Scandal in Skibbereen (30 page)

“There are. I’ll bring some by in the morning and I can meet her then. Thanks, Rose. Harry, can you snag that table in the corner? It looks like those people are leaving.”

“Consider it done.”

As Harry left on his mission, Maura leaned toward Gillian. “Is Eveline all right?”

“Just tired, as she said. Harry talked to her for a bit. I’ll fill you in when we get settled.”

“Okay. Pints, or you need something stronger?”

“This calls for whiskey, I think.”

“I’ll bring it over.”

Mick came in not long after and stopped to speak to Maura. “It’s all sorted out now?”

“More or less. Believe it or not, it looks like it was a thug from New Jersey who killed Seamus, or at least that’s the story of the moment. And now he’s at the garda station, as are Althea and Nate, although I’m not sure how many of them are under arrest.” At Mick’s bewildered look, Maura laughed. “It’s complicated—I’ll tell you when things aren’t quite so busy.”

“I can see that we need to talk.” He was interrupted by a trio of men who wanted drinks, and he turned away. “What can I get for yeh?”

Maura poured three glasses of Paddy whiskey and carried them over to the table Harry had grabbed. “Here you go,” she said, setting down the glasses and taking a seat herself. “Have I missed anything? Harry, is Eveline really all right?”

“She is, no thanks to us.” Harry took a long swallow of his drink and stared into what remained. “I realize now that I haven’t been fair to her. Sure, her practical needs are met—the O’Briens are good and loyal people, and they’d be hard to replace. I hope Hurley’s right and they won’t be in any sort of trouble. But I’d sort of put Eveline on a shelf, in my mind. You know, ‘old lady: taken care of; done.’ It never occurred to me that she would feel shunted aside. Lonely, as you put it, Gillian. I wasn’t paying attention—I just went about my life in Dublin.”

“Harry, you have to work to keep the place going,” Gillian said. “There are few jobs around here.”

Harry looked at her with a brief smile. “Ah, love, you’re making excuses for me. But, do you know, if I can sell that cursed painting, things would be a lot easier all around.”

“Do you think you can just sell off your ancestor like that?” Maura asked.

Harry smiled. “Nobody ever liked the thing, and nobody’s looked at it for years. From all I’ve ever heard, the old boy was a bit of a . . . what shall I say? A cad? A whacker? Come on, help me out here.”

“Bounder? Rake?” Gillian suggested.

“Pond scum,” Maura added.

“Any of the above will do. Bottom line, I wouldn’t miss him or his painting, nor would Aunt Evie. If there’s some museum or collector out there who’s willing to come up with a few million euros, they’re welcome to him. As I said earlier, I’ll give Althea a shot at handling it, but I’d like Gillian here to keep her honest, so we get a fair price for it.”

“I’m happy to help, Harry,” Gillian said.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” A look passed between them, and Maura wondered if maybe the whole mess had opened Harry’s eyes to what—or who—was right in front of him.

“What about Dorothy Ryan?” Maura said.

“Ah, right. Can we track her down?” Harry asked.

“No doubt Althea or Nate will know how to find her. But what do you want to do?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the small painting belongs to Dorothy, to do with as she pleases,” Harry said. “If it comes to legal proof, I’m sure it exists, according to what Aunt Evie told us, and I’ll be glad to pass it on to her.”

“If Dorothy chooses to sell, I’d guess Althea’s right—it would fetch more if it’s linked to the painting here,” Gillian commented. “But somebody has to explain it to her.”

“You’re kind of forgetting the other side of all this,” Maura said. “She’s a Townsend, even if she doesn’t have the name.”

“Maura, there’s no estate or title to claim,” Harry protested.

“That’s not what I meant,” Maura replied. “It’s not about claims or money. She’s family. Dorothy grew up thinking Mary Margaret Deasy was her grandmother. She barely knew her real grandmother, Jane, and only as some great-aunt she never saw. Her father was an only child. So no matter how you look at it, she hasn’t got many relatives, on that side, at least. But Eveline is her great-aunt, same as she is yours. And you’re some kind of cousin. So like I said, she’s family, and she should at least have the chance to know that and maybe to meet you. And Eveline, before it’s too late. And Sister Benedicta.”

Gillian smiled her approval. Harry looked a bit stunned. “I never thought about that. Do you think Aunt Evie would like to meet her?”

“Of course, Harry,” Gillian said. “The only grandchild of her favorite brother, and Joseph, who’s his son? Let’s see if we can make it happen, or at least get in touch with Dorothy and offer her the chance. I can follow up on that too, if you like.”

“Please,” Harry said gratefully.

Maura took a look around the room. More and more people were coming in, and the noise level had definitely gone up. Rose had to get home, which meant Maura had better take over. She stood up. “Hey, guys, I’d better get to work. Let me know if I can help with anything.” Not that she knew the first thing about high-end art auctions, but maybe she could offer Dorothy some advice, as one American to another, about how to deal with Ireland and unexpected relatives—now,
that
she did know a little about.

Maura was busy when Harry and Gillian slipped out not much later; Gillian waved on the way out the door. Nate and Althea hadn’t shown up: maybe the gardaí had decided to hold them. Though Maura had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of Althea.

Sean Murphy came in an hour later, when the pub was full to overflowing. He waded through the crowd to the bar.

“Sean! You off duty now?” Maura had to yell to be heard.

“I am. I’ll have a pint.”

“Coming up,” Maura replied and started filling yet another glass. “Everything wrapped up?”

“Let’s say the process has begun. Ray is after telling us that he’s a tourist here to visit relatives, but no one believes that. I think we’ve plenty of evidence against him to make a case. At least we know what happened to Seamus now.”

“You believe Nate’s story? Is Althea in the clear?”

“Most likely. And you can trust Detective Hurley to be fair.”

“That’s good. It’s been kind of a crazy week, hasn’t it? I mean, Althea just arrived here a week ago, and look at all that’s happened.” She topped off the pint and slid it across the bar to Sean. “I can’t hear myself think—do you want to go outside?”

“Can’t and take this,” Sean yelled, holding up his glass. “Against the law.”

“How about in back?” Maura led the way to the large, empty back room, where it was much quieter.

Sean appeared fascinated by the space. “I never knew this room was here. You’ve a bar back here as well?”

Maura surveyed the mess of jumbled tables and chairs and discarded equipment. “I really don’t know the history of the place. I’ve been kind of waiting to see what business is like during the busy season before I decide if I need to use this part. And if I do, I won’t be able to get it cleaned up until fall.”

“Looks like there’s been music here, if not lately.” Sean nodded toward what looked like a mishmash of drums and bulky amplifiers stashed on the balcony that ran around the upper part of the room.

“Could be. I can ask around, and I’ll talk with Billy—I’m sure he’d know the whole story. So tell me, why haven’t you arrested Ray?”

“It’s about getting the warrant. It’s not like in the States, from what I hear. We take a suspect into custody, and we can hold him for a time, but we have to request the warrant for the arrest itself directly from Dublin, and we have to present convincing evidence for it before they’ll issue it.”

“You mean, put the whole case together before you can get it? No wonder it’s not easy. You think you have enough?”

“We do for Raymond Finneran. Is it the others yer worried about?”

“Not so much Nate, but maybe Althea. Althea may be annoying, but she didn’t plan to kill anyone. According to her story, Ray attacked Nate, and she was only trying to help. Nate doesn’t sound like the smartest guy, but he’s not responsible for what Ray might have done. Well, maybe for his being here at all, but he couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“Maura Donovan, are you tellin’ me yer stickin’ up for Althea now?” Sean took a swig from his pint.

“Well, maybe. Kind of. She didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Do you know, Maura Donovan, you were a great help in our investigation. You watched and listened. If you hadn’t put Althea together with Old Billy, Althea might have just given up and gone home.”

Which might have been a better outcome for everyone,
Maura thought. “I think she was pretty determined—she might have worked it out on her own.”

“Not if no one would’ve talked to her. And you listened to Billy when he told you to talk with Bridget Nolan. There are some would’ve blown him off.”

“I like Old Billy. He has a sharp memory, no matter what he looks like. Although I have noticed he puts on kind of an act for tourists, but it gets him plenty of free drinks.”

“I’m not surprised. What I’m trying to say is, Detective Hurley sends his thanks. And I thank you as well. You’ve done me a good turn, helping me out with this. It looks good on the record, that I’ve had a hand in solving another murder.”

Maura could feel herself blushing. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

They both fell into an awkward silence, and for a wild moment Maura wondered if Sean was thinking of kissing her—and realized that maybe she wanted him to. Before either of them could decide, Mick ducked his head in the doorway.

“Maura, can you lend a hand out here? The word’s out about the murders, and it’s mad busy.”

“I’d better go,” Maura told Sean. “I’ve got a business to run.”

“I’ll be seeing you later, then,” Sean said.

I
t turned out to be one of the busiest nights Maura had seen at Sullivan’s. The solution of Seamus Daly’s murder combined with a juicy story about the local nobs had everyone buzzing—and buying pints. Maura was glad she knew a lot of what had happened behind the scenes, but she restricted herself to correcting errors rather than spreading gossip—there was enough of that floating around the pub without her adding to it.

Billy Sheahan stuck around for a couple of hours early in the evening, but Maura wasn’t worried that he’d say too much. He was more discreet than most people gave him credit for. Gillian and Harry had left together, and Harry’d had an arm over Gillian’s shoulder—had they gone home together? Maybe this past week had shaken Harry up a bit, made him look at things in a new light, but whether he would stay with Gillian was another question. Maura was pretty sure that Eveline would like that, though.

Mick was shooing the last patrons out the door at closing time when Maura saw Althea come in, looking drained. Long gone was the New York fashionista she’d been only a week earlier. Mick arched an eyebrow at Maura, and Maura mouthed, “It’s okay.” Mick took one last look around the room, then went out, closing the door behind him. His day was over.

Althea approached the bar tentatively. “Am I welcome here?”

“Sure. You want something to drink?”

“Isn’t it past closing time? I don’t want to risk breaking any more Irish laws than I already have.”

“I can offer a drink to a friend, if I like.”

“Thank you. For the ‘friend’ part, I mean. I’ll take a Jameson’s, if you have it. Will you have one with me?”

Maura found two clean glasses and poured. She slid them across the bar, then came around to sit on the stool next to Althea’s. “So the guards didn’t hold you?”

“No. It took me this long to talk my way out of there, but you were right. That detective is a fair man, and a thorough one. I’m glad he believed me in the end. I’m not a criminal, just stupid.”

Maura didn’t contradict her. She sipped her whiskey—not her favorite drink, but she had to admit this one was smooth. “And Nate?”

“That’s a little more complicated. The police aren’t very happy with him, mostly because he concealed a lot of things, and there were consequences. They may keep him around for a while.”

“Do you believe he had anything to do with Seamus’s death?”

Althea shook her head. “Not beyond bringing that Jersey goon here. Nate’s an idiot, but I’m glad Ray isn’t dead—that would have been a real mess. And I wouldn’t want to think I’d killed someone, even by accident.”

They sat in silence for a minute or two. Finally Althea said, “Maura, I’m really here to apologize. You’ve been great about trying to help me, and all I’ve done is complain and make demands. You and Gillian both—you tried to tell me to dial it back, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

“You had a lot at stake,” Maura said carefully.

“Sure, I thought finding that painting was important, but I’ve realized I was only thinking of myself. I never stopped to think that looking for it and finding it would involve so many other people’s lives. I never thought anyone would die because of it.”

Maura sneaked a glance at her. Were those tears in Althea’s eyes? “What are you going to do now?”

“I . . . don’t know. I mean, I—no,
we
found the painting and it’s everything I hoped it would be, and it’s a terrific story, but . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t feel right using that for my own ends. Not after all that’s happened.”

“You go public with the story, and it’s worth more. You told me that,” Maura pointed out.

“I know. But . . . I guess it’s not as important to me to get it into that exhibit and to have my moment of glory as it was when I started. I can still work to get the word out, so that Eveline and Harry will benefit. Somebody in the world—and I’d like to hope it’s a museum rather than a private collector who’ll hide it away for another century—will get an incredible painting. But I don’t want to profit from something that caused someone’s death.”

“Why, Althea, I do believe you’ve grown a conscience!” Maura said, smiling.

Althea looked at her then and returned the smile. “Ya think?” They clinked glasses. Then Althea went on, “You know, I should spend more time talking with you. I mean, you’ve got to have a story, right? You can’t have had an easy life, growing up in South Boston, losing your family, not a lot of opportunities. And here you are, where you never expected to be, and it looks to me like you’re doing just fine. How did that happen?”

“Ireland happened. I think you’ve seen some of that. Time seems slower here. People are willing to help you, if you’ll give them a chance. I’ve got deep roots here, ones I never knew I had. I’m still trying to figure out how and where I fit, but it’s a good place to be.”

“Maybe I should stick around a while longer, or come back after the exhibit opens. I wonder if Harry would let me inventory his collection of paintings. At least then he’d know what he’s got. Maybe I could bring Dorothy and her father over and introduce them to the rest of the family. And I could still help Gillian place some of her paintings where they’ll get more attention. She really does have talent.”

“All good ideas, but it’s up to you. I’ve got enough on my hands here without trying to manage
your
life.”

“You couldn’t do worse than I have lately!” Althea laughed. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for everything. I guess I’d better get back to the hotel—I’m exhausted.”

“Slán abhaile,”
Maura said. When Althea looked blankly at her she said, “That means ‘safe home’ in Irish.”

“Ah. Well, thanks again.”

Maura watched her go, to make sure she got safely to her car. She did and drove off, leaving Maura alone in Sullivan’s.

Chalk up one more victory for Ireland, Maura thought. Funny how the place changed people.