Murder at an Irish Wedding Page 23

  Alice whirled around, grabbed a robe off the dressing room table, and had it covered before Siobhán could get a look at it.

  “What are you doing?” Siobhán said.

  “It’s bad luck to see the bride,” Alice said.

  Siobhán cocked her head. “I think that only applies to the groom. And I can still see ye.”

  “I don’t want to chance breaking it,” Alice said. “That’s at least seven years bad luck. And seven years is when the itch starts. So I’d have seven years of bad luck only to start itching. I can’t have that. I won’t.”

  Siobhán had to find a gentle but firm way to break it to Alice that no matter what lucky talismans she drummed up now, this wedding had to be stopped. She took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.” There was only one way to do this. Quick and honest. “I don’t think Kevin was the intended victim.”

  Alice’s pretty face clouded over with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “From behind in the dark. In the tracksuits. I think the killer thought Kevin was someone else.”

  “Who?” Alice stared at her with terrified eyes. “And why are you telling me this now? Of all times?” Siobhán blinked. This wasn’t going to be easy. Alice was already wound tight. “You think it’s my father. Or Paul. They’re all about the same height.” She began to pace; her heels clicked on the floor, and her dress swooshed along the floorboards.

  Siobhán felt awful. But Alice had to know. If Paul was the killer and Siobhán kept silent—well, she couldn’t have lived with herself. Siobhán stepped up. “In the dark. From behind,” she repeated.

  Alice stopped pacing and glared at her. “Are you saying my father tried to murder my fiancé?”

  Siobhán swallowed. “Or your fiancé tried to murder your father.” It was now or never. “Or your mother tried to murder your father. Or your mother tried to murder your fiancé. Or one of them tried to murder Macdara. I suppose there’s a chance that Val is in the mix as well. His uniform is similar to the tracksuits, and he’s the right height.” There. It was all out. Siobhán thought about how people always said, “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” They were dead wrong.

  “No. No, no, no, no.” Alice began to pace the dressing room.

  “I think the killer believed the victim was your father. That makes the most sense.”

  “Explain.”

  “He’s a man of routines. He’d announced that he was going to walk to the top of the hill every morning.”

  Alice glanced at the shrouded mirror. “But why? My mother, for example. She’s put up with my father for all these years. I won’t pretend they had a happy marriage, but murder? Why would she?”

  Because she’s divorcing him. Siobhán didn’t want to be the one to drop that on the bride. “Motives are often complex,” she stalled.

  “Macdara could have been the intended victim, couldn’t he?” Alice repeated, almost sounding hopeful.

  “Possible,” Siobhán said. “But highly unlikely.”

  “Macdara could be the killer then,” Alice said.

  Siobhán felt her anger flare. She took a deep breath and had to remind herself that Alice was in a panic. And in denial. And why wouldn’t she be? Of course she’d rather accuse Macdara than someone she loved. Siobhán told herself to stay calm. “Macdara is a guard,” she said slowly, trying not to get too defensive. “He’s dedicated his life to upholding the law.”

  “Perfect alibi, isn’t it?”

  “Macdara doesn’t have a motive,” Siobhán said.

  Alice stared at Siobhán. “You said yourself motives are complex.”

  “Complex isn’t synonymous with nonexistent.”

  “Macdara has a motive,” Alice said.

  A pinprick of fear raced up Siobhán’s spine. “What are you on about?”

  “The night they all went to the pubs, Macdara’s mother came right out and asked my father for a loan. He politely turned her down.”

  “That can’t be.” Siobhán hadn’t heard a word about this. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of it.

  “Ask anyone,” Alice said.

  Siobhán took calming breaths. “That still doesn’t go to motive.”

  “It might not, had it ended there. But my father never knows when to stop. The more drinks he had in him that night, the more he began to talk. Macdara overheard him speaking ill of Nancy to half the pub. Calling her a commoner with no manners. That’s why Macdara squirreled her out as soon as possible. Paul said you could see steam coming out of his ears.”

  Paul. Had he made the entire story up? Had he been the one to plant Macdara’s cap underneath Kevin’s hand? Had he pushed Siobhán down the stairs?

  “You have to postpone the wedding,” Siobhán said. “I fear that someone is in grave danger.”

  Tears spilled from Alice’s eyes, and the pacing commenced. “Why are you doing this to me? Just let us get married. Then accuse anyone you want.”

  “We need to call the guards,” Siobhán said. “We need to keep everyone safe.”

  “Do you have proof?” Alice was practically shouting.

  “I’m getting close.”

  Alice threw her arms up. “Close isn’t good enough.”

  “There was the note your father wrote to Brenna—”

  Alice put her hands over her ears and turned away. “This was not Paul. Or my mother. Yes, Daddy can be brutal when it comes to business. But my mother wouldn’t kill him. There’s no reason to kill him!”

  Siobhán swallowed. She had to tell her. “Your mother is—”

  The door swung open, and Susan Cahill stood on the other side. “What is going on in here?” The mother of the bride was wearing a white suit, bright red lipstick, and a dark glare. Susan turned to Siobhán. “Get out.”

  Siobhán froze. She didn’t want to intrude, but this wedding had to be canceled. She hadn’t even had a chance to tell Alice about the ring.

  “No, you get out, Mother.”

  Susan Cahill looked as if she’d been slapped. Then she whirled around and barged out. The door slammed behind her.

  Alice placed her hands in prayer position and shook them in front of Siobhán. “Please. Please. Just let me get through this wedding. We’ll talk to the guards after.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear another word.”

  “Someone is in danger. We have to cancel the wedding.”

  Alice snorted. “Did my father pay you as well, like?”

  Siobhán felt the words like a slap across her face. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, and imagined she was sitting by the river whittling a wee flower. That she then used to bash Alice over the head. “This next bit of news is about Paul.”

  “Get out. It’s not Paul. It is not Paul.”

  “I’m not saying cancel, just postpone.”

  “I’m not letting you ruin my wedding day. Is everyone out there and ready? Tell them I’m ready now.”

  “Paul stole your diamond ring.”

  Alice became preternaturally still. All color drained from her face. She was almost as white as her dress. “You’re lying.” Her voice was that of a deflated balloon.

  “I just came from the inn. Margaret found it under his mattress.”

  Alice blinked. She set her jaw. “I don’t care.”

  “What?”

  “Find my father and tell him I am ready right now!”

  “Paul stole your ring and lied about it.”

  “Then he must have an explanation. And after we’re married, I’ll ask for it.”

  Siobhán was trying to figure out how to deal with this type of insane thinking when Ann and Gráinne entered the dressing room.

  “How ya?” Alice said softly.

  Gráinne and Ann approached. Gráinne held out her hand. In it was a blue broach that had belonged to their mam. Siobhán’s throat seized up. “Something borrowed,” Gráinne said.

  “And blue,” An
n said. “To match your lovely dress.”

  Tears spilled down Alice’s cheeks as she gathered both Ann and Gráinne in for a hug. Then she pinned the broach to her wedding dress, even though it was hardly more than a piece of costume jewelry. “T’ank you.”

  Ann and Gráinne were beaming. “Father Kearney wants to talk to ye,” Ann said as she and Gráinne headed for the exit. Ann spied a plate of butter cookies on a side table. She swiped one up and stuck the whole thing in her mouth.

  “Don’t!” Alice cried. Ann’s eyes went wide. There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Alice said. She reached for a tissue and handed it to Ann, whose eyes were starting to water. Siobhán didn’t have time to figure out why her youngest sister was suddenly tearing up, and why Alice looked so alarmed. The door opened, and Father Kearney strode in. Ann froze, her mouth clamped shut, as Father Kearney began going over the ceremony with Alice. Ann looked like a statue.

  “Just a minute, Father,” Alice said. She turned to Ann. “It’s alright, luv.” She thrust another tissue Ann. “I would have made the same mistake. Go on. Spit it out.”

  “What’s going on?” Siobhán asked. Ann spit the cookie onto the tissue.

  “Run to the jacks and wash your mouth out.”

  Ann nodded, tears running down her face.

  “What on earth?” Siobhán said.

  “Soap,” Ann croaked, pointing to the plate of little white circles. She ran for the bathroom. Oh dear. The little soaps did indeed look like cookies.

  Gráinne howled with laughter. “She had to wash her own mouth out with soap.”

  “Poor thing,” Alice said. She was being so kind, even after Siobhán had been so cruel. But she had no choice. The closer they came to saying “I do,” the more danger they were in.

  Father Kearney cleared his throat. Everyone turned back to him. Siobhán slipped away and went after Ann.

  She found her at the sink in the restroom, rinsing and spitting. “I’m such an eejit!” she wailed.

  “No harm done,” Siobhán said.

  “You eat one then,” Ann said.

  “I would if it would make you feel better.”

  Ann looked up at Siobhán. “Alice is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Gráinne is beautiful.” Her voice grew in volume and rose in pitch until she was almost wailing. “I’m so ugly. And stupid. I’m such an eejit!”

  Siobhán immediately folded her into her arms. Ann was battling a storm of hormones. Siobhán had been the same way. Probably still was. “You are not. You are absolutely gorgeous.”

  “I am not.”

  “I swear to ye. You’re perfect.” Siobhán smoothed down her blond hair. Ann was beautiful too, just lovely. It never mattered what the outside looked like. The most beautiful girl in the world could feel ugly on the inside. It made Siobhán want to weep.

  “You have to say that.”

  Siobhán gathered Ann’s hair in her hands. “Lovely blond hair. We’d all kill for it.”

  Ann sniffed. “Liar. They’re always talking about you. Hair like fire.”

  “Fire burns. Didn’t ye hear? Blondes have more fun.”

  “They do not.”

  “Cross me heart.”

  “Don’t hope to die.”

  Siobhán kissed her on the top of the head. “I won’t. I don’t.”

  “I don’t like all of this,” Ann said. “I want things to go back to normal.”

  “The wedding is almost over. Then they’ll be gone, and the trouble will go with them.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I don’t like you worrying your pretty head over it. Let’s just think happy thoughts for now, pet. Alright?”

  Ann nodded. “Would you really eat the soap for me?”

  “Only if it would make you feel better.” Ann dug in her pocket and brought out another wee soap. She held it out to Siobhán with the faintest of smiles creeping across her face.

  Cheeky lass. Siobhán sighed, took the soap, and squeezed her eyes shut as she brought it up to her mouth. Ah, for feck’s sake. See there? Could probably use a bit of cleaning anyway.

  Ann stopped her just as she brought it up to her mouth. She slapped it away. Siobhán smiled. “You do love me.” Siobhán swiped at her.

  Ann rolled her eyes and disappeared out the door.

  T’anks be to God. Siobhán didn’t really want to eat the soap.

  By the time Siobhán came back out, the dressing room was empty. Siobhán was about to walk out when she stopped. She turned, walked over to the mirror, and ripped off the robe. On the mirror, written in bright red lipstick was a message:

  SAY I DO AND YOU DIE

  Chapter 29

  Siobhán sat next to Macdara in one of the back pews, her knee bouncing up and down. Forty minutes had passed since she’d tried to get Alice to stop the wedding. She’d told Macdara about the message on the mirror. She’d left out the rumor about his mam asking Colm Cahill for a loan. Even if it was true, Macdara had nothing to do with the murder, and now was not the time to discuss why he had never mentioned it.

  And there was always the possibility that Paul was lying.

  O’Brien had subtly placed extra guards inside the church as well as outside. Guests were politely searched for weapons. None were found. Father Kearney was giving the Mass without the bride present, which wasn’t something he’d do under normal circumstances. But even he seemed to want to get this wedding done and dusted. Everyone was just looking forward to drinking and dancing. Heads kept turning to the back of the church. Paul finally entered, and nodded. “She’s ready.” Macdara slipped up to the front, and Paul took his place waiting for his bride. Paul appeared to be breathing heavily, and sweat dappled his forehead. Cold feet? Guilt?

  Siobhán’s mind returned to the message on the mirror. Next she replayed the image of Susan Cahill bursting into the room. Her lipstick was an exact color match for the message on the mirror, not to mention the windshield of Macdara’s car. Siobhán strongly disagreed with the decision to go on with the wedding. She’d even begged O’Brien to somehow put a stop to it. She thought the revelation about Margaret finding the diamond ring under Paul’s pillow would do the trick. But no. O’Brien had made her swear up and down she wouldn’t tell a soul, even Macdara. So here she was, keeping secrets from him. O’Brien was using the wedding to suss out the killer. Waiting for him to make a move. Siobhán had had the same idea earlier, but now she had a bad feeling. It was too risky.

  Organ music filled the air. Nancy Flannery played beautifully, her hands floating across the keys as the notes swelled. Ann and Gráinne paraded up the aisle, gently tossing rose petals out of little baskets tied with white ribbon. Bridie’s touch, no doubt. Gráinne caught Siobhán’s eye and stuck the tip of her tongue out and rolled her eyes. Siobhán didn’t think anything could make her laugh right now, but she had to slap her hand over her mouth and look away. All this stress had put her close to hysterics. Getting her brood into the act must have been a last-minute development. Paul, standing next to the priest with Macdara by his side, looked terrified as he watched the procession come closer. Siobhán’s eyes drifted to the first pew, where Susan Cahill sat, crying into a handkerchief.

  Crocodile tears?

  Next Ciarán came tripping up the aisle, grinning and holding a pillow with rings. All but the diamond engagement ring. He waved at Siobhán and almost tipped over, rings and all.

  “Eejit,” Eoin whispered behind her.

  Siobhán swatted his knee, then kissed his cheek. “Settle.”

  Once more, heads turned to the back doors, this time awaiting the bride and her father.

  “Psst.” Brenna opened the door to the church, letting in a hideous flash of yellow. She hissed and motioned for Siobhán.

  Jaysus, what now? Siobhán hurried over. “What is it?”

  “The father of the bride has gone missing.”

  This was just like him. A rush of anger overtook Siobhán. She was beginning to think Alice was right. Her wedding
was cursed. Or at least she was cursed with a nasty family. Colm had been unable to stop the wedding, so he was going to throw a fit. She could suddenly empathize with Alice and Paul for wanting to go ahead. Now even she wanted the wedding to go on. Nobody liked a bully. “What does Alice want to do?”

  “Ask Martin if he’ll be willing to step in.”

  “Of course.” Well, that was one way to stick it to her father.

  Brian hurried to the back with his iPad. “What’s going on?”

  “The father of the bride is missing,” Siobhán said.

  Brian’s hawk-like eyes scanned the patrons of the church. “I’m also missing a bottle of champagne, in addition to Macdara’s flute.”

  “Well, there you are,” Siobhán said. Was Colm off somewhere with a bottle of bubbly, drinking out of Macdara’s flute?

  “Are we delaying?” Brian’s voice went up a notch.

  “No. Alice is going to ask Martin Donnelly to walk her down the aisle.”

  Brian gasped. “Colm will take that as a sign of war.”

  “I believe he fired the first shot,” Siobhán said, going along with the metaphor and then quickly regretting it as Brian paled. She turned and headed up the aisle, keeping a smile pasted to her face as all the guests stared at her. She grabbed Martin, and amid murmurs they made their way back to the foyer of the church, where Alice stood, bouquet in hand, frozen smile on her face.

  “Are you okay?” Siobhán asked gently.

  Alice took Martin’s arm and nodded to Siobhán. Siobhán stepped back into the church and signaled to Nancy. Once again the wedding march began to play. Siobhán slid back into her pew. She was poised on the edge of the bench, wound up like a tightened violin.

  The minute Alice and Martin entered, the bride took one look at her groom and started to beam. Paul smiled back, and for the two of them the rest of the room disappeared. Soon they stood face-to-face, clasping each other’s hands.

  Father Kearney wasted no time in getting to the vows, and the audience was on the edge of their seats.

  Siobhán wondered if Colm was watching from somewhere. If he was, it was too late to stop it.

  “I do,” Paul Donnelly said loud and clear. Anyone could see the fierce love in his eyes for Alice.