A Turn for the Bad (14 page)

Why had Sean decided to tell her? His official reason was to ask her to shut down the ongoing talk about the search for John Tully, but she didn't think that she played that big a part in that anyway. Worse, trying to discourage any further talk of it would appear unnatural—and she knew she was a lousy actress. Mick was the smartest of the bunch, but he wouldn't press her.

Or . . . maybe Sean had been trying to send her a message, if indirectly.
Very
indirectly. He seemed to think that she had the power to manage the chatter that went on in her pub. To somehow tell people to back off with the search. She wondered if she could pull that off—but why would anybody doubt her? They all had her paired off with Sean anyway, so they'd probably assume he'd share something like that news. But at the same time, she knew she was a really bad liar and she was afraid that people would see right through her and
wonder if there was something they should know that she wasn't telling them. She shook her head and wished Sean had stayed away and not mentioned anything.

Then the larger implication of his news hit her: as they had suspected, in fact there
was
something serious going on with smuggling drugs, and Sean had hinted that it was big, with a lot of official people involved, even from beyond Cork. She had already wondered if John Tully had somehow stumbled on something he wasn't supposed to see. Maybe Mick's guess was right, that Tully might have been killed to keep him quiet and would probably never be found. The gardaí had clearly moved on to bigger fish, with or without any evidence of John's death. There was little comfort there, but it made sense.

“Are we ready to open?” Maura called out.

“Almost,” Mick called from somewhere in the back.

Maura turned to Gillian. “Are you staying around?”

“I thought I might, for a bit. In case you need help. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. The more the merrier.” When Gillian gave her an odd look, Maura apologized. “Sorry—I guess I'm kind of on edge. Not hungover!” she added more loudly for Jimmy's and Mick's benefit. “It may be an odd weekend. Jimmy, could you lay the fire? Which reminds me—Mick, what progress on my heat?”

“Working on it. If yer cold, put on a sweater.”

My, he's in a bad mood
, Maura thought. Did it have anything to do with last night or was she making too much of that? She wasn't about to bring it up: let him stew for a while. If it went nowhere, so what? She checked the time: ten thirty, and there were a few men waiting outside. Fewer
than the past few mornings. Maybe reality was sinking in: John Tully was gone.

Then she looked harder at the group. “Uh, Gillian? I think you have company.”

Gillian joined her and peered out the window. “Oh, blast!” She stood up straight, pulled her shirt down neatly over what was still a small bulge, then went to open the door. Several of the men came in and scattered, but to the last one she said, “Good morning, Harry. Why aren't you in Dublin?”

“Maura, how've you been?” he asked. And then he noticed Gillian. “Gillian? I'd no idea you were down here. You're looking fine. How long's it been since we last met?”

No more than four months
, Maura said to herself. “Hi, Harry. Good to see you.” She turned away quickly and tried to look busy at the bar.

“I think we had drinks along Temple Bar in September, Harry,” Gillian said in a curiously neutral tone. “As to why I'm here, I've some business to attend to. And yourself?”

“I thought I'd stop by and see how Eveline is. I always expect I'll have to find a full-time caregiver, but she continues to surprise me.”

“So she's doing well?”

“So Florence O'Brien tells me. She dozes a lot, I hear.
Wait—this is October—I thought you came back here only in the summer.”

“As I said, I have some things to attend to and I have to do it in person. Are you stopping here for a drink?”

“A coffee, if that's possible. Sorry, Maura, I'm being rude. It's good to see you again—this place seems to suit you.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Maura said. “I think I've got the hang of it now. I'll get that coffee for you.”

Harry decided to sit on a stool and wait for the coffee. “I was surprised to see you're open at all—this season's pretty slow. But you've got a fair crowd.”

“There's a reason for that, but you wouldn't have heard,” Maura said as she slid his coffee in front of him. “A local man has been lost at sea, and I think people want to be together if they're waiting for news. Although I think the gardaí have given up now—he went missing on Monday.”

“So no luck with finding him—what a shame. Would I know the man?” Harry asked as he blew on his coffee.

“He's a dairy farmer out toward Ballydehob. His name's John Tully. Ring any bells?”

“I don't think so. So the gardaí and coast guard and all have been searching all week?”

“They have. No sign of John. They did find a body though, and nobody knows who he is.”

“You're pulling my leg!” Reading Maura's expression, he changed his tone quickly. “You're not. My word, how odd is that? The sea giveth and the sea taketh away, or something like that—only not in that order, in this case. Sad thing.”

“It is,” Maura agreed.

“I leave for a couple of months and look what happens.” He drained his coffee. “Gillian, since you're here, would
you have time for dinner with me after I've visited with Aunt Eveline?”

“I suppose,” Gillian said with little enthusiasm.

Harry didn't seem to notice her lack of warmth. “Shall we meet here or in Skibbereen?”

“Here in Leap is fine,” Gillian said. “The bistro on the corner has a good chef and the food's quite decent.”

“Glad to hear that. Well, I'll be off. Meet you there sevenish?”

“See you then,” Gillian said. She waited until he'd left the building, then slumped onto the bar stool he'd just vacated. “Damn and blast. I thought I'd have more time to think things through.”

Gillian could think until Christmas and it wouldn't get any easier, Maura thought. “It's probably just as well, isn't it?” she asked as she washed Harry's mug. “What're you going to say to him?”

“I don't know. You haven't heard anything about Eveline's state, have you?”

“No. Tom O'Brien—you remember him? The caretaker?—he's stopped in a couple of times, but he's not exactly a regular and he doesn't talk much. And of course we never see his wife. Why?”

“So Tom and Florence are still there. They've taken good care of Eveline. I wonder if Harry is here for more than a family visit. If Eveline's failing, that is. You know she's not young.”

Maura scanned the room: nobody seemed interested in their conversation. “You said Harry doesn't expect anything like an inheritance from her, right?”

“No. Eveline has the right to live at the manor during her
lifetime, but when she's gone the whole place goes to the National Trust. Not that I wish anything bad for Eveline—it's been her home all her life and she's entitled to stay there—and in this world—as long as she likes.”

Maura recalled that the only time she'd met Eveline, she'd looked fondly on Gillian. “But that will leave Harry kind of homeless, won't it?”

“He's got a place in Dublin, although he doesn't own it. His income won't change when she's gone, although I dare say his expenses will go down. Eveline may have a roof over her head, but Harry pays for much of the rest, including what little salary the O'Briens receive, beyond their room and board.”

“But he'll have to make some decisions, won't he?” Maura pressed.

Gillian looked her in the eye. “Maura, what're you getting at? What I decide has little to do with Eveline's health or Harry's income.”

Maura held up her hands. “Sorry, I didn't mean anything like that. It's just that there are bound to be changes in his life and they may or may not affect you.”
And changes in yours as well, though not for the same reasons.

“Fair enough. But I'm still considering my options.”

Maura wasn't sure who she wanted to shake more: Gillian or Harry. Even she could see they had serious communication problems. Harry she didn't know very well, but the fact that he hadn't noticed that he hadn't seen Gillian for a month or two or three somehow didn't surprise her. Gillian, on the other hand, had seemed to be the more forceful of the two, and now she was dithering. Head versus heart? Gillian knew Harry was not a good match, but clearly she had feelings for him. But who was she to judge? She herself wasn't
exactly a good example for Gillian: she'd been shoved into her current situation with absolutely no warning and she was still kind of making it up day to day. If someone had sent her some kind of official documents when she was still in Boston, saying she'd just won a pub and a house and when could she come pick them up in Ireland? she would have thought it was a joke first, and then she probably would have waffled just like Gillian. And her decisions hadn't really involved any other people—certainly not a baby.

“I'll keep my nose out of it, if that's what you want,” Maura finally said. “But Harry's going to find out somehow, sooner or later. And if it's later, it'll be harder on both of you.”

“I know, Maura. And thanks for caring—I don't have a lot of friends around here, I've been away so much.”

“Happy to help,” Maura said, then turned away. She still wasn't exactly comfortable with mushy stuff, even though Gillian was a friend. Heaven help her if some stranger came up to her at the bar and started telling her his woes—she'd be useless, even if it was part of the job.

More customers trickled in over the course of the day, and Maura was surprised that Brendan Quinn waited until after lunch to put in an appearance. “How's the head today, Miss Donovan?”

Maura wasn't sure anyone had called her “miss” in her lifetime. “Maura, please. And it's fine. Now that I've said that, you're going to tell me that it's a special property unique to Irish whiskey, right? Guaranteed not to produce hangovers?”

Brendan grinned. “I might. Have I convinced you yet?”

Maura returned his smile. “Actually, yes. But I warn you,
I probably won't order enough to pay for your gas. You mentioned the guys at the local distillery—was any of the stuff we drank last night theirs?”

“No. I thought you should start with the more typical products. Why?”

“Do you know them well?”

Brendan cocked his head at her, curious now. “Well enough, since they're eager to sell their new products. Why do you ask?”

“You told me they're young and they're aiming at a different market—younger and not serious drinkers. I think I can get behind that, not that we see too many drinkers under the age of sixty in this place. Well, maybe the tourists, but not the regulars. So it's kind of a ‘chicken and egg' thing, right? If people more like my age do come in, I'll have something new to offer them, and if they like it and tell their friends, I'll have more customers. Everybody's happy. And the music thing is likely to bring in a younger audience, right?”
Maybe if the music thing took off, there would be a new generation of fans who'd like the lighter drinks
.

“You make a good point, Maura. Would you like to see their place? Where they make the stuff?”

“I wouldn't know what I was looking at,” Maura said dubiously.

Gillian brought over some empty glasses, and had obviously overheard their conversation. “Oh, go on, Maura. It might be interesting. I'm sure Mick and Jimmy can cover for you here for a couple of hours.”

“All right, I guess. When?”

“Let me give the lads a call. I'm sure they'd welcome the
opportunity to win your heart, Maura Donovan—and a bit of your money as well. I'll get back to you when I've talked to them.”

“Great,” Maura said, more because she thought she was supposed to than because she really wanted to see the inside of a whiskey distillery. Brendan Quinn was certainly earning his commission with her.

When Brendan had left, Maura looked around the room and counted off the things she couldn't talk about in front of anyone else. Gillian didn't want anyone else to know about the baby, and Maura could respect that. She hadn't told Gillian about kissing Mick, because she wasn't sure what it meant and Gillian would probably try to analyze it. Mick hadn't said anything, which could mean he was confused or that he wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. And he still owed her an oil delivery, she reminded herself. Sean didn't want her to mention the potential drug raid—which she knew not to do—but he did want her to shut down any further attention to John Tully's disappearance, which was harder. Maybe she should get a sudden case of laryngitis so she wouldn't have to talk to anybody—that would solve all those problems.

“Yeh'll have yer oil delivered on Monday,” Mick said. He'd come up behind her so silently she hadn't noticed. Good thing he couldn't read minds. She heeded Gillian's warning and settled for saying, “Thanks, Mick. Anything I need to do? Like hook up or disconnect or whatever?”

“Will yeh be there early in the day?”

“As far as I know.”

“Then it'll be fine.”

“So that's it for the heat? Will whoever it is tell me where the heater is and what to do if something goes wrong?”

“I can stop by if you like, and see to that.”

“That might help. Now, the stove is propane, not oil, right?”

“Only the cooktop, and the tanks are out back of the house. Since yeh never seem to cook, yer in no danger of runnin' low.”

Sad but true
, Maura thought. Not that she planned to learn to cook, but she did have to find a way to stay alive, and there wasn't exactly a McDonald's on every corner around Leap. Too bad she had to learn how to act like an adult now and feed herself and earn a living.

“What're the two of you whispering about?” Gillian asked, settling on a stool.

“Cooking. And heating. Real exciting, isn't it?” Maura told her. “Not exactly swapping secrets, eh, Mick?”

“Unless you'd like me ma's secret recipe fer lamb stew.”

“I might, at that. What's the secret?”

“Guinness—a few glasses before yeh start cookin' and another glass or two in the stew.”

Gillian jumped and pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket. “Ah, a friend of a friend's found a place for me to look at, out in Corran. I'll pop over there now. Mick, remember you promised that you could help me move my stuff from the creamery?”

“No problem,” Mick said. “I'll ask Jimmy as well, whenever yer ready.”

“Thanks, Mick—you'll be the first to know. Maura, I'll be off now, and I guess I won't see you until after I've had dinner with Harry. Don't wait up.”

“You'll probably be back before me anyway. Good luck with the place.” Maura wondered if she meant it. She also
wondered if Gillian could afford a place on her own—she herself had never had to check out rental costs.

“Ta.” Gillian pulled on her coat and went out to her car.

“She hasn't told him yet, has she?” Mick's voice said quietly in her ear.

Maura spun to face him, trying to figure out what she should say. How was it everyone around here knew everything before she did, without anyone saying anything? Maybe she should check to see if she knew what Mick was really saying. “Told who what?”

“Harry. It's his, isn't it?”

“Damn it, is everybody around here psychic? Except me, of course?”

“You've only to watch and listen, yeh know. And think, now and then. Gillian's never here during the winter—that's when she earns the money to keep herself over the summer, when she's here to paint. But here she is, so there must be a reason. And she near jumped a foot when Harry walked in, so she didn't tell him she'd be comin' here. She's hidin' something from him, but he's as thick as peat and he hasn't noticed. Yet. Will she be tellin' him or will she let him go off still in the dark?”