True Green: A St. Patrick's Day Mystery

Written by Meghan Ford, Published on 1/6/2009, Re-published on 3/17/2010

Emerald eyes reluctantly opened at the insistent knocking. Siobhan glanced at her bedside clock, which informed the thirteen year old that it was much earlier than she had intended to rise. With school Monday through Friday, she looked forward to Saturday snoozing.

"Siobhan are you awake?"

Sitting up in the bed, the teen sifted fingers through disorderly auburn locks.

“Come in Mama.”

Only then did Siobhan notice the delicious aroma from the corned beef and cabbage her mother cooked for their small town's annual True Green Gala, which was in honor of St. Patrick's Day. Each year it was a hit and nearly everyone in town, whether Irish or not, thoroughly enjoyed participating. A potluck type of celebration, it took place at the local park and although St. Patrick's Day wasn't until Monday, the town preferred having the party during the weekend.

The bedroom door opened, revealing a statuesque redhead wearing a lightly stained apron with a beaming leprechaun on it.

“Sweetie, I need you to run an errand. Could you go to the store for a half-gallon of buttermilk? I forgot to buy it yesterday.”

Siobhan nodded, pushing the covers back. “Sure Mama.”

*

“I'll have breakfast ready when you get back,” Mrs. Doyle called out from the kitchen when she heard her daughter running down the stairs, which was her usual method of getting to the main floor. She wouldn't be surprised if the girl joined the track team upon entering high school.

“Okay Mama!”

Front door shut and locked, Siobhan grabbed her bicycle and headed down the porch steps. Helmet securely attached she raced off down the quiet street. Minutes later she arrived at the best grocery store in town. Granted there weren't many grocery stores in the small community, but most deemed that Peter MacDonald's business was first rate.

He always had the freshest fruits and vegetables, kept his shelves stocked and his prices reasonable. His customers adored Peter MacDonald, a kind and helpful man. Just last week Ella Walsh, one of the oldest residents in Addison, was having a terrible time with her arthritis. Peter delivered her groceries, put them away where she directed and even made her dinner.

“Hiya, Mr. MacDonald!” Siobhan said in greeting as she pushed through the glass door, the bell overhead tinkling in response.

The grocer looked up from unloading canned goods from a cardboard box.

“Morning Siobhan.” After a glance at his watch he added, “You're up early! Helping your Mama make her yummy corned beef and cabbage?”

She nodded. “I was sent for buttermilk for the bread.”

Peter began to speak in a conspiratorial whisper, although the store was empty except for them. “Don't tell my wife, but your mother creates the best Irish soda bread I've ever tasted.”

Siobhan grinned as she made her way to the refrigerator section. As she waited for Peter to count out her change, she noted that the man appeared the slightest bit glum. "Mr. Mac?" She folded the bills he handed her, tucking them into one of the many pockets sewn onto her verdant overalls.

“Yes honey?”

“Are you okay?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to respond with a hearty “yes,” but she studied him with such earnestness that he couldn't.

“Not really. Someone stole the piñata.” He pointed toward the entrance. “From my truck parked right in front of the store.”

Siobhan gasped. Just like her mother was known for bringing her famous corned beef and cabbage each year, Peter always supplied a shamrock piñata filled with circa two hundred premium chocolates and candies.

“When?”

“I opened the store earlier than usual – about 4:30 – and I went out to my truck around six o’clock and noticed that it was missing from the cargo bed. Had it under a tarp.” Sighing, he drummed his fingertips on the counter. “And this year I put something special in it. Besides candy, I inserted fifty one dollar bills stamped with a tiny shamrock.”

Siobhan's eyes widened. “We need to find whoever did this!”

This was a catastrophe. Whoever was responsible definitely was not exhibiting true green spirit! Detective persona slipping into place, Siobhan asked for a sheet of paper and a pen.

“Siobhan you go home. Don't worry about it. There'll be plenty of other fun activities.”

“But someone stole from you and I wanna know who that someone is.”

The next few minutes were spent with Siobhan questioning Mr. MacDonald. By the end of her mini-interrogation she didn't have much to go on, but it would have to do.

Buttermilk in the basket attached to her bicycle, Siobhan straddled the seat while she reread her notes:

“Piñata taken between 4:30 - 6:00 a.m. Each one-dollar bill had tiny shamrock stamped in upper right-hand corner. Doing stamping, Zach - Mr. Mac's son – is only person besides Mrs. Mac who should know about $50 in piñata.”

Siobhan's next destination, after dropping the buttermilk off at home, was the MacDonald household to have a chat with fifteen-year-old Zach, who was her friend. He wasn't supposed to tell others about the money stuffed into the piñata, but did he? And if he kept his mouth shut did he steal from his own father?

*

Although she pleaded her case, Siobhan wasn't allowed to leave until she ate her breakfast. Scarfing it down in record time, she ran upstairs to grab what she referred to as her CSI (crime scene investigation) backpack. Notepads, magnifying glasses and a handheld recorder were among the items inside. On a daily basis Siobhan dreamt of when she would become a true detective.

Promising that she would return by eleven, Siobhan rode to Zach's house around the corner.

According to Zach, he only went for a walk during which he met up with his friend Evan, who was out walking his two golden retrievers. Zach admitted that he told Evan and another pal named Richie about the piñata money.

The plot thickens, Siobhan thought as she scribbled this down.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have ten bucks on ya?” Zach asked. He looked embarrassed. “My dad withheld my allowance because I missed a homework assignment, and I want to go to a movie.”

“Sorry, no cash on me.”

She thanked Zach for his time and left for the Carpenter home. Emily, Evan's younger sister, whom she had three classes with, answered the door. Her cheeks were bulging and she was holding a jar in her left hand. Emily hurriedly swallowed.

“Siobhan! What brings you here? I'm headed to the laundromat to wash some tablecloths for the party. You wanna go? You can pull my Radio Flyer.” Emily’s breath smelled like chocolate and Siobhan noticed the jar was full of quarters.

“I would, but I actually need to speak with your brother.”

Emily turned, looking toward the stairs. “EVAN! DOOR!” She grinned at her schoolmate. “He'll be here in a minute.”

“Thanks. Hey, you have something…” Siobhan tapped the corner of her mouth.

“Oops. Dampening a finger, Emily wiped off the smudge. “It was chocolate. Candy."

“Candy?!”

“Yeah. From Valentine’s.”

“A month ago?”

“I received a lot of boxes. My last one, finally.”

Emily put the jar in her red wagon, next to her mother's festive tablecloths and a box of detergent. She grasped the handle and rolled it passed the visitor.

“See you at True Green?”

“You bet.”

Evan arrived at the door, appearing nothing short of quizzical. “Siobhan? What's up?”

She explained that she was investigating the piñata theft and asked what he had been up to that morning.

“I was doing what I do every morning,” he said, slightly miffed, “taking our dogs Duke and Duchess for a walk.”

Next Siobhan paid the Harris house a visit.

Richie's father informed Siobhan that his son was busy spending his allowance at the arcade. She discovered him next to a pinball machine counting his money.

“Hi Richie.”

She told him about the missing piñata, gauging his reaction to the news. He seemed appropriately stunned, but so had his friends. “Could I see your ones?”

“You think I swiped it?” He didn't wait for a response. “Here,” he said, handing her the bills. There were four ones – none of them stamped. “Am I innocent? ‘Cause I gotta go." Richie smiled despite being a suspect.

Siobhan's eyes landed on the change machine.

“I'll be in touch.”

Clapping him on the shoulder she walked away, the “light bulb” in her head aglow. Sam the arcade owner was convinced to unlock the change machine, and after a thorough search the gloved Detective Doyle found five shamrock-stamped bills, which she handled with a pair of tweezers. She looked up, noting the surveillance camera trained on the change machine.

“Your camera working, Sam?”

It was, and Sam let her view the footage from earlier that day. It confirmed what Siobhan already knew.