“The clerk at the antique shop.”
“We have no report on file about a missing figurine. Is that it?”
She couldn’t believe he wanted to ignore everything she’d just learned. Is every day going to be like this? Is it because I’m new? “Parrots mimic what they hear.”
“He heard it on telly, then, like she said.”
“What about Cormac Dooley?”
“I told you I don’t have a report about the item in question. If we have proof that he stole it, if you learn who this mysterious woman is, or if a figurine turns up, we’ll make sure it’s returned to this mysterious owner and he’s charged with theft.”
“It’s possible he’s the murderer.”
“He’s the size of a child. Paddy was hit on the back of the head. The only way it was him is if he carried a ladder in, along with the nutcracker, and somehow set it up and climbed up on it right behind Paddy without him turning around.” He had a very good point, and Siobhán felt like a right eejit. “Anything else?”
“What else do you need from me?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“I see.”
He sighed. “You start in the new year. You have a rare chance to enjoy the holidays without the stress of this job. Go. Enjoy it.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” She left the office, not at all enthused about being ordered to enjoy the holidays. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him about the parrot.
On her way home Siobhán tried to follow orders. She commanded herself to enjoy the decorations in the windows, the garland-wrapped street lamps, the feel of Christmas in the air, but she couldn’t help but ruminate over the case. If only they could figure out where the killer stashed the murder weapon. Had the nutcracker been tossed? Buried? Cleaned up and stuck back on a shelf? Was this all because of a possible hundred-thousand-euro prize?
Was there any way Cormac Dooley could have struck Paddy on the back of the head without Santa first turning around? He hadn’t been found with headphones or a radio. Loud music playing while he worked could have drowned out the approach of the killer. Could the elf have perched on the diving-board portion of the dunk tank? It seemed far-fetched, and he would have had to have knelt on the diving board and reached forward to strike Paddy. Required coordination, but it was plausible.
O’Reilly wanted her to stay out of it.
She could either stay out of it or find a way to speak with Cormac Dooley. She definitely shouldn’t have mentioned the parrot.
* * *
A man was standing in front of Naomi’s Bistro, staring at the CLOSED sign. As she drew closer, she saw that it was Dave Healy. He was holding a bag from the butcher shop. He turned and nodded on her approach. “How ya?”
“Grand, how are you?”
“Ah, I’m alright. Ed wanted me to drop off those chops he promised you.”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“We’re very grateful you found Adam’s pup.”
“So am I.” She opened the door and gestured for Dave to enter. Eoin was stoking the fire. She handed him the bag. “Do you mind putting these in the fridge?”
“Chops,” Eoin said. “Deadly.” He grinned at Dave.
“What have you done with your siblings?” Siobhán asked her brother.
“James is at a meeting. Gráinne took the young ones door-to-door.”
“Door-to-door?”
“They’re recruiting Santas.”
“Pardon?”
“Gráinne’s idea. She wants to audition Santa Clauses.”
“You’re kidding?” She prayed he was kidding. It was hard to tell with Eoin—he had a fabulous poker face.
“I think she plans on holding the auditions here after brekkie tomorrow.”
“Here?”
“She said it would also be good for business.”
“She did, did she?”
“They even made flyers.” He nodded to the counter. Siobhán went over and picked one up: BRUNCH WITH PROSPECTIVE SANTAS.
Siobhán groaned. “Tomorrow?” It was going to be hard to relax and get ready for Christmas with prospective Santas being grilled by Gráinne.
“The job does need filling right away.”
Siobhán sighed. “I wish someone would keep me in the loop.”
“I just did.” Eoin took the box and ambled into the kitchen.
She turned to Dave. “Sounds interesting,” he said. “I’ll bring Adam.” He turned and glanced at the entrance.
“We should have a ramp,” Siobhán said. “But in the past we’ve managed by carrying Adam in, and then folding the wheelchair and carrying it up separately.”
“That will do.”
As soon as they had funds, she would hire a contractor and look into what it would take to make the bistro accessible to wheelchairs. These older buildings had narrow entries, but maybe one could be set up in the back. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Dave removed his hat and stroked his head. “If it’s no bother.”
“No bother at all. Do sit.”
Dave chose a table near the fireplace and sat rigidly. He wasn’t used to social calls. “I’ve been hearing quite a bit about your brown bread,” he said.
Siobhán laughed. “I’ll get you a slice with your tea.”
He smiled. “Much obliged.”
They sat with their tea and brown bread, and filled the space with the polite conversation of strangers. He lavished praise on her brown bread, which wasn’t necessary, for his plate with nary a crumb told the story. “Is the winter carnival still being held in the town square?”
“Heavens, no. We’re moving to the abbey.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding somewhat puzzled. “I suppose he was just gathering his things, then.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Too late now,” Siobhán said, doing her best to sound cheerful. “Out with it.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, Dave Healy was actually squirming. “I saw the elf running around in there.”
“Running around?”
“He seemed very busy. That’s why I wondered if the carnival was still happening.”
“When was this?”
“Just before I arrived.”
Siobhán stood. So did Dave.
“Dear me,” he said. “Should I have said something sooner?”
“It’s a crime scene. We can’t have anyone scurrying around.” Should she call O’Reilly, or just pop over there herself? It had been made quite clear they were using every guard on duty. If she sent them, and the elf was nowhere to be seen, she’d catch the blame. “I hope you understand I must go and have a look.”
“Of course, of course. I thought you didn’t begin your work as a guard until the new year.”
“Good memory. For a case this serious they’ve brought me in early.”
They headed for the door. “The poor fellow was obviously not in his right mind,” Dave said. “May he rest in peace.”
“Yes,” Siobhán said. She wouldn’t rest. Not until she found his killer. “Give my love to Adam and be sure to thank Ed for the chops.”
“Will do. And I’ll be back in for more of that brown bread.”
“Anytime.” She turned, and began jogging for the square.
Chapter Eleven
The carnival was no longer cordoned off with crime scene tape, which meant the guards had finished processing the scene. Even so, there was no sign of an elf . . . “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse . . .”
The dunk tank had been drained and taken to a warehouse, just outside of town, and the tent had been taken down. Now only a mound of teakettles was left in the spot where the tent stood. Hot chocolate tins had been found among the kettles. They were pretty tins, a cocoa color, of course, outlined in gold. It was a pity the tins were evidence as well, for they made nice keepsakes. As a girl she used to love engaging in craft projects. She should be sitting down with Ann and Ciarán, making orname
nts for the tree or cookies. She would make a point of carving out time. There seemed to be so little of it. Much less for some than for others. Death had a way of forcing you to embrace life. “What happened to you, Paddy?” she said softly. “Who did this?”
If the elf had been here, there was no crime in it; the guards were finished with the scene. But that didn’t help her from wondering what he was doing here. Dave Healy said he’d been scurrying around. That sounded like someone in a panic. She headed back to the bistro. She needed her scooter. It was time to pay another visit to Cormac Dooley.
* * *
Christmas lights were down from his windows and along the roof. The snowman in the yard was now a puddle of plastic on the ground. Even as she parked the scooter, and ran back to the workshop, she knew that he was gone. As expected, the workshop was empty. Not a stitch was left in it. She ran up to the cottage and pounded on the door for good measure. Silence greeted her. Where are his dogs?
She looked in the one window where the curtain was parted. It was empty. Not just quiet, but bare to the bones. Not a single rug, sofa, or chair. Cormac Dooley was on the run. He’d need to pawn those items. She picked up her mobile, as this did require a call to the guards. But what was her excuse for being here in the first place? A social call with one of their top suspects? O’Reilly said to let him follow up on the figurine, so that excuse was out the window. She’d have to come clean about Dave Healy’s visit and mentioning seeing Dooley in the square. She’d have to admit that led her to Dooley’s cottage to check it out. No harm in that. Hardly investigating at all. She picked up her mobile and called the detective sergeant.
* * *
“I don’t have time to be cross with you,” O’Reilly said. “But I did warn all of our suspects not to leave town, so I’ll send guards over to his place.”
“He’s gone.”
“I heard you the first time.”
Siobhán ignored the comment. “If he’s running away and he’s our thief, he’s going to need to sell his items. I think I know where he’ll be doing that.”
“The antique dealer in Charlesville?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he go back there if the clerk turned him away in the first place?”
“I don’t think our clerk is as honest as he’d like us to think. He wouldn’t give me the name of the woman missing the figurine.”
“You think he wants it for himself?”
“It’s as good a reason as any.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Either he was telling the truth, and he’ll talk to me if I look official, or he’s going to pay Cormac Dooley for the figurine.”
O’Reilly sighed. “You couldn’t stay out of it, could you?”
“His eyes practically glowed when he talked about that figurine. I think he plans on buying it from the elf, unless we stop him.”
“I’ll talk to the Charlesville guards. We should let the sale go through and then arrest them both. Normally good citizens turning bad over greed angers me almost as much as the hardened criminals.”
O’Reilly was showing a rare moment of emotion, and this time his anger wasn’t directed at her. He edged up a notch in Siobhán’s eyes. “In the meantime, I’m going to get you a uniform—it might not be the right fit yet—but let’s send you back to stake out the antique shop, and this time you’ll have your credentials. I will see if I can get a temporary ID for you as well.”
“Thank you.”
“You won’t be thanking me if you fail.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” She hung up the phone and felt a slight sense of relief. He’d finally believed her about something. But he’d meant it, if she failed, he wouldn’t be so quick to support her again. Not the best way to start out her career as a guard. One way or another, she was going to get something useful from the antique clerk, maybe even catch a runaway elf.
* * *
Siobhán felt like a total eejit as she traversed the passageway between the antique shop and the flat next to it in her ill-fitting uniform. The jacket was too short. The pants were too big and too long. She had to roll them up, and they kept coming down. The white blouse was her own, so she was good there, and the garda cap, with the An Garda Síochána gold emblem, was class. The passageway was only a few feet wide, but from here she could see the footpath in front of the antique shop. Hopefully, she would catch Cormac Dooley if he entered. The Charlesville Guards were not keen on staking out one of their locals, but if Cormac entered the shop, Siobhán was to alert them, and they would presumably show up. It sounded like a bad plan to her, but the truth was that Cormac might be long gone by now. Still, she had her mobile out and was ready to send the text. As she waited, she was reminded how exciting stakeouts sounded compared to how mind-numbingly boring they actually were. She had to stare at the footpath, watching bundled-up locals passing by, wishing she’d brought chocolates and a bag of crisps. She still hadn’t done her Christmas shopping. She hated that she wanted to buy something for Macdara. Was he thinking about her too? Or was his life in Dublin so fabulous there was no room for the past? She doubted that. Then again, he’d done a pretty good job of staying away from her these past two years. Two years. She really had to move on. She was doing it. Granted, she was doing it in an outfit that looked more suited for a costume party than a day at work, but by the new year she’d make sure she had a uniform that fit.
An hour later she was shivering from the cold, and bored out of her mind. No wonder O’Reilly gave her this assignment. It wasn’t because he believed in her—it was because no one wanted to stand in a passageway freezing for hours on end. She was tired of singing “Jingle Bells” in her head, and yet she couldn’t stop. “Dashing through the snow . . . ”
Snow . . .
Snow!
It was snowing! Was she hallucinating? Is that what happened when you started to lose all feeling in your fingertips? She really should have remembered gloves. It was true. Little white flakes were falling from the sky. She wanted to whoop with joy. And just as she thought it, a child on the footpath did it for her. Everyone stopped and craned their necks upward and the word started passing from person to person. “Snow!”
“It’s snowing!”
“A white Christmas.”
It was that second, the second that Siobhán allowed herself to look up, that she made her first big mistake. Just as she stopped staring at the flakes, she caught a streak of green headed for the door of the antique shop. It was either a child dressed in green or it was Cormac Dooley still in his elf costume. Perhaps he thought he looked innocent in it. No one would suspect him of anything devious. By the time she noticed him flying by, the door to the shop had already slammed shut with a bang. She gripped her mobile. If it wasn’t him, she’d look like an idiot. She needed to verify first. Should she sneak in through the front of the antique shop, or try to catch Dooley making a run for it out the back?
If she entered through the front, she’d be spotted in seconds in her garda uniform. How long would Cormac stay in the shop if it was him? She needed a disguise. Her eyes landed on a shop across the street. There it was, in the window. A mannequin. Dressed like Santa. She’d never had the urge to play the legendary character. But she had to get into that store without being recognized. She hurried across the street, wishing she could take a few moments to frolic in the first snowfall they’d had in years.
* * *
The bell dinged as Siobhán entered the antique shop, dressed in her Santy outfit. Just ahead, at the counter, Cormac Dooley was accepting an envelope from the clerk. Then he turned and began to walk to the back exit of the shop. Maybe she’d chosen the wrong option.
“Stop!” Siobhán called. She almost yelled out that she was a guard. But when Cormac turned and saw Santa, the elf in him must have reacted out of instinct, for he did stop. He cocked his head and waited. What am I supposed to do now? The Santa costume was so bulky, it would take quite a bit of fumbling to reach her mobile; by then, the elf would
have caught on.
“You’re needed down the street,” she said, trying to disguise her voice as a man’s. She wasn’t too bad, if she did say so herself, maybe she should have been in the Christmas panto.
“Do I know you?”
“Everyone knows me.”
Cormac frowned.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she added.
“I’m retired,” he said, then turned to go.
“You’ll be letting down children,” Siobhán said. “It’s less than an hour of your time. I’ll pay you.”
He hesitated again. Siobhán was now moving closer. “It’s snowing, and what better time for Santa and his elf to make an appearance?”
He looked up at Siobhán, as if trying to get a good look at her face. The clerk watched them pensively. She could see the figurine on the shelf behind him. He knew it was stolen and he didn’t care. This was not the Christmas spirit. The clerk wasn’t an innocent bystander, that’s why he wouldn’t tell her the name of the woman who owned the figurine. What is wrong with these people?
“I was a good friend of Paddy’s,” Siobhán said. “’Tis a shame what happened to him.”
The elf started, and then bolted for the back door. Siobhán kicked into high gear. Dooley knocked a coatrack into the aisle. Siobhán hopped over it. He shoved over a wooden shelf, sending it crashing down in front of her. Books, vases, and knickknacks careened across the floor. The clerk screamed. Cormac threw open the back door and disappeared as a gust of wind blew snow into the shop. Siobhán fumbled for her mobile as she stepped over the debris and kept running. It was a contest between wanting to catch up with Dooley and needing to call for backup. She made the call, yelled into the phone, and then hung up before they could respond. They would either show, or they wouldn’t, and the elf was getting away.
Chapter Twelve
In the passageway behind the shop she could either go left or right. Footprints in the snow led left and she was about to follow them, when she noticed the same footprints off to the right. The sneaky little elf had tried to trick her. She looked to her right and caught a glimpse of a green-tasseled cap ducking behind a parked car on the next street. She took off at a run. Snow was beautiful, but slippery. As she reached the end of the passageway, she slid, her arms became windmills flailing to keep her balance. She landed on her arse with a thud in the middle of the street.
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