Murder in an Irish Cottage

The bulldozer plowed forward, heading straight for the cottage. The paid operator, who had been smoking a cigarette on the grounds, had his hands on top of his hard hat and was shouting up at her to stop.

“How does she know how to drive that thing?” someone asked.

“She’s been on tractors all her life,” Joe said. “It’s not that difficult.”

Despite the guards screaming at her, Mary Madigan rammed the bulldozer into the building. “Seems she doesn’t know how to work it completely,” Macdara said as the impact shook the cottage and rattled the windows.

“It was just a prop,” Siobhán said. “It would take a lot more than that yoke to bring the cottage down.”

“You yelled at us to get out,” Macdara said.

“Safety first,” Siobhán said. “Plus, I really didn’t want to miss this.”

Mary backed the bulldozer up and rammed it into the cottage again. Dylan Kelly was filming it, encouraging her. On the third go, the bulldozer shut off, and after, all they could hear was the grunt and whine of the engine shutting down, and her sobs. A gust of wind came through, followed by a creak. All heads swiveled to the front of the cottage where the door still gaped open. Then heads swiveled to the back door, a mirror image.

“Looks like the fairies got their way,” Geraldine said. “A free passage from front to back.”

Naomi’s Bistro comforted them with all the trappings of home. The kettle was on, the fire was crackling, and the pie was out of the cooler. “Thanks be to heaven we’re away from the fairies,” Gráinne said.

“I never got to see one,” Ciarán said. “Can we get a fairy tree?”

“You’ve got your pocket full of stones,” Siobhán said. “You can put them in a ring in the back garden.” Ciarán skipped off to do just that, their pup Trigger barking at his heels. They had dropped Jane off with Macdara’s mam. She would stay with her for a while before deciding her next move. Siobhán sat across from Macdara long after their pie was gone, enjoying a rare bout of silence.

“Want to set a date?” he asked her softly. “That is, if you’ll still have me?”

“I was giving it a bit of thought myself,” Siobhán said. “A ceremony at Saint Mary’s and then a reception at the abbey sounds just about perfect. What do you think?”

“I think,” he said, taking her hands in his, “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Now about the date. Is next fall too soon?”

The bell on the front door jingled and a familiar voice filtered into the bistro. Macdara arched an eyebrow. “Is that?”

James flew into the room, holding hands with Elise.

“Guess what?” James said.

“We’re getting married,” Elise trilled.

James’s grin spread ear to ear. “Next month.”

Elise jumped up and down. “We’re having the ceremony at Saint Mary’s and then—get this—the reception at the abbey!” The proclamation was topped off with an ear-piercing squeal.

Macdara, to Siobhán’s surprise, started to laugh. He tried covering his mouth, but that just made it worse. Soon, he was roaring with laughter. Siobhán didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or punch Elise in the face. “If you didn’t believe in the curse of fairies before,” Macdara said, “you might want to think twice about it now.”

“What is he on about?” James asked.

“Nothing at all,” Siobhán said, getting ahold of herself and stepping forward. “Congratulations, luv.” She hugged her brother, as Elise chattered in the background, mouth running about her wedding plans. Siobhán glanced out the back windows to the garden, where Ciarán and Ann were standing over his ring of stones in the grass.

Evil. Vengeful. Fairies.

I hear ye, Siobhán thought. I hear you loud and clear.