Irish milkshake murder, p.1
Irish Milkshake Murder, page 1
Books by Carlene O’Connor
Irish Village Mysteries
MURDER IN AN IRISH
VILLAGE
MURDER AT AN IRISH
WEDDING
MURDER IN AN IRISH
CHURCHYARD
MURDER IN AN IRISH PUB
MURDER IN AN IRISH
COTTAGE
MURDER AT AN IRISH
CHRISTMAS
MURDER IN AN IRISH
BOOKSHOP
MURDER ON AN IRISH FARM
MURDER AT AN IRISH
BAKERY
CHRISTMAS COCOA
MURDER
(with Maddie Day and Alex Erickson)
CHRISTMAS SCARF MURDER
(with Maddie Day and Peggy Ehrhart)
A Home to Ireland Mystery
MURDER IN GALWAY
MURDER IN CONNEMARA
HALLOWEEN CUPCAKE
MURDER
(with Liz Ireland and Carol J. Perry)
A County Kerry Mystery
NO STRANGERS HERE
SOME OF US ARE LOOKING
Books by Liz Ireland
MRS. CLAUS AND THE
SANTALAND SLAYINGS
MRS. CLAUS AND THE
HALLOWEEN HOMICIDE
MRS. CLAUS AND THE
EVIL ELVES
MRS. CLAUS AND THE
TROUBLE WITH TURKEYS
HALLOWEEN CUPCAKE
MURDER
(with Carlene O’Connor and Carol J. Perry)
Books by Peggy Ehrhart
Knit and Nibble Mysteries
MURDER, SHE KNIT
DIED IN THE WOOL
KNIT ONE, DIE TWO
SILENT KNIT, DEADLY KNIT
A FATAL YARN
KNIT OF THE LIVING DEAD
KNITTY GRITTY MURDER
DEATH OF A KNIT WIT
IRISH KNIT MURDER
KNITMARE ON BEECH
STREET
CHRISTMAS CARD MURDER
(with Leslie Meier and Lee Hollis)
CHRISTMAS SCARF MURDER
(with Carlene O’Connor and Maddie Day)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
IRISH MILKSHAKE MURDER
Carlene O’Connor
Peggy Ehrhart
Liz Ireland
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2024 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Irish Milkshake Murder” copyright © 2024 by Mary Carter
“Murder Most Irish” copyright © 2024 by Peggy Ehrhart
“Mrs. Claus and the Luckless Leprechaun” copyright © 2024 by Elizabeth Bass
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023944256
KENSINGTON and the KENSINGTON COZIES teapot logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4503-3
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: January 2024
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4505-7 (ebook)
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
IRISH MILKSHAKE MURDER
Chapter One - Henpecked
Chapter Two - Row, Row, Row Your Boat
Chapter Three - Body on Board
Chapter Four - Truth or Dare
Chapter Five - On Guard
Chapter Six - The Storm Worsens
Chapter Seven - Open Bar
Chapter Eight - With Friends Like These
Chapter Nine - Fireside Chat
Chapter Ten - Shipwrecked
Chapter Eleven - Say Grace
MURDER MOST IRISH
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
KNIT - Knitted Potholder
NIBBLE - Irish Coffee Mallow
MRS. CLAUS AND THE LUCKLESS LEPRECHAUN
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
IRISH MILKSHAKE MURDER
Carlene O’Connor
Chapter One
Henpecked
Tara Meehan didn’t want to disappoint her dear friend Breanna Cunningham, but if she had any doubts about going wild before her wedding, the plastic penis wand Breanna was waving in her face way too enthusiastically solidified her decision. No hen party for her. At least Breanna had waited until Tara’s last customer had finally left the store (empty-handed) before whipping out the party favors. The customer, an older woman, had picked up a set of antique brass doorknobs, held them up, and put them down again at least a dozen times. “I love these,” she said. “If only I had a door for them.” Tara knew better than to try and sell her a door to go with them, because then she would say she needed a house, and Tara was not a realtor. That was life in the architectural salvage business. Tara set about closing her shop as Breanna trailed after her, poking her with that ridiculous party favor. “I’m too old for a hen party,” Tara insisted. Way too old. Thirty-five. Ancient.
Breanna put the wand down on the counter, picked up the doorknobs, and held them to her chest. “Did ya see your one? She was holding knobs up to her knockers!” Breanna wiggled them and howled with laughter.
“You are such a child,” Tara said, but she couldn’t help but laugh. It was an accurate imitation.
“See?” Breanna said. “It’s fun to be silly.” She placed the doorknobs back in the old Guinness barrel. Located just off pedestrianized Shop Street, Tara’s beloved shop, Renewals, was five hundred square feet of eclectic treasures and had a back patio. Tara had painted the walls a lovely shade of mint green that popped against the bamboo floors. Display cabinets featured hand-picked items, and several old Guinness advertising signs hung on the walls. White orchids topped flat surfaces, sculptures stood in every corner, and fireplace accoutrements were set up near the small working fireplace, which was flanked by stone lions. On the mantel, she displayed brass and iron candleholders. Pottery from the 1800s was gathered in one section and vases, tiles, and antique fixtures in another. The rustic cabinet by the register was filled with estate jewelry. A small section of crystal glassware occupied shelves in the middle. More old doorknobs and decorative knockers were laid out on an old wooden barrel with Jameson carved on the side.
On the patio, larger architectural items, such as old wrought iron gates, were stacked up against the back of the building, along with garden sculptures and fountains. Tara had kept the shop afloat a few years now, and even the locals were starting to accept that the New York transplant was here to stay.
“My work is serious enough. I need to play,” Breanna said. She was a clerk at the Galway Garda Station, and to be fair it probably was a stressful job. Tara was grateful every day for the opportunity to do something she loved.
Tara laughed, picked up a glass bowl filled with chocolates, and offered one to Breanna. “Between the knockers and your little wand, I’d say you had a good run at playing today.”
“You’re never too old for a hen party.” Breanna said with conviction as she plucked out several pieces of chocolate. “You won’t have to do a thing. I know the perfect venue.”
“I’m getting married on Paddy’s Day,” Tara said. “That’s enough revelry for me.” She could not believe Danny had talked her into that. Then again, Danny O’Donnell could be quite persuasive. That Irish charm. Tara was starting to think it was more of a curse than a blessing—at least when it came to him getting his way. He’d insisted that Saint Patrick’s Day was the luckiest day of the year, and then he added that they would need all the luck they could get. Technically priests did not perform ceremonies on holidays, so this meant there would actually be two wedding ceremonies, and even that didn’t faze Danny. After years of shying away from commitment, he was now all-in. She was starting to suspect his date of choice was all because of the Saint Patrick’s Day parade. Her husband-to-be loved a good parade. The wedding was three weeks away. Insane. Tara didn’t feel ready. Did anyone ever feel ready?
“You haven’t heard the best part of my evil plan,” Breanna said as she steepled her fingers and wriggled them, villain-style.
“Listen, I appreciate that you want to celebrate with me. But all we need is each other and boozy milkshakes.” Breanna loved boozy milkshakes. Hopefully that would chase all ideas of a wild bachelorette party out of her friend’s poor, misguided head.
Breanna was not undaunted. “Don’t you want to know the best part?”
“No.” Tara grabbed her handbag and gestured for Breanna to step out before she flipped the switch and plunged Renewals into darkness. Outside it was windy and cold; they were still on the lion’s side of March. As Tara locked up and headed for Shop Street, Breanna kept stride with her.
“It’s too late. Your hen party is already booked, and your friend Rachel is flying in today from New York.”
“Rachel?” Tara came to an abrupt stop. “What friend Rachel?”
Breanna cocked her head. “Rachel Madigan.”
“Rachel Madigan?” Rachel Madigan was another interior designer in New York City. Tara didn’t consider Rachel a close friend. How did Breanna know Rachel?
“And Danny and his groomsman are coming too,” Breanna nattered on. “We’re going to the Aran Islands, where I’ve rented a cottage. We leave in the morning.”
And that, Tara told herself on her stroll by the Galway Bay back to her flat, was why you never tried besting an Irishman. Or woman. Tara hadn’t even bothered to tell Breanna that she hadn’t seen or talked to Rachel in years. Why had Rachel even agreed to come? If Rachel Madigan was just in it for a weekend in Ireland, this was going to be the worst hen party ever.
* * *
It was Thursday evening in Doolin, and the last chartered boat of the day was headed out to Inishmore, the largest of the three Aran Islands. The boat, a small ferry, was white with the name CAPTAIN MICKEY emblazoned on it in red. Rachel had only met up with them a few hours ago in Galway, and given they were in a group setting, Tara had yet to ask her why exactly she was here. Was she under the impression that Tara had extended the invite via Breanna? Rachel seemed to be excited about being here and did indeed greet her as if they were long-lost friends. She’d given her a big hug, remarked how amazing she looked, and then proceeded to tell them how she’d followed Tara’s progress with her salvage shop online and how utterly thrilled she was that Tara was getting married. There was no mention of the fact that Rachel wasn’t invited to the actual wedding. Tara had decided to keep her invites local. She’d been cocooned in her work and family since moving here and didn’t want her friends Stateside to feel pressured into attending. And, truth be told, she hadn’t worked very hard to hang on to her old life. It almost felt as if it belonged to someone else.
As usual, Rachel was slim and stylish, even in jeans and a sweater. Or denims and a jumper, like they said here. Unlike Tara, who had black hair, Rachel was a platinum blonde and still perky. Breanna, who had wavy chestnut hair and a curvy body, had the girl-next-door thing going for her, not to mention that lovely Irish accent. The three of them had already made a few heads turn when they walked by.
“Great,” Danny said under his breath. “I’ll be beating men off ye with a stick, so.”
Rachel laughed. “Keep that stick away from my men,” she said. “I’m still a single gal.”
“You can use it to beat mine into submission,” Breanna said. “Then shove them into the boot of a car, and I’ll take it from there.” She threw her head back and laughed, making her curls bounce.
“I love her,” Rachel exclaimed, looping her arm with Breanna’s.
Breanna grinned. “What’s not to love?”
“There they are,” Danny said, pointing further down the dock where his mates Mark and Tom stood, sporting big grins. Mark was lanky and nerdy, Tom was tall, beefy, and, from the mad look on his face, ready to party. He wore a green rugby jersey with the number thirteen on it. Tara found herself wondering if he was just asking for bad luck. Then again, maybe the lucky Irish thing balanced it out.
“Was she surprised?” Mark called out.
“You got me,” Tara said. And you’re all going to get it.
“Wait,” Rachel said. “We’re going to have a bachelorette party with your husband-to-be and his groomsman?”
“Not necessarily,” Danny said. “It’s not a big island, but we can still hide.” He winked at Tara.
Tom leaned in and wagged his finger at Rachel. He was a bear of a man with a goatee, and his voice was always the loudest in any room. “It’s going to be great craic,” he said. “You’ll be begging to join us.”
“Crack?” Rachel asked, her expression horrified.
“The Irish word, craic,” Tara explained. “It just means they’re going to have fun.”
“Oh.” Rachel seemed to think about this. “I want craic!” she said. “Blondes just want to have craic!”
“In that case, maybe you should join us,” Tom said. He threw his arms open. “You’re tall enough to ride this ride.”
Tara groaned and rolled her eyes at Tom. It just made him grin and wink. She expected a sarcastic response from Rachel, a no-nonsense New Yorker; instead she was shocked when a schoolgirl giggle erupted from her. Tara had forgotten—to outsiders, the Irish accent was a panty-dropper.
“We should join forces, then,” Rachel sang. “This way, Tara can keep an eye on Danny.”
Mark, the lanky one who usually had his nose in a book, even at the pub, pushed his glasses up and cleared his throat. He gaze fell to a pair of lads standing a few meters away. They were drop-dead gorgeous identical twins, tall with dark hair, probably somewhere in their twenties. They were even dressed identical in denim, black T-shirts, black tap shoes, and green blazers. As Tara’s group looked on, the pair began to tap dance in unison, Irish dancing–style. Mark scooted in. “Do you know who that is?” He jerked his head to the lads.
“I’d certainly like to,” Rachel said. “Look how sharp they look.”
“I cannot believe me eyes,” Breanna said. “It’s them!”
“They look like babies,” Tara said.
“Hot babies,” Rachel and Breanna said in unison.
Tara couldn’t help but feel a little left out. The pair of them were already bonding.
“Hotter than us?” Tom said, patting his belly and looping his arm around a grimacing Mark.
“This is our lucky day,” Breanna said. “Do you know who they are?”
“Competition?” Danny said. He grabbed Tara’s hand. “Let’s elope right now.”
Tara laughed and retracted her hand. “Who are they?” she asked Breanna.
“The Irish Dancing Twins,” Breanna said. “Oh my word, are they going to be on our boat?”
“No,” Danny said. “This is a private charter.” He grinned at Tara. “Surprise!”
“How many more surprises can I expect?” Tara said. None was the only answer she wanted to hear.
“And you didn’t want a party!” Breanna said, clapping her on the back. “You’re welcome.”
As if on cue, a boat horn sounded from Captain Mickey’s. An older man with a long white beard stepped onto the dock. “All aboard!” he said. “That is if you’re here for Danny O’Donnell and Tara Meehan’s pre-wedding shenanigans!”
Tara groaned as Rachel and Breanna cheered.
“Excuse me?” This came from one of the dancing twins. Everyone turned as the twins approached.
“I’m Dave, and this is my brother, Noel.” Dave was standing to the left, Noel to the right. Noel was wearing a gold cross, but Dave was not. That would help keep them straight. Tara bet they hated when people mixed them up.
“We know who you are,” Breanna said, pushing her way through the group to get in front. “We love you!”
The twins flashed easygoing grins. “You’re too kind,” one said.
“They’re going to be competing with each other on Dancing with the Stars,” Breanna said. “Isn’t that fabulous?” She squealed. “You’re going to be international stars!”
“One of us will,” grinned Noel. “My money’s on me.”
“I take it you follow our Insta,” Dave said. From his expression, he wasn’t too happy about it.
“I follow you everywhere,” Breanna said, clasping her hands. “I’m addicted to ye!” She laughed, and then when she noticed they were simply staring at her, she stopped and cleared her throat. “You know. In a cool, noncreepy sort of way.”
