Murder at an Irish Wedding Read online

  Chapter 11

  When the limo pulled up to the castle walls, Siobhán had fifteen minutes before she was due to meet Val at the front entrance. Perfect. She knew just what to do with the extra time. The rain had ceased once more, but in the distance, thunder cracked and dark clouds hovered, suggesting another round was imminent. If she hurried, she might be able to make it up to the hill before it came lashing down again. There was just enough time to go to the crime scene and have a look at a tree.

  Situated at the top of the hill where Kevin was found was one particular large ash tree. Not only was it good for climbing, but from the first branch you had the most magnificent view of the Irish countryside. She and James used to sneak into the woods when they were younger and climb it. It dawned on Siobhán that the murderer could have climbed the tree and been waiting for the victim. Kevin was tall. He was struck on the back of the head. She still wondered if a short person would have had enough strength, not to mention good enough aim, to kill him from behind with one blow. If not, the suspects would be limited to the tall members of the wedding party. But then it dawned on Siobhán that a short person could have climbed the tree and struck Kevin from above. She wanted to suss out her theory before presenting it to O’Brien.

  Guards were situated around the castle grounds, and at the closest entrance to the woods. This time Siobhán would enter from the other direction. If she ran into a guard, she would make up an excuse for why she was sneaking into the crime scene. Perhaps some kind of a message from Macdara. He would be furious with her, but she wanted to check on this right away. She cut through the castle grounds from the back until she came to the alternate entrance. This one was hidden from view from the castle windows, making it a perfect place to hide from prying eyes. If Siobhán had been the killer, this would have been the entrance she’d have used. The path was less worn, and the brambles were thick on either side. The guards should have immediately checked everyone’s tracksuit for brambles and thorns. Did the guests have extra tracksuits? Had anyone asked Carol or George for an extra tracksuit? She’d have to ask the Huntsmans.

  Soon she neared the top of the hill, where a tent had been erected over the body. Crime-scene tape marked the perimeter around it.

  Darn it. The tree was outside of the tent, but just inside the taped area. She gazed up at its branches. It was just as she remembered. Sturdy limbs, with the first being low to the ground. One could have easily climbed it, perched on a branch, and poor Kevin could have been standing at the peak, completely unaware that a person was directly above him, waiting to strike.

  But could you climb the tree with a large rock in your hands? She would have to find one similar to the murder weapon and try it herself.

  There were three guards standing around the scene, just outside of the tape. They all had booties covering their feet and gloves on their hands. She glanced around and saw a cardboard table set up on the other side of the tent. Atop it were two boxes. Booties and gloves. Still crouched down, she scuttled up to the table and grabbed a pair out of each box. Then she hurried back to her hiding spot, just before the peak of the hill. She quickly donned the protection. Now for a rock.

  She should come back when there was nobody here. But that would be too late. She could ask permission. Do ye mind if I climb the tree and see if I can lob a large rock at the back of one of your heads?

  Maybe this hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. Here Sergeant O’Brien had literally given her a free pass to the castle, and she was going to muck it up by climbing a tree within the crime scene tape.

  And even if she could climb the tree with a large rock, Siobhán still hadn’t figured out how the killer knew that Kevin would be at the top of the hill that morning. Several people seemed to have morning walking routines, but Kevin was not one of them. He definitely seemed more like the type you’d find sleeping in a lassie’s bed instead.

  Just then a few of the guards started talking about a break. After discussing what type of toastie each wanted, two finally broke off and headed down the hill in the opposite direction. The third guard took out a cigarette and sat in a folding chair just outside the crime-scene tape. This was her chance. She couldn’t find another large rock, so she’d just have to imagine she was holding one.

  Siobhán was able to reach the first branch of the tree without stepping inside the crime tape. She grabbed the branch with both hands and for a second was suspended above the crime scene, her toes grazing the forbidden ground. She stretched one leg over a nearby branch. How long had it been since she’d climbed a tree? She assumed it was like riding a bike, but as she threw her second leg over the branch, her body hanging like a sagging bridge, she amended the thought. Nothing like riding a bike. She was having a hard enough time climbing it with her handbag hanging off her; no way could she have climbed the tree with a big rock in her hand. But maybe a smaller, nimbler person could have pulled it off. Or maybe they were able to place the rock in a bag and climb up. Still, it wouldn’t have been easy, and in Siobhán’s mind, this just wasn’t the way it went down.

  The branch her legs were dangling from bowed slightly, and she heard a crack. The guard’s head lifted, but he looked straight ahead instead of behind. Siobhán continued to dangle. She didn’t trust that the lower branch would carry her weight, and she would have to jump off and try again in order to position herself on the higher branch.

  Siobhán was calculating the quietest way to drop from the tree when one of the guards returned. Siobhán froze as he looked past her. Surely he saw her? He plopped down in the empty chair next to the other guard, and the two of them sat with their backs to her as she dangled. Apparently some time-tested observations were true, such as nobody ever looks up, for the guards kept their heads level or down at all times. She hung on to see if she could catch a bit of their conversation.

  “The state pathologist will be here within the hour,” the one who just sat down said.

  “Thanks be to God. Not that we need her. Not many crime scenes where the murder weapon is left right next to the body.”

  “Aye. No mystery there. One blow to the back of his skull. Poor fella never saw it coming.”

  “But why wouldn’t the killer move the rock? Toss it downhill even?”

  Good question. Her hands scraped against the branches. She really wanted to get down, and it was time to meet Val. But she didn’t know how to drop without being heard.

  “I doubt the lab will be able to lift prints off a rock that’s been sitting in the woods. Anyone had access to it. No point in hiding it.”

  That was a good point as well, like.

  “Still. Mighty bold of them.”

  The killer is someone bold. Hardly narrowed the field. Except . . . Brian wasn’t bold. Martin wasn’t bold. Faye wasn’t bold. Of course, they could all be acting the fool.

  “Aye. Mighty bold of the victim to be clutching a stolen garda cap.”

  “Surprised Macdara didn’t notice it was gone.”

  “He’s been a bit preoccupied lately with that lassie.”

  Siobhán’s face flushed, and her hands began to sweat. They slipped on the branch she was trying to cling to. She held on tighter.

  “I wouldn’t mind giving her a go m’self,” the shorter one said.

  “He’d kill ye,” the other replied.

  For the love of Jayus, talk about something else.

  “Something still doesn’t add up. You’re having a walk in the woods, see a large rock, and pick it up. And then there just happens to be a man standing with his back to ye, and so you lob it at him?”

  No. That didn’t make sense at all. The killing was planned. The killer was lying in wait with the rock. The real question was—how did they lure Kevin to the top of the hill?

  Siobhán couldn’t dangle any longer. She untangled her legs, and before she could prepare for a soft landing, her hands slipped from the branch. She let out a cry and crashed to the ground. The guards leapt out their chairs, toppling them over as they sprung up
. Their hands went for their batons. From her prone position, Siobhán thrust her hands up where they could see them. “Just me,” she said.

  “Siobhán O’Sullivan?” From the one who had spoken so crassly of her.

  “Right you are.” Siobhán was dying to get up; the ground was slick with rain and mud, yet she didn’t want to startle them further.

  “What are ye doing?” They inched closer as she stared at the sky through the canopy of branches.

  She was definitely going to have a sore head and a wet backside. “The detective sergeant sent me.”

  The guard’s eyebrow shot up. “O’Brien sent you to climb a tree in the middle of the crime scene?”

  Siobhán waved her hands and stuck a foot in the air. “I have booties and gloves.” The gloves were ripped now, but they didn’t need all the trivial details.

  “Step out of the crime scene.”

  “Of course.” Siobhán slowly got to her feet and tried to step over the crime-scene tape. It was too giant of a step, and she tripped over the tape, landing on her face. She was quickly hauled up by both guards.

  “For feck’s sakes.”

  “Sorry.” She pointed at the tree. “I was up there.” The guards looked at the tree as if it was another suspect.

  “I thought the killer could have been hiding up there with the rock.” As they stood staring at her, mouths agape, Siobhán explained Macdara’s theory of the killer hiding the rock the day before. “So it could have been premeditated. And if the killer was hiding up in the tree, it could have been a short person as well, like.” The guards looked at each other, then back at Siobhán, then up at the tree. “But now I’m not so sure. It wasn’t easy to climb, and I didn’t even have a rock in my hands.”

  “O’Brien sent you to fetch the things from the castle?” He looked incredulous.

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Siobhán snapped.

  “You’re a bit clumsy,” the other one said without a trace of sarcasm.

  “What was the exact time of death?” Siobhán asked, ignoring the comment. The answer came in the form of a double stare. “The proprietors will probably be wanting Kevin’s key back.” More staring.

  “Was it in his pocket?” Her eyes flicked to the tent.

  “You best be getting to the castle now,” the tall one said. “Pack up their things.”

  “Of course.” Siobhán began to remove the booties and gloves.

  “And thank you for adding a suspect to our list,” the short guard chimed in.

  She stopped, her head shot up. “Pardon?”

  A slow grin came over his face. “Seems we could be looking for a monkey.”

  The other guard laughed. “Or an orangutan.”

  The first guard frowned. “What’s the difference?”

  “I dunno. Different color fur?”

  “Do they have fur or hair?”

  “I dunno. Are orangutans orange, like?”

  “Why wouldn’t they just call them orange-a-tangs?”

  Jaysus. No wonder Macdara was so complimentary of her detecting skills. It no longer felt like such a grand compliment. Seems we could be looking for a monkey. What cheek! Hers was a good theory, and even if it didn’t pan out to be true, at least it got her closer to the truth. And that’s what this was all about. Edging closer and closer to the killer. The killer was either bold and tall, or short and acrobatic.

  They could laugh all they wanted, but she had just made large strides toward the solution. As they continued to bicker about the difference in primates, Siobhán hurried away. No doubt her shenanigans were going to get back to O’Brien, and by extension Macdara. Her ideas were spot-on, even if her actual maneuvers had been a bit on the awkward side. As she hurried down the hill to the castle, Siobhán found herself thinking what a great detective she would be if only she could slink around sight unseen.

  Chapter 12

  Val was waiting for Siobhán by the castle door with a key in one hand and a lantern in the other. “Electricity is out,” he said, hoisting up the lantern and plunging half of his face into shadow. He looked as if he’d aged ten years since she saw him last. He was taller than she remembered too. She suddenly wished Macdara had accompanied her, after all. Lightning flashed, illuminating the stained-glass window in the turret. Thunder cracked against the dark sky, and soon it was raining buckets down upon the stone castle. “Not a day for the faint of heart,” Val said, his voice dropping an octave. Siobhán was forced to edge in uncomfortably close as the wind moaned around them.

  A strip of crime-scene tape rattled by, sending a shiver through Siobhán. Val flicked his eyes over her. “We meet again.”

  Siobhán nodded. “Under much darker circumstances.”

  Val relaxed slightly. “I’ve never known anything like it in my life.” He watched the rain for a second before turning the key in the lock. The enormous door opened with a massive groan of protest. They quickly stepped into the horseshoe-shaped foyer and wiped their feet on the mat that covered the stone tiles.

  “Did the crime scene reveal any clues?” Siobhán asked as they removed their raincoats and hung them on an ancient coatrack.

  Val arched his eyebrow. “How would I know?”

  “Ah,” Siobhán said. “You weren’t curious then.”

  He appeared to wrestle with whether or not to answer as they removed their wellies. “Of course I was curious.” Val began to put on a pair of loafers he’d stashed underneath the coatrack. Siobhán had been in such a hurry she’d forgotten to bring an extra pair of shoes.

  “Your hearing is off then.” She would have to be careful not to slip in her stockings. The tiles beneath her feet felt like ice.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Surely if you were curious and your hearing is sharp you would have caught a few snippets of the guards talking.”

  “I might have heard a word or two,” Val said.

  “Well, give me a word or two then.”

  Val lowered his voice and leaned in as if someone might be lurking and listening. “The Huntsmans have been cleared.”

  “Oh?”

  “They had cameras in their room for reasons I won’t even try to guess—and one aimed on the reception desk.”

  This was certainly news. “They had cameras set up in all the rooms?”

  “No. Just the reception desk. And their bedroom.”

  “Oh.” She certainly didn’t want to go down that road with Val.

  “I agree; let’s not dwell on it.” They stepped into a circular entryway. Spanish tiles made up the floor, and a large chandelier hung above them. Siobhán could have sworn it was swaying. Or perhaps she was hypnotized by the lantern in Val’s hand. Rooms spun off to the left and right, while a narrower hallway led straight ahead. The room to the left was closed with a pair of pocket doors. To the right was a parlor room. Val turned toward it.

  If memory served, the reception desk was through the parlor doors to the left. So the Huntsmans had a video to prove their alibi. She still wanted to question them. She turned to Val. “Where are the Huntsmans now?”

  “Left for Manchester. Said they’re terrified to be around a killer.”

  Terrified to be around a killer, or terrified to be around the killer? Was it possible one of them knew who the murderer was, and that’s why they’d fled? Otherwise—why flee so soon? Had they abandoned the castle for good? She had an illogical thought that the guards should have cleared this with her first. “Anything else?”

  “That’s all you’re getting,” Val said. He reached over and flipped a switch. The lights flickered, then came on. “Now there’s a bit of good luck,” he said turning off the lantern. He set it down. Even with the lights back on, it was still extremely dim, and there was a weighted stillness to the space, as if the entire castle had been holding its breath. Siobhán could only imagine the century of secrets the stone walls could tell if only they could talk. Val stepped into the parlor room and gazed across the room to yet another pair of pocket doors. Just beyond them l
ay a double staircase leading to the upper floors. Val lifted his eyes to the balcony on the second floor. “Each room has a garment bag and a box. That should be enough to gather their things.”

  Siobhán took a moment to study the parlor room. A baby grand anchored the back left corner, and a series of antique flowered sofas adorned the middle. The walls were filled with oil paintings and tapestries of rich landscapes and stoic portraits. It was so like a museum that Siobhán half expected a red velvet rope to surround the perimeter. She had only been to the castle once, when she was a child and it was owned by an Irish couple. It was Christmas Day, and a blanket of snow had canceled the O’Sullivans’ plans to visit a relative in Dublin. Then their cooker had broken down on top of that, and their poor mam was beside herself. All the shops were closed. “To the castle!” her father had exclaimed.

  Oh, what a magical day. They had a feast of turkey and ham, and potatoes, and rolls slathered with butter. Homemade pie with ice cream for dessert. Afterward, they were allowed to play on the castle grounds. It was the first time Siobhán could remember seeing snow. It looked like a blanket of dust, the kind she purposefully used to let accumulate on her night table just so she could draw in it. But this dust was cold, and her father said you could pile it up and make balls out of it to throw at each other. James was the first to make one, and he threw it squarely at Siobhán’s chest. It bounced right off her winter coat. She laughed and made one to throw back, although hers seemed to explode before reaching him. Then James tackled her, and they rolled around in it until their mother threatened them with early bed. Oh, what a day! It was like the heavens had rained magic down on the ground. Her father told her angels made the snow. When they returned to the village, Siobhán joyfully exclaimed to anyone who would listen, “We got angel dust for Christmas!”

  Their neighbor and friend Mike Granger had quipped: “Of course you did. That explains a lot.”

  Every time she thought of it now, she nearly brought herself to tears of laughter. But not this time. This time there was no joy. Siobhán turned her attention back to the room.