Murder in an Irish Cottage. Carlene O'Connor

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you sure?”

      “The state pathologist will conduct a thorough investigation.” Siobhán should have warned Jane not to jabber about the case. It never occurred to her that Jane would do so. “What kind of book are you writing?”

      “Poisoned and smothered,” Jane said, stepping forward.

      No, no, no. What was she doing? “It’s best not to give away too much information,” Siobhán said. “We need to protect the investigation.”

      “They need to hear this.” Jane pushed Siobhán aside. “The Little People did not kill my mother. Someone amongst us did. They poisoned her, and then smothered her!”

      This was a disaster, a setback for the investigators. If social decorum didn’t dictate otherwise, Siobhán would have thrown herself to the ground to pummel it.

      Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Geraldine Madigan, wielding her colorful staff, barreled toward them with surprising speed, jostling townsfolk out of her way with her elbows. She planted herself in front of Jane, her bosom still heaving long after she stopped. She held a finger up to Jane’s face. “Shame on you for not listening to our warnings.”

      “Geraldine,” Jane said. “I should have known there wouldn’t be an ounce of sympathy in your old bones.”

      Siobhán’s mouth dropped open. Jane Delaney was combative. There was definitely boiling water under this bridge.

      “That cottage is cursed,” Geraldine said, spit flying from her mouth. “If it had been bulldozed as we told you, repeatedly, your mam would still be alive.”

      “And here we were going to buy one of your walking sticks.”

      “You can have as many as you want on your way out of this village,” Geraldine said.

      Siobhán gasped. It was all she could take. “Have you no decency? She just lost her mam.”

      Geraldine’s eyes seemed to dance with excitement. “We warned them,” she said, stomping her staff. “Over and over and over again.”

      “What do you think of our lovely neighbors, Siobhán?” Jane said. “Are you listening to your mother?” Jane pointed at Joe with her cane. He jumped and dropped a carton of eggs. They splattered on the ground, yellow goo forming a puddle.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ