them.

  “Hold on,” Siobhán yelled.

  They were well into the field now, just along the wall. The scooter bounced along the rocks, and soon the front tire hit a patch of mud and slid to the left. Siobhán tilted her body to the right, concentrating with all her might to keep the scooter from crashing.

  In the distance, police sirens blared. It had to be for them. But it was too late for anyone to rescue them. The abbey was just ahead. She veered left just before she reached it, following the outlines of the monastery walls, but leaving enough space in between for a motorcycle. This particular patch was covered in the most holes.

  Séamus took the bait, filling in the gap between her scooter and the walls, and was soon right alongside them.

  “Hold on,” she screamed again. She gunned the scooter, and Séamus hit the gas. He pulled up without a second thought. Seconds later a terrifying screech rang out as the front wheel of Séamus’s motorcycle dipped into a hole, tilting the beast until it was straight up in the air, where it remained suspended for a second as though Séamus were a stunt man performing a death-defying trick. And then it began to flip, back wheel over front.

  Ciarán screamed, along with Séamus, and for all she knew, she did too, but Siobhán kept going, even when she heard the terrifying crash.

  “He’s trapped under his motorcycle,” Ciarán yelled.

  “Don’t look!” Siobhán flew past the little bridge, feeling every vibration as the wheels of the scooter stuttered over the wood. Ten feet more and they would finally reach the road leading to the back of their bistro. Just ahead she saw a group huddled in the street, as if watching for her. There stood Ann and Gráinne and Eoin, along with Mike and Declan. Worry was stamped across each and every face. She screeched to a halt, and they hurried over.

  “Macdara is headed for the cycle shop,” Eoin said.

  “He’s a bit late,” Siobhán said. “But I’ll deny I said it if you ever repeat it.”

  “Call the gardai and the paramedics. Séamus needs help.” Mike and Declan looked toward the field. Siobhán still couldn’t bring herself to look back. “But tell them to be careful,” she added. “Because Séamus is the killer.”

  “Why help him?” Gráinne said. “Why not just leave him?”

  “Because he’s still a neighbor,” Siobhán said. “And that’s what neighbors do.”

  Chapter 41

  Siobhán was thrilled when James took a second helping of her bacon and cabbage, potatoes, and brown bread. He’d lost weight, and she couldn’t wait until he looked like himself again.

  “I can’t believe you cooked when we have all that,” James said with a nod to the kitchen, where several platters were lined up, all brought by neighbors and friends.

  “It’s your first night home, and nothing beats a home-cooked meal,” Siobhán said.

  She smiled and glanced at the shuttered windows. They’d seen enough of their neighbors for now. The bistro would be jammers the next few days, possibly the next year, as people gathered to rehash the details.

  Séamus was in the hospital with a broken leg and a broken jaw, but he would recover. He’d admitted to the murders, so he’d go straight from the hospital to a jail cell.

  Macdara was convinced Bridie didn’t have a clue as to what Séamus had done, and Siobhán agreed.

  Mary Murphy was cooperating in lieu of being arrested herself. She said she didn’t report what was going on to the police because there was no video, no proof. She repeated that she was desperately sorry about Courtney and that if she had had a clue that the e-mail could be traced back to her, she wouldn’t have sent it.

  Billy was still in prison, for he had been driving drunk, and they would have to wait as an official investigation into the accident was reopened. But Siobhán assumed he would eventually get out. She prayed he’d learned a lesson about drinking and driving.

  After dinner, they went to the cemetery, held hands around their parents’ graves, prayed, and filled them in on the excitement. Siobhán would whittle a bird for each of them to leave atop the headstones. She would do the same for Courtney, perhaps a flower or a heart.

  She missed whittling, and she was sorry she hadn’t made something for Courtney when she was still alive. She’d never stop doing it again. Life was too short to let your talents go to waste. Maybe death was a necessary nudge, a reminder to love, whether it was a person or a wee block of wood. The ancient druids believed in nature and hospitality. Siobhán was eager to embrace life again. Her parents would want that for her. So would Courtney. She’d bring them all back if she could, even Niall. But since that was out of her hands, she could at least try not to waste a single moment of her life. A life that was surprisingly full, even though it was simple. Or maybe because it was simple.

  Sometimes one could think too much. Siobhán grabbed James’s hand as they walked, holding it like she did when they were children, and he accepted the gesture without complaint.

  “You can go to Dublin now,” he said as they headed home. The others were ahead of them, jumping over puddles, laughing, racing each other, doing what kids did on a summer evening in Ireland. Soon they were back on Sarsfield Street and almost at the bistro.

 
“I know,” Siobhán said. “Except I want to stay.” She didn’t even know those words were going to come out of her mouth, but once they did, she knew them to be true. It didn’t mean she would never go to college; it just meant that right here and right now she was exactly where she needed to be. Maybe she would enroll in an online course, something she could handle in between her other duties. She was going to look into programs straightaway.

  “I just want you to know that it’s an option from now on,” James said.

  Just ahead Macdara was coming toward them. His eyes sparkled when he saw Siobhán, and he broke out in a grin.

  “Is he the reason you want to stay?” James leaned over and whispered.

  “Not the only reason,” Siobhán said.

  “Might that be the other?” James pointed. Siobhán was surprised to see Chris Gorden heading their way too. Siobhán and James stopped in front of Naomi’s Bistro.

  Macdara and Chris reached Siobhán at the same time, then stopped and stared at each other. Then they looked in unison at Siobhán.

  “See you,” James said, with a gentle shove to her shoulder. He hurried down the street, chasing after the young ones.

  “Where are you going?” Siobhán called as James left her standing there all alone.

  “Evening,” Macdara said.

  “Hello,” Chris said. He looked at Macdara. “You go first,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

  “No,” Macdara said. “I’ll wait.”

  “But I assume yours is official business,” Chris said. “Mine is of a more personal nature.”

  “Is that right?” Macdara said. “Well, I’m off duty.”

  “Then I’ll have to ask you both for a rain check,” Siobhán said. “It’s been a hectic day.”

  “Are you alright?” They asked at the same time.

  Siobhán couldn’t help but laugh. “On second thought,” she said, “you can both come in for tea.”

  As they headed back to the bistro, neighbors began drifting out of their shops, and by the time Siobhán had the tea kettle on, at least a dozen folks were gathered, desperate for details of what had happened with Séamus.

  Poor Bridie; even though she had been having an affair, this was bound to shake her to her core. Siobhán intended to be there for her, just as Bridie had been for her. She’d leave out the bit about being convinced that she and Mike were the killers.

  Oh, why couldn’t the town go away so she could get her fill of being fought over by two men?

  John Butler snuck up on Siobhán, almost knocking her over.

  “I wanted you to know. I never once thought that James was a killer.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Actually,” he said, leaning over and saying in a loud stage whisper, “my money was on you.”

  Siohán threw her head back and laughed. She couldn’t believe the cheek of these folks. But that was Kilbane. You had to take the good with the bad. Folks helped each other out at times, and at other times begrudged one another behind closed doors. But they always came back. They came in for tea, and gossip, and brown bread. When she finally reached Chris Gorden’s table, she couldn’t see Macdara in the crowd.

  “Are you interested in Garda Flannery?” Chris Gorden asked. “Romantically?”

  “Funny,” came a voice from behind them. “That’s just what I wanted to know.”

  Siobhán whirled around to find Macdara standing there, looking as if he wanted an answer right here and now. She looked at Chris, then Macdara. She opened her mouth to give her answer.

  Just then the back door burst open and Ciarán burst into the room holding the mangiest little brown dog Siobhán had ever seen. It may have been a Jack Russell terrier, but it was hard to tell underneath all the dirt. She wasn’t even sure it was a dog until it began yapping.

  “Can we go to London for the weekend?” Ann said, sidling up and taking Siobhán’s hand.

  Eoin poked his head out of the kitchen. “I want to go to New York,” he said.

  Macdara and Chris were still staring at her.

  Gráinne entered from the back room. “London it is,” she said before making a dramatic exit out of the bistro and up the stairs to her room. She stopped at the top of the stairs and flipped her hair. “If you say no, I’m going to ask James.”

  Before Siobhán could respond, her cheeky sister disappeared. She looked around for James. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “Siobhán?” Macdara said. Siobhán held up her finger, turned around, and made a beeline for her cappuccino machine. She relished the noise as it churned the beans, drowning out everyone around her. Outside the window, a light rain began to fall. She grabbed her mam’s apron off the wall and put it on. She frothed the milk and poured the cappuccino and turned to her brood, starting with Ciarán.

  “Take the dog outside.”

  Next she turned to Ann. “We’ll talk about London later. Nobody is going to New York,” she yelled toward the kitchen. “James is a big boy,” she said to the ceiling, in case Gráinne could hear from her room. “But I’m the one making those kinds of decisions around here.”

  She finally turned to the gorgeous American. “And, Chris, you’re a lovely man, but my heart is already taken.” She smiled, faced Macdara, who looked as if he’d just been struck by a stupid stick, and handed him the cappuccino. He met her eyes and smiled.

  “Are you sure?” he said.

  She held his gaze, and then smiled back. “Drink it before I change me mind,” she answered.

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  Copyright © 2016 by Mary Carter

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  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2015951111

  ISBN: 978-1-6177-3844-9

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: March 2016

  eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-845-6

  eISBN-10: 1-61773-845-X

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2016