Death of an Irish Mummy

by Catie Murphy

  “I’ll wait with the car. If there’s anything you need, please call.”

  “Of course,” Raquel said hoarsely. “I had the most awful dream, Megan. I dreamed we weren’t friends anymore and you weren’t going to drive us.”

  Megan said, “Um,” and smiled. “Good thing it wasn’t real.”

  Raquel’s visible relief lasted until Sondra, frigidly, said, “Tell us what happened, Raquel,” and herded her sisters into the hotel room with her tone of voice alone. Megan, caught between relief and disappointment, watched the door close to exclude her. The temptation to press her ear against the door teased her. Amused at herself, she found the nearest staircase and trotted downstairs, dictating a text into her phone. “So the sisters arrived and it turns out they really don’t get along. Oldest wasn’t talking to Mom, youngest thinks everybody hates oldest, and Raquel is in bits.”

  The phone’s voice recognition did it pretty well, except Raquel is in bits turned into Brooke Allison Betts. Megan, correcting that, couldn’t help grin and wonder who Brooke Allison Betts was, and how the poor woman tied in to the Williamses’ sisters’ drama. She sent the text to Bourke and had barely settled into the Lincoln when her phone rang. Raquel Williams quavering voice came over the line. “Megan? We were wondering if you would drive us—”

  “Of course she will,” Sondra snapped in the background, so clearly that Megan thought Raquel must have her on speakerphone. “She’s being paid to do what she’s told.”

  “Jesus, Sonny, have you ever heard of a little basic politeness?” Jessie asked, and Raquel tried to strengthen her voice to be heard over her sisters’ bickering.

  “We were hoping you could drive us to St. Michan’s,” Raquel said. “I tried looking it up on the map and I think it’s not very far, but—”

  “If we’re paying for the service we might as well use it,” Sondra said acidly. “And I’m certainly not equipped to walk more than a block or two.”

  “You’ve got two functioning legs, don’t you?” Jessie sniped back. “Oh, yeah, but you only buy shoes with four-inch heels so you can dominate everybody around you with an extra bit of height. I can’t believe you wouldn’t even walk to the hospital to see her bo—”

  “Please!” Raquel’s voice broke in a wail. “Mama hasn’t even been dead for a whole day and you two can’t just get along for her sake? For mine? Never mind, Megan, this is—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Megan said gently. “I’ll bring the car around to the front doors in five minutes, and we’ll go to St. Michan’s.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The sisters came out of the hotel three abreast, though Raquel dragged behind a little. Jessie had her arm linked through Raquel’s, though, as if she wouldn’t let her walk in Sondra’s wake for love or money. Seeing the three of them like that, Megan realized Sondra was the shortest, but made up for it with her heels, just as Jessie had suggested. Her own arches ached at the thought. They looked formidable together, though, even if they were as stylistically different from one another as was possible. She hadn’t thought of Raquel as a soccer mom, but now, between Jessie’s hippie vibe and Sondra’s corporate shark look, Raquel slotted into that stereotypical image.

  “Christ, are we going to all have to sit together like four-year-olds?” Sondra’s nostrils flared and she refused to enter the car first. Raquel, looking too cowed to roll her eyes, walked around to the Lincoln’s far side and opened the door herself, while Megan, holding the kerbside door for them all, shot her an apologetic glance over the vehicle’s roof. Raquel gave her a barely-perceptible shrug and got in, while Jessie, obviously not caring, gave Megan a nod of thanks and got in her side to sit in the middle. Sondra got in like she was doing everyone a favor and Megan closed the door gently behind her, then made sure she was expressionless as she went around the car herself to get in the driver’s side.

  “I’ll drive one of our larger cars tomorrow, if you prefer, Ms. Williams.”

  “I’m sure that will cost us more,” Sondra replied acidly.

  “For God’s sake, I can ride in front with the driver,” Jessie said in exasperation, and Raquel said, “Megan,” as if standing up for the use of Megan’s name was easier than standing up for herself. Megan smiled briefly at her in the mirror and tried not to compare the bright, energized dynamic of the woman she’d met yesterday to the daunted middle sister Raquel presented as today.

  She drove them around via Parnell, avoiding traffic on the quays and coming up to St. Michan’s from—effectively—the back. It wouldn’t quite have been faster to walk, but it was a near thing as she pulled into the church’s little parking lot and got out to open the Lincoln’s door for the sisters on Sondra’s side. Jessie, climbing out second, gave Megan a look that said she knew why Megan had done that and regarded it as pandering, but also couldn’t blame her. Raquel opened her own door and got out the other side of the vehicle. Megan sent her a guilty grimace and Raquel made an expression exactly like the one Jessie had just given her. Megan bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and, at Raquel’s tiny head-tip, followed the sisters into the church.

  Peter the tour guide was in a pew, reading a paperback novel thick enough to use as a weapon. He hopped to his feet, putting the book aside, a welcoming smile crinkling into confusion as he recognized Megan but not the people she was with. “You remember Mrs. Williams, the woman I was here with yesterday,” Megan said when it was clear none of the Williams women knew how to begin. “I’m afraid she died suddenly yesterday afternoon. These are her daughters.”

  Peter paled, blurting, “I’m so sorry, your mother was a lovely woman,” to the Williams daughters. “What a terrible loss. What ha—” He got hold of himself, realizing that asking for details was probably inappropriate, and floundered a moment. “What can I do for you?”

  “My sisters want to pursue this ridiculous link with the Earl of Lyetrum.”

  Jessie and Raquel both hissed, “Leetrim,” at their sister, who gave them a withering look, but corrected herself. “Leitrim. We know Mama came here to exhume the mummies.”

  For the second time in two days, Peter cast a mildly panicked glance Megan’s way, but she was rescued from having to come up with a response by the arrival of the priest, who gave her the same questioning look Peter had, upon recognizing her. The tour guide, though, took over her attempts at explanation, saying, “That charming Mrs. Williams from yesterday passed on unexpectedly, Father Nicholas. These are her daughters. I’m sorry,” he said, turning to the trio of women. “I didn’t get your names.”

  “I’m Sondra Williams,” she said, drowning out the other two. “Our mother’s obsession with a ridiculous attempt at linking herself with some old noble Irish family is an embarrassment, but it’s a—”

  Raquel’s shoulders dropped in resignation, but Jessie, visibly furious, shouldered her oldest sister out of the way, said, “She’s Sondra, and I’m Jessie, and this is Raquel,” while offering her hand to first Peter, then Father Nicholas. “Obviously we’re not here to exhume anything, but we’re trying to—”

  “Jesus, Jessie, could you be any more rude?” Sondra shouldered in front of Jessie, whose jaw set with anger as her voice dropped low.

  “Could you? You didn’t even introduce us, and nobody needs your monologuing about how you don’t approve of Mom’s genealogical research, because what the hell does it matter if you approved or not? She’s dead and the least you can do is be a little frigging decent about it.”

  “She wouldn’t be dead if she hadn’t come haring off to the other side of the world to find some stupid link to some stupid piece of land that we won’t have any rights to even if we are its heirs! Who cares?”

  “You don’t actually know that,” Raquel protested, although not strongly. “If someone really did m—m—m—” She took a deep breath and surged through the word: “Murder. If someone really did murder Mama, maybe they would have come after her in El Paso, too. Maybe there’s something they wanted from her that didn’t h
ave anything to do with this at all.” Tears collected in her eyelashes, threatening her mascara. “I just think it’s right that we see this through for her.”

  Jessie lifted her chin and glared at Sondra. “What she said.”

  “We’re here, aren’t we?” Sondra demanded. “What more do you want?”

  Peter clearly wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Megan doubted his pay grade covered bereaved, bickering sisters. Father Nicholas, on the other hand, obviously had experience with exactly this kind of thing. He turned a sympathetic gaze on the two younger Williams daughters while taking Sondra’s hand and somehow making it seem as though he was offering her solidarity and support in the face of their unreasonable behaviour. Megan watched in awe as, with that simple touch, Sondra visibly thawed. Father Nicholas’s voice dropped into a rather more low and sonorous tone than he’d used the day before.

  “If it were at all possible, I’d get you that bit of bone my own self, so you could have the answers you’re looking for in these dark hours. No one should have to face any more questions than necessary in a time of grief. I can see your mother in you,” he said gently to all the women, but again it seemed to especially resonate toward Sondra. “I can see her pride and her determination and her passion, and I can only imagine how maddening and beautiful that must be for you. Families can be hard, and there’s nothing harder than facing the moment when we’ve lost the chance to say everything we might have wanted to say. I take comfort in prayer, in times like this. I think—” and Megan noticed he laid the Irish on there, saying tink instead of think, as he offered a sweet smile to the sisters. “I think you’re not of my own church, but I wonder if you would allow me to share your grief and perhaps ease your own burdens a little with prayer. Perhaps together we could find a way to say things that have gone unsaid, and with it, a measure of peace.”

  Sondra’s glacial gaze melted into hard-won tears before he’d finished. She nodded and he, with a favoring glance at Raquel and Jessie, led her several steps away. They exchanged looks and followed at a discreet distance, close enough to seem part of the conversation but far enough away that their raging older sister could feel like she was being tended to alone. Megan, impressed, murmured, “Does he do exorcisms?” and earned yet another horrified look from Peter.

  “Who needs one?”

  “Me, kind of. It’s complicated.” Megan, after a pause, asked, “Does he?”

  Peter spread his hands in ignorance. “Not that I know, but I’m just a tour guide. I don’t even go to this church.”

  “Neither do they, but he seems to be working some kind of magic on them. Mrs. Williams was probably murdered,” she said to the sudden anticipatory gleam in the young man’s eyes. “That’s all I know, and if you could not spread it around, the gardaí would be happier with me.”

  He mimed zipping his lips, though his eyes were round with unasked questions. “Honestly,” Megan repeated. “It’s all I know.” The church’s door opened and Peter glanced toward it, his face arranging itself into welcoming lines as he left Megan’s side to approach the young man entering the nave. The hiking shorts and boots, backpack and tank top over a tanned torso could have been German, but something about him said American. He wore dark blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and a friendly smile broke the gold scruff coating sunburned cheeks beneath light eyes as Peter approached him.

  “Welcome to St. Michan’s,” Peter said genially. “Are you here to see the mummies?”

  “I guess, but not really.” He was, in fact, American. Megan chalked one up in an imaginary scoreboard as Jessie spun around, colour suddenly flushing her cheeks.

  “Reed?”

  “Jessie!” The lanky American ran across the church, catching Jessie Williams in his arms as she leaped toward him. Megan could hear him mumbling into her shoulder, promises and assurances that make the young woman hiccup with sobs. She said something and Reed put her on her feet, wiping her tears away with the ball of his thumb. “Of course I came, babe. It’s your mom. What was I gonna do, stay in Austin?”

  Jessie whispered, “It’s so far to come overnight,” and Reed wiped her tears away again.

  “You did it. I told you I’d be there for you. I tried to get on the same flight. Sorry I couldn’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Oh my god, Reed.” Jessie threw herself into his arms again. He looked over her head at her sisters hopefully.

  Whatever warming up Sondra had done had disappeared, leaving her face tight with disapproving anger. To Megan’s surprise, Raquel, whom she would have pegged as a romantic, looked wearily unhappy too. Some of Reed’s apology fell away into resignation and he hugged Jessie more tightly while Father Nicholas, behind them all, gave a small shrug, the body language of a man who had tried his best but couldn’t compete with newly arrived family drama.

  “What are you doing here, Reed?” Sondra’s voice bounced off the church’s old stone walls as sharply as any preacher could ever have hoped for. “This is family business.”

  “Reed is my family!” Jessie tore away from the young man, voice breaking with fury. “God, when are you going to accept it? Mama liked him, I love him, and we’re trying to build a life together! What is wrong with that?”

  “He’s a freeloader, J—”

  “Oh, you think that about every guy ever since Trevor left you for somebody with more money. Screw that, Sondra, we all know he left because you’re a goddamn control freak who doesn’t know how to have fun so nobody around you better either. The fact that his new wife—oh, didn’t you know they got married? I got an invitation to the wedding,” Jessie spat. “The fact that she has more money than you do is just good luck for Trev. And I don’t have any stupid money anyway, so how could Reed even be a freeloader?”

  “Men like that always find a way.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, babe.” Reed caught Jessie as she lunged toward her sister, hands clawing toward fists, like she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to scratch Sondra or punch her. Megan sympathized with either impulse. “Forget it, Jess. Hey.” He tipped Jessie’s face up as she stopped fighting him, a tender smile on his lips. “Look, I knew she wouldn’t be happy to see me, okay? I didn’t come for her. I came for you. What I’m gonna do is get out of everybody’s hair, but I’ve got my cell phone and I’m staying at a hostel in Temple Bar. Barnacles. You just come on over if you need some time to process, okay?”

  Jessie nodded and Reed dropped his head, not to kiss her, but to bump his nose against hers. She smiled, suddenly teary, and hugged him hard before letting him go. He nodded toward her sisters like he knew even the gesture was unwelcome, but he was darn well going to be polite. He also gave Megan, Peter, and Father Nicholas a warmer smile as he headed for the door. A few steps away from it he hesitated, looked back, and shrugged. “I guess I could see the mummies, since I’m here. If that’s okay?”

  Peter sent a brief, longing glance at Father Nicholas, as if he hoped he could stay and watch whatever drama was left to unfold, but then put on a professional smile, said, “This way, please!” to Reed, and escorted him from the church.

  The instant the doors closed behind them, Sondra rounded on Jessie. “What were you thinking, telling him any of our business? That we were here at the church? When did you even have time?”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” Jessie said incredulously. “Why wouldn’t I tell him? I’ve just been texting him to keep him up to date.”

  “He hasn’t been all that reliable, Jess. You haven’t even seen him since before Christmas, have you?” Raquel sounded like she didn’t want to rock the boat, but felt she couldn’t leave it alone, either. “And that whole window last year where he just took off?”

  Jessie said, “We were on a break,” with the emphasis of someone who had repeated the phrase dozens, if not hundreds, of times. “I knew he was going to travel, and I didn’t want to go with. He didn’t ‘take off.’”

  “You were devastated,” Sondra snappe
d. “You said he was off chasing some girl. Dora or something.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “That’s not what I said at all, but if you can’t even get that detail right I’m not even going to talk to you about it. I’m glad he’s here and I’d think you’d be glad for me. Isn’t he being reliable now? Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Well, what about the thing with the band, though, Jessie?” Raquel said carefully. “That went on for quite a while.”

  “It’s not easy to build a fan base, Raq. I couldn’t expect him to just hang out in El Paso while I finished college. Oh my god. Why are we even talking about this? Mom’s dead. I thought we were gonna pray or something.”

  Father Nicholas seized on that, stepping forward. “Let us,” he suggested. “It would do my soul good.” A few minutes earlier he’d been commanding and dignified. Now he sounded like a querulous old man afraid he’d lose his chance at a nice dinner. All three of the Williams sisters responded with remarkable sympathy, suddenly tutting and fussing over him. Father Nicholas tottered toward the pews in their company, evidently having turned frail and ancient inside of a few minutes. Megan’s jaw dropped and she swore she saw the old priest slide a wink her way as the Williamses helped him to sit down. Judging herself temporarily released from duty, Megan slipped toward the doors, but took her phone from her uniform’s inner jacket pocket to send a text to her friend Niamh.

  Next time you need a convincing old man in a movie role, you should audition this old priest I just met. I think the guy’s a consummate actor. She didn’t expect an answer—Nee was in California, where it was about 2 am—and put the phone in her pocket as she went around the church to enter the crypt.

  Peter was midway through his lecture, explaining how some of the coffins had rotted away over the years, leaving the mummies exposed. When he caught sight of Megan she saw him bite back referring to them as “free-range,” and she grinned so broadly that he nearly started laughing himself. Reed turned to see what the fuss was and frowned—or smiled, Megan couldn’t decide which— with puzzlement. “I called them free-range yesterday,” she explained, and he laughed.