Murder in an Irish Cottage. Carlene O'Connor
you prefer I drive into the meadow?” The meadow stretched forever and looked as if it held many hills, and dips, and rocks, and patches of mud.
“Is there another road?”
“The directions are to follow this road a little farther to the cottage. We’ll have to hoof it.”
“It must have rained hard last night.” The meadow glistened and Siobhán could smell the peat and imagine how soft the ground would be beneath their feet. The sun was out now, and just as Siobhán had the thought, she turned and saw it; just behind the largest hill arched a magnificent rainbow. The colors were so bright and clear, it didn’t look real. “Dara, look.” She pointed. It was such a gorgeous sight in front of her, the craggy hedges, the rolling hills, yellow wildflowers mixed with heather sprouting on the roadside, and the entire postcard-perfect scene topped off with the show-stopping rainbow. A much warmer welcome than the dilapidated wooden sign. She was suddenly sorry she had dismissed this village out of hand. From what little she’d seen, Ballysiogdun was gorgeous.
Macdara gave the rainbow an appreciative nod. “I told you to bring your Wellies, didn’t I?”
She wiggled her toes in her Wellies, relieved she had listened to him for once. “Are you sure it’s alright to park here?” She winced, hoping she didn’t sound like a nag. That wasn’t the kind of wife she was going to be, was it?
“No car is getting past this tree. By the time a tow truck makes its way out here we’ll be long gone.” They approached the crowd. One by one the members of the group noticed them and began to stare back.
“Let’s find out what’s going on,” Dara said.
“Maybe they gathered to see the rainbow.”
“Something tells me that isn’t the case.”
Siobhán agreed, but she held on to the positive thought. “Well, how do we find out?”
“Find the man in the center of the crowd,” Dara said.
“Or woman,” she called as they climbed over the felled tree and pushed farther into the thick of things.
Chapter 3
Up ahead, they spotted him, the man in the center of the mass. He was tall and slim, dressed in a tan suit (ill chosen for a summer day), with slicked-back hair and thick spectacles that kept sliding down his nose. He stammered as he tried to calm the crowd. “I beg of you. Disperse! We will discuss this at the town meeting.” Sweat trickled down his generous nose, causing his glasses to slide once more. “Let’s handle this with decorum.” He scanned the crowd. Nobody else seemed keen on decorum. “Please,” he croaked. “There’s nothing to see here.” He turned to a hefty man beside him, the only other one in the crowd wearing a suit, only his seemed more suited to a funeral than a protest. “Councilman, do you have anything to add?”
The councilman looked startled to be called upon, then cleared his throat. “As Professor Kelly stated, we’ll take this up at the town meeting.”
“We want it bulldozed now!” It was the hefty woman with the large sign. “Last night was the last straw.” In her other hand she held a large staff wrapped in colorful yarn. She pounded it on the ground causing her gray curls to bounce underneath a floppy yellow hat. “How many more people have to die?”
“Nana, please.” The plea came from a younger woman to the left of her, rubbing the end of her chestnut braid as if it were her rosary beads, occasionally stopping to pat the head of the wee child clinging onto her leg. The child began to wail.
“Sorry, luv.” Nana reached over and patted the small boy on the head. He buried his face into his mother’s hip.
“Die?” Siobhán said. “Did you say die?”
“We should burn it to the ground,” another voice rang out.
“Those were the strangest lights I’ve ever seen in me life,” another one crowed.
A dainty woman stepped forward. “My students were here before it all began. We were going to paint the sunset. That tree”—she turned and pointed to the one blocking the road—“fell just after we heard the scream. As God is my witness, there wasn’t even a breeze.” She lifted her delicate chin as if inviting the sun to set her blond bob aglow for an angelic effect.
“The Good People,” someone said. “They’re furious.”
“And that black dog, did you see him?”
Siobhán stepped forward, mesmerized. “A black dog?” The ghost stories of her childhood were often filled with mysterious black dogs leading lost children home.
“Siobhán,” Dara said under his breath. He did not want her to get involved.
“I saw a black dog alright. He was the size of a small horse,” a man offered. More voices joined the chorus:
“We warned them, and now look!”
“It’s the scream I’ll never forget.”
“Aye, a banshee.”
Several heads nodded at that. Siobhán stared, transfixed. “What’s the story?” She nudged her way next to the nana with the staff and repeated her question.
“Did you not hear the ruckus last night?” Nana swung her staff to the hill in the distance. There sat a hawthorn tree bursting with white flowers, its gnarled branches stark against the morning sky.
“I’m afraid we’ve only just arrived.”
“The fairies gathered last night under the solstice moon.” The woman pointed once more to the hill. “All of us are here because we heard or saw something last night that we cannot explain.”
Siobhán drew closer. “What exactly happened?”
Macdara touched her shoulder, making her jump. “Who’s a believer now?” he whispered in her ear. She gently shoved him off as people around them began filling in the tale.
“Fairies,” someone else said. “Dancing. We heard the music. Flutes. They were hypnotizing us with it.”
“The strangest lights I ever saw. They were blue and glowing.”
“I saw white lights. And I think I heard the music. Flutes, so many flutes. It was fairy music alright.”
“I saw a flickering light. I thought it was a fire.”
“It was hard to separate the glowing lights from the light of the moon.”
“Then came the terrible, terrible scream, and soon after, the tree fell on its own accord, blocking the road.”
All heads snapped to the road. The woman with the colorful staff shuddered. “Never heard anything so grief-stricken in my life. The scream of a banshee.” A banshee, Siobhán knew, was a harbinger of death, often depicted as an old hag shrouded in a dark cloak. Were these supposed events what had Macdara’s cousin so spooked? “It’s that cottage, don’t you know,” the woman continued. This time she jabbed her staff in the opposite direction. “Built in the middle of a fairy path.”
“Whose cottage?” Macdara asked. “The Delaneys’?”
“How did you know?” Nana pounded her staff into the ground and leaned on it like it was a third limb.
“Ellen Delaney is me aunt,” Macdara answered.
“Is she now?” the woman said. “I’m Geraldine Madigan, this is my daughter-in-law, Mary, and the wee one is William.”
Siobhán smiled at the boy, who peeked out at the mention of his name, his big blue eyes twinkling.
“Have you seen them today?” Macdara asked.
Several glances were exchanged. The councilman stepped up. “I’m Aiden Cunningham. Welcome to Ballysiogdun. I’m