Murder at the Monks' Table (21 page)

Mary Helen was hard-pressed to tell if that was a question or a statement of fact.

“And who'd blame you? We ought all to be saying our prayers after the mischief you stumbled on last night by your mews.”

Sister Mary Helen was stunned. How in the world had the woman found out? She hadn't told anyone and neither, she knew, had Eileen. She felt sure the police inspectors hadn't. At the moment even Eileen was speechless.

Zoë must have noticed their surprise. “Oh, it's all over the village, on every tongue,” she said. “Yes, indeed.” She pushed back a lock of chestnut hair that had managed to fall over her forehead. “Poor Oonagh,” she said, sounding sympathetic. “How is she feeling this morning?”

“We haven't seen her,” Mary Helen said when she managed to get her voice back. “She's still in the hospital.”

“Everyone knows that,” Zoë said impatiently. “Didn't you ask that Reedy lad when he stopped you by the road?”

The woman misses nothing,
Mary Helen thought, shaking her head. “No,” she said finally. “I didn't.” From the expression on Zoë's face, she felt as if she had somehow shirked her duty.

“Well.” Zoë leaned against her front gate. “I suppose it could
have been a lot worse. Poor love is not as young as she once was. A hit in the head is not easy to get over when you're getting on in years.”

“Zoë!” A man's voice roared from the cottage. “Are ye going to fix me breakfast or are ye going to stand around all morning long flappin' your lips?”

Zoë's face hardened, and her dark eyes snapped with anger. “That's
himself
,” she explained, her cheeks flushed. “And he's helpless.

“Hunger makes good sauce, Bertie,” she called back, not moving an inch.

A door slammed in the house. “You ladies are lucky, indeed,” Zoë said, still not moving. “As me ould mother used to say, ‘There are no trials till marriage.' ”

Without another word Zoë turned on her heel and stomped back into the cottage, slamming her front door.

“Ye right
eejit
!” Her angry voice tore through the quiet morning and a heavy pan hit the stovetop. “It's breakfast you want, is it? I'll show you breakfast.”

There was another crash and an unidentifiable thud as Sister Mary Helen and Sister Eileen moved quickly down the road.

“Oh, my,” Eileen said when they were passing a thick hedge that shielded a neighboring house and its gardens from view. “It sounds as if poor Bertie is going to get more than he bargained for.”

“She's a good heart, has our Zoë,” a strong voice came from over the hedge. “She's only the one chick, you know, not enough to keep her busy.”

Patsy Lynch appeared by the front gate. Her thick hair was pulled back and fastened with a tortoiseshell clasp. She smelled as if she'd just stepped out of the shower. “Out for a walk, are ye?” she asked pleasantly. “And a grand day for it, too.”

Behind her, Mary Helen noticed a carefully tended garden full of rambling roses, yellow flag iris, and healthy bushes of heather. Next to the house was a clothesline heavy with laundry.

Patsy must have noticed her looking. “No one can resist washing on a fine drying day like today,” she said. “Everything smells so clean and fresh from the sunshine. I've every bed in the house stripped.”

Mary Helen could see that this was true. There must be at least a half dozen sheets hanging on Patsy's line.

“ 'Twas a terrible thing, I hear, happened to Oonagh Cox last night,” she said. “Poor love, her husband gone and all. She's had enough troubles. And Oonagh herself wouldn't harm a fly.” Her voice trailed off, as if she was waiting for them to reply.

Mary Helen's mouth felt dry.
If you only knew,
she thought, hoping her face didn't give anything away. She didn't dare look at Eileen.

“Yes, indeed,” Patsy Lynch said, her voice full of compassion. “God love Oonagh. She has had more than her share.”

 

 

Liam O'Dea pulled back the heavy wooden door of the Monks' Table. Once he stepped inside he stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness of the place.

“Good morning, lad.” He recognized Detective Inspector White's voice, and the man actually sounded cheerful. Had he discovered the murderer overnight? Wouldn't that be grand?

“Good morning to you, sir,” Liam answered, then realized as his vision cleared that White was not alone. Next to him, Brian Reedy sat on a stool, obviously enjoying a coffee.

Hugh Ryan was behind the bar, looking especially glum. Liam glanced around the pub, expecting to see gardai from the
neighboring villages. Hadn't White asked them to come back and help with the search for the missing costume?

“Good day to you, Liam,” Hugh said, rewiping the bar top. “Can I get you something? A cuppa? A wee drop?”

Liam noticed that he deliberately turned his back to White.

“Thanks, no,” Liam said, wondering what the tension was between the two men.

“I might as well be serving somebody as standing around losing a fortune,” Hugh mumbled.

“Hugh is annoyed that he can't open just yet,” White explained.

“But Reedy himself told me that he thought I'd be able to open last night, today at the latest,” Hugh complained.

White raised a hand, cutting him off. “Brian told you that before Oonagh Cox was found.”

“Oonagh Cox, found?” Liam's stomach dropped. Had he heard correctly? He cleared his throat. “Found, how?” His voice cracked and his cheeks were burning.

Turning, White studied him until Liam felt like a bug under a microscope.

“Not dead, thank God, if that's what you're worried about,” White said at last.

Liam wished that Hugh would offer him a cuppa again or better yet, a wee drop. He could use it now.

“How, then?” Liam asked, trying to keep his tone of voice all business.

“With a very painful bump on her head. Not unlike the one Tommy Burns received. She was left on the lawn of the American nuns' mews.”

Carmel must be frantic,
Liam thought anxiously, trying to figure out a way he could get to see her. “Is Mrs. Cox in hospital?” he asked, hoping he sounded professionally concerned.

Detective Inspector White nodded. “The ambulance took
her to emergency last night. Although she said that she was perfectly fine, the doctor decided to keep her overnight. Just a precaution,” White added quickly.

“Like Tommy Burns, Mrs. Cox was knocked quite unconscious. Her attacker wore a white sheetlike costume and apparently was pretending to be Death.” White thought for a moment, then added, “It is more imperative than ever that we find that costume.”

His eyes locked on Liam. “I know you and the lads said you looked everywhere, but that costume was somewhere in the village and ended up on a very dangerous individual. I want it found!”

Although Liam knew he probably shouldn't ask, he couldn't help himself. “Where are the rest of the lads?”

Reedy gave a bark of a laugh.

“That's the bad news,” White said. “Some visiting dignitaries are coming to Dublin for a bloody meeting with the Taoiseach, and all personnel who can be spared are being called to come to Dublin.

“I threw a regular fit, mind you, but it did no good. You, Liam, are my only helper.” He grabbed Liam's shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Now, the good news.”

Thanks be to God there's some good news,
Liam thought.

“First, a couple of lads from the tech team are coming to check the yard at the mews. I must tell the American nuns. And second: the sun. It's a mighty glorious day out there, and every woman in the village has her clothes on the line. That should be to our advantage.”

“How so, sir?”

“Everyone knows that the perfect place to hide something is where everyone can see it because if you can see it, no one will look.” White looked pleased with himself and waited for Liam's reaction.

The man is daft,
Liam thought, but he knew better than to say that.

“Sir,” Liam swallowed. This was as good a time as any to tell his superior about Mrs. Cox and Owen Lynch, even if it was only hearsay. White may be angry that he'd kept it to himself for so long, but even a reprimand seemed better than looking through blasted clotheslines.

“Get to it, Liam,” White said, pulling his cell phone from the pocket of his rumpled jacket. “I've got to ring the hospital to ask if Oonagh is up to seeing me.”

“But, sir,” Liam protested.

“Later, lad,” White said impatiently. “Go find me that costume.”

 

 

“The sun is to our advantage, indeed,” Liam grumbled to himself as he began his walk through the village. If anyone asked him, the only thing the sun was, was blasted hot. If you considered sweating in one's blue woolen uniform useful, then he guessed the sun was an advantage. What in God's name made the man tick?

Liam felt like a right fool walking down the side streets staring at clotheslines. Detective Inspector White had been right about one thing. Every line in the village had wash drying on it.

There were sheets, yes, but also towels and socks and women's personals. He felt his face redden as he stared at a large pair of women's underdrawers. What kind of a pervert would the villagers take him for? Sure, if his Auntie Zoë caught sight of him, he'd never hear the end of it.

Deliberately avoiding her block, he walked in the direction of the Cox home, hoping Carmel would be there so that he could tell her how sorry he was to hear of her mother's accident.

Standing by the front gate to the Cox's garden, Liam removed his hat. His head felt as if he had just lifted a pot of hot water off it. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. It was damp.

Carmel must have seen him coming. The Coxes' front door flew open, and she nearly threw herself at him.

“I'm so glad to see you,” she sobbed into his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating against his ribs.

“Are you here about my mam?”

“Yes. No,” Liam stuttered.

“Is it yes or no?” Carmel asked, her big blue eyes staring up at him.

“It's yes. Of course, it's yes. Finding out who did this to your mam is our top priority,” he said, puffing out his chest a little. “We can't have our women attacked.”

“She could have been killed,” Carmel moaned.

“Indeed,” said Liam, trying to soothe her, “but I understand she'll be fine. Have you spoken to her this morning?”

Carmel shook her head. “I called the hospital, but the Sister in charge said that she was asleep. I didn't want to wake her. I'm just on my way over now.”

She pushed back from him and smoothed down her curls. “What are you doing?” she asked.

How could he tell her that he was checking clotheslines? He'd rather die. He put his hat back on and said nothing. Maybe she'd think what he was about was top secret.

“Liam,” she wheedled. “What is it you are doing?”

He smiled, trying to imitate that I-know-something-I-can't-tell smile he had seen on television detectives. A trickle of sweat slid down each of his sides as she continued to study him.

Finally she looked away. “It's something you can't tell me, isn't it?” she teased.

Liam held his know-something smile.

“It is,” she said gleefully. “I best go and see mam, now. And, Liam,” she added softly, batting her bright blue eyes at him, “I'm so very proud of you. You must be tremendously useful to those detective inspectors for them to send you out to investigate on your own.”

Liam walked away quickly. The collar on his uniform shirt seemed to have shrunk. His telltale face must be crimson by now. Tremendously useful, indeed! If she only knew! Right now he felt about as useful as a chocolate teapot!