Christmas Cocoa Murder

by Carlene O'Connor

  She waited while he chatted with a small child, handed him a sweet, then patted his head and let out a joyful chuckle before the mother and her young lad went on their way. He caught Siobhán’s eye and grinned as she approached.

  “Hello, lassie. Have you been a good girl?”

  “I’m a grown woman, Santa, and I’d say I’ve been fair to middling.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, he really did have the belly laugh down. “Sweet?” He held out a candy.

  “I’m Garda O’Sullivan from Kilbane.”

  “I see,” he said, exchanging a look with his wife. Siobhán gave Mrs. Claus a nod and a smile and it was returned, although it seemed to require a bit of effort. Her thick white hair was piled in a bun on top of her head, adorned with a red bow. She had the lightest of blue eyes and rosy cheeks. But there was something about her smile that reminded Siobhán of a plastic doll.

  “Darling,” Barry said, turning to his wife. “Why don’t you find this year’s nutcracker while Garda O’Sullivan and I have a chat?”

  “Alright, dear.” She kissed Santa on the cheek.

  “This year’s nutcracker?” Siobhán called after her, hoping to keep her there for a few more minutes. She got the feeling her husband wanted her gone, and that made Siobhán wish she would stay. But Aideen Callaghan was off like a shot, her backside bouncing away, as if her life depended on buying a nutcracker.

  “She’s an avid collector,” Barry said as he watched her go. “Loves her nutcrackers.”

  “I see,” Siobhán said. “Annmarie’s gift shop in Kilbane has a wonderful collection this year. Handmade from Sligo. She was selling them at the winter carnival.”

  “We like to buy local,” Barry said, scrunching his face as if he’d just tasted something sour. She detected a twinge of jealousy. Maybe Paddy wasn’t the only one who was caught up in the rivalry.

  “One of the nutcrackers has a shining star hidden inside, and whoever finds it wins a prize of a hundred thousand euro.” Siobhán hadn’t planned on saying any of this, but nutcrackers seemed to be on everyone’s mind this year, and she wanted to establish a bond with this Santa. Suspects were more willing to open up if they felt you were on the same side.

  This seemed to catch his attention. “Does it, now?”

  “I’m not claiming Kilbane has been sent the winner. But it adds a bit of fun to buying one. Somebody has to be a winner.”

  “‘Winner, winner, chicken dinner,’” Santa said. “Although I dare say it wouldn’t look good if Santa and Mrs. Claus won the money. We’d have to donate it to charity.” The thought seemed to make him sad, and his posture slumped.

  “I need to speak with you about Paddy O’Shea.”

  Santa nodded; he knew this was coming. “Cup of tea? I know a quiet spot.”

  “Perfect.” They began to walk. He was being very accommodating. Too accommodating? Does Santa have a guilty conscience?

  “I am terribly disturbed over Paddy,” he said like an actor rehearsing his lines. “Do you have any leads?”

  “It’s an open inquiry,” Siobhán said lightly.

  “Terrible, terrible deed. During the holidays, no less. I hope you’re doing everything you can to catch this killer.” He stopped at a corner pub and gestured for her to enter. “We’ll have a bit of peace in here.”

  It was dark inside and the several patrons dotting the stools barely glanced at them. The publican waved at Barry and he nodded and held up two fingers. They sat in a green leather booth tucked in the back corner; moments later the publican appeared with two steaming mugs of tea and a tin of biscuits. “That was quick,” Siobhán said after the publican ambled away.

  “There are a few perks to being Santa,” he said with a wink.

  Siobhán was already drained of the small talk, and after a few moments with their tea, she began. “Where were you right after the tank was rolled into the tent?”

  Barry set his cup down. “We were walking around, looking at those nutcrackers, about to buy a mug of hot cocoa when we heard the screaming.”

  “I thought you hadn’t heard about the nutcrackers?” It flew out of her mouth, and it was hardly important, but she’d barely been speaking to him and she’d already caught him in a lie. Maybe Cormac Dooley was right. Maybe there was more than one Bad Santa in Ireland this year.

  “I didn’t know about this shining star, or anything else, other than me wife spotted nutcrackers at the carnival.” He squinted at her. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  Siobhán smiled. “Sometimes words come out of my mouth the wrong way. Not at all.” He continued to stare at her. She decided to plow on. “Didn’t you hear the dogs before the screaming?”

  “I suppose I did.” He scratched his chin. “I didn’t think much of it, to be honest. I hadn’t realized at that point the dogs had been taken without their owners’ permission.” He crossed his arms. “Never thought I’d see the day when a man wearing this uniform would resort to stealing pups out of people’s gardens.”

  “I don’t think he was in his right mind.”

  “It’s a disgrace to the profession.”

  “I heard that you and Paddy had become more than competitors as of late.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Rivals,” Siobhán said. “I heard you were rivals.”

  “That sounds very sinister.” He held up his hands. “I won’t say a bad word about him.” He crossed himself.

  “I’m trying to find his killer. If there’s a bad word to be said, then so be it.”

  “He was an angry man this past year. Do I go all out to help this town celebrate Christmas? You bet I do. Was I trying, as he accused, to humiliate him? That’s ludicrous.” He leaned forward. “He created a dunk tank of hot cocoa. That’s mental.”

  “He may have had a mental illness, a treatable one, but he didn’t knock himself over the head, a killer did that.”

  “Knocked over the head you say?”

  Shoot. She’d done it again. “It’s an expression.”

  He leaned forward. “Is it, now?”

  “We’re still waiting for the state pathologist to issue her report.”

  Barry frowned. “It was so quick. The time between the tank rolling back into the tent the first time, and rolling out the second time.”

  “It was very quick.” Either someone got lucky with an impulse kill, or the evening had been premeditated. Right down to the technical errors . . .

  “What’s your current theory?” Once more, he looked very eager for gossip.

  “I can’t comment on an ongoing inquiry.”

  “ ’Course you can’t. I apologize.” He finished his tea. “I don’t know how else I can help.”

  “Can you think of anyone who wanted him dead?”

  “Blunt, aren’t you?”

  “When I have to be.” She leaned forward. “Who do you think would have wanted him dead?”

  “I have no clue. I know of no one. Including myself. I enjoyed the competition.”

  Another lie. The other Santa was dead and he was still competing. “Why were you there that evening?”

  “Why?” He leaned forward. “Paddy invited us. I thought he was extending a holly branch. We had no quarrel with him.” He sighed and leaned back. “We didn’t have to go. It’s a busy time of year. I was hoping it would be the beginning of a truce.”

  “Did you or any of your friends place any bets in relation to this healthy competition?”

  “Is that what you’re getting at? A motive for murder? Money?”

  “I asked a simple question.”

  “If you breathe one word of this to anyone . . . these preposterous theories. I play Santa Claus. I can’t be painted as a murder suspect. Are you trying to ruin our Christmas too?”

  “No. I’m trying to catch a killer.”

  “How many times are you going to say that?”

  “As many as necessary.”

  He sighed. “Good luck to you. I wish I could help.�
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  “Where were you at intermission?”

  “We didn’t move from our seats. I wanted to be close to the action when Paddy got dunked.”

  “I thought you said you were looking at nutcrackers?”

  He cried out and banged the table with his fist. The bartender stopped polishing a glass and glanced over. Barry held up his hand as if indicating he was alright.

  What do they all think? That I’m going to accost Santa Claus midafternoon during tea?

  He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’ve had quite enough.”

  “Enough of what?”

  “You’re confusing me. Trying to trap me.”

  “If you need more time to answer, then take it. I’m trying to ascertain the facts.”

  He sighed. “I know I was in my seat during most of the intermission. The wife went out to look at the nutcrackers. Truthfully, I was waiting because I wanted to be the first to dunk him.”

  That was the first thing out of his gob that had rung true. It meant he had been sitting close to the tent, facing the entrance. “Did you see anyone go in and out of the tent?”

  “The elf,” he answered right away.

  “Did you see him go in or out?”

  “I saw him roll in on top of the tank, and a few minutes later he dashed out.”

  “Did you pay attention to where he went?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him come back?”

  “No. By then, we were watching you and those dogs with antlers. Did he do that because I brought in live reindeer from Wales last year?”

  “I don’t know.” He so did.

  “It wasn’t easy getting them here, I tell ya that. If only they could really fly.” He winked. He certainly sounded proud of himself.

  “You didn’t see anyone else enter or leave the tent?”

  He stroked his beard. It was long, and white, and it was the real deal. “I can ask the missus, but I only saw the elf. I tell ya, that was more like a circus than a Christmas celebration. My reindeer were the talk of the town. I was on the news. What was he thinking?”

  The rivalry definitely wasn’t as one-sided as Barry Callaghan wanted her to believe. Some adults never stopped being children at heart. She suddenly didn’t know what else to ask. Two years at Templemore Garda College and there hadn’t been any tips on interrogating a narcissistic Santa. She jotted her digits down on a piece of paper and slid it over to him. In the new year she’d have proper calling cards. “If you think of anything else, let me know.”

  “If there’s anything else I can do . . . Would you like me to visit Kilbane as Santa this year?”

  “I don’t think that would go over very well.”

  He sighed. “I suppose not. Please give my sympathies to Eileen, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll walk you back to that pink scooter.” They headed out. When they arrived at her scooter, he seemed to be checking it out. “Did Santa bring you that?”

  “No,” she said. “My paycheck did.”

  He grinned. “I’d say second to flying reindeer, that’s a very nice ride.”

  As she motored away, she noticed Mrs. Claus run up to her husband and cling to him. The two of them stayed, heads bent toward each other, whispering and glancing her way. Siobhán hated to say it, but there was no way she could cross Santa and Mrs. Claus off her naughty list.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re to watch only,” Sergeant O’Reilly said to Siobhán as they stood outside the crime scene, donning paper booties and gloves. The square was still closed to the town, cordoned off with yellow tape. They were about to enter Santa’s tent. Every object in the tent had already been photographed and bagged as evidence, including every teakettle. There hadn’t been any snow that evening, and the square was made of cobblestone, so footprints would be impossible to find. O’Reilly had guards in the process of pulling all the CCTV cameras from nearby to see if any of them caught anyone going in and out of the tent. Paddy’s body was covered in a sheet. Unfortunately, it had to remain where it lay until Jeanie Brady, the state pathologist, arrived from Dublin to declare it a crime scene. The only thing they could do was drain the dunk tank to see if there were any clues to be found within. Samples of the water had already come back clean. No poison. The blood was confirmed to be Paddy’s.

  Once they removed the tent and mapped where they would allow the water to drain, special glass cutters had been delivered to cut holes into the tank. As Siobhán watched, she felt a squeeze of pity for Paddy. Despite his mental instability, he’d gone to a lot of trouble to come up with this dunk tank. The scent of cocoa filled the air, making the task deceptively sweet. Cocoa snaked through the cobblestones like a meandering creek. When it was drained, there was nothing to see but the Santa cap, and a vibrant blue paint chip. It had survived in a tucked away crevice, and the color had not faded away. The hue was unique. Everyone stared at it.

  “Something blue,” Sergeant O’Reilly said.

  “Would you call that sky blue?” a guard asked.

  “Aqua,” someone else offered.

  “Teal,” Siobhán said.

  Sergeant O’Reilly shook his head. “Are we done spinning the color wheel?”

  “Does it mean something?” a guard finally asked.

  “It could be from the murder weapon,” Siobhán said. “And in that case it means we can narrow down our search until we match the color.” She hesitated, knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to resist. “Which I believe is teal.”

  O’Reilly pushed past her. “Let’s bag it, see if we can figure out where it came from.” They searched the rest of the tent and the surrounding area, but found nothing that matched the blue chip of paint. O’Reilly bagged it, and Siobhán asked permission to take a photo. He sighed. “If you must.” She snapped a picture with her phone. “Let’s process the shed. All we can do after that is wait for the state pathologist.”

  Inside the shed they found the pile of raw bones. O’Reilly pointed at them. “Bag the bones and take them to the shop,” he said. “See if Ed remembers who bought them and when.”

  “Me?” She hadn’t meant to sound so surprised.

  “You said you wanted to help.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then take the bones to the shop.”

  “Do you want them back?”

  “They’re in evidence bags, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop calling me sir.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  He tipped his hat and walked away. She headed for the butcher’s.

  * * *

  Once again, the butcher shop was jammers as folks vied for their holiday meals. Dave Healy was at the register checking out customers as Ed handled the product. Siobhán had to wait off to the side until the shop emptied out, a brief lull before the next wave.

  “I have a feeling you’re not here for more rashers this soon,” Ed said.

  Siobhán smiled. “I’m afraid not. I’m helping out Detective Sergeant O’Reilly and he wanted to know if you sold Paddy O’Shea a half a dozen raw bones.” She produced the evidence bag by her side and held it up. “These bones.”

  Ed Healy squinted. “No.” He wrapped a package of rashers as he spoke. Siobhán wished she were at home having brekkie with her brood. “Must be Dooley’s purchase.”

  “I just spoke with Cormac Dooley and he showed me the bones he purchased. Someone else bought these.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t identify customers from the bones of the meat I sell.”

  When he put it that way, it did sound ridiculous. But this was a small shop. He’d been in business for over thirty years. He was an old-fashioned man who had never embraced the Internet or smartphones. But he had a wicked memory. He knew who came in, and what they ordered, especially a dozen dog bones purchased only a few days ago. He was being dodgy. “These aren’t from your shop?”

  “I sell those, yes. But I didn’t sell them to Paddy.�
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  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because he hasn’t been in here since we had a falling-out.”

  Siobhán stepped forward. “A falling-out?” This was the first she’d heard of it. “What happened?”

  Ed threw a weary glance to his brother, Dave. “Can you handle the shop for a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  He took off his gloves, threw them away, then wiped his hands on his apron and motioned for Siobhán to follow him out the back door to their garden. She smiled at Dave as she passed, but he wasn’t looking at her. She got the feeling he wasn’t happy she was here to question his brother. Perhaps once she was a guard, no one would ever be happy to see her again.

  The back garden was overgrown with weeds. An old shopping cart was abandoned in the middle of the yard, and had been overtaken by plants and vines. Cigarette butts were dropped on the ground. She was grateful Ed always wore rubber gloves when handling the meat.

  Ed sighed. “What I am about to tell you stays between us.”

  “If by us you mean the guards, and whatever we need to do about the information, then yes.”

  “Paddy owed me money. A lot of money.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “They are proud people, the O’Sheas. Too proud. Eileen didn’t want to admit Paddy was deteriorating. But I could see it. Anyone could. Skin and bones, and usually raving about something.”

  “He would come into the shop like that?”

  “He wouldn’t come into the shop at all. Eileen would. And for the past several years I was keeping her tab.”

  “My.” Several years? She could only imagine how much they owed. It was very nice of Ed. He had a big heart. “And then Paddy found out?”

  He stared at a cigarette butt on the ground like he longed for it. “Not exactly.”