Murder in an Irish Cottage. Carlene O'Connor
“Confound it!” He stared at the eggs as if weighing his options. Was he going to force a blind woman whose mother was just murdered to pay for the dropped eggs? “Jane, I’m very sorry for your loss.” Good choice. He turned to Geraldine. “Mother, please. Not here.”
Geraldine Madigan set her mouth in a straight line and nodded. “May she rest in peace.” She crossed herself.
“You old witch!” Jane lunged toward Geraldine. “If a fairy did this, it’s you they should have killed!”
“Enough.” Siobhán took Jane by the elbow and literally held her back. “Where is your parish priest?”
This seemed to stop all the chatter. “He divides his time between villages,” Geraldine finally said. “If he’s not at the church, he may be at the other village. Why?”
“Because I swear you all need to go to mass in the morning. I’ve never seen such a shameful display in me life!”
“Putting the fear of God into them,” Jane leaned in and whispered. “I can see why my cousin is taken with you.” Siobhán felt her face flush. It wasn’t like her to hold mass over anyone’s head, but if anyone needed it, it was this lot. Jane turned back to the crowd. “Joe Madigan,” she said, “I assume now that Mam is dead at least we won’t have to live with you peeping at us with those binoculars of yours.”
She knew? Yet another surprise from Macdara’s cousin. She’d meant it when she said her other skills were sharpened. As sharp as knives. There was also a playful tone to Jane’s reprimand that Siobhán found jarring. Ellen Delaney must have known about his peeping as well and reported it to her daughter. Why had they let him continue doing it? At least Joe had the decency to turn bright red.
Geraldine pounded her stick. “What are they on about?” She glared at her son.
“My bird-watching,” he stammered. “Ellen accused me of spying. I’m a bird-watcher!”
“My son is a bird-watcher!” Geraldine repeated with twice the enthusiasm but half the conviction.
“Tweet, tweet,” Jane deadpanned.
“Don’t you dare start spreading rumors about me son being a pervert,” Geraldine said.
“Leave her be, Mam, she’s only joking.” His shoulders hunched. He leaned into her. “And please don’t use that word.”
“I saw you this morning with your binoculars,” Siobhán said. “You seemed to be looking at me.”
“Birds,” Geraldine insisted.
“Birds can be a euphemism for women, can’t they?” Jane sounded thrilled with it. Siobhán imagined her wedding. The reception. The seating chart. Jane Delaney was going way in the back.
Joe looked at Siobhán then, quite openly. His handsome jaw was set. “Who are you exactly?”
“This is Garda O’Sullivan from Kilbane, County Cork.” Jane stated it proudly. Joe Madigan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably. Interesting. Guards made him nervous. Guilty conscience? The young mother with the chestnut braid they’d met earlier appeared behind Joe Madigan, this time toting two children, a boy and a girl. “This is me wife, Mary Madigan,” Joe said. “This is Garda O’Sullivan.”
William had his hand wrapped around his mother’s legs, just like he’d been clinging to her in the road when they arrived. The girl looked to be around six years of age and she stood by with her big eyes glued to the visitors. “We are so sorry about your mother,” Mary Madigan said to Jane. She turned to her daughter, now jumping up and down. “Lilly. Don’t make me count to three. One . . .”
The little girl stuck her lip out in a perfect pout but stopped jumping. “Hello, Mary,” Jane said. They exchanged pleasantries, but their voices were sour, as if they could barely force niceties out of their mouths. “Did you see my mother this weekend?” Jane asked.
“Me?” Mary said. She glanced at her husband and began to blink.
“Aren’t you in her painting class?”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “The class was moved to Friday night so we could capture the solstice moon. Ellen was not present.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“I wonder why she missed it,” Jane said. She turned to Siobhán. “You must speak with Annabel.”
“Annabel?” Siobhán asked.
“She’s our teacher,” Mary said. “She’s very encouraging.”
“We have to find out if my mam gave her a reason for canceling,” Jane said. Siobhán didn’t like her use of “we,” and the number of times she was being forced to bite her tongue was taking a toll. Jane was right about one thing; she did wish to speak to Annabel. Jane turned back to Mary and Joe. “Did any of you see my mam this weekend?”
Glances were exchanged in the crowd, and folks began to move closer.
“Several have been wondering if . . . somehow . . . she had something to do with the strange events of Friday night,” Joe said at last.
“Why in heavens do you think that?” Jane sounded defensive.
Joe cleared his throat. “A woman was seen running through the meadow toward the cottage. Right after that awful scream.”
“You saw this yourself?” Jane asked.
“Me?” Joe stammered. “No. I’m only telling you what I’ve been hearing.”
“Joe was out of town,” Mary said. She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Yes,” Joe said. “I was gone from Thursday day to Saturday morning.” It sounded stilted, as if he’d rehearsed it, yet his wife gave a satisfying nod.
“What about you then?” Jane asked the farmer’s wife.
“What about me?” Mary’s tone was clipped.
“You must have seen me mother?”
Mary shook her head. “No. But Geraldine saw her.”
All eyes turned to Geraldine. She nodded. “Right after the scream. Running past the fairy ring toward the cottage.”
“Are you sure it was Ellen Delaney?” Siobhán asked.
“Who else could it have been?” Geraldine sounded outraged at the question.
“She was only asking if you were sure,” Jane persisted. “Answer the question.”
“I don’t know,” Geraldine admitted. “The figure was dressed in dark clothing. But she . . . or he . . . was running toward the cottage. No one else goes near the place if they don’t have to, especially at night.” She visibly shuddered. “The things I saw that night. The moon. The strange lights. That scream. That horrible, horrible scream.” She lowered her head. “Something was going on.”
“Every one of you will need to give your account of that evening to the guards,” Siobhán said. If Ellen Delaney had been seen running to the cottage, where had she been running from?
“Sounds like everyone is being overly dramatic,” Jane said. “Or they’re protecting a killer.”
“How convenient that you weren’t here to witness any of it,” Geraldine said.
Jane’s jaw clenched. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Geraldine edged closer, her staff pounding the ground. “Where were you?”
“I was at a conference in Dublin.” She pointed to Siobhán. “Ask her.”
Siobhán was floored. Not only did she have no proof that Jane had been in