Dead End Street

by Sheila Connolly

  Sean shrugged. “Hard to say. He’s only just turned three, and his mother’s barely let him get a word out since he’s come home. What he’ll remember in the morning is anyone’s guess. The best we got was that he kept talkin’ about a boat. No surprise, seein’ as how he was on the beach.”

  “Did he seem upset? Did he mention his dad?” If the boy had seen a fight, what would he have made of it?

  Sean almost smiled. “Maura, have I not just told you we don’t know the details yet? We’ll sort it out in the morning. The poor lad was exhausted, as was his mother. We’ll all have fresher eyes tomorrow.” He drained his cup quickly. “I’d better be on my way so I can get an early start. I only wanted to make sure you knew the story so far, and the others here, so they could spread the word.”

  “Thank you, Sean. I appreciate it,” Maura said softly. Maura wasn’t quite sure whether he had been thinking of her concern or only wanted to get the word out as quickly as possible—and what better way than to tell a pub full of worried people? “Safe home.”

  “And to you,” Sean said, then gathered himself up and went out the door.

  The crowd cleared quickly after that, and by midnight only Maura and Mick remained, clearing up the last of the glasses scattered around the room.

  “Mick, are you planning to stop by your grandmother’s tomorrow?” Maura asked, washing the final glasses.

  “I might do,” he said. “Why?”

  “Could you stop by my house? I’ve got a small problem and I’m not sure what to do.” She hated to ask anyone for help, much less someone she worked with, but there were things she was clueless about, and how to manage an old stone cottage in this part of the world was one of them. She needed someone who knew how things worked, and she knew Mick was often down the lane visiting his grandmother Bridget.

  “Glad to. I’ll look in before I see me gran.”

  “Thanks, Mick. See you in the morning, then. And we should probably be here early, because people will want to hear the news about John Tully.”

  “Troubling, that,” Mick commented. “Something’s not right. John would never have left his son like that.”

  So what had happened? Maura asked herself. Tomorrow would tell. She hoped.

  Sheila Connolly is the New York Times bestselling, Anthony and Agatha award–nominated author of the Museum Mysteries, the Orchard Mysteries, and the County Cork Mysteries. She has taught art history, structured and marketed municipal bonds for major cities, worked as a staff member on two statewide political campaigns, and served as a fundraiser for several nonprofit organizations. She also managed her own consulting company, providing genealogical research services. In addition to genealogy, Sheila loves restoring old houses, visiting cemeteries, and traveling. Now a full-time writer, she thinks writing mysteries is a lot more fun than any of her previous occupations.

  She is married and has one daughter and three cats. Visit Sheila online at sheilaconnolly.com.

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