Murder at the Monks' Table by Carol Anne O'Marie

Author:Carol Anne O'Marie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2010-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

White was as good as Liam’s word, and in just about five minutes they heard a knock on the mews’ door.

“Come in, Detective Inspector,” Mary Helen called politely.

As soon as he was comfortably seated, Eileen offered him a cup of tea, which he refused. Mary Helen was glad. She’d drunk so much tea today that she felt as though her back teeth might be floating.

“What can we do for you, Detective Inspector?” she asked.

“I hate to trouble you,” White said, “but I wonder if you two would tell me, once more, about finding the fellow from Dublin in the field.” Then he focused on Sister Mary Helen. “And then about your discovery of Willie Ward in the ladies’?”

Mary Helen sighed and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what more I can tell you,” she said. About that, anyway, she thought. “But I’ll be happy to repeat it if it might help.”

The clean fresh scent of aftershave alerted her that Detective Inspector Brian Reedy had slipped into the room. He joined White on the couch.

With Eileen chiming in here and there, Mary Helen repeated the story of discovering the near-naked Tommy Burns, stumbling on Father Keane, and finally notifying Owen Lynch. It was basically unchanged.

“What was the parish priest doing in the field?” White asked.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Mary Helen replied. Then, trying not to visualize the scene in the toilet stall, she retold how she had come upon Willie Ward.

When she had finished, all Detective Inspector White said was, “Thank you, Sister.”

The moment she had closed the front door on the two inspectors, Eileen turned, narrowed her eyes, and put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell him about overhearing Oon-agh Cox and Owen Lynch?”

“For the very reason I told the young garda instead. Detective Inspector White gave me strict orders to stay out of his case.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Eileen asked.

“Besides,” Mary Helen said, ignoring the question, “I want to talk to that young garda first at the barbeque tonight and find out when he intends to inform his superior.”

“Barbeque!” Eileen reached for the Oyster Festival brochure. “It begins at nine p.m.,” she read. “At the Court Hotel. Craic, it says—that means ‘lots of fun'—with live music. Shall I give Paul a jingle and ask him to pick us up?”

“Nine o’clock!” Mary Helen adjusted her bifocals on the bridge of her nose. “If you think we’ll still be awake at nine o’clock.”

“We will if we take a nap now,” Eileen said, holding the receiver. “Do you feel like taking a little snooze?”

With a yawn, Mary Helen nodded her head. There were some answers she didn’t have to think about twice.

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