Scandal in Skibbereen (18 page)

“Hold on. I’ve lost the thread here,” Sean said. “I understand where Althea comes into it—she’s here to look for a painting at the manor.”

“Right, and you brought her in for questioning right away, because she arrived just about the time Seamus died. Not that you can seriously believe she killed a gardener she had never met.”

“I can’t say.” Official Garda Murphy was back on duty.

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“How did Gillian Callanan become involved?”

“You know her?”

“I do. She was at school with my older sister.”

“Oh, right, she told me that she’d grown up here. Well, here’s the story: Althea was hunting for that painting and she tried to get in through the front door of the manor, as you know, and was turned away by Florence O’Brien. But she’s determined, so when Harry Townsend showed up, she made a play for him, and it worked to get her into the house. Then Miss Eveline came upon her by accident and found her wearing not much and pitched a fit, and Florence threw her out
again
, so now she’s definitely not welcome in the house. So Althea enlisted me and Gillian to do her snooping for her. Gillian wasn’t sure about helping her at first, but then she figured if things worked out it would be good for Harry and his great-aunt, so she agreed. And yesterday we did get in, with Harry, and we did find the painting.”

Sean’s expression had changed several times during Maura’s explanation, and now he looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “Take a breath, will you, now, Maura?”

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m trying to imagine how to write this up in a report! So the painting’s been found, has it? That’s news to me. Is it what Althea was looking for?”

“Seems to be, though Althea hasn’t seen the painting because Harry won’t let her back in the house, but Gillian showed her some photos. Now we’re looking for any kind of records for it.”

“We?”

“Harry, Gillian, and me, although I’m not much help.” Maura paused to gather her thoughts. “Oh, and there’s one more thing that might help you.”

“And that would be?”

“The room where we found the painting? Everything was covered with dust. Thick dust. Clearly, no one’s gone in there for a very long time. So if Seamus Daly’s death had anything to do with the painting, whoever killed him was never in that room, and he couldn’t have seen the painting from outside because all the curtains were closed tight.”

Sean brightened at that. “That’s worth knowing. You’ve a good eye for detail, Maura.”

Maura was startled by the compliment. “Sean, I really don’t think Althea had anything to do with this death. Any other suspects?”

“That I will not tell you, Maura.” Sean’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Sorry, I have to take this—with so few officers, we’re always on call.” He stood up and walked toward the window, keeping his back toward their table, as he spoke briefly on his phone. He returned quickly. “There’s been a report of shots fired at Mycroft House, and I’ve got to go check it out. I’ll drop you back at Sullivan’s on the way.”

“All right.”
What was going on at Mycroft House?
There were questions she wanted to ask, but this was not the time. Sean was all business now. No doubt someone at Sullivan’s would fill her in quickly enough. Maura retrieved her bag from under the table. Sean located Marie and spoke briefly to her about the check, though she waved him away. Maura stood awkwardly by the door until he joined her.

“Sorry about this,” he said.

“I understand.” At least she didn’t have to worry about an awkward ending for this date—did he expect a good-night kiss? Moot now. Would there be other dates? She was surprised to realize she might like that.

After they retrieved his car, Sean drove silently back to Leap and deposited her in front of Sullivan’s. She climbed out quickly, but before shutting the passenger door she leaned in and said, “If you can, come tell me what happened. I’ll be here until close.”

He smiled briefly. “If I can, I will. Got to go.” Maura shut the door, and Sean pulled onto the road, toward the drive for Mycroft House.

R
ose was gone when Maura walked into Sullivan’s, so she didn’t have to tell her all about her “date.” Had she blown it with Sean? A guy asks her for dinner and she ends up pumping him about police procedures? No one had ever called her romantic, but this might’ve been going too far.

“You’re back early,” Mick said. “Everything okay?”

“Fine and dandy,” Maura said. “Nice guy, nice restaurant, nice time. I’m back early because Sean got a call from the station and had to leave—something about shots heard at the manor.”

Mick’s mouth twitched. “Glad to hear you enjoyed your dinner. We’ve had no reports here of trouble.”

“Wow, you mean the grapevine doesn’t pick up everything as soon as it happens?”

“I’m sure we’ll know soon enough,” he said and went back to pulling pints.

Mick was proved right no more than a half hour later, when someone Maura didn’t recognize came in and asked for a pint. Leaning on the bar while he waited for it, he said, “A bit of trouble up at the manor.”

“And how would you know about that?” Maura said, keeping an eye on the pint she was pouring.

The man settled himself on a bar stool. “Sure and I was driving along the Union Hall road, with me windows open to the wind, and I hear a ‘boom.’ Or maybe it was more a ‘bang.’” He stopped, searching his mind for the memory.

“And?” Maura prompted, setting the glass aside to settle.

He leaned his forearms on the bar. “And I think to myself, that sounds for all the world like a shotgun. Now, who would be firing off a shotgun at the manor this late hour? I wondered.”

“A good question,” Maura said, although she had no idea how unusual this might be.

“Who indeed?” another man chimed in, coming up behind him.

“There was nowhere else it could have come from except the manor?” Maura asked. “What about the other side of the road?”

“It’s all rock there, now, isn’t it? Not a house for a mile or more.”

“So what did you do?” the second man asked.

“I was near to Union Hall when I decided it might be right to let someone know, given the trouble they’ve had up at the manor lately, so I pulled up and called the gardaí.”

“Did you, now? And did they laugh at you?” the second man said, clearly incredulous.

“No, they said they’d send a man over, to see if there was any trouble. Since there’s already been one death there of late.”

And that would be Sean,
Maura thought as she topped off the pint and slid it across the bar to the man telling the story.

“Ta,” he said and slid a few euro back, then he and his companion found themselves seats across the room.

Mick looked at Maura. “Sean?” he said. Maura nodded.

It was close to closing time when Sean came in. The crowd had thinned, and Maura was wondering whether it was worth staying open, when he walked through the door and scanned the room. He smiled when he saw her, and crossed to the bar.

“How are yeh, Maura?” he asked.

“I’m grand, Sean,” she said—at least she’d figured out the right local greeting. “Are you here to tell us about the gunshots at the manor? Because we’ve already heard several versions from the guys who were in here earlier.”

Sean sighed. “I’m off duty now, so I’ll take a glass of the black stuff, if you don’t mind. I’m not supposed to talk about these things, as I told you. But so far we have no evidence of a crime, apart from an unlicensed firearm.”

Maura started his glass. “So there
was
a shot at Mycroft House.”

“There was,” Sean said. “Tom O’Brien fired a shotgun at what he thought was a prowler. He said he’s been feeling nervous after what happened to Seamus, and it was getting dark . . . he admitted he could have been wrong.”

“Did anyone break in?”

“Not that he could tell. If so, this person was on his way out, not coming in, when Tom fired.”

“Did he think it could be a woman?” Maura’s mind went straight to Althea. She couldn’t be that stupid. Could she?

“It was dusk, and his eyes aren’t what they once were.”

“Did he hit anything?”

“He says he fired as a warning only.” Sean accepted the glass Maura handed him and peered into its foamy depths.

Was he avoiding her eyes? “But?”

“I took a look outside, where he said he’d seen something. There was blood.”

“Oh, my God!” That wasn’t good. “A little or a lot?”

“Not much. If he hit someone, they walked away. Of course, it could well have been a stray dog.”

“What now?” And what if it
was
Althea? Not that she really believed that, but still . . .

“I file a report.”

“Is it illegal to fire a shotgun around here? I mean, I don’t know anything about who’s allowed to do what, or gun registration, or all that.” She hadn’t known much about it in Boston either, although she had known people who carried firearms there, legally or otherwise. Here, not even the cops carried guns.

“Our laws are fairly strict. Most civilian firearms in the country are shotguns and hunting rifles. The shotgun Tom fired belonged to Harry’s father, and nobody’d given it a thought until after Seamus’s death, when Tom pulled it out and made sure it was in good order.”

“So the short answer is, it’s not licensed to anyone.”

“That’s right.”

“What happens now?” Maura ignored Mick, who was watching her exchange with Sean with a half smile.

“I’ve told him to register it or get rid of it. The chief superintendent has to issue any certificates, and Tom’d have to show a good reason for having it.”

“What about whoever he might have shot?”

Sean took a long drink from his pint, then pushed back his stool to look at her. “And why would you be so concerned?”

“What if it’s Seamus’s killer, come back to look for the picture again?”

“Then he’s not very smart. Maybe he thought no one would be looking out for him at the manor now, but they’re all on edge there. Possible the fella’s been hit badly and has crawled off to die somewhere, though that’s unlikely, given the relatively small amount of blood. More like, he’s only been hit by a few pellets and might get by with some sticking plasters, which he could buy any number of places.”

“What if the injury was somewhere in between, and needs stitches?”

“If he goes to an A and E or a clinic, they’d be required to report it. Maura, you’re far too interested in all this. Are you planning to apply for the gardaí?”

She swallowed a laugh. “No. At least, I hadn’t considered it. I’d bet it’s less risky to be a garda around here than a cop back home, though. And it couldn’t pay less than this place does.” She sneaked a look at Mick, who ignored her comment. “Is it okay if I tell Gillian and Althea about this?”

Sean shrugged. “Seems as though half the world knows already. As I said, we have no direct evidence that a crime was even committed. Tell away.” He drained his glass. “Walk me out?”

“Sure.” Maura came around the bar, and Sean let her pass before he followed her out the door. “Did you want to tell me something?” she asked.

“Only that I enjoyed our dinner tonight, even with all the talk of murder. Can we do it again sometime?”

She smiled at him. “Sure. I had a good time too. And thanks for coming by.”

“I’ll see you, then.” After a brief return smile, Sean turned on his heel and went back to his car, leaving Maura feeling a little confused. Had she really expected him to try to kiss her? And what would she have done if he had?

“Good, you’re still open!” Gillian emerged out of the gathering dark. “Am I too late for a drink and a chat?”

“Hey, I’m the owner—I can do what I want. Come on, we’ll have a lock-in. I’ve only just learned how that works.”

Inside Sullivan’s, Maura went around the bar. “What’re you having?”

“Paddy’s, no ice.”

“Hard day?” Maura said, pouring a glass.

“I spent most of the evening with Althea.”

Hearing that, Maura added another half inch to the glass before pushing it across to Gillian. “That must have been fun. Learn anything?”

“Not for lack of gab. That woman could talk the hind legs off a donkey. But I figured it was better I stayed and kept an eye on her than leave her alone to get into trouble.”

“How did you and Harry do with the records?”

“We ran out of steam a couple of hours after you left, and I went home, but I think we can finish up tomorrow—it’s slow going, trying to decipher the old handwriting—thank God it’s in English, even if it’s old-fashioned. Oh, tell me—how was your evening with Sean?”

“My date? Fine, except we spent half of it talking about Seamus Daly’s death, and then he got a call to the manor.”

Gillian sat up straighter. “Indeed? What was that about?”

“Tom O’Brien fired a shotgun at somebody or something he thought was a prowler. Whatever it was, Tom hit it—Sean found blood, but not a lot.”

“And you’re thinking that this must be related to the painting and Althea again?”

“From everything I’ve heard, West Cork is a pretty peaceful place. So when we get a rash of crimes in a couple of days, I’m going to think they’re connected, though I can’t tell you how. Anyway, keep an eye out for somebody wearing a bandage or limping or whatever.” She thought for a moment. “Gillian, I had to tell Sean about what we’ve been doing. I mean, he knows why Althea is here, but not that we’re helping out—or not how much. I told him we found the painting, which he didn’t know. He’s going to have to report what I told him to the crime meeting in the morning, or whatever it is they call it.”

Gillian didn’t say anything immediately. “I suppose there’s no harm done. After all, we’ve broken no laws. And we don’t know anything new that points to the murder. Save that the painting is real and it’s in the manor.”

“I told him about the dust in the library too. I mean, the fact that it hadn’t been disturbed.”

“Ah,” Gillian replied and then fell silent. “So you’re guessing that Seamus’s killer really
was
looking for that painting and he hadn’t found it yet? Did you tell Sean that?”

“I did. I thought he should know, although he wouldn’t comment. Like you said, we aren’t doing anything wrong. Unless Althea is hiding something, which wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Nor me.” Gillian drained her glass and stood up. “I’d best get home. I need to get some painting done in the morning, if I want to eat this month.”

“Don’t forget to bring some of your stuff by here and we can see what looks good,” Maura offered.

“I’ll do that, maybe after Harry and I finish looking through the papers tomorrow.”

“Good.” Relieved that Gillian didn’t seem to want her help again with the musty old documents, Maura started to say good-bye, and then a thought hit her. “Gillian, did you say you were with Althea all evening? Until you came here?”

“I was—we had dinner at the pub at the hotel, and I’ve only just come from there. Why?”

“Then Althea couldn’t have been the one Tom O’Brien was shooting at, at the manor. Assuming it was human.”

Gillian laughed. “I’m not sure that Althea is quite human, but she definitely wasn’t at Mycroft House tonight. So maybe there is someone else involved . . . Let me think on it. See you tomorrow, Maura.”