Murder at the Monks' Table Read Free Page B

explained, “and they’ll be announcing the winner of the Irish soda bread baking contest.”
    â€œThat sounds like fun,” Mary Helen said, following her friend out of the Monks’ Table. “Certainly no one can think that is fixed.”
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    The wine and cheese tasting was scheduled to begin at eight o’clock. Sisters Eileen and Mary Helen were among the first to arrive. The nap had been a good idea. Mary Helen was beginning to feel more like her old self.
    She surveyed the large hall into which they were ushered. Amazingly, it was built onto the back of the Monks’ Table and was set up as though someone planned to give a lecture.
    Each participant received a plastic wineglass and an emerald green paper napkin and was moved quickly to a seat.
    â€œHow many people do you think they are expecting?” Mary Helen asked.
    â€œI’d guess there are about one hundred chairs,” Eileen said.
    Mary Helen jumped as a disc jockey blasted the room with a lively reel. “Sorry, ladies,” he said sheepishly, and he adjusted the volume.
    Mary Helen looked around. Surprisingly, there were just ladies present, so far anyway. That is, unless you counted the disc jockey and the two men in the front of the hall, plus Owen Lynch, the chairman of the event.
    There was a little stir when Queen Tara arrived in her emerald green costume, her mother right on her heels.
    By 8:15 the room was beginning to fill with smartly dressed women who, if the voice volume was any indication, were determined to have a good time.
    Finally, about a quarter of nine, when Mary Helen was wondering if it was ever going to start, one of the men who had been standing in front tried to get the group’s attention. Most of the women were so busy talking to their friends that they scarcely noticed him.
    â€œMay I have your attention, please?” he repeated.
    â€œGood luck,” Eileen said under her breath.
    Then, he made the fatal mistake of the inexperienced speaker. He tried to talk above the noise.
    From what Mary Helen could make out, the poor man was a wine merchant in Ballyvaugh and his name was John something. Because of the din she was unable to catch the last name. His companion was a cheese expert from a specialty shop in Galway City.
    The first wine, a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand, was poured and tasted with the accompanying goat-milk cheese. Plates of homemade Irish soda bread were passed down the aisle for anyone who wanted a “blotter.” Mary Helen tookone. From the looks of the wine table, they had several bottles to go.
    The audience seemed to quiet down, at least long enough to swallow. Jumping on the unexpected silence, John Wine Merchant quickly had the second wine served and passed around a creamy cheese. The quiet while the women swallowed this time was even shorter.
    By the fifth wine, Asti Spumonte, there wasn’t even a pause for swallowing. The ladies of Ballyclarin were mildly snookered.
    Mr. Lynch, the chairman, didn’t seem to know how to get the audience back under control. Interestingly enough, his wife, Patsy, was among the most rambunctious. She was laughing uproariously at something the lady next to her was saying.
    In a desperate attempt to restore order, Mr. Lynch took the microphone from the disc jockey. “Ladies,” he said, blinking behind his horn-rimmed glasses, “if I may have your attention, please. It is time to announce the winner of the Irish soda bread baking contest.”
    His announcement did make some impression on the group, for the noise level lessened a bit. Taking advantage of the lull, he began, “First of all, I’d like to thank John McDonnell and David Gumbleton for their presentation here tonight.” There was mild clapping for the two gentlemen whom Mary Helen was beginning to think of as heroic.
    A high-pitched voice broke through the applause. “Who is Gumbleton? Never heard of her. Did she win the