The Lost Traveller
A County Cork Mystery
SHEILA CONNOLLY
Ar scáth a chéile a mharaimid
We live in each other’s shadow
Acknowledgments
I love to do research of all kinds, and for the County Cork Mysteries, much of that research means talking to people in West Cork. I’ve been visiting long enough that I’ve made friends there, and others who see me only rarely remember who I am, which delights me. It means that they’re happy to talk with me, and quite often there’s a story idea lurking in our casual conversations.
Travellers in Ireland, who play a significant role in this book, occupy an odd niche in Irish society, for a number of reasons which go far back in local history. Even today there are many people who don’t trust them, and much of the information I’ve gathered about the group has come from such people. I’ve tried to use that information sparingly and without judgment while staying true to the reality of where the Travellers fit in contemporary Ireland.
Many of the details about the region have come from people I’ve been talking to for years now: garda sergeant Tony McCarthy, who is a valuable resource; Eileen Connolly McNicholl and her son Sam, who have brought the pub Connolly’s of Leap back to its former glory as a music venue (and I was lucky to watch it happen); Carmel Somers, founder of the Good Things Café, who let me play fly on the wall and see how a small restaurant kitchen really works; my cottage neighbors, who like me have spent much of their lives in other countries but who have chosen to live in rural Ireland; and a wonderful range of strangers in shops or at the weekly farmers market or on the street, who are more than happy to talk to me about almost anything.
I owe many thanks to the wonderful people at Crooked Lane Books: Matt Martz and the great team of editors and marketers he has put together, who have given the County Cork Mysteries new life. Thanks also to my longtime agent Jessica Faust of BookEnds, who brought the series to Crooked Lane, and who has made so many things possible.
Chapter One
The front door of Sullivan’s Pub flew open, letting in the scent of summer and car exhaust from the main road that ran in front of the building. It was a beautiful day in June: the sun was shining and the tourists were flocking—or at least trickling—to Maura Donovan’s pub, Sullivan’s, whether it was for the authentic atmosphere (which meant that nothing had been changed in roughly fifty years, although it got cleaned occasionally these days) or the lively contemporary music that flourished several nights a week, something that Maura had revived only a few months earlier. She didn’t care why the customers were coming; business was steady, with a mix of visitors and locals. The rest of her life was going pretty well too (Maura superstitiously knocked on the scarred wooden surface of the bar), with friends and with her relationship with Mick Nolan, which she refused to define, and with plans for the future. None of this was what she had expected when she’d arrived in Ireland the year before, but she wasn’t going to question her luck.
The new arrivals she could easily label as tourists: mom and dad and a sulky teenager who would rather be anywhere else than in a funky pub in a small town in some part of Ireland she’d never heard of. Maura amused herself trying to guess where they were from and what they were looking for in Ireland—a game she was getting better at by the day.
The mom glanced quickly around the place and decided it wasn’t menacing: no guys with tattoos or women with sprayed-on dresses looking for a “date.” There never were—that wasn’t the kind of place Maura was running. She had inherited the pub from someone she had never met, but she hadn’t changed much in the place. It worked the way it was, so why mess with it?
Having decided the place was acceptable, Mom approached the bar, with Dad trailing behind. Daughter turned and stared out the window, trying to pretend she didn’t know them.
“Can I help you?” Maura asked.
Mom looked startled. “Oh, you’re American?”
“I am,” Maura said. “Born and raised in Boston. Would you like something to drink? Are you lost? Looking for someone?”
Mom looked unsure. “Well, some of each, I guess. I’d love a cup of coffee. Marv, what about you?”
“Sounds good to me, sweetie. Jannie, you want a soft drink?”
The girl at the window didn’t turn but merely shrugged, which Dad—Marv—chose to interpret as a yes.
“Okay, two coffees and a soda,” Maura said. “Why don’t you all sit down and I’ll bring them over to you when they’re ready?”
The small group dithered until they decided on a table in the corner overlooking the road. Daughter Jannie sat half turned away from them and pulled out her cell phone, ignoring her surroundings. Maura set up two coffees and waited for the coffee maker to work its magic.
She was shorthanded at the moment, and it was only partly her fault. Rose Sweeney was in Skibbereen, taking a cooking class, but she’d be in by noon. Her father, Jimmy, had just gotten married, and his new wife, Judith, was keeping him busy on the dairy farm she owned. His absence was a mixed blessing: he’d been pretty much a slacker when he’d worked in the pub, spending more time talking with the patrons than actually serving drinks, but his halfhearted efforts had been better than nothing. Mick was up at his gran’s, near Maura’s cottage, but he’d arrive shortly. Still, here she was alone, and while there wasn’t exactly a flood of customers, there would be more coming in as the day went on. The problem was, she had no idea how to recruit more employees, either full or part time. Right now that was at the top of her to-do list.
When the coffee was ready, Maura carried the two cups and a bottle of soda and a glass for Ms. Sulky over to the table. “Anything else I can get for you?” she asked.
Mom cleared her throat nervously. “Do you have a moment to sit? We’ve just got here and we have a lot of questions. Oh, sorry, we haven’t even introduced ourselves. We’re the Albertsons—I’m Linda, this is my husband Marvin, and that’s our daughter Janice.”
“Jannie,” the girl muttered without turning around.
Maura pulled out a chair and sat, keeping one eye on the door. “Is this your first trip to Ireland?”
Linda nodded vigorously. “This is our first trip anywhere out of the country. We’re from Indiana.”
So, somewhere in the middle of the country. Maura herself hadn’t left Boston until the year before and was a little fuzzy on where most states in the U.S. were. “Why did you pick Ireland?”
Marvin smiled. “Well, you speak English here, for a start. And I’ve always heard you people are friendlier than the folks in England. Got a good deal on flights, too. So here we are.”
“Any personal connections? Relatives?” Maura asked.
“Not that we know of. We just wanted a pretty peaceful place that wasn’t too expensive. But we were so busy we didn’t have a lot of time to do our homework. Jannie’s just out of school for the year, and Linda and me, we both have jobs, and we weren’t even sure what we’re looking for. We knew we didn’t want to be in a big city like Dublin, but that was about as far as our planning went.”
“You have a place to stay?” Maura asked, although she was beginning to think she knew the answer.
“Nope. Never quite got around to finding one. Got any ideas?”
“What’re you looking for?” Maura asked.
Marv looked confused. “What’re the choices around here?”
“How fancy do you want to go?” Maura asked, hoping part of Marv’s answer would include how much they expected to spend. “There are some nice hotels not far from here, and of course the one right across the street, but that’s pretty small.”
Marv shot a glance at his wife. “I think we want something that feels a little more, well, home
y than a hotel.”
“How about a B and B, then?” Maura suggested. “They usually have only a couple of rooms, but you’ll have a host to tell you what to see, if you want. If you were planning to stay longer, you could look into a cottage rental. Oh, and I should ask, how do you feel about cows? Because there are a lot of herds around here, and if you don’t like the smells or have any allergies, you might want to stay away from the farm B and Bs.”
“I never thought about the cottage idea,” Linda said wistfully. “It would be nice to have someplace private.”
“Sure, sweetie, but then who’d we talk to?” Marvin said, glancing at her. “We’re here to get to know the place, not to spend our time between four walls.” Marvin turned back to Maura. “We wanted Jannie to see a different country before she headed off for college. I love our home state, but it can be a little, well, insulated from the rest of the world.”
“I know what you mean,” Maura said. “I’d never been anywhere but Boston before I got here last year, and it took some getting used to. But I’m staying.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. What do you suggest?”
“I think a B and B might suit you—it’s kind of private, but there are people around who can help you figure out what’s what and how to get there. You okay with the driving on the left?”
“So far. Nice highways. Haven’t seen much of the small roads yet.”
“Well, they are pretty narrow, but people are usually polite about passing, as long as you pull over to the side as far as you can, and there really aren’t that many people on the smaller roads anyway. Are you looking for a place for tonight?” When Marvin and Linda nodded like bobble head dolls, Maura went on, “For how long? And how much are you willing to pay?”
“A week, maybe? We figure on spending two weeks in the country, but we might want to try some other parts of it.” He named a figure that Maura thought sounded reasonable by local standards.
“Let me check around. Actually it’s still early in the season, people tell me. It doesn’t get busy until next month, and even that’s not really busy. If you want peaceful, you’ve come to the right place.”
Jannie gave a deep sigh as she stared out the window.
“So why don’t you look around, maybe grab some lunch, and I’ll see if I can find you a place? Two bedrooms? Private bath?”
“Please,” Linda said quickly. “Where’s good for lunch?”
“There are a couple of places right here in Leap. Have you seen Skibbereen yet?”
“That’s the next town over?” Marvin asked. When Maura nodded, he said, “Nope, not yet.”
“Well, there are some good restaurants there, and the hotel near the river. If you’re okay with driving, why don’t you head that way, find a place to park there, and just walk around until something looks good? It’s not too big to walk. Then come back here and check in with me and see if I’ve found a place for you to stay. Or give me your cell number and I’ll let you know what I’ve lined up. Okay?”
“That sounds great. Maura, you said your name was? You’ve been real helpful,” Marvin said, “and we thank you. We’ll talk to you in a bit. How much do we owe you?” He waved vaguely at the now-empty cups on the table.
“The coffee and soda are on the house. My way of welcoming you to Ireland—I want you to like the place.”
“Well, then, we truly appreciate it. We’ll be back. Jannie? Let’s go.”
Jannie sighed again, got up reluctantly, and followed her parents out the door. When they were gone, Maura had to smile: they were so very … American. Clueless, maybe, but willing to experiment. She was running through her mental list of possible B and B choices for the Albertsons when Mick walked in. He’d be a better person to ask.
He smiled—she was still getting used to seeing a smile on his face, and it still made her feel warm. She smiled back. She had no idea where this relationship might end up, but right now it was pretty nice. “Who were they?” Mick asked.
“That was the Albertson family from Indiana. They decided they’d never been anywhere out of the U.S., and they wanted to show their daughter there was a bigger world outside of Indiana. Of course, they didn’t get around to booking a place to stay. I said I’d check around. You know anybody who’s got a couple of rooms vacant for a clueless family?”
“There’s a place past Gillian’s with a nice view of Ballinlough, and I think I saw a vacancy sign outside this morning. Want me to ask?”
“If you would, please. They want their own bath, two bedrooms for a week, and not terribly expensive.”
“I’ll call now, before it gets busy here.”
When he went into the back room to make the call, Maura marveled at how she’d adapted to the way things got done in West Cork. Need a place to stay? Don’t head for a computer and search—just ask the next person who drops in who lives nearby. And she was pretty sure that if Mick didn’t score a place for them with the first call, he’d know somebody else to call, and keep trying until he found one.
Mick was still on the phone when Billy Sheahan walked in. “Good morning, Billy. How’re you doing?” Maura said. Billy, most often known as Old Billy, was an eighty-something fixture of the place. He’d been a friend of the prior owner, the one who’d left the pub to Maura, and he’d been living in a small flat at the other end of the building, rent-free, for years. Maura wouldn’t think of asking him to pay: he was good company, he knew everybody and everything in West Cork, and Maura had quickly come to regard him as the grandfather she’d never had.
“Well enough. You’ve had luck with all the sun. I’m guessin’ yer business has been good?”
“I think so. As much as the two and a half of us can handle.”
“Rosie bein’ the half? It’s a good thing yeh’re doin’, lettin’ her learn some skills while she’s still workin’ here.”
“I don’t want to hold her back—she’s a smart kid and she works hard. Are you ready for a pint?”
Billy reflected. “Seems a bit early yet. Could you do me a coffee? I look forward to me first pint a bit later.”
“Coffee coming up.”
When Maura slid behind the bar, Mick returned. “What luck?” she asked him.
“They’re set. It’s a nice place, and good people.”
“Thanks, Mick. I’m glad to be able to help people, because so many people helped me when I got here and I was even more confused than the Albertsons. The Albertsons will be back after lunch, and you can explain to them how to get where they’re going. How’s your gran doing, by the way? I haven’t stopped in since the day before yesterday.”
“Bridget’s grand. She loves the summer months, when it’s warm and she can tend to her flowers. And more people pass by her cottage and stop by. Gillian’s been by a time or two, with the baby, which is a treat fer me gran.”
Bridget lived down the hill from Maura, in the tiny townland of Knockskagh; Gillian lived almost the same distance on the other side of the hill. Bridget occupied the same small cottage her husband had brought her home to when they married, while Gillian and her partner Harry had moved into the old creamery only after their baby had been born, with Maura’s help. “That’s something else on my to-do list—help Gillian find a nanny, or day care, or whatever it’s called around here. Is it ‘child-minder’? At least Harry’s working now, so they’ve got some money, but Gillian’s going stir-crazy with nothing to do but talk to the baby. She wants to paint again, and she’s got kind of an open-ended commission for paintings for the Crann Mor hotel in Skibbereen, but she can’t do it if she’s got only a couple of daylight hours a day to work.” Maura stopped there, because she really didn’t think Mick would be the right person to ask about available nannies in the neighborhood.
“Yeh might want to talk to Rose about somethin’ like that,” was all he said.
One more item to put on Rose’s already full plate. The girl was not only working part time at Sullivan’s but also taking cooking classes in Skibbereen, plannin
g the overhaul of the seriously out-of-date kitchen at Sullivan’s so she could actually use it, putting in her shifts at the pub, and now Maura wanted to hand her recruitment responsibilities for pub help and nannies? And the poor girl had only begun to enjoy her freedom, now that Jimmy had moved over to his new wife Judith’s house, and heaven only knew where she could fit in friends or a love life. Maura was going to have to find a way to weed down her tasks, because Rose hadn’t said no to anything yet.
As if summoned, Rose walked in the door. She held up a greasy bag. “I brought lunch! If you don’t mind eating my less-than-perfect first tries. Have I missed anything?”
Maura smiled. “I for one will eat anything you make—it’s got to be better than my own cooking. So far the only excitement has been the arrival of an American family on their first trip abroad. Parents and a daughter who’s probably about your age. Mick’s set them up with a B and B, and they’ll be back after they’ve had their own lunch. Maybe you can talk with the girl—she’s making it very clear she doesn’t want to be on vacation with Mom and Dad, much less in someplace like rural Ireland. Maybe you can tell her what there is to do around here.”
“No worries. Hi, Mick, Billy.”
Maura checked the time and was surprised to see it was almost lunchtime. “I came in early this morning, so I guess I’ll go eat now. I won’t be long.”
“Take all the time yeh want—I think we can handle the crowd,” Mick said, smiling again as he scanned the near-empty room.
Chapter Two
Maura helped herself to some of the goodies Rose had brought, then wandered outside to find a place to eat. She’d been in Ireland long enough now to know that sunshine was to be treasured—she’d read somewhere that it rained half the days of the year for at least part of the day.
When she’d first arrived, she’d been stunned to find she’d inherited Sullivan’s. And a house too. Thanks to an old friend of her grandmother’s who’d had no heirs, a home and a business had dropped into her lap from the heavens, and she’d worked hard to make a go of the pub. As for the house, it still felt like she was camping out there, because she hadn’t changed a thing yet, but she was beginning to think about making a few small improvements. She’d been focused on the pub, and then bringing the music back, and now she and the staff had vague plans about serving food and maybe fixing up the rooms upstairs to rent out for a little extra income.
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