A Turn for the Bad (4 page)

“Did the gardaí ask the child to draw a picture of the boat?” Brendan, silent until now, suddenly asked.

“Why would they do that?”

“Well, ‘boat' is a rather vague term. He could have been talking about anything from a dinghy to a schooner.”

“You've a good point there,” Mick answered. “But I'll leave it to the gardaí to sort it out.”

“I'm guessing they've called out the coast guard and the like, once they heard that there might be a boat in the picture?” Brendan asked.

“That they have. They were out at first light,” Mick told him.

“Mick, did Jimmy tell you when he was coming in?” Maura asked him.

“Didn't say, but I'd be guessing earlier rather than later. Everyone wants to hear the news as it comes in. Good or bad.”

“What do you think happened?”

Mick gave Maura an odd look. “I won't make a guess. I'm only glad the child is all right, and pray that John turns up in good shape.”

“May I wait with you?” Brendan asked.

“Don't you have business to do? Or do you happen to know John Tully?” Maura asked, suspicious.

“The man's in trouble, and it'd be wrong to go about my business with that hanging over everyone. I promise I won't try to sell you anything while we wait.”

“Fair enough,” Maura said. “But I hope that won't be long.”

No word from Sean. No news from any of her regular customers, who trickled in slowly. Old Billy made his stately way through the pub to his chair by the fireplace, where Maura had laid a small fire, more for comfort than for warmth. Even Rose came in before noon, apparently unable to sit at home worrying about a man she didn't even know. Those already in the pub looked up every time the door opened, but when the newcomer shook his head silently, they turned back to their subdued conversations. Maura was filling more orders for tea than for drinks.

Brendan had made himself at home on a stool at the end of the bar and showed no signs of leaving. He would chat with anyone, but he wasn't forcing it; he was, after all, not one of them, but respectful anyway. Maura didn't mind. It occurred to her that she never had really examined her
feelings about running a pub. She'd told Brendan that she'd needed a job when she'd arrived, which was true. She hadn't planned to stay in Ireland, and she could have found a job back in Boston. She'd had plenty of dead-end jobs over the past few years—short-term jobs that led nowhere but paid the bills. Now she owned her own place, which was both good and bad: good because she could make the decisions about how to run the place, who to hire, what to serve. Bad for the same reasons: she wasn't used to managing anything or anyone. If it had been only her, she wouldn't have worried, but now she had employees and felt responsible for them. Jobs were hard to come by these days.

But she'd never looked at the moral side of running a pub. She didn't avoid drinking because she thought it was evil, only because it made her dopey, as she'd told Brendan. She just didn't have the metabolism for the stuff. Clearly others did, and she was fine with serving them—up to a limit. Maybe she would have felt different if she'd ended up with a bar in a city like Cork or even Dublin. But Leap was different.

The door opened yet again, and all heads turned to see Gillian Callanan walk in. Most heads turned away again, but Maura welcomed her warmly. “Hey there. Isn't this the wrong season for you?”

Gillian smiled at her. “Most times, yes. But haven't you heard? My friend has decided to sell the old creamery, so I've got to clear my stuff out of it.”

“Sorry to hear that. I hadn't heard, but I'm not in the market so I probably wouldn't. That's where you've been staying summers, right?” Maura had met Gillian the past summer when she'd come down from Dublin to the nearby creamery to paint, as she did every year, and had even hung some of her paintings
in Sullivan's, where they went a long way toward brightening the front room. Gillian had told Maura then that the light reflecting off Ballinlough water was perfect for her work, so losing the use of the creamery would be a blow.

“Right.” Gillian settled herself on a stool at the bar. “It's only warm enough then. The owner's been too cheap to put in real heat, so now he's handing it off to someone else to worry about.”

“Have you thought about buying it yourself?”

“I haven't the money for it. Selling my paintings gives me enough to live on, mostly, but winters the tourist dollars dry up. I'm looking at a long dry spell. Could you do me a cup of tea?”

“Sure. Will you be going back to Dublin when you're done?”

Gillian's face clouded. “Not for a bit, I think. It's expensive there. And I've other reasons for staying around here for a while.” She looked away from Maura, but Maura noticed she laid a hand on her belly. It took a moment until Maura put two and two together. Gillian was pregnant? Was it Harry's child? She knew that Gillian and Harry Townsend had been an item for years, although Harry, who was attractive and also had the distinction of being the last of a minor line of Anglo-Irish aristocracy that had lived in Leap for a couple of centuries, had been known to use his charms on a number of eager young Dublin women. “Have you seen much of Harry lately?” she asked carefully.

Gillian gave her a fleeting smile. “Enough. He's still up in Dublin.”

“Do you know where you're staying for now?”

“Maura, I've only just arrived, and I haven't made many plans.”

Maura wavered for a moment before plunging ahead. “I have an extra bedroom, if you need a place. But I think the mattress is older than the two of us put together.”

“Old Mick's mattress? You may be right. Thanks for the offer, Maura—I'll let you know once I've sorted things.”

Maura set a cup of tea in front of Gillian as Gillian scanned the room. “Why all the long faces?” Gillian asked.

“Oh, right, you just got here, so you haven't heard. A man from somewhere past Dromadoon, if I've got that right, disappeared yesterday afternoon. He went for a walk with his three-year-old son, and he didn't come back. His brother went looking for him and found the boy but not John. The searchers were out until dark—but no sign of the father yet.”

“Oh, how terrible. Do you know the man?”

Maura shook her head. “I don't, but apparently a lot of people do. John Tully?”

“He's a dairy farmer, right? His wife often has a booth at the Skibbereen market and sells the cheeses she makes. We've chatted now and then, when I sell there.”

“Well, then I've probably seen her too.” The small-world effect once again, Maura noted.

“I'm guessing the men have been coming in here to wait for news? Those that aren't out searching, at least,” Gillian added.

“Seems like it.”

Mick emerged from the back room, and his face lit up at the sight of Gillian. “Welcome back! Will yeh be stayin' fer a while?”

“Hi, Mick. I haven't really decided. I've been kicked out of the studio at the creamery, and I have to take my painting stuff out of there.” She caught a glimpse of Billy through
the growing crowd. “Let me say hello to Billy, will you? I'll be back.” She wove her way over to Billy's corner, carrying her tea with her.

Mick watched her go, then turned to Maura. “Trouble there?”

Maura shrugged. “I don't know. She barely said hello.”

The day dragged. The pub was well filled for a weekday afternoon, but most people were nursing a single pint for a very long time. After a while Maura was desperate to get some air and stretch her legs, so she volunteered to pick up some food for her staff, got their orders, then headed to the place on the corner. Once inside she greeted the owners, and after ordering, she said, “Any news?”

Nobody asked her to explain what she meant. “No one's shared anything with us. You?”

“About the same. I've got a lot of people waiting to hear something.”

“Sad thing, innit, that it takes a crisis to stir up business?”

“It is.” Maura paid, then took the heavy bags he passed over the counter and reluctantly made her way back. She hadn't reached the door to Sullivan's when Sean Murphy pulled up alongside her in his police car, then parked. He climbed out and gestured toward the bench next to the bus stop. Maura felt a small pang of fear.

He must have noticed her expression, because he said quickly, “It's nothing bad. We've found nothing, which doesn't tell us much.”

“I hate to be a downer, but don't bodies sink before they float?”

“Often, I'm afraid. Or a body can get wedged between rocks or in a crack in a cliff, and who knows when it'll be
seen again. But we don't
know
it's bad news, if yeh see what I'm sayin'.”

“I suppose there's nothing wrong with looking at the bright side of things, as long as you can.”

“But that's not the way you'd see it?”

Nice of Sean to notice
. “Don't mind me. I think I told you that I never knew my father, and I have to wonder if Eoin will have any memories of his. If John doesn't come back.” Maura took a deep breath. “How's his wife holding up?”

“Well enough. She's got the four kids to look after, and the cows, so she has little choice in the matter.”

“Does she have other family around?”

“She does, and many of them are out lookin' too.”

“Does the coast guard usually find who they're looking for?”

“They do, fer all that they're amateurs. Don't lose heart, Maura.”

“I'm trying not to.” She gathered up her bags of food and stood. “I'd better deliver this to the gang. Are you coming in?”

“No. I only wanted to give yeh what little news there was. You can pass it on to the rest of them in there.” He nodded toward the pub.

“Thanks, Sean. I'm glad you stopped by.”

“Be safe, Maura,” he replied.

He drove past the pub just as Maura reached the door. Most of the people inside must have noticed his car, because once again all eyes turned toward her. “Nothing new, folks,” Maura said, loudly enough for all the room to hear. The customers turned away in unison. Maura distributed sandwiches and sides to those who had asked. She'd brought lunch for Billy too, and went over to join him and Gillian.

“Gillian's been after tellin' me about life in the big city,” Billy announced.

“Have you ever been to Dublin, Billy?” Maura asked, sitting in a chair on the other side of the table.

“I've been no farther than Cork city, and that was a good while ago. Too many people, too much noise. I'm happier here.”

Gillian leaned forward and patted his hand. “I know what you mean, Billy. Sometimes it's all too much to handle.”

“And that'd be why you've come back to us here?” Billy's question seemed innocent enough, but Maura guessed his shrewd gaze didn't miss much. Like Gillian's anxiety underlying her words. Would he make the logical deduction? Given that he was a man and an old one at that, maybe he wouldn't go there. Or maybe he would. He'd surprised her before with his perceptiveness.

Billy turned to Maura. “No news from your young garda?”

Maura shook her head. “They haven't found John Tully. Who knows when or if they will.”

“The sea can be a dangerous place. There's often fishin' boats out of Union Hall that disappear or turn over. Keeps the coast guard busy.”

“I can't believe they're amateurs,” Maura said.

“That's not a bad thing, I'll tell yeh. Folk around here know the waters and the currents, better than someone from away might. And they're glad to help.”

“Good to know. You told me you fished at Ballinlough, near the creamery, but did you ever go out on the harbor or farther?”

Billy shook his head. “I like the feel of land beneath my feet. So do many around here. The fishermen, now—they've got a livin' to make, as long as the fish last, and they're havin'
to go out quite a ways these days fer their catch. The rest of the boats on the water belong to rich folk from Glandore or Schull, mebbe. You won't see 'em at this end of the harbor.”

“What about where John Tully disappeared?”

“That's no more than a small cove with a sandy beach amongst the rocks. Not a good place to bring a boat in, not that he had any interest in that. He's a dairyman, and he's little time to spare for fishin' and the like.”

Gillian gathered up her things. “Billy, I should be going. I have to get to the creamery and sort things out. I don't remember how much I've left there.”

“Come back and see me again, will yeh, now?”

“Of course, Billy.”

Gillian headed for the front door and Maura followed. Outside, Maura said, “I mean what I said about the room. Even though it's nothing fancy. I think I have a spare set of sheets.”

Gillian laughed. “If you could see yourself! Have you had a single guest since you've been in the place? It's been, what, six months now?”

“The only people I know already live around here, so they don't need a place to stay. Nobody's come from Boston to look me up.”
And they weren't likely to
, Maura added to herself. She'd left few friends behind and hadn't bothered to tell them where she'd gone.

“I might want to leave whatever paintings I've got at the creamery somewhere safe. Would you have room for those?”

“Sure. You can put them in the parlor—I never use that. Let me give you my key—if you don't want to stay, you can bring it back to me or put it under a rock or something. Just let me know where to find it, if I don't see you. You still
have my mobile number?” Maura fished her keys from her jeans pocket and handed one to Gillian.

“I do, from the last time. Thanks, Maura—you're a true friend. I'll be seeing you later, one way or the other. And I hope the missing man turns up.”

“You and a lot of other people. 'Bye, Gillian.”

Gillian gave her a backward wave as she walked toward her car.