Murder at the Monks' Table (22 page)

 

Sister Mary Helen took a deep breath. “This walk really was a good idea,” she said in a soft tone.

The two nuns had deliberately lowered their voices when they left Patsy Lynch's house. As Eileen had wisely observed, “You can never tell who's on the other side of these hedges, listening.”

“I feel much better than I did when we started,” Mary Helen declared. “Nothing like a brisk walk to clear your head.”

“And a good sit to get your breath back.” Eileen pointed to a vacant bench near a bus stop sign.

“Another grand idea!” Mary Helen said, joining her friend. The sky was still a clear bright blue and the sun was warm. The wind sent the fuchsias dancing on the large bushes that grew along the road. All the scene needed to make it postcard perfect was a green-suited leprechaun hiding behind a tree.

Quickly Mary Helen looked both ways before she spoke. They seemed to be alone. At least, she didn't see another living thing except for a lone cow in a large emerald-green pasture on a nearby hill. And the cow didn't seem to be paying any attention to them.

“Do you suppose that the young police officer has told
Detective Inspector White about Mrs. Cox and Mr. Lynch yet?” she asked.

Eileen's gray eyebrows shot up. “I thought you said that this walk had cleared your head.”

“It has. Unfortunately, it has also made some of the questions ricocheting around in my head more clear, too.”

“Ricocheting questions?” Eileen frowned. “That sounds dangerous, old dear.”

Mary Helen adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and studied her friend. “Don't tell me you don't have questions. For example, what do Willie Ward, Tommy Burns, and Oonagh Cox have in common that made someone attack all three of them?” She paused in case Eileen had an answer.

For several seconds her question hung in the air. “You've got me,” Eileen said, at last. “Wait a minute,” she said. “They were all involved in the Oyster Festival.”

“So were hundreds of other people.”

“True.” Eileen looked disappointed.

“And another thing,” Mary Helen whispered, just in case someone had slipped unnoticed into hearing range. “Why was Willie Ward killed while the other two were not? We know he made enemies, but why would someone have to kill the man?”

“To silence him, maybe?” Eileen asked.

“Very good,” Mary Helen said. “I thought of that, too. To keep him from telling something … something you'd commit murder not to have known.”

“Or maybe to keep him from writing about it in his column?” Eileen ventured. “There can't be too many things that serious.”

“What could he possibly know that would be bad enough to make someone kill him?”

Eileen shrugged. “You told me that he knew about Oonagh Cox and the chairman having an affair.”

Mary Helen mulled over that for a minute. “But I also heard them both say that they hadn't done it.”

“Isn't that what all murderers say?” Eileen asked.

“But I'd bet my life that they had no idea I was overhearing their conversation. Why wouldn't they tell the truth to one another?”

“Maybe you're right,” Eileen agreed. “And where does Jake, the tinker, fit in? If he does fit in.”

“We know he feels as if Willie made sure he wouldn't be the only winner of the art contest this year.”

“Odd that Willie wielded that much power,” Mary Helen reflected. “And I also somewhere picked up the feeling that it was Carmel Cox, not Tara O'Dea, who should have been the Oyster Festival Queen. Was that Willie's doing, too? I ask you, how did he have so much pull?”

“You-hoo, Sisters!” An unfamiliar car slowed across the road. Mary Helen squinted. Was that Owen Lynch behind the wheel?

“Are you waiting for a lift?” he called.

“No, thank you. We are just catching our breath. We've been out for a walk.” Eileen checked her wristwatch. “It's about time for us to head back to our mews.” She smiled sweetly.

“Let me drop you,” Owen Lynch insisted, hopping out of the driver's seat to open the back door. They had little choice but to get in.

Strange,
Mary Helen thought, slipping into the back. Chairman Lynch had never before offered them a ride.
Why now?
she wondered.

“Lovely day,” Lynch said as he turned the car around and headed toward the center of the village.

“Indeed,” Eileen said.

“And you had a nice walk, did you? My wife says you found your way to our house.”

“And such a lovely garden you have,” Eileen said.

“It's all her doing,” Lynch was quick to give his wife all the credit.

“You've been busy with the festival, I'm sure,” Eileen said, “and a lovely affair it is, too.”

Mary Helen stared at her friend in disbelief. Was the sun getting to her? A lovely affair? Really! Had she forgotten a murder, two assaults, and adultery? Or was this just the Irish way?

Owen seemed surprised, too. “I understand you were the ones who stumbled upon Oonagh Cox last night. After she'd been attacked, I mean.”

Ah-ha,
Mary Helen thought.
Now we are getting to his point,
and it only took him two blocks to arrive there.

“Yes, we did find her,” Mary Helen said. “Poor dear probably has the grandmother of all headaches this morning, I'm sure.”

“Why would anyone do that to Oonagh?” Lynch seemed to be talking to himself. “She is such a lovely woman, and poor Oonagh seems to have had more than her share.”

“That's exactly what your wife said,” Mary Helen remarked, watching the back of Lynch's neck stiffen.

The mention of Oonagh and Patsy in the same paragraph seemed to upset him. A
combination of guilt and fear that someone will stumble onto their affair and tell his wife,
she thought.

If he only knew that she knew! Mary Helen did not trust herself to look at Eileen, who was doing a great deal of throat clearing.

“Have you word on Mrs. Cox today?” he asked, watching her in the rearview mirror.

“No. But as they say, no news is good news.”

They drove for several minutes in silence. “I tell you, I won't be sorry to see this Oyster Festival over,” Lynch grumbled.
“Only two more days,” he said, pulling up to the curb to let them out.

“Thank you for the lift,” Eileen said, holding open the back door of the car. Mary Helen climbed out behind her.

Two more days! Mary Helen thought as Eileen and she stood on the curb. That can't be possible! “I can't believe we have only two more days to figure this all out,” Mary Helen said, watching Lynch's car drive away. “Two more days before we pack up and leave Ireland for home.”

“You're right,” Eileen said. “Do you think we can do it in just two days?” Suddenly her face tightened. Had she thought of something important?

“What?” Mary Helen asked.

“Just listen to us,” Eileen said, shaking her head. “It is as if we have completely forgotten that Detective Inspector White forbade us to get involved. He'd have a royal fit if he knew we were even talking about it.”

“We tried to stay out of it,” Mary Helen said defensively. “Is it our fault that someone left Mrs. Cox practically on our doorstep?”

She hesitated and then decided to give it a shot. “It is almost as if it is God's will that we get involved.”

“Oh, pl-ea-se.” Eileen dragged out the word while staring at her with raised eyebrows. “Don't tell me you are going to blame this on God?”

Sister Mary Helen smiled sheepishly. “Under the circumstances,” she said, “who better?”

 

 

The two nuns were just finishing their bowls of clam chowder when they heard a rap on the mews door.

“That must be Detective Inspector White.” Eileen checked her wristwatch. “And he's right on time.”

Mary Helen shoved the last bite of soda bread into her mouth and put both of their bowls and spoons into the kitchen sink to soak.

“Come in, Detective Inspector,” she heard Eileen call, followed by an offer of a cup of tea.

“Thank you, but I've just finished one,” the inspector said, and Mary Helen detected a let's-get-down-to-business edge in his voice.
Someone or something must be putting pressure on him to get this crime solved.

“What can we do for you, Detective Inspector?” Mary Helen asked once the three of them were comfortably settled in the cozy parlor.

“First off, the tech people are coming from Dublin to search your lawn,” he said, then slipped a small notebook from the pocket of his suit jacket and opened it. He seemed to be studying one page. Several seconds passed before he looked up. The small pouches of flesh under his dark, bloodshot eyes reminded Mary Helen of two tiny blimps. Obviously this poor fellow had had very little sleep.

“If you will, Sister,” he cleared his throat, “I'd be grateful if you'll tell me again what you remember about finding Mr. Ward's body.”

He paused, waiting, no doubt, for her reaction. When she gave none, he went on. “I know you've told me before …”

“Twice before,” Mary Helen muttered.

“And I have written it all down,” he said, pushing the little notebook toward her in case she needed proof. “But sometimes, when a person tells it again, something comes out that the person inadvertently left out in the first telling.”

“I know, Detective Inspector,” Mary Helen said, and then wished that she hadn't.

His face reddened. “I realize that you are not a novice at this kind of thing,” he said rather sharply.

“I'll be happy to repeat my story,” Mary Helen blurted out before he could say any more. She hoped she sounded duly humble and helpful. There was no sense getting the man's hackles up. After all, they were on the same side, weren't they?

“Very well, then,” White said, sounding somewhat mollified. Sister Mary Helen closed her eyes visualizing the scene she was not likely to ever forget. She gave an involuntary shiver.

She had gone down the hall to the ladies'. Entered. Thought that its one stall was occupied. Then, she had stepped back into the hallway. Waited. When no one came out and she heard no sound, she wondered if it really was occupied. After that, she had gone back in and pushed open the stall door.

Her stomach turned as she remembered the scene. It was more than her mind wanted to take in. A man fully clothed, wearing an old Donegal tweed cap, sat on the closed toilet seat. A knife protruded from his chest. Blood soaked his shirtfront. His head rested against the water tank, an old-fashioned chain hanging from the tank, and the smell. What was that smell?

“Smell?” Detective Inspector White's voice startled her. “You hadn't mentioned a smell before,” he said. “What was it? Blood, perhaps, or … ?”

“Yes.” Mary Helen's eyes were still closed. “But there was also a pleasant smell, like flowers.”

“Flowers?” Detective Inspector White sounded incredulous. “Flowers at a murder scene?”

Mary Helen's eyes shot open. “I didn't say there were flowers, Detective Inspector, I said something smelled like flowers.”

“What kind of flowers?” he asked.

“I'm not really sure,” she admitted. “In fact, I'm not sure I ever smelled that scent before, but it made me think of flowers.”

“You are not sure,” White repeated, as if he was making certain that his ears were not deceiving him. “But you say you think you smelled flowers?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her.

“I smelled something fragrant,” she said, wishing that she had never mentioned it at all. “It might have been bathroom spray. Actually, at the time I remember thinking of bathroom spray. But it may well have been the soap.”

“I see,” White said curtly, writing something in his notebook. Mary Helen wondered if he might have jotted down, “Nutter—smells things” after her name.

Looking up, he said offhandedly, “I'll ask Reedy to check with the publican to find out what kind of spray and soap is in the ladies'. Is there anything else you remember?”

“Nothing,” Mary Helen said.

Seemingly satisfied that he'd learned all he could about her finding Willie Ward, he focused his attention on Sister Eileen. “And it was the two of you, then, that found Tommy Burns?” he asked.

“Yes, Detective Inspector,” Eileen answered.

“Can you tell me, again, how you happened upon Tommy?”

Mary Helen was grateful that this time Eileen took the lead, explaining how they'd slipped out of the Monks' Table after the wine tasting; how they felt lost in the field and then stumbled upon Tommy Burns.

“The poor fellow was freezing,” Mary Helen added sympathetically.

“Murderers usually don't much care about their victims catching a chill,” Detective Inspector White said.

“We went to find help,” Mary Helen continued, ignoring his remark, “and came across Father Keane and Owen Lynch.”