Chapter 6
“Henry Moore bet his prizewinning racehorse last night?” Macdara sounded outraged enough for the two of them. Amanda Moore would be apoplectic. It was her horse, and here was her da, betting him in a poker game.
“He did, yeah. Amanda looked fit to kill.” Rory caught himself. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Siobhán imagined it wasn’t far from the truth. A teenage girl and her horse? What on earth had Henry Moore been thinking?
He wasn’t thinking. That was gambling for you. The addiction that drove some people insane. They were going to have to pay a visit to Henry Moore. If for nothing else than to save him from the wrath of his daughter. She wondered how long Gráinne and Eoin had stayed last night. She’d have to have a word with them too.
Rory stepped toward the pub. “I need the cure.”
Normally, Siobhán disapproved of drinking as a hangover cure, but she wasn’t here to lecture. It wouldn’t be necessary anyway.
Macdara delivered the news. “You won’t be getting inside your pub for a while. It’s a crime scene.”
“The entire pub?” Rory seemed more horrified by this than the news that a man had been found hanging.
“The entire pub,” Macdara confirmed.
“What about the tournament?” Panic rose in Rory’s voice. “Tell me we’re still having the poker tournament?”
* * *
Siobhán and Macdara stood outside Room 100 at the Kilbane Inn. Margaret O’Shea, the innkeeper, leaned on her cane and watched them from outside the office. A frail woman in her seventies, she used to click around on a walker until someone gifted her the cane. She wasn’t happy they were here, but their biggest offense was not letting her know why they were here. Gossip was her lifeblood, but Siobhán and Macdara had more important things on their minds at the moment.
It was, by far, the worst part of this job, the dreadful task of delivering shocking news to the loved ones. In this case it was doubly sad, with Rose expecting any day. Siobhán had their doctor on speed dial in case they needed it. Their gentle knocks turned into multiple bangs on the door before they saw the curtain twitch. “What do you want?” Rose Foley yelled from inside.
“It’s Garda O’Sullivan and D.S. Flannery. Would you please open the door?”
“What time is it?”
“It’s half nine.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“It’s a police matter.” The doorknob turned and the door opened. Rose stood, in a dressing gown that barely came to her knees, belly protruding, hair mussed, eyes red and angry. “May we come in?”
“Unless you’re going to sit on me bed, there isn’t room.”
“We can stand,” Siobhán said. “Is there a kettle in the room?”
“I have to make you tea too?”
“I was going to make you a cup.”
“Don’t bother. I have to pee every second of the day. I don’t want any tea.” Siobhán and Macdara stepped in. Besides the bed and a desk, there was little else to the room. Margaret didn’t believe in decorating. A lone cross hung above the bed. “What did he do now?”
“Pardon?” Macdara said. Siobhán knew he’d heard her, but he was trying to draw her out.
“Is he in jail? Get in a fight?”
Siobhán swallowed. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No, I would not.”
Macdara took off his cap. Siobhán took off hers. Rose took a step back, the first signs of alarm on her pretty face. “What is it?”
“We’re sorry to have to tell you that we found your husband in Sharkey’s Pub this morning.”
Rose blew out air and rested her hand on her belly. “Passed out, is he?”
“I found him,” Siobhán said. “He passed away, Mrs. Foley.”
“He’s what now?” She stared at them.
“He’s no longer with us,” Macdara attempted.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”
It was a defensive mechanism, denial. The mind protecting the heart. “He’s dead, Mrs. Foley.” Siobhán had to give it straight.
Rose sank onto the bed, shaking her head. “That’s not right. It can’t be right.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, my God. What did he do? What did he do?” Her hands flew up to her mouth.
That is interesting.
Macdara caught it too. He stepped closer. “Had Eamon ever threatened to take his own life?”
“Threaten me?” She looked like a snake coiled, but ready to strike.
“No, no,” Siobhán said. “Did he ever threaten to take his own life?”
“Never,” Rose said. “He’d just as soon kill the rest of us.”
Lovely. “I take it there were problems in your marriage?” Siobhán hoped her tone was gentle.
“How dare you,” Rose said. “He was the love of me life.”
“It was the way you said he’d just as soon kill the rest of us,” Macdara said. “It sounded like maybe he didn’t always treat you the way he should.”
Rose stared at Macdara, blinking as if she were trying not to cry. This was a woman who only responded to men. Finally she bit her lip and nodded. “He could have done better.”
Macdara placed his hand on her shoulder. “That’s no disrespect to his memory, a fact is still a fact, and you can still love him, and him you.”
“How did he . . . do it?” She gulped and closed her eyes as if bracing herself.
Siobhán winced, but vowed to give it straight. “I found him hanging in the storage room of Sharkey’s Pub.”
“Hanging?” Rose’s eyes flew open. She shot to her feet. “Hanging?” She placed her hands over her eyes like a child playing hide-and-seek. “No, no, no.” She dropped her hands, and abruptly wiped her tears. “Where is he?”
Siobhán had to step out of her way to avoid getting mowed down. “Pardon?”
Rose grabbed her handbag off the desk and strode to the door as if this was all a misunderstanding she was going to straighten out. She didn’t seem to remember she was still in her dressing gown.
Macdara resumed his charm offensive. “He’s at Butler’s Undertaker, Lounge, and Pub.”
Rose let out a laugh. “He’d like knowing that. Give him a pint while he’s at it.”
Siobhán felt a deep stab of pity watching her unravel.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him for a while,” Macdara said. “The state pathologist has to do her work first.”
Rose put her hand over her throat. “He was going to win the tournament. Heaps of money. Do you know what that kind of money means to a woman like me? Everyone here knows he was going to win!”
Siobhán nodded to Macdara. “Glass of water.” He nodded and headed for the sink.
“No!” Rose shrieked. “I’ll take that mug of tea.” She dropped her handbag on the floor and stumbled back to the bed.
Siobhán sat next to her. She nodded to Macdara who flipped the switch on the tiny kettle situated near the telly. “I cannot imagine what you’re feeling. But we are here for you. We are going to investigate thoroughly.”
Rose shook her head. “It’s not fair.” She began to cry. “That money was for our baby.”
The money, the money, the money. Was this just grief, or was Rose Foley really that greedy?
Once the mug of tea was ready, Macdara pulled out the desk chair and sat across from her. “We found a note.”
“A note?”
Macdara nodded as he removed the evidence baggie with the note. “You can’t take it out of the plastic evidence bag. But could you tell us if this is your husband’s handwriting?” He held it up.
Rose’s lips moved as she silently read. Her hand began to tremble. Siobhán gently removed the mug of tea as hot water began to splash out. “It is his writing. Why would he write that?”
Macdara exchanged a look with Siobhán. In his book this was strike number two for murder. If the pathologist didn’t find something, the case would be closed as a suicide. “Are you sure?”
“I know my husband’s penmanship!”
“Do you have any samples we can use to compare?” Macdara asked.
“Compare what?”
“To verify it’s his handwriting.”
“I just told you it was his handwriting. Are you calling me a liar?” She was getting too worked up. Siobhán made a point of looking at Rose’s pregnant belly, then at Macdara.
He nodded and put the note away. “It’s not that we don’t believe you. It’s our job to gather all the evidence we can.”
“You need evidence that he killed himself?” Outrage poured out of her.
Macdara cleared his throat. It was his nervous little habit. Siobhán found it endearing. “In any death we have to consider foul play.”
“Foul play,” Rose repeated.
“Are you saying he might not have killed himself?” Rose asked.
“Correct,” Siobhán said.
This time it was Macdara who threw her a look. He turned back to the widow. “We simply have to look into that possibility. Can you think of any reason why he would have taken his own life?”
“No. I can’t. Not right now.”
Siobhán gently touched Rose on the shoulder. “We will leave you to get dressed. You can come to Naomi’s Bistro. We’re closed for the festival, but you can sit by the fire and we’ll make you breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I understand. But you can eat a little something, can’t you? For the little one?”
“Oh,” Rose said, her hand landing back on her belly. “I forgot.”
“It’s settled then. In the meantime . . . is there anyone you’d like us to call?”
Rose shook her head. Siobhán and Macdara headed for the door.
“What will happen to the money?”
They stopped. Macdara took this one. “Pardon?”
“The winnings. I told you he was going to win and we all knew it. Can I still get my money?”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” Macdara said.
Rose jammed a finger at Macdara. “Foul play is right! It’s one of the players that did this. Show me that note again.”
“We’ll have time to go over everything later,” Macdara said.
“You were trying to trick me! I don’t know if it’s his handwriting. Do you think he wrote me love letters every day?”
“You really mustn’t worry about this right now,” Siobhán said. “Let’s all take a little break.”
Rose jabbed her finger at them. “It’s one of them players who did it. That pasty spades fella or the Queen of Hearts. Queen of Black Hearts.”
Siobhán’s radar went up. Was she referencing Clementine’s skin color, or was Rose Foley the one who marked the playing cards? “By any chance, were you at Sharkey’s last night?”
Rose pointed to her belly. “Are you joking me?”
“Is that a no?”
“I was here. I slept. All I do is sleep and pee.”
“When you’re ready, come to Naomi’s Bistro,” Siobhán said. Mother-to-be or not, grief-stricken or not, Siobhán needed a break from this woman. She could see how living with her might wear a man down to the bone.
Rose followed them to the door, still bellowing. “It’s one of them players! You know it! I know it! Either you find out which one of ’em did it—or so help me, God, I will.”