Murder at the Monks' Table (24 page)

Eileen nodded. “We're only going to be here a couple more days, you know. And since she was attacked nearly on our very doorstep, I think we owe her, at least, a short visit.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Mary Helen said, gathering up her jacket and her umbrella.

“Have you any idea where the hospital is?” she asked.

“That's what Paul is for,” Eileen said, dialing their driver's number.

 

 

Thirty-five minutes later, the two nuns were on their way to Bon Secours Hospital outside Galway City.
Good Help,
Mary Helen thought,
what a perfect name for a hospital.

“Her husband, may he rest in peace, was on the staff,” Paul Glynn told them as he sped along the dual carriageway, taking the roundabouts in his stride. “Everyone loved the old doc. Not even the pope himself could have had such a big funeral. So, she'll be treated like visiting royalty. You can't blame her for not wanting to come home.”

The traffic picked up as they neared the city. And, much to Mary Helen's relief, Paul seemed to have to pay more attention to the road.

“About tonight,” he asked finally, “are ye interested in the hurling match?”

Mary Helen hesitated. She knew by his tone when he asked the question that their answer should be yes.

“Do you think we should be?” Eileen asked.

Mary Helen marveled. Eileen had mastered the Irish knack of answering a question with a question.

“Indeed,” Paul said, turning half around in the driver's seat.

Wondering if he could hear her heart thudding, Mary Helen resisted the temptation to close her eyes. Someone should be watching where they were going.

“Hurling is one of the fastest and most skillful games in the world,” he said proudly. “It's an ancient Gaelic sport played before the coming of Christianity, and even the Great Famine could not stop it.”

Mary Helen was impressed.

“There were no rules, you know, until the Gaelic Athletic
Association was founded in the late 1800s.” Paul was on a roll. “They say that ten thousand Irish people play hurling,” he said with a smile in his voice, “and I am one of them.”

“Then, it's settled,” Eileen said. “We'll go.”

Paul left them at the entrance to the hospital and promised to pick them up in thirty minutes. More than enough time, they reckoned, to visit a sick person.

When they arrived at her room, Oonagh Cox was sitting up in a chair that seemed to dwarf her. Even the top of her curly gray hair was hidden. Bouquets of red roses, hot pink and white carnations, and golden chrysanthemums surrounded her. A bright orange begonia plant was sharing a wicker basket with a box of Butler's Irish Chocolates. A potted calla lily rested on the windowsill alongside a small yellow box of what looked like perfume.

“You're up, I see,” Eileen said.

Oonagh turned her head slightly, as if her neck was stiff. A bruise on her cheek where she had fallen was beginning to color, and a scratch on her chin looked red and sore.

“I can't bear to lie down surrounded by all these flowers,” she said, her blue eyes dancing. “It's too much like being laid out.”

“Oh, mam, really!” Carmel Cox entered the room carrying a vase filled with Peruvian lilies. “How you do go on!”

“You know my cheeky daughter, Carmel,” Oonagh said. “She came to visit me, but she's spent most of her time arranging flowers.”

“People love you, mam,” Carmel said, gently planting a kiss on her mother's forehead. “And I do, too.”

“Which is why someone banged me on the head,” Oonagh protested. A flat silence filled the small room, and a ray of sun bounced off the windowpane.

“Why don't you get yourself a cup of tea, love,” Oonagh
said finally. “I know you can use one. Let me visit with the Sisters.”

Unless she was mistaken, Mary Helen thought the girl looked relieved.

“I apologize,” Oonagh said as soon as they were alone. “I'm in a fierce mood and my head is throbbing.”

“No need for apologies,” Mary Helen assured her. “Maybe we shouldn't have come at all. We were just concerned, but if you'd prefer-”

Oonagh put up one small hand to stop her. “I'm glad you did,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for your care last night. What must you think of Ireland?” Sudden tears flooded her eyes. “You come for a holiday and we give you instead two attacks and a murder.”

Mary Helen was about to assure her that violence is universal and as statistics go, Ireland is way below the norm, when a young delivery boy came through the door with a bunch of long-stemmed roses. They were a pale yellow and surrounded with maidenhair.

“Please put them there,” Oonagh said, taking the enclosure card from the lad and pointing to the window ledge. “Wherever you can find space.”

Once he was gone, she tore open the small envelope, and Mary Helen watched all the color drain from her already pale face. She looked for a moment as though she might faint.

“What is it?” Mary Helen asked. “Are you all right?”

Eileen stepped closer. “Do you need some water?”

Trying to catch her breath, Oonagh said nothing, only stared at the card.

Taking it from her trembling hand, Mary Helen read the message aloud. “
I SHOULD BE ASHAMED?
” was written in bold capitals. No name was attached.

“That is what my attacker said,” Oonagh whispered. “These roses are from the person who struck me.”

Mary Helen's stomach turned over.
Whoever it was is as bold as brass,
she thought. And she wouldn't be a bit surprised if he tried it again.

“Can you remember anything else?” Mary Helen asked. “Anything at all that might help the police find out who this person is?”

Eyes closed, Oonagh seemed to be thinking. “Nothing,” she said finally.

“Have you any enemies?”

“Enemies?” Oonagh repeated. “The first person who pops into my mind is Willie Ward, but he's dead now, isn't he?”

Mary Helen remembered hearing that Mr. Ward had threatened to report Oonagh to the authorities for trying to purchase cannabis for her ailing husband. But her husband had been dead for several years now.

“Have you any idea why Willie Ward disliked you so?” Mary Helen asked.

Oonagh gave a wry smile. “You've heard it said, I'm sure, that ‘Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned'?” she asked.

Mary Helen nodded.

“Well, it goes double for an Irishman.”

“You scorned him?” Eileen asked.

“It's ancient history, Sister,” Oonagh said wearily. “We must have been about fourteen years old at the time.” She smiled sadly at the memory. “I refused him a dance. Not meaning to, I humiliated him, I guess, and he never let it go. He took every chance, every way he could to get back at me. Willie was a vengeful lad and he grew into a vengeful man.”

“And was he that way, as well, with Jake Powers?”

Oonagh gave a rueful laugh. “Jake, the tinker? If anything, he was worse to Jake.”

“Why?”

“Not only was Jake a tinker, but he took all the top honors when we were at school, which Willie thought rightfully belonged to him. Jake has been paying the price ever since.”

Oonagh closed her eyes. “Now there's the person who had a reason to kill the bastard, not that he did. Jake is really a gentle sort.”

“You look tired,” Eileen said, checking her wristwatch, “and we've probably overstayed our welcome, but before we go, is there anyone else besides Willie that you can think of who might have a reason to hurt you?”

Oonagh caught her breath and looked up at Mary Helen. Her eyes were full of pain. “The one person who has reason to hate me,” she said sadly, “doesn't even know it.”

Again, a heavy silence hung in the small hospital room. Obviously Oonagh Cox thought she was speaking in riddles, unaware that the two nuns knew she was referring to Patsy Lynch.

But Patsy couldn't have attacked her, could she? Mary Helen had seen her at the barbeque, dancing with Mr. Lynch. Did Patsy have the time—and ability—to attack someone, knock her unconscious, and then go dancing with her husband as if nothing had happened? It seemed almost impossible.

Mary Helen was teetering on the verge of telling Oonagh what they knew when she heard a commotion in the hallway. The Sister in charge was explaining that Mrs. Cox already had company, too much company, and that she mustn't get overtired.

“This is official business.”

With horror Mary Helen recognized the voice of Detective Inspector White, the last person she wanted to run into at Bon
Secours. He'd consider her presence there anything but Good Help.

 

 

Liam O'Dea couldn't believe his eyes. The American nuns, if you please, were standing, as big as life, in Mrs. Cox's hospital room.

Stealing a quick look at his superior's crimson face, Liam thought the man might be having a coronary.
What better place for it than a hospital?
he mused, wondering, in the event that there was no heart attack, where this little meeting would be going.

Both Sisters stood their ground, speechless. Obviously, they had not expected Detective Inspector White.

Tension nearly crackled in the small flower-filled room. Oonagh Cox, looking frail and tiny in her chair, didn't seem to notice. “Inspectors, Liam,” she said. “How nice of you to come.” She turned slowly and stiffly. “You know the Sisters, of course.”

With a face like a thundercloud, Detective Inspector White nodded. “Indeed, we do,” he strained through clamped teeth. “I am, however, surprised to see them here.”

“And we were just about to leave,” Mary Helen said quickly. “We just wanted to make sure Mrs. Cox was doing well. It isn't every day that you find someone unconscious on your lawn.”

Good point,
Liam thought, looking from the old nun to Ernie White. He had the feeling that he was watching a match of sorts. What he couldn't decide was if it was going to be a full-out battle of wits or just a little friendly scrimmage.

White said nothing, which in itself was unusual, Liam noted.

“You know, Detective Inspector.” Sister Eileen tilted her chin slightly.

Uh-oh,
Liam thought,
two against one.
“We are leaving for home in a few days.”

Although he saw no lips moving, Liam could have sworn he heard someone mutter, “Thanks be to God.”

“Surely we couldn't be expected to leave without checking on Oonagh,” Sister Eileen added reasonably.

“Surely not,” White agreed.

“So then, good-bye, Oonagh dear,” she said. “We hope you are feeling better soon.”

Silently, hands in his pockets, Ernie White watched the two nuns leave. When he was sure they were out of earshot, he turned to his partner. “I ask you, Brian, was I clear or was I clear? Didn't I tell those two to stay out of police business?”

“You can hardly say they were in police business,” Oonagh spoke up, “when all they were doing was checking to see how I was feeling. And who can blame them? It's just common courtesy, really. I was, after all, literally left in their backyard.”

Liam watched his superior officer open his mouth, then close it again, leaving Oonagh Cox with the last word.
Amazing,
Liam thought, even though he knew from experience that women have a tendency to band together, particularly against a man.

“Oh, look who's here now,” Carmel called from the doorway. Her cheeks colored as her eyes fell on him. “Are you going to find out who did this to my poor mam?” she asked.

White answered for him. “We are trying our best, Carmel,” he said, sounding surprisingly fatherly. “Now, we need to ask your mother some questions, if you wouldn't mind giving us a few minutes.”

Carmel's smile faded. “But—” she started to protest.

“Go on, love,” Oonagh coaxed. “Be a darling and go home now and fix your brothers something for supper. They'll be hungry, I'm sure.”