Chapter Six
Maura signaled to Rose for another round of pints, then turned back to a triumphant Seamus. “I told the gardaí all this, you know.”
“Of course yeh did, but it’s the first we’ve heard of it. Around the back, eh? That’s where our intimate familiarity with your fine pub is useful. Am I right, lads?’
Nods all around. “I’m guessin’ the gardaí don’t spend as much time here as we do,” one of the others said.
“You’d be right about that,” Maura told him. “But they have been here before.” Rose brought over the drinks and handed them out, then retreated. “So what do you know that’s helpful?” Maura asked.
“Fer a start, we know that yeh never lock that gate on the side,” Seamus said.
Just as she’d feared. If Seamus knew, so did a lot of other people. “What, you guys have been sneaking in? Or out?”
“Us? Never. We’ve only noticed someone doin’ it a time or two. It’s dark and quiet if yeh go out that way, or yeh’re looking fer a bit of fun with yer girl.”
“I’ll keep that in mind—at least until I get a lock put on. What else?”
“The door on t’other side’s visible from the street, so it’s harder to slip in and out. Yeh could argue that a strong person could carry a bloody body—excuse my language—all the way round the back to the ravine and pitch it in, but it wouldn’t be easy. Would yeh know what the poor man weighed, Maura?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. He wasn’t large, though. And he wasn’t a kid. Kind of average.”
“So let’s fergit that door. Say the killer came through the gate near the ravine and sneaked his way around. It’d have to be late, no? A man hauling a body over his shoulder along the street would surely be noticed from the road, unless it was late. And the sun’s up early these days.”
“Seamus, the gardaí have already figured this part out,” Maura said impatiently. And so had I.
“Well, sure and they have, but I’m just after makin’ sure we’re all on the same page here. Late at night and full dark, good-sized man appears carrying a dead body. He spies a gate and checks to see if it’s locked. Saints be praised, it opens for him, and he slides through, along with his burden. Now he’s inside, with not a soul to see him. What to do with the body? He can’t just leave it layin’ there—it’ll be found at first light. He hasn’t the time nor the shovel to bury the man. So he looks around and he sees the famous ravine, and he hurries over and unloads the man with a mighty heave.”
“Great story, Seamus,” Maura said, trying not to sound snide. “And of course the body lands at the least visible place, right under the bridge, so nobody will notice it right away. I don’t think anyone at Ger’s could see it from inside, and I wouldn’t have except I wanted a quiet place to eat my sandwich. Now, the guys giving tours of the waterfall, they would have noticed pretty fast, but they’re not open in the middle of the night, are they? It would’ve been morning before they noticed anything.”
The guys around the table looked at each other and shook their heads.
Maura realized that this little chat was actually kind of interesting. “So, tell me this, detectives: was the killer trying to put the body someplace where it wouldn’t be seen right away? Or was he from somewhere else and in a hurry to get rid of the body and get away?”
Seamus shook his head. “Nah, if he wasn’t from here, then he wouldn’t’ve known about the ravine. Yeh don’t go looking fer a place to hide a body with a tourist guide in yer hand. Let’s say fer now that he was a local man, or he’d been here long enough to know what was where. And he had to get rid of the body fast, and get himself back to wherever he came from and set up his alibi.”
“And remember, he would probably have been covered with blood, from the stabbing and from hauling the body around after!” Maura reminded the men. “So he had to change his clothes and hide the bloody ones before anyone else saw him. Where’s he staying, then? Where he’d have other clothes?”
“Might be he had a car. Or the dead man did and his killer took it,” Seamus suggested. “Then he could go almost anywhere and jump into a lake to get rid of the blood.”
“True, but how the heck do we—I mean the gardaí—look for a car they don’t know exists? They’ve got no name to look for registrations. Hmm, unknown car belonging to unknown person from unknown place. Might have bloodstains in it. Shouldn’t be hard to find.” She knew she was sounding sarcastic, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Seamus looked frustrated. “Ah, Maura, don’t take it wrong—we’re just kicking around ideas now. Do yeh want this killer to be a local man? Someone who can carry more’n a hundred pounds or so around the village and knows where a body won’t be seen, and lives close enough that he can go home and clean up without a wife and six kids asking, ‘Is that blood, Da?’”
Maura had to suppress a shiver: that was exactly what she was afraid of, although she wasn’t sure why. If they didn’t know who it was that was dead, how were they supposed to figure out who wanted him that way? “I’m sorry, guys. I guess I’m tired. I don’t like finding bodies.”
Seamus suddenly looked contrite. “And no more should yeh, Maura.” He signaled to his mates around the table. “Boys, I think we’ve made a good start. Time we took ourselves home.” He stood up and slapped a couple of bills on the table, then turned back to Maura. “If the gardaí don’t have their man by tomorreh, you’ll be seeing us again.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else, Seamus. Safe home.”
When they had bumbled their way out the door, Maura realized that Billy had taken himself home as well, and there were no other patrons. Just Mick, Rose, and her. It was still short of closing time, but Maura didn’t expect anyone else to show up this late on a Monday. “Might as well close up, I guess.” She hesitated before adding, “Rose? I know you’re grown up and independent, but I’d really feel better if you came home with me tonight. I don’t like the idea of some guy prowling around, one who knows about the back end of this place and the gate without a lock.”
Rose looked reluctant. “Why would the man come back?”
Maura shrugged. “Maybe he thinks he dropped something.” Including a body? Shut up, Maura. “Maybe he’s got another body to unload. I don’t know! I’d just feel better if I knew you were safe.”
“It’s kind of yeh, Maura, but I don’t want to get in the way of…” She nodded toward Mick.
Maura tried not to smile. She had always been kind of clueless about the polite way of handling, uh, bedroom activities when there was someone who could overhear, both in Boston (where her impression was that almost anything was acceptable and that was why earphones had been invented) and definitely here in Ireland. “Don’t worry about that, Rose—Mick can sleep on a chair downstairs. He’d be there only to make sure nobody’s after me now, and I’m looking after you. I know, it’s stupid, and this murder probably has nothing to do with me or Sullivan’s or anything connected to us, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Just for tonight? We can take another look at the situation tomorrow. Maybe the gardaí will have it wrapped up by breakfast.”
Finally Rose shrugged and smiled reluctantly. “All right, then, I’ll be yer guest for the night. I’ll check the doors in the back and cut off the lights.” She turned and headed for the back room.
Mick hadn’t said a word but had watched the conversation from behind the bar. Now he had a half smile on his face. “I’m guessin’ that all of Leap knows about us by now, and mebbe Skibbereen as well. Or even the townlands—Jimmy’s not above spreadin’ a bit of gossip. Does that trouble yeh—the whole world knowin’ yer business?”
“In a way. I guess I’m used to being invisible, but owning a pub kind of makes that impossible. Still, I thought my private life might be, well, private.”
“Too late fer that,” Mick told her. “But people mean it kindly. They like yeh, and they’d like to see yeh happy. Mostly to them that means havin’ someone in yer life.”
“Wh
at about you? You were pretty much a loner, before…”
“I was that,” he agreed. “But men don’t chat about such things, and the few women who came in here gave up hopin’ long since.”
Rose came back into the main room, pulling the door shut behind her. “All closed up. Will we be leavin’ now?”
“Might as well. One car or two?” Maura looked at Mick.
“I’ve a class at the cookery in the morning. I can take the bus to Skib if yeh drive me back here.”
“We can drop yeh off, no worries,” Mick said, “but yeh’ll have to find yer own way back.”
“As I have been, thank you very much,” Rose told him.
“You don’t drive?” Maura asked, wondering why she hadn’t thought about it before.
“The minimum age is seventeen. Me da was going to teach me, but he got a bit busy, what with Judith and the wedding and all. I’ve no car anyways. The bus is fine, and I catch a ride now and then from a friend.”
“We’ll just have to teach you, then,” Maura said. “And I know you’re trustworthy—you could borrow my car.”
“Maybe,” Rose said. She didn’t look convinced.
“So, one car, and we’ll take Rose to her class before we get here in the mornin’. Done,” Mick said firmly.
The ride back to Maura’s cottage was nearly silent. There were no streetlights, and they saw no other cars along the way. Lights twinkled in a few of the houses they passed, and a dog came out and barked at them from its yard, but those were the only signs of life. Bridget’s cottage was dark, and Mick made the turn just past it to Maura’s small house. Maura never left lights on, so her place was dark too.
“Let me go in first, will yeh?” Mick volunteered, and got out of the car before Maura could respond.
Rose, in the back seat, said quietly, “He’s worried.”
“He is. I’m surprised—he’s usually so calm. But I’m worried too, and I’m not even sure why. Okay, a man is dead, but there’s no reason to think it has anything to do with us. Except for where he was dumped. But that was a convenient place, which doesn’t make it personal.” As Maura watched, a light came on inside her cottage.
“It was a cruel death, Maura,” Rose said softly. “A lot of anger in it, but whoever did it took his time to make sure he wasn’t discovered. Not just a simple fight in a pub that got out of hand. And you know how rare a violent death is here.”
“I do, sad to say. So you don’t think I’m just a wimp for being, well, scared?”
“If you’re a wimp, I’m one as well.”
Mick returned and leaned into the car. “All’s clear. Let’s go in.”
Once inside, Maura checked the time. Approaching midnight, so they might as well get to bed, once they sorted out who was going to go where. “Rose, you’re the guest, so you get the second bedroom, which is barely big enough for a cat. I think there are sheets on the bed, since Gillian stayed here a while back. Mick…” Maura faltered.
Rose laughed. “Oh, go on wit’ yiz! I’ll be fast asleep in minutes, I promise. Have you a toothbrush to spare?”
“In the bathroom. We can sort out towels in the morning.”
Rose, still smiling, headed for the bathroom tucked at the back of the house, leaving Maura and Mick alone in the main room.
“Yeh’re embarrassed,” Mick said with a half smile.
“Well, yeah, I guess. I never dated in high school, and I wasn’t into quick hookups when I was working, so I never learned the rules. And Rose seems so young—except when she seems older than I am. I feel stupid, but like I said, I’d rather have her here than wandering around in the dark.”
“And I agree. Odds are we’re worried over nothin’, but we will be safe.”
His arms felt good around her and she leaned into him. “And we’ll wake up in the morning and the gardaí will have sorted it all out and we can go back to our lives.”
“They will, and we can.”
Rose came out of the bathroom and darted toward the stairs. “Not looking, not looking! I’m leavin’ now and I’ll be shuttin’ the door behind me.” She giggled as she dashed up the stairs.
Maura had to smile. “I guess we should go up too, after I brush my teeth.”
“Together?”
“Do yeh need to ask?”
Chapter Seven
Morning brought sun and the sound of lowing cows on their way to milking and Mick in her bed. Maura knew there was something she was supposed to be worried about, but she indulged herself in a long moment of simply feeling happy.
But it didn’t last. She heard sounds of movement below, and the clashing of pans and plates, and the day before came rushing back. No burglar downstairs, then—not that she had anything worth stealing—only Rose, who must be putting together breakfast, which couldn’t be easy in her kitchen since Maura didn’t keep much to work with in her cottage.
She slid out of bed without disturbing Mick and pulled on a shirt and jeans, then went downstairs. Good smells wafted up the stairs, and she followed her nose.
“Good mornin’!” Rose greeted her. “Coffee’s made.”
“Good morning to you. Are you trying to make breakfast?” Maura asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Tryin’s the word, indeed,” Rose said. “Do yeh never eat? I won’t even ask if yeh cook, since yeh’ve all of two pots to yer name.”
“I can cook if I have to—I watched my gran plenty—but I’m just not into it.”
“Cooking or eating?” Rose asked as she mixed something in Maura’s only bowl.
“Either, I guess. But I like your cooking, in case you didn’t notice. And it’s even better since you started with the classes.”
“Ah, yeh’re just butterin’ me up because you want me to cook fer Sullivan’s.”
“I’d love that, but it’s up to you. If the West Cork Hotel offers you a real job in the kitchen, take it!”
“We’ll see. We’re a long way from bein’ ready to cook anything at the pub. Is Mick stirrin’ yet?”
“Not when I left. He may want to check in with his grannie this morning—you know she lives right down the lane.”
“I do. She’s a grand lady, isn’t she?”
“She is. And a good friend.”
“What does she think about you and Mick?” Rose asked, toasting what Maura recognized as the last of her bread. She’d better do some shopping soon or she might actually starve.
“I think she’s happy about it. You know, we may be friends, but it’s her grandson who comes first, and I think she’s glad he’s finally found somebody. Although she’s promised not to meddle. What time do you have to be at your school?”
“Ten. And I can get to the pub by noon, after—there’s only the one class this morning, and we clear out before the lunch service. We’ve got the music at Sullivan’s Saturday, right?”
“You tell me—you set up the reservations system.”
“I did, and I’m going to teach yeh how it works, when we can find the time. You’ve no computer here, I see.”
“Nope, never had one. Never wanted one. Don’t I need some sort of connection for it anyway? I’ve barely got electricity here.”
Rose sent a disapproving look her way. “Maura, yeh’re a business owner now—yeh can’t afford to be without one. There’s wireless in the village, no problem. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Is that before or after we talk about how the kitchen planning is coming along?”
“The two together, mebbe—we could set up a website and do a big announcement when we’re ready to start servin’ food.”
“Well, you know where to find me when you’re ready.”
“I do.” Rose slid a plate of what looked like French toast in front of her.
“Did I have eggs?” Maura asked, not sure if she was joking.
“A few. Enough. It’s the last of your jam on top. And have yeh never heard of spices?”
“Only if salt and pepper count.” Maura speared a fork
ful. “Wow, this is good!”
Mick stumbled down the narrow stairs while she was still enjoying her first bite. “Good morning, Mick. You’d better grab a plate fast or there won’t be anything left.”
“Mornin’,” he said. “Coffee?”
Maura pointed. “Rose did all the work.”
He filled a mug without comment, while Rose fixed another plate. Then he sat at the table, took a long swallow of coffee, and tasted the French toast, and Maura and Rose watched with amusement as he perked up almost immediately. “Wow.”
“Ditto,” Maura said, grinning. “The girl can cook, right?”
It took only a few minutes to consume everything Maura had in her pantry, which was basically one shelf’s worth of supplies. At least her coffee stash was holding up—she always made sure of that.
When she checked her watch, Maura was surprised to find that it was barely eight o’clock. These long summer days were confusing. After a moment’s thought, she said, “You know, since we’re all together and we have a little time, we should talk business.”
“Meanin’ what?” Mick asked.
“Mostly finding some new staff. Jimmy’s gone, and Rose is taking classes—with my blessing, Rose!—and we’ve got the music a couple of days a week, and we’re talking about serving food. Face it—it’s too much for the three of us to handle, seven days a week.”
“What’re yeh thinkin’, then?” Mick asked.
“I really don’t know. I may have been here a year now, but I don’t know where to look for people to hire. Are there agencies? Do I just ask around and see who’s looking for work? Who can I trust? I don’t want to hire someone and have them bail out on me two weeks later. And what kind of person and skills am I looking for? I mean, at least I had some experience working in bars when I got here, but I’ve been doing it for a while. How long does it take to train someone who’s never pulled a pint? Should I check if they can count well enough to make change? Do I want men or women, girls or boys? And how many for the crowds we’ve got, and what if we get more people coming in over the summer?”
The Lost Traveller Page 5
