Christmas Cocoa Murder

by Carlene O'Connor

  “Santa!” she heard someone yell, and for a moment she wondered where Santa was. Then she remembered she was Santa. She hated the job already. Dooley peeked out from behind the parked car. Siobhán scrambled to her feet, slipping a few more times as she made her way to him. He took off again, running down the footpath. But this time Siobhán wasn’t far behind and her legs were much longer. Her running habit paid off. She overtook him, grabbing him and bringing him down.

  “Who are you?” he said as he squirmed underneath her.

  “Father Christmas,” she said in her own voice.

  “Bah, humbug,” he said.

  “You’re going to be arrested,” she said. “What I need to know is, will theft be your only charge, or did you kill Paddy O’Shea?”

  “Me?” he sputtered. “Kill Santa? You take that back!” Although she was sitting on top of him, he began to pummel his fists. “He was good to me. He didn’t turn me in. Unlike some people.”

  “He was going to turn you in to the guards for stealing?”

  “I’m not the thief! I was trying to do a good deed.”

  “Nice story, blaming Santa when he’s not here to defend himself.”

  The elf stopped fighting her. “It’s not Santa,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “If I tell you, do you swear to go easy?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t tell.”

  Siobhán’s mind reeled. Either he was lying or . . . he was protecting someone else. Someone like . . . Mrs. Claus . . .” Eileen,” Siobhán said. “Eileen O’Shea is the thief.”

  She let up on Cormac, then stuck out her hand to help him up. He hesitated, then took it. She took off the Santa cap and brushed back her hair.

  “You,” Cormac said. After brushing himself off, he sighed and met Siobhán’s gaze. “Yes. She has a problem. Paddy found out what she did and ordered me to return the gifts.”

  “He didn’t tell you they were donated and asked you to sell them?”

  “That was Mrs. Claus.”

  “Why did you lie?”

  “Because she’s not a killer. I thought if I told you the truth, you would think she was.”

  “Leave the investigating to the guards.” Siobhán recalled what Ed Healy said about the O’Sheas’ dire financial situation. Is that why she was stealing?

  “Who stole the dogs?”

  “That was all Paddy. He’d been given some free chops by Ed Healy, and when he was finished, he got the idea of luring dogs to the square with bones. Using them as reindeer.”

  “Why didn’t he just ask the owners? I’m sure they would have volunteered their pups.”

  “He thought success hinged on the element of surprise. He was crazed trying to make the winter carnival perfect.”

  And it got him killed . . . Why? “Do you know of anyone who had reason to kill him?”

  The elf looked away.

  “Eileen?” Siobhán said. “But you just insisted she didn’t do it.”

  “That was before.”

  Siobhán took a step forward. “Before?”

  Dooley crossed his arms. “I don’t want to think it.”

  “Go on.”

  “They had financial difficulties. Paddy recently bought a hefty insurance policy.”

  Siobhán didn’t have time to process what that could mean. Sirens wailed closer. The guards were almost here. She had more questions for Dooley. “A little birdie told me an argument broke out at the Callaghans’. What was that about?”

  Cormac sighed. “Barry Callaghan heard about the stolen figurine from the antique dealer downstairs. Like everyone else, they accused Paddy of being a thief.”

  “The parrot said, ‘What have you done?’ ”

  “That was Barry. He was horrified that another Santa would be stealing from homes.”

  “Who said, ‘I’ll kill you’?”

  “Paddy. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have Barry going around accusing him of being a thief.”

  “One more question.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Why were you rooting through the town square earlier?”

  His eyebrow shot up. “I wasn’t.”

  “Someone saw you.”

  “They didn’t see me. Or he or she was lying.”

  “Why would a person lie about that?”

  “You’re the detective. You figure it out.”

  Siobhán opened her mouth to say she wasn’t a detective, but she was interrupted by the approach of the Charlesville Guards.

  “We’ll take it from here.”

  Siobhán stepped back. “Just tell them the truth,” she said as they started to lead Cormac away.

  “By the way, Garda O’Sullivan,” he called over his shoulder. “Paddy brought one more item into the tent that evening. One his dear wife had stolen. Twice.”

  “What?”

  The guards were opening the doors to their car and ushering him in. The doors shut. The guards got in. The window came down slightly and she could just see the elf’s eyes. He lifted his mouth to call out the window. “A nutcracker with a teal head.”

  Teal. She knew it was teal.

  * * *

  O’Rourke’s was a welcoming place at any time, but Siobhán was never more grateful for it and her brood than this moment. She had done her duty, and had caught the elf. The figurine would be returned to its rightful owner. Eileen O’Shea would be brought in for questioning, and O’Reilly swore he’d look into the insurance policy, and the nutcracker she’d stolen. Something was gnawing at her about the nutcracker, and Siobhán was itching to stay involved, but O’Reilly wasn’t having it. She was left with no choice but to try and enjoy herself, and having drinks and a bite at O’Rourke’s was just what Father Christmas ordered. Declan delivered her an Irish version of the hot cocoa, which was so delicious it should be a sin. For a few moments the table was filled with normal chatter of the snow—and because James didn’t drink, and Gráinne was the only one besides Siobhán old enough to partake in Declan’s Irish hot cocoa, the sisters were enjoying a special bond. That didn’t mean the others were left out. Declan had made versions of hot cocoa for them with a hearty dose of whipped cream without the alcohol. They raised their mugs and toasted.

  “Sláinte!”

  “I want to go sledding and build a snowman,” Ciarán said. Declan had a turf fire going just behind them, and Ciarán’s eyes glowed from the reflection.

  “I don’t think we’re to get more than a dusting,” Siobhán said. “But at the abbey they may be setting up the snow machine.”

  “Yes!”

  The rest of the O’Sullivans laughed at his enthusiasm and he didn’t even grumble when several hands went to ruffle his mop of red hair.

  “Liam’s has some nice paint sets,” Ann said. “And lovely paper.”

  “Do they, now?” James said with a grin. He glanced at Siobhán. “Do you think Santy is listening?”

  “I think he’s listening, alright,” Siobhán said, taking out her biro and notepad. “Who else has noticed lovely things around lately?”

  Her brood happily started reciting their wish lists. Siobhán was relieved when nobody asked for a nutcracker.

  She stole it twice. That’s what the elf had said. Or something close to it. What did he mean by that? She stole it once from Aideen Callaghan . . . Wait, didn’t Aideen say that Eileen and Paddy O’Shea had given her the nutcracker? What if Paddy had given it to her, and Eileen had stolen it? That meant they were regifting something that had already been stolen. But from whom? Who is the original owner of that nutcracker?

  “What about you?” James said, interrupting Siobhán’s meanderings. “What do you want for Christmas?”

  Macdara Flannery. His name popped into her head before she could stop it. She wanted to call him and ask him about the case. Or e-mail him. It wasn’t possible that he hadn’t heard about the murder. And he’d stayed out of it. She, for one, wasn’t going to drag him back in. She never t
hought it possible that they would stop speaking to one another. “Maybe a new pair of runners,” she said. So many bad guys to chase after.

  “That’s it?” Gráinne said, eyeing her up and down. “I’d say an entirely new wardrobe and accessories for starters.”

  Her brood laughed, and Siobhán opened her mouth to protest, then realized Gráinne had a point. “Surprise me,” she said. Gráinne rubbed her hands together and her brood laughed again.

  As her siblings started to chat, Siobhán took in the pub. The snow had driven in the crowds, and the atmosphere was surprisingly jovial. All but one corner was lit up in chatter and laughter. In that one corner a woman sat, hunched over her table. It took Siobhán a minute to recognize Eileen O’Shea. Were the guards finished with her already, or did they not believe the elf? So much for O’Reilly believing me. If she had been in charge, she would already have Eileen in for questioning. They were pinning it on the elf, taking the easy way. It was true that Cormac Dooley could have been lying. He’d done it before. Had they learned there was no insurance policy and dropped the rest of the inquiry on her? Or were they too afraid to grill Mrs. Claus at Christmas?

  Siobhán glanced at her again. Eileen was in a back booth, with a bottle of half-empty whiskey. She seemed to be muttering to herself.

  “Excuse me,” Siobhán said. She headed up to Declan first. “How long has she been like that?”

  Declan sighed as he ran a rag over the counter. “She’s been here for ages. I watered half the bottle down when she wasn’t looking. But she refuses my offer for a ride home. I tried getting some folks in here to cheer her up, but she turned them away. Then I tried to see if she wanted to speak with Father Kearney. I tell ya, I never thought I’d hear such words come out of Mrs. Claus at Christmastime. I’ve decided to let her be. If you’re thinking of going over there, I’d say have another Irish cocoa and think on it some more.”

  Siobhán sighed, her mind coming back to the insurance policy. Couples bought insurance; it didn’t mean they were murderers. But somebody had to ask her about it, and at this moment that somebody was Siobhán. At the very least the grieving widow looked like she needed some comfort. She headed over to Eileen’s table. “Hello,” she said softly. “May I sit down?”

  Eileen’s head snapped up. Her eyes were tinged with red. “I told you Paddy said that elf had sticky fingers! And yet you blamed my Paddy! And now he’s blaming me!” So the guards had at least spoken with her.

  Siobhán sat down. “I have to keep my options open,” she said quietly. “It’s me job.”

  “We all know that’s a bunch of malarkey. You’re just like everyone else in this town. Kick a man when he’s down, even if it’s Santa Claus.” Her white hair, usually in a neat bun, fell over her face; her housedress looked as if she’d been wearing it for days; her winter coat was sewn and mended at the elbows.

  “He did take the dogs,” Siobhán said softly.

  “He was going to give them back.”

  “I know,” Siobhán said. There was too much shame around mental illness. Had Santa Claus come down with a physical ailment, everyone would have rallied around him, and then some. “If you want to come to the bistro for tea or coffee—”

  Eileen lifted her bottle of whiskey. “I’m sorted.”

  “You’re not going to find any peace at the bottom of a bottle,” Siobhán said. “We’re just next door, if you change your mind.”

  “I’m getting out of this town.” She poured herself another drink, sloshing most onto the table. “As soon as I get a few things sorted.”

  Like the insurance policy? If the guards were still researching it, they would have Siobhán’s head for alerting her. “You won’t be able to leave until we’ve finished our investigation, but when you go, I wish you well.”

  “Are you saying I’m under investigation?”

  “Everyone is under investigation in a murder probe. I know it’s frustrating, but if you want us to catch the killer, you’ll cooperate so that we can eliminate you.”

  “It’s not enough my husband is dead, you want to nail me for it, is that it?”

  Siobhán stood, then hesitated. Declan came over to the table with a plate of chicken fingers and chips. “It’s on me, luv,” he said. Eileen barely glanced at it. Everyone in town had been kind to her. Ed Healy had kept her tab. Declan had probably been feeding her. And if Cormac Dooley was telling the truth, then both the elf and Santa had tried to protect her reputation when they learned she was stealing.

  “Cormac said your husband had brought a nutcracker into the tent. One with a teal head. He said it had been stolen twice.” She managed not to say who had been accused of stealing it twice. “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I know nothing. And you shouldn’t believe a word that elf says.”

  “If you change your mind, I’m ready to listen. I know what it’s like to have your world fall apart. I know what it’s like to not know how you can afford to keep living a life you’ve grown accustomed to.”

  Eileen looked up, her eyes swimming with pain.

  “I heard about the argument when you went to visit the Callaghans.”

  Eileen’s face scrunched into rage. “Barry laughed at Paddy’s winter carnival. Said he couldn’t wait to see him fail. Said he had big money riding on it. Paddy lost his mind. Threatened to kill Barry. He was only ranting and raving, it didn’t mean anything. But what if Barry believed it and killed me Paddy first?”

  “And the nutcracker?”

  Eileen let out a sigh and her shoulders slumped. “After the argument I stole it back from Mrs. Callaghan. Paddy gave it to them as a housewarming gift.” She sniffed. “That woman didn’t deserve it. I took it back is all.”

  “Who did you steal it from in the first place?”

  Her eyes flicked away, then back at Siobhán. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was sitting next to the register at the butcher’s. The place was jammers and nobody was paying attention. It could have belonged to anyone in the crowd. Nobody noticed when I took it.”

  “Paddy noticed.”

  She sighed. “Yes, Paddy noticed. I told him I couldn’t return it, because I didn’t know whose it was.”

  “Did you open the bottom latch?”

  Eileen bit her lip.

  Siobhán stepped forward. “Eileen?”

  “It doesn’t matter now! It’s gone!”

  Siobhán sank into the booth and grabbed Eileen’s hand. “This is very important. Did Paddy bring that nutcracker to the panto, knowing there was a shining star inside worth a hundred thousand euro?”

  Tears filled Eileen’s eyes. “We needed the money. He should have listened to me.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “He insisted we were going to find out who it belonged to. I told him there was no way of doing that. Once they found out it was the winner, everyone would say it was theirs.”

  Siobhán stood. She leaned in. “Drink some water. Sober up. I don’t think you killed your husband. Go to the guards and tell them everything you told me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t you worry about that.” Siobhán was headed to Annmarie’s shop to see if there was a way of validating that Kilbane had received the winning nutcracker. Worth a hundred thousand euro. Eileen O’Shea may have stolen the winner. And, in retaliation, this winner had extracted much more than a chicken dinner.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Not even the craftsman knows where the winning nutcracker was sent,” Annmarie said. “No one has claimed the prize yet, but that’s to be expected.” Siobhán was in Annmarie’s shop purchasing accessories for Gráinne and Ann. Annmarie’s nutcrackers were sold out. She couldn’t help but think of the shining star that resided in one of them, and how this year it may have guided a killer to his victim.

  “Because presumably the winner will open it on Christmas Day,” Siobhán said.

 
“Presumably?” Annmarie arched an eyebrow.

  “There’s nothing to stop someone from purchasing the nutcracker as a gift, opening the seal to see if they have the winnings, before they stick the seal back on and give the nutcracker as a gift.”

  Annmarie sighed. “You make me sad.” She said nothing else, proving to Siobhán that sad or not, she couldn’t refute that someone would do that. Nor was there anything illegal about it. Grinches and Scrooges could be found in every corner of the world. “Do you really think the winning nutcracker is right here in Kilbane and it was a motive for murder?”

  “What do you know about the people who set up this contest?” Siobhán already knew a few things about them. They were total eejits for not developing a better system to protect the nutcrackers. Or they had a naive-like devotion to the good in human beings during the holiday season. Someone had to say it. Bah, humbug.

  “Only that they’re handmade in Sligo.”

  “What are the steps if one finds a shining star in their nutcracker?”

  “First, the star is unique. Only the craftsman can verify the true winning star. She’s agreed to travel to the winner to verify, and write them a check for a hundred thousand euro.”

  “She?”

  “The craftsman is a woman.”

  “You know her?” Annmarie looked away. Siobhán stepped forward. “This is important.”

  “I’ve been buying from her for years.”

  “How did you first hear about her?”

  Annmarie chewed on her lip. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Go on.”

  “I really don’t think it’s important.”

  “Let me do the thinking.” Annmarie frowned. Siobhán grabbed her hand. “I swear. If it’s not important to the investigation, I won’t breathe a word.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  “Ed Healy recommended her work years ago.”

  “Ed Healy?”

  Annmarie nodded. “On one of his visits to Dave, they went to her shop. He said she was very talented and thought her work would sell well in Kilbane. He was right. I’ve been ordering from her ever since.”