Kate Buckley drives back through bitter spring weather to Shamrock, Massachusetts, with her two young daughters. Her tax accountancy business is in New York, but her sister Colleen asked her to visit. THE JIG IS UP takes a light-hearted look at some festivities surrounding St. Patrick’s Day, and a rather colder look at murder.
While Colleen helps to staff the Irish Bed and Breakfast which is the setting for this new mystery series, the family guesthouse is short of money for repairs. A glitzy competitor is getting the custom. Colleen won’t say much about the family finances at first, but they soon become relevant. Deirdre Donnelly, Colleen’s good friend, is a dance instructor, organising a St. Patrick’s Week Irish dance show. Kate and Colleen find poor Deirdre lying backstage in the church hall. Despite their aid, and that of their brother Frank, the first police officer to respond, Deirdre can’t be saved. She was assaulted, and the police started looking for suspects.
Mr. Buckley senior is a retired police chief, with a disabling injury from his time on the force. He still has a keen eye and listens to the police scanner. Even Kate’s former boyfriend Garret McGavin has joined the police, so she doesn’t know who to talk to when Colleen starts spilling secrets. The family dynamics are not ideal, with stresses from running a small business, living close together and everyone in town knowing everyone else. Kate’s divorced, and her teen daughter Maeve and preteen Elizabeth, or Bliz, love their relatives and enjoy Shamrock, taking dancing classes from Colleen and making friends. There’s another would-be Irish dancing teacher in town, Moira McShane Kelly, taking advantage of the opening. I notice most of the characters are female, and most of the men they spend time with come across well.
Lisa Q. Mathews may be describing a real New England town or a real St. Patrick’s Day festival. Kate wrinkles her nose at the abundance of plastic tat, from leprechaun figures to balloons, and is amazed that the lake has turned green. People cheerily debate what is or isn’t traditional Irish food, dance costumes, alcohol and music. The important point, as far as many are concerned, is that Irish dancing is part of the heritage and culture of the island, and can also be fun. Competition may be fierce to star in a show, but THE JIG IS UP leaves us with no doubt that dancing is loved. The mystery braves severe storms, making sleuthing difficult and requiring some hot Irish coffees for the adults. I’ll hope to return to Shamrock after the dramatic events of this story, during warmer weather.
Irish step dance takes a deadly turn in this Celtic cozy series debut, perfect for fans of Carlene O’Connor and Paige Shelton.
Single-mom and police chief’s daughter Kate Buckley is all about family. After she receives an urgent text from her younger sister Colleen, she puts her life on hold and rushes to her Irish-themed hometown of Shamrock, Massachusetts. With her two daughters in tow, she’s ready to fight if it means she can help her charming but hapless sibling.
When they arrive, Colleen claims it was all a misunderstanding. But everything changes in an Irish minute when Colleen’s best friend, Deirdre, a dance show star, is found dead in the parish hall. With the discovery of a possible witness, a chilling motive, and a wee bit of incriminating evidence, Colleen quickly becomes a person of interest in Deirdre’s murder. Convinced her sister isn't a killer, Kate is determined to clear Colleen’s name.
As Kate investigates, Colleen takes charge of Shamrock’s popular Irish dance show in honor of her late friend—with disastrous results. With the St. Patrick’s Week festivities in full swing, Kate must catch the killer before the celebrations are ruined and her sister’s Irish luck runs out.
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Mommy, the shamrock’s not smiling.”
I took another swig of cold coffee from my travel mug and twisted toward the back seat, where my seven-year-old daughter, Bliz—aka Mary Elizabeth—looked confused in the semidarkness. “That means there’s no vacancy, sweetie. The shamrock sign only smiles when there are hotel rooms left.”
On cue, the interior of the Subaru turned neon green. Then black. Then green again. The crazy sign probably kept the Smiling Shamrock Bed & Breakfast guests awake all night. Or flashed in their nightmares.
My older daughter, Maeve, looked up from her phone and unslumped herself from her neck pillow in fourteen-year-old fashion. “Thought we were going to Gram’s.”
She sounded cranky, and I didn’t blame her. The trip to Shamrock had taken double the usual time.
“We are. Just pulling over for a second.”
Apparently, I needed the GPS to direct me through my own hometown. It was so foggy I couldn’t see two feet past the windshield.
Neither rain, nor fog, nor gloom of night . . . Was that how the line went? I’d passed it engraved above the old General Post Office Building in Manhattan a million times on my way to work.
Nope, I’d forgotten the snow part. At least we hadn’t dealt with that tonight. Just double the gloom, which had fittingly led us to the crunchy gravel driveway of the Smiling Shamrock.
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