Murder in an Irish Cottage. Carlene O'Connor
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one of the townspeople did this because of . . . the Little People?”
“I have no idea what to think.”
Of course he didn’t, but posing the question was a standard back-and-forth for guards. He was too close to the victim to participate. She reached him and laid her hand on his arm. He moved away. “Why don’t you wait outside?” she said.
“We both need to wait outside.” He turned to her. “How am I going to tell my mam?”
His mam. Someone else she’d forgotten. It was necessary when investigating not to allow your emotions to interfere. But this wouldn’t be their case. He needed his fiancée right now, not a guard. “I’m so sorry, Dara.”
He removed his mobile phone, held it up, and snapped pictures of the scene. This would probably be their only chance. Siobhán grabbed her mobile and did the same. Just like the front room, the bedroom was neat. There was a standing wardrobe in the corner and the door was thrown open. A suitcase was visible on the bottom shelf. They would have to exit and call the guards, but they’d already intruded, so they might as well take as many photos as they could. As Siobhán headed near the door, she glanced back and spotted something glittering from under the bed. “Dara,” she said. “Look.”
Macdara came to her side and stared at the gold object resting underneath the bed. “What is that?”
“It looks like . . . a gold coin. . . .”
He tilted his head. “If you say anything about a leprechaun missing his pot the wedding is off.”
“Wasn’t even thinking it.” Although she was now. First the rainbow, now this . . . all this talk of fairies was clouding her head.
He sighed. “I wish we could touch it.”
“Me too.” She was dying to see what it was.
“Every second we’re in here we’re contaminating the scene.”
“Let’s go.”
Back in the hall they briefly explored the remainder of the cottage. A second bedroom, presumably Jane’s, sat directly across from Ellen’s. The inside was sparse, a neatly made twin bed, side tables without debris, and a wardrobe. Like Ellen’s there were no decorations. Siobhán thought the room looked lonely, but nothing seemed amiss. A bathroom was to the right and a back door led out to the garden. Near it, Wellies were propped up in a row, and a basket held multiple gardening gloves. The washroom was tidy, the shower curtain closed. But a single towel was draped lazily over the tub. Siobhán snapped a photo, as it seemed out of kilter. She turned her gaze across the hall and back to the woman on the bed. “She’s been arranged.” Posed. There was something sinister in the peaceful way they’d folded her hands after what they’d done to her. This village contained something more evil than fairies. Someone. “Someone arranged the body, and yet they left the pillow and teacup on the floor.” Her thoughts circled back to the open door and the broken window. It was a mystery of this profession that the same clues could either point to a killer who was careless, or cunning. Like a fairy. Stop it, Siobhán. Get a grip. “Do you think she had a date?”
“A date?” Macdara sounded horrified.
Why else would she be wearing a red dress on a Friday evening? “She’s a single woman, isn’t she?”
“She was my auntie.”
He was definitely too close to the victim to investigate this case. “We should check if she’s been on any internet dating sites.”
“You’re joking me.”
“You’re personally involved. It’s already affecting you.”
“Look around. Does it look like they have internet? There isn’t even telly.”
“But there is a laptop.” Siobhán pointed to a vanity dresser she’d just now noticed, squeezed next to the wardrobe. On it sat a silver laptop.
Macdara stared at it. “It’s probably Jane’s.” He started for it.
“You can’t.” She blocked him with her arm. They knew the correct thing to do was get out of the cottage immediately. But it was torture not to start touching things. “The guards will want to take a look at it.”
“For dating sites?” The outrage was still in his voice.
“Yes, and e-mails, and sites she visited, or chat rooms, or anything else they can learn.” She scanned the room once more. “There should be a handbag and mobile phone somewhere around here.” The guards would have to search for them. It was maddening to have their hands tied.
“Chat rooms?” Macdara looked as if he’d choked on his tongue. “I’ve never heard of her doing any of those things in me life.”
“You said you hadn’t seen your auntie in years.”
His mouth set in a hard line. “I thought we’d have time,” he said softly. “Had I known . . .”
“Of course.” They quickly exited and stood just outside the front door, examining the glass. Shattered bits were on either side of the window. Investigators would have to determine if it was smashed from the outside or within. Jane sat on the rock in front of them, her head bowed. Siobhán lowered her voice to a whisper as Macdara stared at his mobile.
“What of your aunt’s husband? Did he pass?”
“Yes, ages ago.” He glanced at Jane, pain stamped on his face. “It’s not going to be our case.”
“I know.”
The local guards would probably work in conjunction with Cork City, even Dublin. They would assign a detective sergeant and send their forensic team. A village this small wouldn’t be left to handle a murder probe on their own. Siobhán and Macdara would be expected to step back. She turned to Macdara and kept her voice low. “Is that going stop us?” she asked.
“If you believe that,” Macdara answered, “you might as well believe in fairies.”
Chapter 5
Jane Delaney hadn’t touched the brown bread. Some people welcomed food in times of stress, others shunned it. Starving one’s grief only led to more trouble, but Jane was in the early stages of shock and it wasn’t Siobhán’s place to lecture or mother her. It was bad enough they had yet to make it known that the clues pointed to murder. Siobhán wanted to say it straightaway but she was taking her cues off Macdara, who was currently staring at the road in the distance as if trying to summon the guards with his mind. “Are they walking from Cork City?” He jabbed at his mobile phone. “I can’t get a signal.”
Jane pointed to the road. “Try standing farther out, luv. The village cretins cut off our access.”
“Who cut off your access?” Uh-oh. Macdara was revved up and ready to race. Siobhán sort of wanted to watch, but not from the passenger seat.
“The village,” Jane replied, spitting out the word. “Which always means the councilman. Aiden Cunningham.”
“We met him on our way in,” Siobhán said.
“He failed to mention he cut off your access,” Macdara seethed.
Jane’s tone softened as if sensing it may not have been the best idea to get her cousin worked up. “That was Mam’s theory. When we first moved in, we could get reception near the cottage. After we refused to leave, we couldn’t. I can’t prove it was on purpose.” She threw open her arms. “We are out in the middle of nowhere.”
Macdara held his phone higher, searching for a signal. “But you had access, and then Aiden Cunningham threatened to remove it, and then you didn’t have access?”
“We had access and then we didn’t, and that’s when Mam accused the village of messing with us.”
That’s when Mam accused . .