Murder at the Monks' Table (14 page)

“You looked just fine to me,” Mary Helen said, and she meant it.

“And your partner, Owen Lynch,” Eileen added, “is a fine dancer, too.”

Oonagh nodded. “And the shame of it is that his wife, Patsy, grand girl that she is, has two left feet,” she said, which satisfied Mary Helen's curiosity as to why Mrs. Lynch had chosen whist.

“But his Patsy"—Oonagh stood and ran her fingers through her damp gray hair—”is brilliant when it comes to whist. She wins nearly every game she plays. So as the old saying goes, ‘God shares the good things.' ”

Mary Helen was thinking about that when the band started up again. “A slip jig,” Oonagh said, hurrying out to the dance floor. “Ladies only.”

Sister Mary Helen watched the women both young and old dancing with an energy and grace that amazed her.

“They lift themselves and leap like deer, don't they, now?” Father Keane said, sitting down on the empty chair next to Sister Eileen. “Are ye enjoying yourselves?” he asked, leaning forward so he could see them both.

“Indeed,” Eileen said, and Mary Helen nodded. “Are you a dancer yourself, Father?” she asked.

“Not a'tall! You'll not find me anywhere near a dance floor,” he said. “All I'd need is to choose one of the ladies in my parish as a partner and rumors would be flying like pillow feathers in the wind. They'd have it on every tongue. Besides,” he added, “the bishop frowns on the priests dancing, and it's a perfect excuse for me.”

“Then you're here for the whist?”

“No, not that either. Those whist players show no mercy
even to the clergy,” he said with a laugh. “Or should I say, especially to the clergy. No"—he lowered his voice—”I'm here because I'm expected to be. To tell you the God's honest truth, I'm home to bed as soon as possible.”

“Father Keane,” an older man called, “I'd like you to meet my brother. He's here on holiday.”

“Happy to, Donal,” the priest said. “On holiday from where?” His voice trailed off.

On the dance floor, a reel or two followed the slip jig, and finally the band broke into a waltz. The twirling couples, the music, the warmth in the room, and the full supper began to take their toll on Sister Mary Helen. Her eyes felt heavy. To be honest, she could scarcely keep them open. She glanced sideways at Eileen, who didn't seem to be having any problem at all.

“I think I need a breath of fresh air,” Mary Helen said.

“What?” Eileen bent toward her, but the music made it difficult to hear.

“I'm going outside,” she mouthed, “for a breath of air.”

Eileen smiled and nodded but didn't seem eager to go along. “I'll be back in a few minutes,” Mary Helen said.

The contrast between the warm back room of Rafferty's and the crisp night air nearly took her breath away. The wind slapped at her face and tore at the edge of her sweater. She shivered, yet it felt refreshing.

Overhead the sky was brilliant with stars. The wind must have blown the storm clouds out over the Atlantic and left the heavens sparkling. She pushed up her bifocals on the bridge of her nose and gazed at the beauty. The words of the ancient psalmist echoed in her mind. “You fix the number of the stars and give to each its name.”

She was so enthralled that she nearly missed the smell of smoke, cigarette smoke. It was coming from somewhere close.
Who else was out here? She edged toward the back door of Rafferty's. She didn't want to startle anyone.

Peeking around the corner of the building, she spotted what she thought was a couple—a tall man and a much shorter woman. In the darkness she saw the orange tip of a burning cigarette. The hand that held it seemed to be around the other person.

Despite the brightness of the stars it was difficult to make out what they were doing. If she had to venture a guess, she'd say that they were embracing.

Sister Mary Helen squinted into the darkness. She watched the burning cigarette tip drop to the ground as the man pulled the woman to him in what looked like a passionate kiss.

Oh, my, she thought, edging backward. Talk about being in the wrong place at the right time! Although considering how engrossed they were, she didn't think that they would even notice her.

Standing very still, she wondered exactly what she should do—slip back into the building, or make some noise so that they'd know she was there?

“We can't continue to do this,” she heard the woman whisper. She sounded frantic. “I'm nearly beside myself with worry she'll find out. Then what?”

That voice! Mary Helen recognized it, although it took her several seconds to put a name to it. Oonagh Cox! But who was the large man she was with? It couldn't possibly be Owen Lynch, could it?

“To hell with it,” the man muttered.

“Owen,” she heard Oonagh say softly. “Get ahold on yourself. You've got to go back inside. They're probably looking for you right now.”

“Not to worry, love.” Owen's voice was thick with emotion. “No one suspects. I'm sure of that.”

“That's what you say, but we both know Willie Ward was onto us.”

“Willie Ward!” Lynch gave a nasty laugh. “He'll not be bothering anybody ever again. God saw to that.”

“Tell me you didn't play God's helper,” Oonagh whispered.

Mary Helen's heart plummeted, and she felt a little queasy. Was she about to overhear a murder confession?

“Of course I didn't, much as I'd have liked to have. You know I didn't.” Owen's words had the cold clink of ice. “But I am terribly grateful to whomever did.”

The night air was beginning to chill Mary Helen to the bone. Were these two ever going to go back inside? She clenched her teeth so they wouldn't chatter from the cold. Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, she heard someone make a move. Was there another person out here? She peered into the darkness but saw nothing. It must have been one of them.

“You go first,” Oonagh said very softly. “I'll follow.”

Mary Helen stood still until she thought the coast was clear, but her mind was racing.

Oonagh Cox and Owen Lynch were having an affair! Could that be? They both seemed so upright, so proper. Not that upright and proper people are immune to emotions.

And Willie Ward…. Had Oonagh actually asked Owen if he had killed the man? That was an odd question for one lover to ask another. Mary Helen's teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. She needed to go inside. She needed to tell someone what she had just heard.

Back home in San Francisco, she would have given Homicide Inspectors Kate Murphy and Dennis Gallagher a call. But here there was no Kate or Gallagher, and Detective Inspector White had made it clear that he didn't want her meddling in his business … quite clear! Yet she felt she should tell someone. But whom?

Without warning, the back door of Rafferty's Rest swung open, and a young man stepped out. He looked startled to see her.

Garda Liam O'Dea, perfect!
Mary Helen thought. What was the old saying? “Chance is a nickname for Providence.”

 

 

Liam O'Dea spun around with surprise. He hadn't expected to find anyone else standing outside. “Who's that?” he called, feeling his heart beating against his ribs.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” a voice said.

It had an American accent. Liam frowned.
Could it be one of those nuns from San Francisco?
he wondered. But what was she doing out here in the cold? “It's Sister, is it?” he asked.

“Yes.” Sister Mary Helen's voice was low. “I just stepped out for some fresh air.”

“I did myself,” Liam admitted, sticking both hands in his trousers' pockets. “That Rafferty's can get as hot as the hinges of hell.”

In the darkness he heard her chuckle. “Especially when you're dancing,” she said. When Liam didn't comment, she went on. “Actually, I was just on my way to—of all things—find you,” she said with a shiver.

“Find me?” Liam felt his face redden. Sure, what did she want with him?

“Is there someplace we can talk privately?” she asked.

Staring into the darkness, he wondered what place would be more private than this.

“Someplace a little warmer?” she said through chattering teeth.

Back inside Rafferty's, Liam miraculously found a quiet spot near a broom closet where he was almost sure no one would disturb them, for a few minutes anyway. “Does this suit you?” he asked.

Sister Mary Helen nodded and then got right to the point. “While I was out back, I overheard something that I think I should tell to someone in authority.”

Liam's stomach knotted. Go on, now! Why him? He had only been a garda for six months. “Detective Inspector White,” he said quickly. “He's the man in charge.”

The old nun's eyes widened, and she studied him over the top of her spectacles that seemed to have slipped down her nose again.

“Under ordinary circumstance, I would, Liam—may I call you Liam?” she asked softly.

He nodded.

“But you were there,” she continued. “You must have heard what the detective inspector said about my getting involved with his case.” She paused, waiting for some reaction.

Liam felt the heat rise from his jawbone straight up to his scalp. Of course he'd heard. He wasn't a deaf man, was he? But should he have been listening?

“Well, if you didn't hear him,” she said, clearly impatient to get on with her story, “the detective inspector made it quite clear that he wouldn't tolerate anyone who wasn't a garda interfering in his homicide case. Clearly, he meant Sister Eileen and me.

“But what I overheard out there"—she pointed toward the back lot of Rafferty's—”might be quite important, and"—she lowered her voice—”I would feel very guilty keeping it to myself.”

Liam's mind was racing. Sure now, do I need this headache? he wondered, not quite sure how he should react. Not that it would make any difference. Clearly she was going to tell him whether he wanted to hear it or not.

And why shouldn't she tell him? After all, he was a garda, and he was assigned to the case. Yet, if the truth be told, it was his first murder case, which was not surprising. There weren't that many murders a year in the whole country. A man could
be a garda his whole life and never be involved in solving one. But that was neither here nor there, was it?

“It seems to me,” the nun was saying in that schoolteacher voice that most nuns have, “that this could be valuable information that your superior would be glad to hear.”

Something Detective Inspector White would be glad to hear? Liam perked up. Hadn't he this very day been thinking that someday he'd like to become a detective inspector himself? What better way than to glean some information about the case and pass it on to the famed Ernie White, who would be grateful? “Fine work, lad,” he could almost hear the man say. “Fine work, indeed.”

Liam felt the nun's eyes on him. He threw back his shoulders and tried to look official. If only he had a notepad to write it all down. Not that he'd forget. Even at school he'd had a splendid memory. It just looked more professional with a notepad.

He cleared his throat, then said in the deep solemn voice that Father Keane used in the confessional, “What is it now, Sister, that you want to tell me?”

Without any further hesitation, Sister Mary Helen told him about stumbling on Mrs. Cox and Mr. Lynch and her suspicion that they were having an affair.

Liam's stomach cramped. Mrs. Cox, Carmel's mother, and Owen Lynch, one of the area's most respected businessmen! He felt numb and scarcely able to believe his ears. He wished she'd stop, but, no, she had more to say.

Liam's mind was whirling as she repeated the conversation that she had heard about Willie Ward's murder. “But he did say ‘no,' he hadn't killed Willie, didn't he?” he asked when he could finally catch his breath.

“Yes, he did,” Sister said, “and I hope he was telling the truth. But the very fact that she asked …” The old nun paused and studied his face, obviously waiting for a reaction.

Liam wanted to put his hands over his ears and run, but he knew he couldn't do that. “Thank you, Sister. I'll see to it,” he said, hoping he sounded as if he had everything under control.

“You'll see to it?” Mary Helen repeated, as if she expected him to lay out his plan.

Well, first off, he didn't have one. And if he had, he'd keep it to himself. “Tell one person and next it will be on every tongue,” Liam's da often said, and he was right.

“Very well, then,” Sister Mary Helen said finally. She looked a little bit disappointed, but that couldn't be helped. It was all the garda could do to contain himself.

“Thank you, Liam. I feel a great deal better.” She smiled, and Liam forced himself to smile in return.
That's all well and
good,
he thought,
that you feel better, but, sure, I feel like someone
has filled my pockets with stones.