“Stay,” he said. “I want to know exactly what’s happened here.” Siobhán turned to the tank.
“It’s horrible,” she said.
O’Reilly made a call for the crime scene team. Unfortunately, they could not move the body in any way until the state pathologist arrived, but they could secure it as much as possible. Siobhán brought O’Reilly up to speed with everything she knew, starting with opening the shed and finding the missing dogs.
“You’re saying Paddy stole those dogs?”
“I’m saying I found the dogs in his reindeer shed with antlers on them.” She kept her voice steady so she wouldn’t sound sarcastic. He frowned anyway.
“We need a list of every owner and dog before they take them home.”
“Would you like me to do that?” Siobhán asked. She needed something to do.
“Yes. I’d appreciate if you could do that right now.”
“On it.”
“I’d also like the owners of the food and gift stands to stay. And if anyone in the crowd saw or heard anything, tell them to write it down and we’ll be getting to their accounts as soon as we can.”
“Understood.”
Siobhán started for the shed, to catch the dog owners who were waiting for her to take down their information, no doubt expecting some kind of explanation. If Paddy had stolen the dogs for his show, there was no use holding a grudge. His fate had been far worse, and from what she could tell, none of the dogs were harmed. Humiliated, perhaps, by the antlers, but otherwise they were grand. She found her siblings in a clump, just beyond the barricade set up by the guards. They were waiting for her. She hurried over. James was still in full makeup and drag, even though he’d taken off the wig. She touched every one of them, Ciarán on the head, Ann and Eoin on the arms, a squeeze of Gráinne’s hand, and a quick pat to James. She wanted to feel them, reassure herself they were all solid, and alive, and everyone was alright. “I have to get to work,” she said. “I’m sorry about the show. You were all fantastic.”
“Is Paddy O’Shea really dead?” Eoin asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Someone said he was murdered,” Gráinne said, a little too loud for Siobhán’s liking. Not that everyone wasn’t already whispering about it.
“Who would kill Santa?” Ann’s quiet voice pierced Siobhán’s heart.
Siobhán turned to James. “Will you take them straight home and lock all the doors?”
“Of course.” He looked around. “Although . . .”
“Although?”
James gestured to all the people crowded behind him. “People don’t want to go home on a night like this. You know yourself. And not everyone will want to be in the pubs. What if I open the bistro for tea and biscuits, give them somewhere to go?”
He was right. Creatures would be stirring tonight, every single one of them. “If you’re alright with that, I am too.” It was times like this that comfort and neighbors were needed. And Naomi’s Bistro could provide it.
“What about yous?” James said, checking in with the rest of the brood. “If anyone isn’t okay with it, speak now.”
“Let’s do it,” Ann said. “I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Me either,” Ciarán said. “And Trigger is staying with me all night.”
Gráinne nodded.
“Let’s go,” Eoin said. “Let’s be the light in the darkness.” It was oddly poetic of him, but that was Eoin, always surprising her. She loved them all so fiercely.
“Keep your ears open,” Siobhán whispered to James.
“Way ahead of you.”
“And be careful.” She didn’t like the thought that the killer could come into the bistro; after all, this was someone who struck Santa Claus in the middle of a giant crowd. But life had to go on. The killer could be on the run, long gone, or biding his or her time and waiting to escape.
“We’ll be fine. You be careful.”
“Will do.”
“Do you need anything?” he asked. James was a good big brother, even when he’d been at his worst. Now that he was sober, he was the best big brother.
“If you see anyone on the way home with one of the dogs, send them back to the square. I need to make a list.”
“Will do.”
“Try not to dwell . . .” She stopped. That would be an impossible task for any of them.
* * *
Gloved feet and hands were moving in and out of the tent. When the flap opened, Siobhán could see a pile of teakettles. Presumably the ones used to fill the tank with hot cocoa. Cormac had not been joking when he said one kettle at a time. She had collected the names and numbers of all the dog owners. “I’m on my way to speak with the booth owners,” she said.
“Go home,” he said. “You’re not on duty until the new year.”
You just asked me to do it! she wanted to say. “I don’t mind,” she said. “It will be good training.”
“I’m not in any position to train you. I have a murder inquiry on my hands.”
“I just thought . . .” You asked me . . .
O’Reilly held up his hand. “At this point there’s nothing we can do until the pathologist arrives.” It could be days. One of the biggest challenges when it came to murder investigations in Ireland. Time was of the essence, yet they were forced to wait.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”
He took the list of dog owners from her and stared at her while she waited. Was this some kind of blinking test? She really had to blink. “Talk to Annmarie and Declan,” O’Reilly said at last. “We’ve got the others covered.” He turned his back, officially closing her out. She stared at the tank before heading off. Had it malfunctioned? Or was it purposeful? Maybe the killer wanted the distraction. A misdirection . . . Or the killer had been putting on a show of his own . . .
And the other Mr. and Mrs. Claus from Charlesville—where were they? The entire cast of the panto could be eliminated because they were on stage when Paddy was struck over the head. Weren’t they? Her brood was on stage. She couldn’t remember if all the actors were on stage. And if anyone had slipped from the audience and into the tent, she wouldn’t be able to say.
Struck on the back of the head. One blow? Too quick to even cry out? Or had the noise from the music and the dogs drowned out Paddy’s scream? It was awful to think about, but, in the name of justice, it had to be imagined.
“Why are you still behind me, O’Sullivan?” O’Reilly suddenly barked.
Yeesh. She made a mental note to remember that her interim detective sergeant had eyes in the back of his head, and slipped out of the tent before he had to reprimand her a second time.
* * *
Annmarie Kirby was standing behind an army of nutcrackers, wrapping and packing them in boxes. She was a voluptuous woman with sass and style. She was wearing a sequined green dress and matching earrings. Her hair was topped with a crystal flower. “What’s the story?” she said as Siobhán approached. “We were told not to leave.” Annmarie owned an adorable gift shop in Kilbane; if anyone in the village kept their finger on the pulse of the town, it was she.
“I just need to get your account of the evening, luv, and then you can go home.”
“Poor Eileen O’Shea,” Annmarie said. “How is she?”
“I can only imagine.” Siobhán took out her notebook, grateful that she carried it everywhere. “Can you take me through where you were during the intermission when the tank first rolled out, and where you’ve been since, including anything you’ve seen or heard?”
Annmarie stopped packing the nutcrackers. “Aren’t you supposed to ask one question at a time?”
Everyone was a critic. “You can answer however you’d like, and if I have any follow-up questions, I’ll ask them one at a time.” Siobhán forced a smile. Her jaw was going to ache tomorrow from all the forced smiling.
Annmarie leaned over and placed her hand on Siobhán’s elbow. Flowery perfume nearly suffocated Siobhán. “When I took
over the gift shop, I had a lot to learn too. I’m still learning. I thought I’d sell a lot more of these beauties, but . . .” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Of course you didn’t. We’re all in shock. What can you remember from this evening?”
Annmarie’s eyes flicked over the town square as if she was trying to re-create her steps. “I was standing over here the entire evening. Not that I didn’t want to see the panto, but these nutcrackers are too dear to leave unattended.” She absentmindedly stroked the one in front of her.
Siobhán eyed the colorful wooden man. “I hear they’re quite popular.” They had never appealed to her, and she was astounded at how dear the price was, but her opinion in the matter was moot. It was apparent Annmarie was crazy about them.
“Handmade from Sligo,” she said, holding it up. She hugged it to her chest. “And to think we might have the winner right here!”
A winner . . . ”What’s the story with that?”
Annmarie feigned shock that Siobhán didn’t know the details. She leaned in again and lowered her voice. “The craftsman made a secret compartment at the bottom of these nutcrackers.” She turned it over and showed her a tiny metal latch built into the bottom. She turned it and the bottom flap opened, revealing a hollow inside.
Siobhán had to admit, she liked the nutcracker much more. “What did you say about a winner?”
“Inside one of them is a special shining star. Whoever receives it wins a hundred thousand euro. Wouldn’t it be something if the winner is in our batch?”
Siobhán eyed the nutcracker. “What’s to stop store owners from opening all the flaps to see if they have the shining star?”
“This is my sample.” Annmarie flipped the nutcracker upside down revealing the secret compartment once more. “The ones in inventory have an official seal over the flap.”
“What’s to stop someone from opening them and resealing?”
“I don’t know how we would get our hands on an official seal.”
“I’m sure if you peel it carefully it can simply be checked then smoothed back on.”
Annmarie frowned. “Garda college has warped your mind.”
“You may be right.”
Annmarie rubbed the secret compartment as if it was a bottle housing a genie. “If it makes you happy all shop owners had to sign a contract that we are exempt from the winnings.”
“That makes sense,” Siobhán said.
Annmarie sighed and set it down on her table with a thunk. “But there’s nothing saying the winner couldn’t throw a little gratitude my way. It would be the decent thing to do.”
“But these were shipped all over Ireland, correct?”
Annmarie shrugged. “I assume so. But still. The winner could be one of mine.”
“Excellent. Can we get back to this evening?”
“I sold nearly thirty this evening, and loads more from the shop.”
“Brilliant. Were you here during intermission?”
“Of course.”
“Did you see anyone go into Santa’s tent after the tank rolled back in?”
“I didn’t see a thing. I had customers.”
“Is there anything you noticed this evening that was out of the ordinary?”
Annmarie put her hands on her hips. “You mean besides Paddy O’Shea rolling out in a dunk tank of hot cocoa, and then dogs tripping out of a shed with reindeer antlers on their poor heads, and then the dunk tank rolling out again, only to find Paddy O’Shea floating facedown in it?”
“Yes,” Siobhán said. “Besides all of that.”
Annmarie shook her head and cradled her nutcracker. “Who would do that? Who would do that at Christmas to Santa?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Siobhán said.
“What about the other Mr. and Mrs. Claus?”
“What about them?”
“It had to be them. No one in Kilbane would have done such a thing. Have you interrogated them?”
“I’m sure the detective sergeant will speak with them. Did you see either of them go in or out of Paddy’s tent?”
“No.” She chewed on her bottom lip and looked away.
“What is it?”
“I suppose it can’t be the other Mrs. Claus. She was here at intermission pawing at my nutcrackers.”
“Was she here the entire time?”
“No. But was the first in line. I’d say she was here about five minutes.” She clasped her hands. “So it could still be her!”
They were getting off track. Annmarie sounded quite thrilled as if she’d just solved the mystery.
“Do you know of anyone else who had problems with Paddy?”
Instead of answering, she began packing again. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Lately almost everyone had a problem with Paddy and the missus.”
“What do you mean?”
Annmarie picked up a box, and gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m afraid I simply must get these packed up.” She hurried away with one of her boxes.
It would have been much easier for Annmarie to pull her car near the boxes. She didn’t. Because she couldn’t wait to get away. Because she knew something. She knew someone who had a problem with Paddy O’Shea. And the missus . . .
Everyone? What ever did she mean? Siobhán sighed as she headed for Declan’s tent. This was going to be a long night. Investigations would be so much simpler if they didn’t involve actual human beings.
Chapter Three
Declan was pacing in front of his tent, but the minute Siobhán stepped up, he stopped to envelop her in a hug. Then he held her at arm’s length. “Tell me the cocoa wasn’t poisoned.”
For a second she was thrown off by the question. “I don’t know,” she said. She nearly told him about the gash on Paddy’s head, but it was vital not to give away any information. Rumors would start soon enough. Declan turned to his stash of hot cocoa stacked up in the tent. “Will I have to throw it all out? Turn it over to the guards?” She could hear the angst in his voice.
“Hold off on it for now. The guards will test the cocoa in the tank.”
“Everyone was drinking it. Including m’self. Should we all go to hospital?”
She sighed. “I don’t think it was poisoned.”
“What happened?”
“I believe he was struck over the head.” She nearly groaned out loud, already breaking her own rules. “But please don’t share that.”
“My word! Struck over the head with what?”
“I don’t know. And please—”
Declan held up his hand. “Not a word, luv. I hear gossip, I don’t spread it.” He was telling the truth. Declan was the publican whom everyone spilled their secrets to, and he never told tales out of school. Kilbane was lucky to have him.
Siobhán took in the tent housing the dunk tank. Declan was quite a distance away. “You’re pretty far away from the commotion. Did you see or hear anything?”
“I heard the tank rolling out, interrupting the play. I saw Cormac throw the snowball. He sure looked intent on knocking poor Paddy into the tank.”
“That is the point of the tank,” Siobhán said. But didn’t the elf say that it wasn’t easy to do? Seemed easy for him. But the snowball hit the target, not Paddy’s head. Did any of it add up to something sinister? “What else?”
Declan raised an eyebrow. “I saw you get mauled by a pack of dogs wearing reindeer antlers.”
“Hardly mauled. Poor pups.”
“Is it true? Did Paddy steal those dogs?”
“I believe so.”
He shook his head. “He wasn’t well. First the threats to the other Santa, then stealing dogs.”
“What a night.”
Declan gave a sad smile.
“Can you take me through your day?”
“I’ve been here helping Paddy fill that tank, kettle by kettle.”
“Where did you get the hot water?”
“I filled it from my setup here. Mind
you, we didn’t use the good ingredients, he just needed the tank to look like it was filled with hot cocoa. After a few kettles of it, they hooked up a hose from the tailor’s shop—he has a lovely garden in the back, as you know—and we filled the rest of the tank.”
“Did they test it out then?”
“They hit the target and confirmed the board tilted down. Paddy wasn’t up for getting wet. Said once would be enough.”
“Was there anyone else around? Just you and Santa and the elf?”
“It was only the three of us filling the tank, but there were others in and out of the square of course. People setting up the Nativity scene, and Santa’s throne, and the like.”
“Any arguments break out?”
“Paddy was being tough on Cormac. Ordering him around, hollering if he wasn’t fast enough. Cormac just took it. I finally told him he was to stop it or I’d let his missus know.”
Declan stood up to bullies. “Can you ever remember him like this before?”
“Never. He wasn’t a well man. We should have all put a stop to Santa this year.”
Someone certainly did . . . “No one could have seen this coming.” Cormac had been bullied by Paddy. And Declan said Cormac had looked intent on dunking Paddy into the tank. He’d been in an obvious bad mood around her. His scowl was etched in her memory. There was no getting around that fact that Cormac was going to be high up on the suspect list.
“Did you hear or see the dogs?”
Declan shook his head. “I had no idea they were in there.”
How is that possible?
The dogs must have been snuck in later. How? Where were they before that? “Do you know anyone who would want to harm Paddy?”
Declan sighed. “I know he wasn’t himself this year. Ran into some trouble with the guards the other night.”
“I heard.”
“Almost got tossed into the drunk tank.”
“Because of this rivalry with the Charlesville Santa?”
“It could be that he needed to be seen by a doctor. But he was keyed up about the other Santa, alright.”
“Do you think he was drinking this evening?”
“I know he was. I refused to sell him the Irish variety of hot cocoa. But I saw him tipping a bottle.” Just as I suspected. He’d been paranoid, drunk, and keyed up. Not a good combination. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. Whoever it was, they were in and out of that tent during the intermission. I was only focused on my customers.”
Christmas Cocoa Murder Page 3
