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

“What celebrity?”she asked halfheartedly. She was really too tired for guessing games.
    â€œIt’s all over the village. Yes, indeed!” Paul grinned. “Yank nuns found Willie Ward’s body, God rest him, in the ladies’.” The driver’s hazel eyes danced behind his rimless glasses. He was having great fun.
    Mary Helen felt her face grow warm. “The man was murdered, Paul,” she said.
    â€œAh.” Paul paused. Looking penitent, he ran his fingers through his straight dark hair. “None deserved it more,” he said piously.
    Another knock came on the kitchen door. This was going to be a busy day. Before either of them could answer, the door was pulled open. Mary Helen was not surprised to see Detective Inspector Ernie White, still in his rumpled suit jacket.
    His face was puffy, and the small dark moons that had formed under his eyes left no doubt that he’d been up all night, or at least a good part of it. His thick dark hair looked more than ever like a haystack. Mary Helen wondered if White had a wife or perhaps a lady friend who would tell him he needed a haircut. Badly!
    â€œCan I fix you a cup of tea?” Mary Helen asked, trying not to stare.
    â€œTa,” the inspector nodded wearily and crumpled into the last chair at the table.
    â€œGood morning, Sisters.” Detective Inspector Brian Reedy stood in the doorway.
    â€œTea, Detective Inspector?” Mary Helen asked, surprised that the man looked as fresh as he did.
Ah, youth!
she thought, going into the living room to pull in another chair.
    â€œYou needn’t go to any bother,” Reedy said. “I’m on my way to headquarters. I just wanted to let Ernie here know.”
    â€œGood luck, then,” White said, leaving Mary Helen wondering what all that was about.
    For several minutes the only sound in the small kitchen was the sound of sipping.
    Finally White cleared his throat. “Did you get any rest last night?” he asked.
    â€œSome,” Eileen said, “but it was quite unnerving. Finding that poor man …” Her voice trailed off.
    â€œIndeed.” White tilted back in his chair to study something on the ceiling. Then, bringing his chair forward, he seemed for the first time to notice the hackney driver. “And you, Paul?” he asked. “How did you sleep?”
    â€œFine, indeed, sir.” Paul looked surprised to be asked. “My wife and I had no idea what happened until this morning.”
    â€œYou didn’t wonder a’tall when you left the tent and saw the tape and the garda at the Monks’ Table?”
    Paul shook his head. Not too vigorously, Mary Helen noted. “According to my wife, I was feeling no pain. She drove us both home,” he added quickly, in case the inspector had any question about his driving under the influence.
    Dumbfounded, Mary Helen watched the exchange. Surely Detective Inspector White didn’t think Paul had anything to do with the murder, did he? Unfortunately, his face gave nothing away.
    â€œMay I ask why you are here now?” His tone was friendly, almost chatty. At least, Mary Helen thought it was.
    â€œI just came by to ask the nuns if they needed me today. I didn’t know a thing about any murder till I came into the village. The whole place is full of nothing else.”
    Paul’s explanation seemed to satisfy White, who rose abruptly. “And you do understand,” he said, without taking his eyes off the driver, “that what you hear in this room, especially from the nuns, remains in here?”
    â€œYes, indeed, sir,” Paul answered, his tone all business, but his face barely masking his disappointment. Mary Helen thought she understood why. Recounting any fresh news to the enjoyment of the lads in the pub surely would earn him at least one free round.
    â€œWhen you’ve finished your tea, Sisters,” White said, as if he’d just remembered that they