Murder in an Irish Cottage: A Charming Irish Cozy Mystery (An Irish Village Mystery Book 5) by Carlene O'Connor

Author:Carlene O'Connor [O'Connor, Carlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-02-25T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The rest of the day flew by, and finally it was time to gather at O’Rourke’s for the wake. Although there were plenty of pubs in Kilbane, Siobhán was partial to her local. Not only because it was close to the bistro, but because of the publican himself. Declan O’Rourke was a powerhouse of spirit. From the windows boasting his collection of Laurel and Hardy memorabilia, to the interior filled with posters of John Wayne doing his thing, this pub was like a second home. Declan was probably pushing eighty now (although she’d never dare to ask) and she loved everything about him from the wrinkles in his broad face, to his gapped-tooth mouth, and most of all how he could fill a room with that boisterous laugh of his where one couldn’t help but laugh back. He was a man seasoned in the language of operas, and plays, and movies. It was fitting, his job front and center as a publican, for Declan had been entertaining the folks in Kilbane for the past fifty years. He was a kind soul, the first to offer an ossified lad a ride home, but he was just as quick to cut down any lad who got too big for his britches. Declan, like most institutions, demanded a fair amount of respect. He was equally loved and feared. As the mourners entered, Declan was the first to welcome them.

Siobhán’s best friend, Maria, stood behind the counter lining pint glasses up for the onslaught, and they exchanged a quick hug.

“So much for your holiday,” Maria said. She had a little body and a big voice. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail.

“Death never takes a holiday.”

Maria rolled her eyes and gave Siobhán a little shove. “You’re not death, which means you can take a holiday.”

“It’s Macdara’s aunt, luv.”

“Right, so. Work away then.”

“We will holiday soon. You and me.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears.” Maria gave her another shove before disappearing behind the counter.

Minutes later Jane stood on the little stage where musicians usually reigned, her pint raised. “To my mother, Ellen Delaney.”

“Hear, hear.” Glasses were raised.

“May she rest in peace.”

Joe Madigan stood up, smoothing down his suit. It was jarring to see him without his hat, or in flannel for that matter, especially seeing as how he had a full head of thick, dark hair that most men (and women) would be proud to show off. “Ellen Delaney was a good neighbor. She was a woman who spoke her mind, but she played fair. They kept a wonderful garden out back, and my wife attests that she was quite a good painter as well.” Mary Madigan looked startled to be mentioned, but then recovered and began to nod vigorously.

“Lovely,” she said. “I was lucky enough to see them up close, and you could tell she was very passionate about her work. Very protective of them too. Like they were her children.” She swallowed, then looked around, as if hoping for approval. “May she rest in peace.

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