Monday 26th September – 12.30 p.m.
James sat in the kitchen with the door open, watching the hallway so that when the brothers left the bathroom he could check their body language. Everyone here might say they wanted to know the truth, but someone was working very hard to keep their lies buried.
Brandon stumbled past him and opened the front door, turning his coat collar up.
As Sean came downstairs, having changed out of his smarter clothes, he touched Brandon’s arm. ‘Come back for lunch, Bran. I’ve made enough. Cookies too, if you fancy popping back earlier for coffee. And I take requests.’
With a grunt, Brandon walked outside, slamming the door. Along the table from James, Finn and Conor peeled potatoes while Maeve was walking in the garden with Aoife. The two women were chatting non-stop.
Deflated, Sean headed to the bathroom. James pretended to read the Sunday supplement, not really interested in what the column had to say about winter weddings and, for a few minutes, all he could hear was Sylvia, Shannon and Rav murmuring as they regrouped in the living room, having got changed.
When Sean came out, he ran a hand through his hair, took a breath, then grabbed his coat. As Finn slunk into the bathroom, Sean pulled on leather gloves against the biting morning chill, and called to Maeve, ‘I’m heading over to the barns to get some timber to mend the hen house, now Rav’s worked out the entry point.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll come and help in a bit.’
A few more silent seconds passed, while Conor paced from kitchen door to kitchen window. When Finn came out from the bathroom, he hesitated, then went to the doorway to call to Maeve. ‘I’m heading over to the cottage to see how Mammie and Da are doing, Maeve. I feel bad that we got them chased out of your folks’ place.’
‘Oh yeah. Trying to win some hearts and minds, are you?’ Maeve turned, saying goodbye to Aoife, then strode towards the house. ‘Hang on and I’ll walk that way with you, I’m heading to the barns to help Sean. I could do with something to bash.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Will you join us for lunch?’ She nodded at the range, from where the warming aroma of slow-roasting hogget and vegetables was wafting around the farmhouse.
‘Yeah, OK.’ Finn passed Maeve her coat and pulled his on.
‘And ask your parents if they want to join us, or have any food taken over. Sean’s carrying on like he’s feeding the whole platoon, so it’s no trouble.’
‘Thanks, I’ll ask them,’ Finn said as they headed through the living room to the back door.
James heard Sylvia ask, ‘Can I help with anything?’
‘No,’ Maeve said. ‘Thank you, but no. You’re supposed to be our guests. It’s bad enough already. This wasn’t supposed to turn from dream wedding to family nightmare. It’s all in hand, anyway. I prefer to keep busy. So does Sean. It … it helps.’
As James watched Maeve and Finn walk out across the garden from the kitchen window, Conor gave a long exhale, and headed to the bathroom.
Rav wheeled to the kitchen door. ‘Do you want to join Shannon, Sylvia and me, James? We’re going to check the kit. I don’t think I left it securely enough, last time …’
‘You go, I’ll hold the fort.’
The silence felt like the calm before the storm and James was suddenly itchy for something to do. He imagined Sean and Maeve would come back from their work thirsty. Who knew when everyone else would assemble, but they’d probably want a drink, too.
So he lined up the identical sage-green mugs, plus Sean’s Cuddliest Kennedy mug, adding a sugar to Sean’s, leaving the spoon in the mug; then adding another sugar to one of the green mugs and leaving in the spoon again, to show which drink would be for Brandon. The only other difference was Conor, who took his coffee black.
Then he filled the machine with coffee and water, so everything would be ready when everyone returned.
Dropping the gloves and tweezers in the bin, Nell sealed the sample bottles, then elbowed the bathroom door open.
‘All done?’ James asked, following her out to her car.
She nodded as she put everything carefully in the boot of the BMW and locked it.
Ceasing her pacing in the front garden, Aoife dashed over. ‘They’re ready? Do you want to head over now? Together?’
‘Not right this second. But I’ll do my best to get them done soon. Today if I can.’
Aoife’s disappointment flashed, but she nodded. She fumbled in her car’s glove compartment and produced a card. ‘This is a pass card for the labs. I’ll warn Juliet so you can go any time. I’ll head over there now.’ She gave an unconvincing smile. ‘Lots to do.’
Nell felt a pang of guilt as Aoife walked to the driver’s door. ‘Aoife?’
Her head jerked up. ‘Yes?’
‘Don’t be disappointed. They’re pleased with the news. But it’s a lot to take in. And my guess is they’ll be more … enthusiastic once they’ve, well, cleared up this question.’
Aoife smiled briefly, got in the car and drove away.
With a long sigh, Nell turned and saw James waiting. ‘Everyone’s gone out, so I’ll head to the Garda station. See if there’s any progress. Rav’s tending to his camera. Accompanied, this time.’
Nodding, Nell returned to the bathroom to make sure she’d left it tidy, and shivered at the eerie silence of the farmhouse. She went out to the garden, perching on a hay bale, hoping to spot Rav on his way back, watching in case anyone surfaced over the crest of a hill.
The fields swooped down to the grey sea, under the moody, cloudy sky. The curving slopes revealed – and then hid – the paths to the farm’s barns and the whitewashed cottage. But there was no movement on the wide horizon.
As she wandered back inside, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Finn – and then Conor – had said. The two versions didn’t add up: if Siobhan had planned to run off with Conor, why would she confide in Finn? He didn’t seem to know any more than anyone else if she had. And who had tried to stop Siobhan from leaving?
Fatigue swept over her, and as she sat on the sofa, she thought a little doze … wouldn’t hurt …
She jumped as her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Rav had sent her a blurred photo of some grass with a brown streak through it. ‘Hare! You can prob just make it out? Tried to snap it before it HARED off! ’ ☺
Enlarging the picture was no help, but Nell loved his enthusiasm. As she stretched, another text from Rav appeared. ‘Did you know the Irish hare’s related to the mountain hare, so it’ll thrive at all altitudes and diet adapts accordingly. No such thing as a hare out of place! ’ ☺
Groaning, Nell realised she’d been asleep. Hearing someone in the kitchen, she roused herself and stood up.
But the cheerful hello died on her lips as she watched through the serving hatch. Nell blinked, feeling groggy, unable to believe what she was glimpsing on the other side of the hatch: gloved hands spooning powder from a red-and-yellow tub emblazoned with Rodent Xterminate, and stirring it rapidly into one of the coffees lined up on the kitchen counter.
‘Hey!’ She dashed to the hatch, but it slammed shut just as she reached it. The lock clicked – the wooden doors refusing to open however hard she tried.
Running the length of the living room to the far door, she slalomed into the hall, tripping on the flagstones and staggering to the kitchen. Her panicked gaze panned around the empty room.
No sign of the poisoner – or the poison, or the tablespoon. But the drinks were lined up on the counter. Dashing around the kitchen table, she tried to work out which one had just been poisoned. It was impossible to know.
As she reached to throw them down the sink, a hand – strong and suffocating – clamped over her mouth and nose, as another arm grabbed her waist, pinning her arms down.
She fought to focus, sharpening her senses.
As she twisted, her screams were silenced by the black leather glove – and it filled her nostrils with the scent of woodsmoke.
Her body was smashed against the door frame, crushing her hand which held her phone, trying to force her to drop it.
Instinctively, Nell gripped harder, making her assailant crush her hand again. Nell’s sweaty palms made her phone slip – and clatter to the floor.
The attacker’s sleeve was scratchy against her wrist.
Despite her struggling resistance, the assailant’s bodyweight pushed her step … by … forceful … step towards the open door of the larder.
Her feet skidded on the flagstones, as if her captor wore shoes or boots still damp from outside, and had made the floor slippery.
Nell flailed, trying to brace her feet against the door frame, pushing back with her legs, the move seeming ludicrous, desperate. She couldn’t get a sense of the body pressing against hers through the coat they wore.
As her foot slipped, another shove made her body become light as both hands gripping her let go and – for a split second – her wild scream was unleashed, ripping from her throat as she tried to turn round and face her attacker.
Before she could glimpse them, a thud to her back sent her staggering forward, winded, her scream cut off as she stumbled into the stone depths of the old Irish farmhouse’s larder. Behind her, the solid wooden door was slammed shut, then locked.
Nell battered it with her fists, roaring, yelling like her lungs would explode: ‘HEY!! ’
How is this happening?
How have Conor and Sylvia’s wedding celebrations ended up like this?
Outside, she heard the dishwasher slam, and cupboards close, and she knew the poisoner was covering their tracks.
She scanned the enclosed space for something – anything – to ram the door with. Finding nothing suitable, she stood back, then kicked with all her strength, desperate to get out.
Desperate to prevent yet another murder …
Monday 26th September – 2 p.m.
Wheeling back up the garden alongside Shannon and Sylvia, Rav saw Brandon stride into the courtyard through the side gate, then pause by the tray of coffees, with tempting homemade peanut butter cookies, by the blazing bonfire that Sean was lovingly tending.
‘Ooh, lovely. I could do with a hot drink. I’ll get yours, Rav,’ Sylvia said. ‘Shall I fetch yours too, Sean? You look like you’ve got your hands full.’
As Sean nodded, Brandon swooped in and grabbed Sean’s mug. ‘About time I finally get the recognition I deserve.’ He raised the mug with its affectionate moniker in a mocking toast to Sean, downed the coffee and gave an exaggerated sigh.
Dodging him, Sylvia passed Sean the other mug with the spoon in, shooting Sean a sympathetic eyeroll, then handed Rav and Shannon their drinks, before taking one for herself.
In response to Brandon’s baiting, Sean looked his older brother in the eye and downed his coffee. ‘Doesn’t matter what the mug says, bro. It’s a tragedy for you, I know, but she only wants to cuddle one of us.’ He grinned and set his empty cup, with its spoon, down on the tray.
With a scowl, Brandon put Sean’s empty mug back on the tray and turned away. Across the flames, Finn and Conor were in tense conversation. Rav didn’t want to interrupt them, but Conor saw Sylvia hugging her mug as she warmed up, and both brothers wandered over to get their own drinks.
Joining them from the garden, Maeve asked, ‘How were your parents after this morning?’
Finn shrugged. ‘Worried about what Brandon had been saying. Didn’t want to go stirring things up. Want us boys to be more respectful to your folks.’
Rav noted that now any chance of sympathy had passed, Finn had tucked his dressing out of the way and was drinking normally, though his split lip looked sore.
Brandon was more matter-of-fact than Finn about accommodating his injuries, even if his toothless smile was a bit ghoulish.
James came through the gate, his solemn face brightening at the sight of coffee and the company assembling. He took a mug, blowing on it and sipping.
‘Alright, Rav?’ James asked.
‘I’m looking for Nell. Have you seen her?’
‘Not since I left earlier. Aoife went to the lab and I went to the Garda station.’
But Rav was scanning for Nell, reaching for his phone. She still hadn’t answered his text. He wondered if she’d gone to get some sleep. He didn’t blame her, if she felt half as tired as he did. Wheeling to the back door, the hairs on the back of his neck shivered.
As he headed through the living room, he heard the muffled, unsettling sound of hoarse screams and pounding. He scooted faster towards the kitchen, towards Nell.
Swerving, he yanked the larder door. Locked. ‘Nell? Nell – it’s me. I’ll get you out.’
‘Rav? Rav – don’t let anyone drink the coffee!’
‘Are you hurt?’ He asked the only question that mattered to him as his frantic gaze tilted around the room, searching for the key. He spotted it on the floor, as if it had fallen from the lock.
‘No … I’m OK.’
‘What happened?’ Wincing, he leaned forward, spidering his fingers out across the floor to reach for the key, stretching as far as he could, then touching it, and … just managing to pluck it from the floor.
‘Just stop them drinking the coffee!’
Shaking with adrenaline, he had to focus to steer the key into the lock.
‘Rav – please listen. Leave me! Go and tell everyone they can’t drink anything! It’s poisoned!’
The lock clicked, but Rav stopped, stunned. ‘What?’
Nell shoved the door open and he scooted back.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘In … in the garden.’
She sprinted outside, screaming like a berserker going into battle. ‘Stop drinking! Stop drinking!’
He had to pull himself up by the edge of the sink to see the tableau unfold through the kitchen window: Nell ran around the company like a baseball player, batting the cups from every hand, sending them and their contents flying.
Faces registered surprise, and Sylvia swore in shock as Nell lunged at them one by one. Then disbelief rippled around the group as their drinks were spilled – some down their clothes – making them jump back.
Sean caught her by the shoulder, but Nell yelled, ‘A drink’s been poisoned!’
Everyone recoiled, then stared at the beverages on the ground in shock.
Whose drink? And by whom? Why?
Nell glared at Sean as he laughed and shook his head.
But it was James’s reaction that spurred Rav into action. Moving forward, James touched Nell’s arm, asking her questions. He always believed her.
And then, the gravity of the situation hit Rav like a meteor. Hanging on with one hand, he grappled with his phone and thumbed 999, his eyes still on the scene outside.
‘Ambulance. And Gardaí, please. Someone’s been poisoned. I just don’t know who.’
‘Right.’ James tried to corral his thoughts. He noted the time: 2.15 p.m.
This was a crime scene now. And his first priority was to preserve evidence.
‘I’ll need to label everyone’s cups separately so they can be tested, even if there’s only a drop or two left in the cup.’ James glanced at Sean. ‘Do you have any sealable bags? Something to label them with?’
‘I’ll get something,’ Maeve offered, darting off to the farmhouse.
‘Everyone get your cups.’ He watched, making sure each person picked up the mug they’d drunk from, and then route-marched the group to the trestle table on the patio.
Brandon and Sean exchanged a glance, then Brandon picked up the green mug with the spoon from the tray. James wondered why Sean was frowning as he picked up his own.
When Maeve returned with a box of Ziploc bags and a Sharpie, everyone labelled their bags. James watched carefully, surprised to see Brandon write ‘Sean’ on his bag, and Sean write ‘Brandon.’
When Sean caught his narrowed eyes, he jerked his head towards his fiancée, and James wondered if Brandon had used Sean’s mug to provoke him, and now they didn’t want to upset Maeve with their petty squabbles. He’d have to check. Later.
Now, with the cups labelled, James turned to Nell. ‘Did you see the poison? Or how much was used?’
‘Rodent Xterminate, rat poison. The tub looked ancient.’ She grimaced. They both knew that was bad news. ‘At least a heaped tablespoon went into one drink. I don’t know if any more was added to that – or any other – cup.’
‘Could you tell which drink? Did it have a spoon? Or was it black coffee?’
‘I couldn’t tell from where I was standing. I only saw through the hatch. Then whoever it was shoved me into the larder. And locked me in!’
Nell glared around the company, looking for a reaction. Conor and Sean looked stunned. Maeve looked horrified. Brandon and Finn narrowed their eyes at each other.
‘Yes, why do you lock the larder? And the serving hatch?’ James asked.
‘Well, we don’t anymore,’ Sean pointed out. ‘Not usually. But back in the B&B days, we had a spate of people stealing from the kitchen. Loading up on supplies when they were leaving, that sort of thing.’
‘Right.’ James tried to prioritise the urgent actions. ‘Do you recognise the substance Nell mentioned, Sean? Could you find it? Having the list of active ingredients will mean we can get the right treatment – for whoever might need it. And it may not be just one of us.’
‘Er … sure. I can look.’ Sean went to the kitchen, but slowly, chewing his lip. James watched him, hoping he was only racking his brains about where it might be, and not dragging his feet so that the victim would have less time to get the help they needed.
Turning to the rest of the group, James said, ‘I need to know how much everyone drank. Anyone drink nothing at all?’
It was too much to hope for. Everyone shook their heads, shuffling and glancing at each other, except Sylvia. ‘I didn’t have any. I …’ She winced. ‘Because I was handing the drinks out. I’m … I’m so sorry.’ Her face twisted as tears fell, and Conor hugged her.
James couldn’t help noticing that Sylvia didn’t melt into his embrace, but remained stiff and unresponsive as he wrapped his arms around her.
Focusing on the job in hand, he continued, ‘Did anyone’s drink taste strange? Bitter, maybe?’ Despite trying to maintain a factual approach, he couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of his voice.
At the collectively shaken heads, he continued. ‘Anyone have just one or two sips?’
The few nods were encouraging. Shannon, Rav. Him – for that matter. Although he did feel a little sick …
‘Anyone drink half or more of their drink?’
‘I had about half,’ Finn said. ‘Wasn’t that warm, to be honest.’
‘I drank pretty much all of mine,’ Conor confirmed. ‘I tend to down it.’ His face was inscrutable. No flicker of emotion except grim determination.
‘I downed mine,’ Brandon grunted.
‘And I drained my cup.’ Maeve’s voice wavered, her face pale.
As Sean joined them, James repeated the question. ‘Oh, yeah, I drank all mine. Is this what you saw, Nell?’
He held up the colourful tub and she nodded. It was the exact one. James placed it into another Ziploc bag and read the ingredients through the clear plastic. Oh God … He took a breath.
Nell, Rav and Conor moved in. ‘What?’ they asked in unison.
He looked up, searching for Nell’s gaze, knowing she’d understand instantly. ‘Thallium.’