Kilmoon: A County Clare Mystery by Lisa Alber Page B

of Liam Donellan at 94 Kilkany Lane.
    DA:Let’s start at the beginning. What time did you arrive at the Plough and Trough Pub?
    KD:Eight or thereabouts. People were starting to arrive.
    DA:And what did you and Emma talk about?
    KD:What’s that got to do with the price of potatoes?
    DA:Several people saw you talking with her early on.
    KD:I bet they did—took a sorry interest in seeing us together, I’m sure. Last year, the relationship not even laid to rest, and she showed up at the party with Lonnie. Oh, and Lonnie made sure to swagger her around the room, acting as if he actually cared for her—
    DA:You didn’t grease this tin.
    KD:(clanking) Anyway, last night Emma only wanted to be sure I was right in the head again, such as that goes.
    DA:Were you angry last night?
    KD:Angry enough to kill Lonnie, you mean? You can say it.
    DA:Please answer the question.
    KD:Talking to Emma saddened me, that’s all. And honestly, maybe some residual guilt. That business was my fault. I left her high and dry.
    DA:And last night?
    KD:We said “hi,” and then I fetched Liam. That’s it. He was outside with Marcus. That was around eight thirty. I escorted Liam back into the party, and I didn’t so much as wink at Lonnie the whole night.
    DA:Did you meet his date?
    KD:Of course not. I avoided him—and her by association. Felt sorry for her though. Hope she didn’t end up like Emma. She didn’t, did she?
    DA:No.
    KD:Besides, I was pretty well ossified by the end. I don’t remember much of anything.
    DA:Then how do you know you didn’t speak to her or Lonnie?
    KD:Because I’d remember that much, wouldn’t I? Are we done now?

• 15 •
    After ten minutes of listening to Kevin rant, Danny clicked off the tape recorder. In that time, Kevin had managed to pummel the cake batter into submission, pour the batter into cake pans, and shove the pans into the oven.
    “So much for not losing your patience,” Danny said. “Plenty of people have seen your temper fly. This isn’t exactly in your favor.”
    Without a word, Kevin added milk to the frosting mix. Danny, harking back to his own kitchen with Ellen, watched Kevin beat the frosting until sweat broke out on his forehead. Ellen, he predicted, had put herself to bed at the same time as the children, whose mouths and fingers were probably still berry-juice stained. If they went berry picking at all, that is.
    The swinging door creaked behind them. “Ah, chocolate cake, I see,” Liam said. “And thank you for that. I couldn’t be bothered with the white cake Mrs. O’Brien supplied for the party. I detest white cake.”
    “And God forbid we sing happy birthday,” Kevin said.
    “I draw the line at that. I made a point of not going near the bloody cake in case Mrs. O’Brien saw me and rallied up a song. Don’t know why she insists on a cake. Give the people their pints and they’re happier than two peckered dogs.”
    “She knows what she’s doing,” Kevin said. “More cake for her to gorge on at home.”
    “Silliness in any case. After the first couple of hours no one cares whether I’m there or not, and thank Christ for that. People having their fun, the way it should be.”
    It was the same conversation every year. In Danny’s opinion, the only solution was to fire Mrs. O’Brien. Unfortunately, she prided herself on her party planning skills and fancied herself a festival sponsor because her husband’s hotel turned a healthy profit during the festival.
    “Since you’re here,” Danny said to Liam, “let’s you and I have a round off the record. I’ll send around a couple of men early tomorrow morning to get your official statement.”
    The two of them sat on stools at the kitchen island, inhaling chocolate fumes and drinking more whiskey while Kevin listened and tidied up.
    “What did you think of Merrit?” Danny said to Liam.
    “She seemed ill-at-ease, that’s all, especially after she knocked over the presents. You can imagine Mrs. O’Brien in her