Murder at the Monks' Table (15 page)

Liam O'Dea's head was swimming as he watched the old nun move off to the hall where the music had started up again. Eyes closed, he leaned against the broom closet door. Maybe he was hallucinating and this would all go away!

Carmel's mother, the doctor's wife, having an affair with the garage owner. It was preposterous! No one would believe him if he did tell them. And if Carmel heard, she'd never forgive him for saying such things about her mam. And her brothers! Liam didn't even want to think about what they'd do if they heard a word.

Yet, he had a duty. He had some information that might prove useful to solving a serious crime.

Yerra,
he felt the perspiration under his arms run down his sides. He better keep his gob shut. Maybe look around on his own, be sure of his facts when he did present them to Detective Inspector White. That would be the safest thing to do. On
the other hand, maybe the best thing to do was to tell him straightaway.

“Oh, there you are,” Carmel called, bouncing up to him. “I've been looking all over for you and I'm nearly hoarse from calling your name.” Reaching out, she put her hand on his forearm, and Liam felt a shock rush all the way to his toes.

“Come, dance with me,” Carmel begged, her bright eyes teasing, “before someone else asks me. You know you'd hate that.”

Liam allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor.

“Is something bothering you?” she said, lightly touching his shoulder.

“No. Nothing,” Liam lied. But after a few steps with Carmel's supple body pressing against his, Willie Ward's murder and his duty to help solve it seemed far, far away.

 

 

“Oh, you're back,” Sister Eileen said when Mary Helen slipped into the empty chair next to her in the hall. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“What time is it?” Stifling a yawn, Mary Helen glanced down at her wristwatch. It was nearly midnight, and Rafferty's Rest was still packed with people, young and old.

“You can't even count on the old people to go home early,” she whispered.

Eileen's gray eyebrows shot up. “What? And miss something?”

Just when Mary Helen thought that she could not sit upright another minute, Paul Glynn, their driver, appeared with his wife on his arm.

“We've a babysitter,” he said, “so I have to take the wife home. Shall I come back for you or are you ready to go?”

“Ready!” Eileen said, even faster than Mary Helen could.

Once inside their mews, the two old nuns changed quickly into their nightgowns, bathrobes, and slippers.

“Where were you for so long tonight?” Eileen asked, handing Mary Helen a cup of steaming hot cocoa. “To help you sleep,” she said, as though either of them needed any help.

“You won't believe it.” Mary Helen took a cautious sip of the foaming drink.

“Try me.”

“Well, you remember I went outside for a breath of fresh air?”

Eileen nodded.

“And apparently I wasn't the only one with that idea. There was a couple out there in the dark, kissing, I think.”

“Oh?” Eileen blew on her cup of hot cocoa.

“You'll never guess who!” Quickly she told her friend about Oonagh Cox and Owen Lynch and what she had overheard.

For once Eileen was speechless.

“Just when I was wondering what to do with the information, who should come outside but that young garda, Liam O'Dea.”

“You do remember what Detective Inspector White said about getting involved?”

“Of course I remember,” Mary Helen answered, a bit testily. “How could I forget? And that is why, when I saw Liam O'Dea, I decided to put the whole thing in his hands.”

“Good for you.” Eileen collected both empty cups, putting them in the sink to soak. “And what did he say?”

“Not much,” Mary Helen admitted, “just that he'd take care of it.”

“Splendid.” Eileen yawned. “And you'll let him, right?”

“Right,” Mary Helen said. “I couldn't help what I overheard,” she said a little defensively, “but now the whole thing is out of my hands.” She brushed her palms together to make her point. “I want nothing more to do with it.”

And when she said it, she truly meant it.

 

 

May
your glass be ever full,
May you always have a roof over your head,
And may you be in heaven
Half an hour before the devil knows you're dead.

—Irish blessing

 

A
sharp rap at the front door of the mews woke Sister Mary Helen.

“I'm here to hoover,” a woman's voice called cheerfully. “Are ye up yet, love?”

“Yes, indeed,” she heard Eileen answer. “One minute, please. We'll be right there.”

Abruptly Mary Helen's bedroom door flew open, and Eileen whispered, “It's Tuesday. The cleaning lady is here.”

“Cleaning lady?” Mary Helen mumbled. “We haven't been here long enough to get anything dirty.”

Still fuzzy with sleep, she dressed quickly and walked into the front parlor just as a woman who introduced herself as Judy, the cleaning lady, turned on the vacuum.

“Don't bother with the beds,” she called above the hum, “I'll change the linens, and mind you, take a sweater.”

Fortunately, Eileen had been able to rescue two cups of coffee and two scones from the kitchen and was settled on a bench just outside the mews. Despite the fact that the sun was out and the morning sky was colored with streaks of ripe apricot, there was a nip in the air. Mary Helen was glad she'd heeded Judy's advice and brought her sweater.

Clouds were already forming billowy white hills along the horizon. The soft
churring
of a wren in the ivy, the scratchy song of a brown dunnock, the hum of the hoover, and the rumble of a lorry on the main road were the only sounds in the yard.

The two nuns sat in companionable silence, sipping their coffee, each lost in her own thoughts, when Paul Glynn came round the corner. “Ah, there ye be,” he said with a wide grin. “And what's on the schedule for today?”

Mary Helen had no idea and was glad when Paul produced the bright yellow Oyster Festival brochure.

“Tuesday,” he read. “Guinness Country Golf Classic.” He looked at them inquisitively. “Are either of ye golfers?”

“Lord, no!” Eileen said.

“Where is it being played?” Mary Helen asked. She didn't remember seeing a golf course in the area.

“At Athenry Golf Club,” Paul said. “It is located midway between Athenry and Oranmore.”

All that Mary Helen remembered hearing about Athenry was the famous ballad “The Fields of Athenry.”

Eileen seemed to know a little more. “It's a medieval town,” she said, “the only walled town in Ireland where some of the walls are still intact.”

“Then, it might be worth our while to go even if we don't play golf,” Mary Helen said, and Eileen agreed.

That settled, they made arrangements for Paul to pick them up after the morning Mass.

 

With Paul at the wheel they seemed to fly along the carriageway through rich farming country.
These must be the famous fields of Athenry,
Mary Helen thought, but she didn't dare ask. She didn't want to take their driver's attention from the road, not even for a second.

Before long they spotted the still-intact walls. “Here we are,” Paul said, pulling into the nearest car park to let them out. “You go on ahead,” he said, “I've some business and I'll catch you up.”

“Business, indeed,” Eileen said, watching the man hurry away toward the nearest pub. “That reminds me of an old joke,” she said. “The justice asks the defendant, ‘Were you intoxicated?' ‘That's my business,' the defendant answers. Then the justice asks, ‘And, ould son, have you any other business?' ”

Strolling in a leisurely manner through the small town, the two nuns thoroughly enjoyed exploring the ruins of the castle, the Dominican priory, and an ancient arch, which had been one of the gateways to the town.

They stopped for a bite to eat at a cozy sandwich shop in the town center and were about to buy some homemade berry jam when Paul caught up with them.

“Shall we drive over to the golf course?” he asked. “See if we can find who's winning? It's said to be the most challenging and scenic course in all of Ireland,” he added proudly.

After a few minutes' ride, Paul pulled the hackney into a crowded car park near the clubhouse. Set against a backdrop of beech and pine trees, the course lived up to its reputation for beauty, anyway.

“Look who's here.” Paul pointed to a large-boned woman leaving the clubhouse.

“It's Patsy Lynch, and a grand player she is, too,” Paul
remarked, clearly in admiration of her skill. “She's a good, clean stroke.”

Watching Patsy start across the lot, Mary Helen felt a twinge of sadness.
That poor woman has no idea what her husband's up to,
she thought, feeling strangely guilty that she did.
Should I be the one to tell her?
she wondered, although of course, it was the last thing in the world she intended to do. There was a lot to be said about knowing when to mind your own business.

Yet it didn't seem fair. Patsy was a pleasant enough-looking woman in an outdoorsy sort of way, with a long face and her thick gray hair pulled back and fastened with a tortoiseshell clip. Clearly she was no match physically for the beautiful Oonagh Cox.

“Shall I let you two out?” Paul asked, turning in his seat.

All at once, as if to answer his question, large drops of rain hit the windshield.

“No,” Eileen and she said in unison.

“Where to, then?” Paul asked.

“What about visiting Jake?” Eileen said. “Didn't you want to see his photographs?”

“Jake, the tinker?” Paul seemed to be struggling to keep from laughing.

“Yes,” Mary Helen said. “Is there any reason we shouldn't?”

“None a'tall.” Paul turned the key in the ignition, and the hackney roared into action. “I was just wondering how long it would take your visit to get on the wire.”

Mary Helen must have looked puzzled.

“You've heard the saying, have you? ‘Tell it to Mary in a whisper and Mary will tell it to the whole parish.' Well, Sister, we've a lot of Marys in this village.”