Read Online St. Patrick's Day Murder by Leslie Meier - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie Meier
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Maine, Women Detectives, Stone; Lucy (Fictitious Character), Irish Americans, Saint Patrick's Day
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a glass with a generous inch of amber liquid in the bottom.
“Well, then, here’s to Old Dan,” said Lucy, raising the glass and taking a sip.
“Now, now, that won’t do,” said Dylan, standing up and raising a glass. “May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rain fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again…” he recited, pausing dramatically and lifting the glass higher, “may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.” Then he drained his glass in one swallow and fixed his eyes on Lucy, challenging her to do the same.
“May God hold Old Dan in the hollow of his hand,” she said and, taking a deep breath, downed the whiskey in her glass. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better eat something right away, or this will go straight to my head.”
“Absolutely, help yourself. There’s plenty of everything and more where it came from,” said Dylan.
Feeling slightly tipsy, Lucy made her way to the buffet. Once she had served herself, filling her plate with corned beef and cabbage and Irish soda bread, she took a seat and surveyed the room. People had been arriving steadily, and a good crowd had gathered, including a number of Old Dan’s best customers. A few had even shaved and put on a clean shirt for the occasion. Frank conducted each person in turn to offer their sympathy to Dylan and Moira. Lucy chewed contentedly, interested in watching the people and listening to the occasional click of beads as the woman seated beside her quietly recited her Hail Marys and Our Fathers.
She was feeling quite mellow when the door flew open and Dave Reilly entered, his long hair streaming behind him. His jacket was open, revealing a T-shirt with the Claws logo, a lobster holding a guitar. Frank hurried over to greet him, but Dave shoved him aside and staggered drunkenly across the room, toward Dylan and Moira. Spotting him, Dylan immediately got to his feet and stood protectively in front of his wife.
“Here, now,” said Dylan. “You’re very welcome indeed if you want to pay your respects to my brother, but we don’t want any trouble here.”
“That’s right,” said Frank, taking hold of Dave’s arm. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Pay my respects!” bellowed Dave, shaking off Frank’s hand and gesturing wildly with his arm. “That’s a good one!” He stabbed his finger toward the photo of Old Dan. “He’s the one who should pay me, and more than his respects. That old bastard owes me five thousand dollars, and I’m here to collect.”
The room was suddenly silent. Even the old women had stopped mumbling their prayers.
“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” said Dylan, equably. “I never knew my brother to borrow money, him being rather tight with a dollar as I recall, but I don’t doubt—”
“Borrow! He didn’t borrow from me. He cheated me!” shouted Dave.
Dylan’s face hardened, and he pulled himself to his full height. “You’re saying my brother was a cheat?” he asked, puffing out his chest.
“A damned rotten cheater, that’s what he was,” said Dave, tossing his hair back and clenching his fist. “I bought a winning lottery ticket off him. It was worth five thousand dollars, but when I gave it to him for payment, he told me it was no good, that I had it wrong. And I believed him!”
“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Dylan, with a shrug.
“It was no mistake,” said Dave. “I had the winning ticket, but he switched it on me, and a week later I hear he’s been to the lottery commission to collect the money.”
“It seems to me that’s water under the bridge,” said Frank. “Whoever’s got the ticket wins the money.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?” asked Dylan.
“I want you to pay me, that’s what. I want my five thousand dollars!” Dave lowered his voice to a threatening growl. “And I’m not leaving until I get it.”
Dylan shook
“Well, then, here’s to Old Dan,” said Lucy, raising the glass and taking a sip.
“Now, now, that won’t do,” said Dylan, standing up and raising a glass. “May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rain fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again…” he recited, pausing dramatically and lifting the glass higher, “may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.” Then he drained his glass in one swallow and fixed his eyes on Lucy, challenging her to do the same.
“May God hold Old Dan in the hollow of his hand,” she said and, taking a deep breath, downed the whiskey in her glass. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better eat something right away, or this will go straight to my head.”
“Absolutely, help yourself. There’s plenty of everything and more where it came from,” said Dylan.
Feeling slightly tipsy, Lucy made her way to the buffet. Once she had served herself, filling her plate with corned beef and cabbage and Irish soda bread, she took a seat and surveyed the room. People had been arriving steadily, and a good crowd had gathered, including a number of Old Dan’s best customers. A few had even shaved and put on a clean shirt for the occasion. Frank conducted each person in turn to offer their sympathy to Dylan and Moira. Lucy chewed contentedly, interested in watching the people and listening to the occasional click of beads as the woman seated beside her quietly recited her Hail Marys and Our Fathers.
She was feeling quite mellow when the door flew open and Dave Reilly entered, his long hair streaming behind him. His jacket was open, revealing a T-shirt with the Claws logo, a lobster holding a guitar. Frank hurried over to greet him, but Dave shoved him aside and staggered drunkenly across the room, toward Dylan and Moira. Spotting him, Dylan immediately got to his feet and stood protectively in front of his wife.
“Here, now,” said Dylan. “You’re very welcome indeed if you want to pay your respects to my brother, but we don’t want any trouble here.”
“That’s right,” said Frank, taking hold of Dave’s arm. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Pay my respects!” bellowed Dave, shaking off Frank’s hand and gesturing wildly with his arm. “That’s a good one!” He stabbed his finger toward the photo of Old Dan. “He’s the one who should pay me, and more than his respects. That old bastard owes me five thousand dollars, and I’m here to collect.”
The room was suddenly silent. Even the old women had stopped mumbling their prayers.
“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” said Dylan, equably. “I never knew my brother to borrow money, him being rather tight with a dollar as I recall, but I don’t doubt—”
“Borrow! He didn’t borrow from me. He cheated me!” shouted Dave.
Dylan’s face hardened, and he pulled himself to his full height. “You’re saying my brother was a cheat?” he asked, puffing out his chest.
“A damned rotten cheater, that’s what he was,” said Dave, tossing his hair back and clenching his fist. “I bought a winning lottery ticket off him. It was worth five thousand dollars, but when I gave it to him for payment, he told me it was no good, that I had it wrong. And I believed him!”
“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Dylan, with a shrug.
“It was no mistake,” said Dave. “I had the winning ticket, but he switched it on me, and a week later I hear he’s been to the lottery commission to collect the money.”
“It seems to me that’s water under the bridge,” said Frank. “Whoever’s got the ticket wins the money.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?” asked Dylan.
“I want you to pay me, that’s what. I want my five thousand dollars!” Dave lowered his voice to a threatening growl. “And I’m not leaving until I get it.”
Dylan shook
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