Hello from the Emerald Isle

How ya, what’s the craic? If you don’t know me by now, that’s not an incorrect spelling of the illicit drug crack, (t’anks be to the heavens) in the Irish language it means fun. I’m just saying hello, hoping you’re up to something good. Unfortunately, the folks in Kilbane are often acting the maggot which is where I come in. Siobhán O’Sullivan here, the newest member of an Garda Síochána, which translates to: Guardians of the Peace. Don’t you think that’s a lovely thing to be? I’ve only recently graduated from garda college and started at the Kilbane Garda Station. At twenty-six years of age I’m one of the youngest and mostly surrounded by men. As if that wasn’t enough to keep me busy, I also run my mam’s bistro since she and my father passed away a few years ago. If you’re ever in Kilbane, County Cork, Ireland, do stop by Naomi’s Bistro for some brown bread, gossip, and tea. I make the best brown bread in town– ask anyone. It’s me mam’s recipe so no you can’t have it. Maybe I’ll give it up some day, but you must not have the luck of the Irish for today is not that day.

If I’m not in the bistro when you stop by, don’t worry. You’ll find one of my five siblings to help you, or at least you can pat Trigger on the head. He’s a Jack Russel Terrier, and I’ve never met a lazier dog, so you’ll probably find him curled up by the fire in the winter, or rooting through me back garden in the summer.

We live above the bistro so in a sense we’re always working, but also always at home. At least we’re right on Sarsfield Street where it’s easy to do our messages. Apologies– I forget most of you are Yanks. That means do our shopping and errands. Around town we’re known as The O’Sullivan Six. You want their names do ye?

From youngest to oldest: Ciarán, Ann, Gráinne, Eoin, Me, and my older brother James. Now that he’s off the drink, he’s been a real help raising the young ones. Hard to believe, they’re not that young anymore. I don’t know where the time has gone. At least me best friend Maria is home from Trinity College in Dublin, and Macdara Flannery and I are still getting on like a house on fire, although we have to do a bit of sneaking around given he’s my detective sargeant and romance at work is frowned upon. Not that we get along perfectly. Everyone says I’m too impulsive for me own good. I think it’s all because of my red hair. It’s really auburn, but everyone says red as if there’s only one shade. Maybe I’m feisty because I’ve been told all me life that I must be. When I was a young one me grandfather taught me how to whittle, hoping it would focus my temper. There is something calming about chipping away at wood with a sharp knife, alright.

You might also see me jogging in the morning if you’re up early. I like to jog around the abbey. Maybe you haven’t heard. I live in one of the few reaming medieval walled towns in Ireland. We have the original stone wall surrounding us, two of the four entrance gates remain, and once inside you’ll find our town castle, Collegiate Church, and ruined Dominican Priory. We usually just call it the abbey. I think that’s enough jabbering for now, don’t you? I have to make my little mug of heaven, which is a cappuccino (you thought it was tea, didn’t ya), and then I’m going to hop on my pink scooter and motor to work. I’m telling m’self that it’s going to be a grand, fresh day, but between you and me, I have a feeling it’s going to be murder.

You can read about Siobhán in Murder in an Irish Pub, the fourth book in the “Irish Village” cozy mystery series, coming February 26, 2019.

When competing card sharps stir up Siobhán O’Sullivan’s quiet Irish village, a poker tournament turns into a game of Hangman . . .

In the small village of Kilbane in County Cork, for a cuppa tea or a slice of brown bread, you go to Naomi’s Bistro, managed by the many siblings of the lively O’Sullivan brood. For a pint or a game of darts—or for the poker tournament that’s just come to town—it’s the pub you want.

One player’s reputation precedes him: Eamon Foley, a tinker out of Dublin, called the Octopus for playing like he has eight hands under the table. But when Foley is found at the end of a rope, swinging from the rafters of Rory Mack’s pub, it’s time for the garda to take matters into their own hands. Macdara Flannery would lay odds it’s a simple suicide—after all, there’s a note and the room was locked. But Siobhán suspects foul play, as does Foley’s very pregnant widow. Perhaps one of Foley’s fellow finalists just raised the stakes to life and death.

With conflicting theories on the crime—not to mention the possibility of a proposal—tensions are running high between Siobhán and Macdara. Soon it’s up to Siobhán to call a killer’s bluff, but if she doesn’t play her cards right, she may be the next one taken out of the game . . .

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Meet the author
Carlene O’Connor is a USA Today Bestselling author of The Irish Village Mysteries. To date she has written Murder in an Irish Village, Murder at an Irish Wedding, and Murder in an Irish Churchyard. February 2019 will see the release of Murder at an Irish Pub, Murder in Galway, and her piece in the holiday anthology: Christmas Cocoa Murder. Readers can visit her at carleneoconnor.net or on Facebook. Carlene O’Connor also writes as Mary Carter. For more information go to marycarterbooks.com.

All comments are welcomed.