Murder at an Irish Wedding Page 9

  “Fascinating,” Susan Cahill deadpanned.

  Brenna yawned.

  “It’s lovely,” Alice said.

  “Charming,” Paul said.

  Siobhán got the distinct feeling they were all being polite. Castles were plentiful in Ireland, each with its own story; apparently theirs was old hat. Macdara caught her eye and winked.

  As the first drops of rain began to fall, Paul turned to Alice with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll race you underneath.” The pair took off, their laughter ringing across the square. Some began to wander around, some seeking cover, others nonplussed by the rain. Ronan, she noticed, wasn’t taking pictures for once. Instead he was chain-smoking. Brian hunkered underneath the passageway of King John’s castle and buried himself in his iPad. Her siblings had been begging for iPads, and Siobhán had been starting to feel guilty for depriving them. But watching Brian attached to it as if it were a part of his body buoyed her confidence that she’d done the right thing by resisting. Siobhán glanced away from Brian, and that’s when she saw Brenna hurry to take cover under the overhang of the tailor shop. The curtain was halfway open, and one could see starched shirts hanging from an overhead rack. The sign on the door said ON BREAK. They were free from prying eyes. This was her chance. Siobhán hurried up to Brenna and offered a warm smile. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently.

  “I told ye it was going to rain,” Brenna said.

  “It would hardly be Ireland without the rain,” Siobhán said in the cheeriest voice she could muster. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” she added.

  “My loss?” Brenna’s hazel eyes narrowed.

  “You were rather close to Kevin, weren’t you?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Why, you spent the last night of his life with him,” Siobhán said. “I’d say that must be on your mind.” Brenna silently moved her lips, as if working out what to say. Then she grabbed Siobhán’s arm and dug her nails in.

  “Who have you told?”

  “Let go of me,” Siobhán said in a harsh whisper. “Or I’ll tell everyone.” Brenna abruptly released her arm, but she held her index finger uncomfortably close to Siobhán’s nose. Given that she was at least four inches shorter than Siobhán, it would have been comical if not for the look of hatred in Brenna’s eyes.

  “Who told you?” she demanded.

  “You did,” Siobhán said. “Just now.”

  Brenna dropped her hand and cried out. “That’s a dirty trick!”

  “Calm down. I saw the state of your hair this morning. And the look you exchanged with Paul this morning.”

  Brenna opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. “What do you want? Money?”

  “Of course not. I’m not blackmailing you.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Were you in your room or his?”

  “You want all the dirty details, is that it?”

  “No. Just anything that might help us figure out who killed him.”

  “My room,” Brenna said. “We didn’t even do the deed. Kevin was passed out by the time I got my knickers off.”

  Lovely. “Where in the castle is your room located?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “It might not. You never know.”

  “On the top floor. My window faced the woods.”

  “What time did he leave the room?”

  “I have no idea. I woke up at half seven, and he was gone.” Her eyes darted to and fro. She was mighty nervous.

  This was getting Siobhán nowhere. She nodded and started to walk away. Brenna grabbed her again, but this time let go right away. “I’m not saying I’m glad he’s dead. But Kevin Gallagher was a bleeding thief.”

  Chapter 10

  The little hairs on the back of Siobhán’s neck stood up as she digested the information. “A thief?” Was that why the Huntsmans had been speaking of robberies?

  Brenna stared into the curtain of rain. “Kevin stole something from my room last night.”

  Siobhán took a step closer. “What did he steal?” Had he also stolen Colm’s fax?

  Brenna batted her eyes then looked away. “I won’t say.”

  Siobhán nudged closer. “It might be important.”

  “I’ll tell the guards before I’ll tell you.” For a moment the pair gazed at the gardai station, where the show of force had dwindled to two. They stood smoking and having a laugh.

  “Like you told them about spending the night with Kevin?”

  “How could I? They haven’t questioned me yet.”

  Siobhán lifted the envelope from her handbag. “So if I were to open your alibi, I’d read the whole story?”

  Brenna’s eyes went wide with fear. “That’s private!”

  “There’s no such thing as privacy in a murder investigation.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Life’s not fair.” Siobhán couldn’t believe she was having such a petty exchange. What could Kevin have stolen from her room, and why was she being so secretive about it? “Lies of omission are still lies,” Siobhán continued. “The guards aren’t going to like it one bit.”

  “Here.” Brenna reached up and removed a small red ribbon she had tied in her mess of blond hair. She handed it to Siobhán. Siobhán held it in her fingers and waited for an explanation. Was she trying to buy her silence with a wee ribbon? Siobhán wasn’t the type to be bought off, of course, but if she was the type, it would take more than a sliver of a ribbon, for feck’s sake.

  Brenna looked around, then lowered her voice. “I found it on the floor near my door. Kevin must have lifted it from the nightstand and then dropped it.”

  Siobhán held it up. It was too short to be a legitimate hair ribbon. “This is what he stole from you?”

  “Is it a clue?” Brenna pressed.

  “I don’t see why a grown man would steal a wee little ribbon, and I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss out of it.” Brenna was definitely leaving a figure out of the equation.

  Brenna glared. “Maybe I should give it to the guards instead.”

  “What else did he take?” Siobhán asked, still holding the ribbon. No use handing it over until she knew whether or not it was a clue.

  “Are ye going to tell your garda friend that I spent the night with Kevin?”

  “Not now,” Siobhán said. Because she already had. “But you might want to consider telling him yourself.”

  Brenna put her hands on her hips. “I didn’t actually sleep with him. I just slept in the same bed.”

  “They’re probably going to find his hair in your room.”

  “So? They’re also going to find Macdara’s cap at the crime scene.”

  “And then they’re going to find out you lied about it,” Siobhán added. It took everything in her not to rise to the bait. Macdara never should have blurted that out.

  As if sensing the conversation had just turned to him, Macdara sidled up. “Everything alright?”

  Brenna launched herself on Macdara, pressing her body full against him. “You have to help me,” she said. “I need to tell you a secret about me and Kevin, and I don’t want the guards taking it the wrong way.” Siobhán tucked the red ribbon in her pocket and left Macdara to deal with the maid of dishonor.

  There was more to the story about this ribbon; Siobhán just knew it. Brenna definitely had an on-again, off-again relationship with the truth. Siobhán hurried over to a nearby bench, took out the red ribbon, and laid it on the seat. Then she snapped a picture with her mobile. There. Now she could give it back if the guards wanted it, which she very much doubted. This was probably Brenna’s idea of a red herring. But just in case she was wrong . . . if not a hair ribbon, then what had been its use? Did Kevin try to steal it? A memento, standing in for another notch on his belt?

  Siobhán tucked the ribbon into her handbag. Across the way, Susan Cahill darted toward the passageway underneath the castle. She grabbed Brian along the way and towed him inside. What was t
hat about? Curious, Siobhán crept forward until she was just outside the entrance. The rain had ceased, although if the sky was any indicator, the break wouldn’t last very long. Siobhán flattened herself against the outside wall and strained to listen. The echo was grand underneath the structure, the acoustics fit for a band. Children loved to hide under it, stand at opposite corners and whisper to each other. Sure enough, she could make out strained voices.

  “But it’s already in motion.” It was Brian, sounding panicked.

  “I don’t care. Make the change.” Susan Cahill. No mistaking her.

  “May I ask why?” His voice squeaked. It was obvious Brian wasn’t comfortable talking back to Susan, so whatever they were talking about was worrisome enough to force him to stand up to her.

  “Because I said so.”

  “It’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  “We will still have to pay.”

  “I don’t care. Just make the change.”

  “But we’re not allowed to leave. How can we possibly meet the shipment?”

  “You figure it out.”

  The conversation abruptly ended. Shipment? Before Siobhán could move from her hiding spot, Brian barreled around the corner and nearly knocked her over. He was so flushed he didn’t even acknowledge Siobhán. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, then hurried across the square. She was dying to follow him and eavesdrop on his conversation, but Alice and Paul were coming toward her. Susan must have exited from the other end of the passageway, for Siobhán hadn’t seen her come out. She smiled at Alice and Paul, all the while making a mental note to mention the strange exchange to Macdara.

  “How ya,” Siobhán said as the couple approached hand in hand.

  “We’re dying to speak with Father Kearney,” Paul said.

  “Why?” Siobhán joked. “Do you have something to confess?” Alice flinched. Siobhán regretted her glibness immediately.

  “Eager,” Alice corrected. “Eager to speak with him.”

  Paul patted her hand. “Quite eager,” he said.

  “Of course,” Siobhán said. “I was only joking. Let’s make our way to the cathedral; he’ll be expecting us.”

  * * *

  Father Kearney stood in front of Saint Mary’s Cathedral with his hands folded over his ample belly, waiting patiently as the entire wedding party approached. Siobhán loved the cathedral; gazing upon it always gave her comfort, reminded her she was home. Built in 1879, it boasted ten gorgeous stained-glass windows, three of which were modeled on the windows of the abbey, bright colors intersecting into a five-light arch. As everyone stood waiting for Father Kearney to speak, the church bells tolled twelve times. How did it get to be noon already? The rain began to fall again, and Father Kearney motioned for everyone to follow him inside.

  They huddled in the entrance, where flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. The lingering scent of incense mingled with the slight smell of damp stone. As they stepped farther inside, Siobhán raised her eyes to the ceiling and resisted the urge to point out the intricate design of leaves and flowers painted onto the original wood beams. The church was renowned for its Victorian-era mosaics, and usually Siobhán delighted in showing them off to visitors, but this time the group had more pressing matters on their minds.

  Alice stepped forward and grasped Father Kearney’s hands in hers. Then she burst into tears.

  “There, there,” Father Kearney said, patting her hands. “It’s been a trying few days, hasn’t it?”

  His soothing baritone voice seemed to calm Alice at once. She nodded and wiped away her tears. She took a deep breath. “I never imagined this would happen. Never,” she sobbed.

  “Of course you didn’t, petal,” Father Kearney said.

  “We still want to marry, Father. Is that wrong?” Alice suddenly sounded like a little girl. Paul squeezed her hand as they awaited the answer.

  “Love is never wrong, petal,” Father Kearney said.

  Alice let out a strangled sob.

  “Thank you, Father,” Paul said. “That’s just what we wanted to hear.”

  “They were hoping to marry here at Saint Mary’s,” Siobhán said, while Alice tried to get herself under control. “And, weather permitting, hold the reception at the abbey.” Siobhán threw a look to Colm before uttering her next words. “And it won’t cost you a thing.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, Colm Cahill visibly flinched. Her words had definitely hit their mark, and when he recovered, he treated her to a searing look. She’d just reprimanded him in public, and he was furious. His eyes flicked to Father Kearney, then back at her, as if weighing his options. What if he was the murderer? It wasn’t very smart to rile him up. She would have to be more careful.

  “Won’t cost a thing?” Susan Cahill said, as if she was on a five-second time delay. From her tone, it was clear that she did not approve of anything that did not cost a substantial amount of money. “Father Kearney.” Susan grabbed Colm’s arm and then shoved him in front of the priest. The action bordered on violence, with Susan being the aggressor. Maybe she was the true bully of the family. “Her father and I don’t approve,” Susan announced when Colm fell back without a word.

  “You don’t approve of the marriage?” Father Kearney asked, glancing at the young couple. His surprise was obvious.

  “Not under such a pall,” Susan stammered. “Surely you agree.”

  “The Good Lord is watching over all of us. In good times and in bad,” Father Kearney nodded to the couple. “We can also arrange a Mass for Kevin Gallagher, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you Father,” Paul said. “We’d like that very much.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said. “Everyone has been so kind.”

  “That’s the beauty of a small village, my dear. Folks are always willing to lend a hand.” He took Alice’s hand, patted it, then let it go. “I believe I can adjust my schedule. You can marry here Saturday at noon, followed by a reception in the abbey. Or at Naomi’s Bistro, if the weather remains this foul.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” Alice cried. The rest of the guests began to speak with each other in whispers, and some wandered inside the church to kneel and pray or light a candle for Kevin.

  “We’re so grateful,” Paul said. The church door opened with a squeak, and Detective Sergeant O’Brien entered. He stopped to shake himself off. He was a short and stocky man in his sixties with thinning copper hair. He took off his cap and ran a hand over his head, and then gently stomped his feet. He nodded to Father Kearney. “May I have a word with the group?”

  “Certainly,” Father Kearney said.

  “Is it about our belongings?” Susan Cahill asked before he could speak.

  “ ’Sergeant O’Brien nodded to Siobhán. “Let’s speak outside.”

  “It’s lashing rain,” Susan said.

  You won’t melt, Siobhán’s da would have said. She kept it to herself.

  “The overhang will keep us dry,” Sergeant O’Brien said. He placed his cap back on, opened the door, and herded the group beneath the overhang near the church steps.

  The wind howled through the driving rain, forcing O’Brien to raise his normally soft voice. “If she’s willing, Ms. O’Sullivan will collect everyone’s things from the castle.” Siobhán was trying to figure out who Ms. Sullivan was when it dawned on her that he meant her.

  “I’d be happy to,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. “Not a bother.”

  “Why Siobhán?” Macdara asked. He didn’t seem pleased with the development.

  O’Brien flicked him a look. “She arrived at the castle after the victim had been murdered. Her siblings have verified that she was at Naomi’s Bistro before she headed off for the castle. So she’s the only one of you lot who isn’t an official suspect.”

  “Not a bother,” Siobhán said again. “Anything you need.”

  O’Brien nodded. “You’ll be accompanied by the castle security guard.”<
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  Val. He was hardly protection. Siobhán nodded anyway. “Yes sir.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Macdara said.

  Sergeant O’Brien shook his head. “With all due respect, Garda Flannery, you’re not in the clear.” He literally tipped his cap to Macdara.

  “Siobhán can’t possibly handle everyone’s things on her own.” Macdara sounded truly outraged. Was he jealous she got to go to the castle and he didn’t? Or was he truly worried for her safety?

  “Of course I can handle everything,” Siobhán said. He was going to mess this up for her. She tried to send him a look. He refused to meet her eyes. Being the protector, as usual. Infuriating. And sweet.

  “There are plenty of guards at the castle. They’ve been instructed to lend a hand,” O’Brien said.

  “Is she going to carry them on her scooter?” Macdara persisted. “In the rain?”

  Paul stepped forward. “She can use our driver and limo.”

  “Perfect,” Siobhán said. “Problem solved.”

  “Can we talk?” Macdara reached for her hand.

  “After I’m back,” Siobhán said, avoiding his touch. “Right now I need to make a list!” She reached in her handbag and pulled out her biro and a notebook.

  “A list,” Macdara said. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Of everything everyone needs from the castle,” Siobhán said. And jot down a few notes about each suspect.

  “Of course.” Macdara’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He was being a bad sport. Was it her fault that she’d just been handed the keys to the castle? It wasn’t until she was in the limo rummaging through her handbag that Siobhán encountered the envelope of alibis. It was still tucked inside, signed and sealed, but not delivered. She had completely forgotten to hand it over to O’Brien. She stopped short of smacking herself on the forehead. She told herself the slip of the mind had nothing to do with the fact that she was entertaining the idea of having a peek before turning them in.