Rose and Mick exchanged a glance, and Maura thought they seemed amused, which ticked her off. “What? I’m not supposed to think about this?”
“Of course yeh are, Maura,” Rose said. “I know there’s classes at the school on restaurant management and how to staff a place. But Sullivan’s is small. I think three or four people works for us, but only if we’re all there at the same time, more or less. Which doesn’t give anyone any time off.” She looked at Mick again. “Maybe two more people, full time? Then we could juggle our schedules for the busy times.”
“Seems about right,” Mick replied. “Old Mick got by with the three of us and himself, but at the end he had few customers to deal with, so it didn’t matter.”
“I agree with what you’ve both said,” Maura spoke up. “But where do I find people?”
“I’ll ask at the school,” Rose volunteered. “Though there the people in the classes might be hopin’ for a kitchen job rather than just in a pub. But a lot of those jobs have already been filled fer the summer, so some might take whatever they could get. Are yeh willin’ to pay the goin’ rate?”
“Is that what I’m paying you now?”
“Close enough. But those that don’t know you might think yeh’re a bit cheap.”
“Great,” Maura muttered. “Well, ask around and see what kind of answers you get. Maybe one guy and one girl—sometimes it’s good to have a man around in case things get crazy, but other times a pretty face is worth more to us.”
“I’ll ask,” Rose said. “Would you be takin’ me da back, if he asked?”
“Ah, Rose…” Maura sighed. “You know he never pulled his weight—he was happier sitting and talking with his pals instead of working the bar. It wouldn’t be a good business decision. Why, is he looking to escape Judith already?”
“He hasn’t said as much, but he’s never liked cows. Don’t worry, I won’t be invitin’ him back, fer yeh’re right about him, but he may come round askin’.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Maura finished the last of her French toast. “Rose, tell me something. You finished school a year ago, right? What do most kids your age around here do when they’re finished?”
“Are yeh askin’ to see how many of us there are who might want a job?”
“In part. But I’m curious. I guess I don’t know any families with kids in their teens and twenties. Do they stay around? Do they leave as fast as they can?”
“A bit of both. There’s those who go to university if they can. Or go to Dublin and room with a bunch of other kids and take whatever job they can find there. There’s some that decide to take a year off and travel around Europe, since fares are cheap to get there. There’s some who are needed at home on the farm. And there’s some that look fer local jobs—and that may be the smallest lot.”
“That’s not encouraging, for me at least. Mick, do you know anything different?”
“I don’t know any more than Rose here, nor have I been lookin’ fer new hires fer the pub. I might add that it’s mostly word of mouth, yeh know? Like, yeh’re sending Rose here to ask among her friends, and if they’re not interested, they’ll ask their friends, and so on down the line. Not the best solution for the long term, but yeh’re lookin’ to get through the summer now, am I right?”
“Yes, more or less. We were doing fine until recently, but I’m afraid we’re going to get swamped for the next couple of months. Or maybe I’m hoping we will, but we still need more people.” Maura thought for a moment. “What about newcomers?”
“Whaddya mean?” Rose asked, bewildered.
“Well, so far, for most things we’ve talked about asking somebody we know, who might have a relative or a friend he could talk to. And that works for a lot of things. But now it sounds like maybe that pool of people is drying up, because kids are so much more mobile these days, and if they’re looking for a short-term job, they’d rather be in Dublin or Cork or someplace more interesting. And that’s fine—I think everybody should have a chance to live their own life. But that means those kids or even older people aren’t around to fill the jobs that are here.”
“Maura, what’re yeh getting’ at?” Mick asked impatiently. “We’ve still got to get to the jobs we’ve got this morning, so could yeh hurry things up a bit?”
“Okay, whatever,” Maura said. “What about immigrants? Refugees? People looking for asylum? Do they need or want jobs? And can we give them jobs without jumping through legal hoops or hiding them when a garda walks in?”
Mick and Rose exchanged a look. “To be honest, I don’t know,” Mick said. “Rose?”
“I don’t recall that it ever came up when I was in school. Maybe there were outsiders coming in then, but they weren’t at school. I can’t say as I know any.”
“So does that mean there aren’t any sort-of-young people looking for work, or only that you haven’t met any?”
“The second, I’m thinking.”
“Okay!” Maura slapped both her hands on the table. “Rose, talk to the people at your cookery school and see what they know, officially or otherwise. We’ll keep the whole immigrant idea on the back burner for now.” Then another thought hit her. “How about this? Maybe not everyone who’s here under unsettled circumstances will want to pull pints, but I’d bet that some of them could help out with the kitchen repairs, even if it’s just the heavy construction and painting and stuff. It might get done faster that way.”
“That’s a grand idea, Maura—so long as it’s legal,” Mick said. “And yeh might want to talk with Sergeant Conor, since no doubt he’s seen more people like that in Limerick and knows the ropes.”
“Definitely. As soon as they get this murder thing sorted out and he has the spare time.” Another thought hit her, and she debated about bringing it up and then decided against it. Could the dead man be an immigrant, legal or illegal? That would explain why nobody knew him. And if that was true, maybe nobody would ever admit to knowing him. But it was up to the gardaí to look into that side of things, not her. Right now she needed help behind the bar.
“Mick, you going to go see Bridget?” she said, changing the subject.
“I should do, but I won’t be long.”
“Can I grab a shower while you’re there? As long as you promise to give her my regards.”
“I’ll do that.”
After Mick had left, Maura looked at Rose. “Have I now corrupted the morals of a minor? Is that a crime here? Wait—how long are you a minor in Ireland?”
“Till I’m eighteen, unless I want to run for the Dáil, or what you might call your Congress—then it’d be twenty-one. Yeh’re talking about you and Mick? Yeh’re two healthy adults who seem to care about each other. Now, if yeh were takin’ all the male customers into the back room for a quick snog or more, that would be different.” Rose dropped her joking tone. “Look, Maura, I’ve known Mick since I started working at Sullivan’s. But lately he’s as happy as I’ve ever seen him, even if he doesn’t let it show much. So if yeh’re askin’, I’m happy fer ye both.”
“Rose, sometimes I wonder if you’re older than I am. I just didn’t want to offend anyone here—the rules are kind of different.”
“Just don’t rub anyone’s nose in what yeh’re doin’ and yeh’ll be fine.” Rose stood up and started clearing the table of the few dishes. “Shouldn’t we be getting to work now?”
“As soon as Mick comes back. You know, I ought to try that restaurant of yours and see what they’re teaching you.”
“You’d be welcome. Yeh know, you’ve room fer a garden here.”
Maura laughed. “There may be room, but there’s no time!”
“Maybe when yeh can find some more staff, you can find the time.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Chapter Eight
Mick came back quickly and reported that Bridget was fine. “Does she know about the death?” Maura asked.
He nodded. “Friends have told her. Mebbe it seems a bit ghoulish, but some of the older co
untry people have little to entertain them beyond stories of other people. And crimes. At least no one seems to know the man yet, or so she’s been told.”
“So there’s no one to mourn him, and he’s fair game for gossip.” Which seemed oddly wrong to Maura.
“Yeh could say that. They don’t mean to be hurtful. Are we ready to leave?”
“Please,” Rose said. “Maura, yeh’ve no food in the house, so I’ll stop by Fields on me way to catch the bus and stock your pantry.”
“Rose! You don’t have to do my shopping for me.”
“Do I not? Take a look at yer shelves—there’s nothin’ there. Tell her, Mick.”
He tried not to smile. “Well, they do look kinda empty.”
“And how do you feed yourself when you’re at home, Mick Nolan?” Maura demanded. She didn’t like that they were laughing at her, even if they were right. She’d survived a year without starving to death, hadn’t she?
“The Costcutter up the road in Leap has plenty of basic food, and some of it’s good—I stop by now and then. And I shop fer Bridget as well.”
Maura was out of excuses. “Fine,” she mumbled, then raised her voice. “Unless this is just an excuse to get me to hurry up with the pub kitchen so I can eat there.”
“And would that be a bad thing?” Rose asked, trying to look innocent.
Maura sighed. “Let’s get moving, or we’ll all be late.”
Mick drove, dropping Rose off in the center of Skibbereen, then heading back out of town toward Leap. “She’s quite a girl,” he said.
“That she is. I bet her father misses having her around, if Judith gives him any time.” She swiveled in her seat to look at him. “Mick, am I trying to do too much all at once, with the pub? The music is pretty much established now—maybe we should sit back and enjoy that for a while before we jump into something else.”
“Has Harry run the numbers?” he asked, watching the road ahead.
“You mean, how much additional income serving food might mean? After we get done with paying for the construction and appliances and permits and so on? The people who follow the music come to hear the music, not to enjoy gourmet food.”
“Rose can stick to high-end pub fare,” Mick suggested.
“What makes it high-end?”
“Let her explain it to you. But I think her heart’s set on local foods, whatever ends up on the plate.”
“Well, I’m counting on you to tell me if I trying to juggle too many things.”
“That I can do. And so far it’s goin’ well.”
The crime tape was gone from the bridge, so Mick pulled into a convenient parking space. “Yeh don’t mind parkin’ so near—?”
Maura finished his question. “The scene of the crime? No, it’s okay. We’d better get inside.”
The usual morning cleanup took no more than half an hour, and Maura left the front door ajar to signal that they were open for business. She was surprised to see Old Billy approaching—he was not usually the first to arrive. “Good morning, Billy. You’re early today.”
“I am that, and it’s too soon fer a pint. Could yeh fix me a coffee? It’s Rosie’s mornin’ at the school, am I right?”
“You are. Coffee coming up.”
Mick was still busy in back, so Maura started Billy’s coffee, then decided to make one for herself. When they were ready, she went back and sat down next to Billy. “Is something bothering you, Billy? This is early for you.”
“Ah, yeh see right through me, Maura. I’d have to say, it’s the dead man. His killin’ doesn’t sit well with me. It troubles me that none of us seems to know who he is, where he came from, who his people are. Was he one of us?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he Irish?”
Was she one of that “us” now? She struggled to give Billy an accurate answer. “Since his face was damaged, the gardaí didn’t have much to work with, you know. I didn’t see anything that made me think he wasn’t Irish. Dark hair, not too tall, pretty well muscled, so I wouldn’t guess he was a vagrant or a druggie or something. I don’t know if it’s odd around here not to have tattoos or other markings. Back in Boston, probably half the guys his age would have some ink. But Boston’s a city. Where’s the nearest tattoo parlor, anyway? Skibbereen? Cork city?”
Billy smiled and sipped his coffee. “That I cannot say. Could be that Rose might know.”
“I’ll ask. So, no jewelry, like an earring. No fillings in his teeth. Maybe he dropped from Mars. Maybe I should be asking people if they’ve seen glowing green lights in a local field.” She looked up to see Seamus and some of his buddies standing in the doorway. “Excuse me, Billy—looks like I’ve got customers.”
She walked over to where the men stood, shifting from foot to foot. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your lot here so early,” she told them. “Did you set your clocks wrong? And don’t you have work to go to?”
“We’ve been talkin’ about yer dead man,” Seamus said sheepishly, “and we thought we’d do better if we put our heads together. Yeh remember our bettin’ pool, back a few months?”
“Of course I do,” Maura told him. “I won, didn’t I? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, when we all got together and talked it over then, we came up with, what, a dozen ideas about who might’ve killed the man. We thought we might have a go at it this time, only tryin’ to figger out where this man came from rather than startin’ with the killer. We know how he died, but why was he worth killin’?”
Maura considered it for a moment. “Not a bad idea, Seamus. Is there a bet this time?”
Seamus waved that idea away. “Nah. We thought we’d help the gardaí out. Can’t hurt to have a credit with them, so to speak, in the rare event we might find ourselves in a bit of trouble with them.”
Maura smiled. It seemed there was almost always more than one motive for any good deed around here. “So not just out of the goodness of your hearts. Well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t try. Settle yourselves at a table, and I’ll throw in a pot of coffee.”
When she went back behind the bar to set up the coffee, Mick asked. “What’s that about?”
“The crime solvers gang is back at work. What do these guys do for work, anyway? They’re in here a lot, and at odd times of day.”
“Some have farms, and the mornin’ milkin’s done. Some of them do the odd construction job now and then. No one thing, I’m guessin’.”
“Well, as long as they pay their tab, I won’t complain. Could you bring the coffee over when it’s ready? We might as well lay out what we want to know now, in case it gets busy later in the day.”
“That I will. Are yeh gonna tell the gardaí what yeh’re doin’?”
“If we figure out something, sure.”
Maura went back to the table and took the last chair. “Coffee’s on its way. So, where did you plan to start?”
Seamus, as always, took the lead. “Well, we’ve no idea who the man is, fer a start. None of us claims to know every man of his age in the county, and it could be a visiting relative or some long-lost kin, just arrived, but nobody’s reported anyone missin’.”
Hadn’t they already covered all this? “Seamus, we’ve already covered the basic facts. You have anything more today?”
“We’ve had a night to mull it over, haven’t we? There’s no abandoned car reported, and the man had no bus ticket on him. So how did our man arrive in the area?”
“Maybe he lost his bus ticket when he was killed. Or since his pockets were all empty, he could have been robbed earlier walking to … somewhere,” Maura said.
Seamus sat back and grinned at her. “Maura, yeh’re a grand devil’s advocate—isn’t that what they say? Yeh’ll argue just about any point, but that’s a good thing because it makes the rest of us think. And yeh’re right: he might’ve been robbed, although the force of the attack on his person went far beyond what would be needed to pick his pocket. If the wallet was all that was
wanted, a whack on the back of the head would have been sufficient.”
“True,” Maura agreed. “Do people hitchhike around here?”
“Sure and they do.” A man Maura recognized as part of the usual group from Seamus’s last effort at detective work, and whose name she thought was Jerry, spoke up for the first time. “Mostly the gardaí look the other way, and there’s plenty of folk willin’ to stop and pick up someone if he looks decent. Or she.”
Maura nodded. “So he could have been a hitchhiker. But nobody’s found a bag or backpack for him. Wouldn’t he be carrying something?” Like a change of clothes? A good book? Maura thought irreverently, then felt ashamed. She had to keep reminding herself that the man was dead, and this wasn’t a game.
“He might have done,” Seamus agreed amiably. “So he could have been Irish, or he could have been from somewhere else. It’s not clear he knew where he was going. In fact, we don’t even know whether he was traveling on the main road out there, or through the countryside, or even which way he was headin’. But we can guess that whoever killed him and hid his body did know his way around here, because he picked a pretty good hiding place, at least for a short stay. Jerry, it might be wise to make notes of our ideas, so we’re sure to follow through.”
Jerry dutifully fished a tattered pad from a pocket, located a pencil, and set to work. “Irish or not? Did the killer know the village well? And how? Have I got those right?”
“That’s grand, Jerry.”
Maura interrupted. “Do you think the killer wanted the man to be found, or was he in a hurry and dumped him at the first likely place he came to?”
“A good point, Maura. I’d guess a bit of both. It’s a public road, with shops on both sides, so he was bound to be found soon enough, but I’d wager the killer wanted him to be found—after he’d had time to make his escape. Have yeh got all that, Jerry?” Jerry nodded.
“Guys?” Maura broke in. “Can we speed this up a bit? Sometime today I need to run my business. Let’s assume that if the dead man was Irish, the gardaí have a better chance of figuring out who he was, okay? It he wasn’t Irish, it’s a harder problem.”
The Lost Traveller Page 6
