“No. She was born in America, and I doubt Gran ever said anything to her. Heck, Gran didn’t tell me anything. But I don’t think Helen’s a snoop, so if she wants to stay, I might let her. And Susan, although she’s not related by blood to the last generations. Only to me, I guess.”
“Ah, Maura … I’ll come by later and see what’s happenin’. If nobody’s interested, I’ll have me pint and call it a day. But there are few of us who remember what happened, and if we say nothin’, the story will be lost. Let’s see how it goes.”
Maura stood up. “Thank you, Billy. I’m still finding my way through local history, and who’s who. It’s not like anything I’ve known before. Some people might tell me this doesn’t involve me, but others have given some hints that it may. I’ll just wait and see. And I’ll see you later, I hope.”
“For a while, at least.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Maura couldn’t figure out how she felt as she walked slowly back to the entrance of Sullivan’s. Billy hadn’t bitten her head off, or pretended that he didn’t know what she was talking about, not that she had really expected him to—he was basically an honest man as well as being a friend. After talking to Bridget, who was Billy’s age, she could tell it was a story that had been important to both of them, and possibly their extended family and friends, but that they’d been reluctant to share. But she was pretty sure there was no one left to accuse of murdering the man. She wasn’t going to say anything to Garda Sean until she knew more. On the other hand, if he managed to find any information about a suspicious death that had happened that long ago, she wouldn’t lie to him.
She’d found the small clutch of letters between her grandmother and Bridget before she left Boston and skimmed them, but there had been no mention of a long-ago crime. She couldn’t recall seeing any letters to or from Mick Sullivan, although maybe Bridget had passed on information. Or maybe everyone had been content to forget what had happened, whatever it was.
It was another beautiful day, and church had already let out. No one seemed interested in stopping by the pub, and most likely the cows needed them, given the welcome weather. She wasn’t surprised to see Mick come out when he spotted her. “It’s quiet today. Yeh want to sit fer a while and enjoy the day?”
“Sure, why not?” She settled on the garden bench she’d bought several months earlier, and Mick joined her.
“Did yeh talk to Billy?” he asked.
“I did.”
“Will he be comin’ later?”
“I think so. It was kind of like talking with Bridget earlier. He’d say things, but in a sort of roundabout way, without all the details. But I think he agrees with her—the story needs to be told, though not necessarily to the gardaí or the rest of the world. If it was something that only the pair of them knew about, I doubt we’d ever hear a thing about it. But since both of them seem willing to share what they know with me and with Darragh, I have to think there’s something more complicated going on. Or there was, years ago. I’m not sure I want to know what happened—I kind of like things the way they are. We don’t have to share whatever we learn with the rest of Leap, do we?”
“Not on my account. It’s old history now.” Mick fell silent for a bit, then said, “So yeh never learned anythin’ about Irish history in school?”
“Maybe a few sentences about the Potato Famine. Why?”
“Because there’s much of our local history that comes from conflicts in the past. You might call it all part of the same conflict, since they seemed to keep sprouting anew, or you might say the Irish love to fight about something, and every few years they find something else to quarrel about. And, occasionally, kill each other about.”
“And I know squat about most of them. I saw the movie Michael Collins on some TV channel, and if you lived in Boston, you heard a lot about Whitey Bulger. And that was about all.”
“Sam’s Cross, where Collins was born, isn’t far from yer cottage. It’s a small country, remember? And he died not far from Bandon.”
“So why is this supposed to matter to me?” Maura demanded.
“Because yeh’ve probably already seen that most people in places like Cork are related to each other. That cuts both ways, depending on whether yeh know them or not. And whether you believe they’ve cheated yeh in some way. Like stealin’ yer cattle. Or done harm to a relative.”
“So how does all that figure in what we’re trying to learn about the dead man in the rath?”
“I’d wager yeh’ve already guessed that he was known to one or more of the families who lived near yer cottage, years back, and may still. Like Bridget and yer gran.”
Maura stared out at the harbor. “I don’t like it.”
“Nor should you, but it did happen, back in the day.”
“So how do I talk with Bridget and Billy?”
“Let them talk. They mean yeh no harm. More likely they’ve tried to protect yeh, or they’re afraid of hurting yeh.”
“Mick, I’m going to have to think about this for a while. Are you going to go pick up Bridget?”
“That I am. I spoke with her on the phone while you were talkin’ to Billy. Tell Rose to make a sign fer the front saying we’re closed for renovations or something and tidy up the back room, while I go pick up me gran.”
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Do we need to feed anybody? I’m never sure either Billy or Bridget gets enough to eat.”
“If yeh must, send Rose to get somethin’ they can eat. Not a meal, mind yeh, but somethin’.” He stood up and headed for his parked car.
Maura couldn’t summon enough energy to move, so she sat and thought. She’d been in Ireland over a year now. It had taken a bit of getting used to, after living in Boston all her life, but after a while she had found she enjoyed it, and she liked many of the people. And she had a home and a business, thanks to Old Mick, whom she’d never even met. But it was beginning to seem like any time anything happened, it was like scraping off the present to see pieces of the past. And the past wasn’t too far below the surface, only most of the time she didn’t recognize it at all, even though most people she knew here did.
She knew Bridget and Billy as well as anybody around, but apparently that was less well than she had thought. They’d been good to her, and Bridget was the closest link to her past that she knew. Clearly Bridget had chosen her stories carefully, but now they seemed to be cropping up unexpectedly.
But Maura had a choice: shut down the conversation before it got started, or find out what they hadn’t said since she’d arrived. She had a feeling it had something to do with why her gran had packed up and headed for Boston with her son so quickly, and then never talked about where she had come from. Which in a way had helped make Maura who she was today. She might not like what she heard, but she needed to know the truth about the past. Her past, somehow.
Back inside, she cornered Rose. “Rose, would you mind making a sign for the front window? I’m planning a meeting with a few people in a bit, and I don’t want to be interrupted. Mick’s going to pick up Bridget, probably around six, and Old Billy will be coming too. And Darragh Hegarty. Don’t worry—no real problems, just some details about the body we found in Knockskagh. And if Sean Murphy comes looking for us, I don’t think we’ll be ready to talk to him, but I will tomorrow if he wants.”
“Sounds serious, Maura,” Rose said, looking concerned. “Is everything all right?”
“It is. Don’t worry. We’re just trying to tie up a few loose ends about something that happened a long time ago.”
“About the dead man, yeh mean?”
“Exactly. But he’s been dead a long time. This is just to settle some things from the past.”
“Am I invited?”
“If you like. I don’t really know what we’ll be talking about, but you know these people better than I do, and Old Mick hired you and Jimmy, so you knew him too. And you’re not supposed to be serving us—just be part of the group. But please don’t tell Jimmy abou
t any of it. If he knows already, fine, but if he doesn’t, he’d probably spread it all over West Cork.”
Rose smiled. “I hear what yer sayin’. And I’d be guessin’ I should get some food in?”
“Shoot, I almost forgot. Please get enough to feed us all, but sandwiches would do. Oh, and one other thing: thanks for keeping Susan busy. She seems to be enjoying herself. I’m so glad she wasn’t stuck following her mother around at the hotel—she’s getting to know a bit more about Ireland this way.”
“I think she may be havin’ a good time. Sounds like she doesn’t get much chance to try out new things back home. And she says it’s a relief not to have to deal with her brother. Will she be coming back again, do yeh think?”
“I think her mother’s willing, but even if the hotel survives, I don’t know what Helen’s schedule will be. And I guess I’m not sure how long Susan will be interested, or if she finds something else she enjoys, but I’d be happy to have her. And the kitchen looks great.”
“We’re almost ready to make a go of it. We can talk about staffing later. And menus.”
“Sure. Mick’s just gone to pick up his gran—we invited her this morning. And Darragh Hegarty, although I’m not sure he’ll come—he’s part of the story too. I don’t know how long we’ll have, since our main guests are well past eighty and need their sleep, and we have to get Bridget home.”
“I understand,” Rose said, smiling. “I’ll get to work on that sign, then pick up some stuff fer supper.”
“Thanks, Rose.”
One more thing done. Maura was forced to realize that apart from running a pub—a public house, where the public was expected to show up—she had little experience with entertaining a small group of people or throwing a small party. And she was nervous, which was ridiculous. She knew all these people, and they were her friends. Except for Darragh, but he might get some closure out of their gathering. Unless he was looking for vengeance or something, and they’d probably be finding out soon enough how his grandfather had died and nobody had ever explained how or why. If Mick knew anything about that, he hadn’t said—he was pretty protective of his grandmother. And Maura had to wonder if she really wanted to know what had happened. Her own grandmother had kept her secret well. Why?
Rose disappeared for a short while and returned triumphantly waving a couple of bags from Costcutter up the street. “I’ve bought some cake, if that’s all right. Will we be wantin’ tea? Or coffee?”
“Either one’s fine with me,” Maura told her. “Billy might want his pint, but I don’t think this is an event for drink. We can play it by ear. At least if we’re in the back, we won’t look like we’re all sitting in a fishbowl. I’d rather not have outsides barging in tonight.”
“Yeh haven’t talked to Sean, have yeh?”
“No, I want to know more first. And I didn’t invite Helen and Susan. If Helen is connected, it’s not closely. And she’s not Irish. Do you think I’m Irish, Rose?”
“More each day. It was there hidin’ all the while.”
“Thanks. I think,” Maura said, and went back to cleaning off the tables in the back.
Mick returned half an hour later, escorting Bridget and handling her like she was made of china. Bridget looked calm and happy—maybe she didn’t get out very often anymore, although Mick brought her to church regularly. She certainly didn’t seem worried about the coming talk.
Bridget greeted Maura warmly, even though they’d seen each other only a few hours earlier. “Thank yeh, Maura. I hope our gathering won’t upset yeh, and I think yer gran Nora would approve. Is Billy comin’?”
“He is,” Maura told her. “You and Billy share this story, don’t you?”
“We do, though it happened a long time ago. And as yeh know, we both knew Mick Sullivan well. You’ve done him proud with this place.”
“And I’m grateful to have it, Bridget. I thought we could sit in the back room—more private. Would you like some tea? Coffee? And Rose brought cake.”
“I’ll wait fer Billy, if yeh don’t mind.”
“Then please sit. Did you spend any more time with Darragh?”
“Only a bit. I’m not sure we’ll be seein’ him here. He’s a troubled young man, but he knows very little of this story—only enough to make him angry. I believe it’s because he was raised near a city, by a family who kept silent. I think livin’ here all these years has helped us. Ah, Billy, there yeh are. When did we last meet?”
Billy was beaming as he walked in and saw Bridget. “Must’ve been after Christmas? Or nearer Lá Fhéile Pádraig.”
“Billy, that’s too big a party fer me. Call it Christmas. Half a year, then.”
“I’m happy to see yeh, even if it’s for an unhappy reason.”
“Maura deserved to know, and if the Hegarty lad comes, he needs to hear it. Fer you and me, it’s ancient history.”
“Maybe we should move to the back room and get comfortable,” Maura said. “Rose put up a sign to warn other patrons we’d be closed to work on the kitchen—not that we’ve had many people in here of late, and it’s Sunday. And we have tea or coffee—or a pint, Billy, if you want.”
“Let’s begin and we’ll see how we feel. I’d like to stay awake fer this, which isn’t an easy thing at my age.”
Maura smiled at him. “I understand. Rose, can you stay out here a little longer and see if Darragh shows up? If not, you can turn out the lights and join us.”
“No worries, Maura.”
“Then let’s get started,” Maura said, and led the way to the quiet back room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The back room seemed strangely quiet to Maura, with no people in it except their small group. She’d gotten used to the music nights there, when it was impossible to hear a conversation with a person sitting next to you. But in that case, whatever the volume, people seemed to enjoy the setting and the company—and the music too. It had been a good idea to open it up to something new like that—or to revive what had once been new but had faded away under Old Mick Sullivan.
She hadn’t made a plan before shepherding her friends together. When she started to form a plan, the door opened to reveal Rose leading Darragh into the back room. Rose followed him, then closed the door behind her.
Darragh looked anxiously around the room. “Sorry I’m late. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come, but then I told myself, it’s kind of the reason why I was here, outside Leap. I had only shreds of a story about what had happened to my grandfather, but I couldn’t just leave without knowing what there was to know. If that makes people here uncomfortable, you can tell me to go.”
“Ah, lad, none of that,” Billy said. “You may not like the story, but yeh’re family to us in a way. Bridget and me”—Billy glanced at his longtime friend—”we’re the last people who know what really happened. Maura’s grandmother Nora knew the truth, but she made the choice not to share it, and left here for Boston with her young son. Maura here has told us that her gran never told her anythin’ about where she’d come from and why she’d left. We plan to change that tonight, if yeh’re all willin’.”
Nobody seemed to object. Maura cleared her throat anxiously. “This meeting came about only yesterday,” she began, “because Mick Nolan and I found a body buried inside the fairy fort on land which is mine now, but which belonged to Mick Sullivan before. I inherited the land and his cottage and this pub because he and my gran kept in touch, and she fixed it that it should be mine. I never met him, and my gran never said anything about what she’d set up, but told me I had to come here and say her good-byes to her old friends. That was more than a year ago now. But it was finding the body that brought about this meeting tonight. Before you ask, I can tell you that the gardaí don’t know who the dead man was. I certainly didn’t, and if Mick Nolan did, he didn’t tell me. That leaves you, Billy, and Bridget as the only ones who know who he was and what happened to him.”
Darragh cleared his throat and spoke. “I’ve met you all now. I came he
re under false pretenses, or sort of false. We were all at the university, studying archaeology, and like Ciara told Maura, she and her friends were students doing research on fairy forts, and would she mind showing us the one on her land? Maura didn’t know it existed, so we all looked at it together to start. We said we’d be back the next day, and Maura came with us again, then left to come here. Then she and Mick Nolan came back to the ring fort, but I wasn’t there at the time. I guess she got curious and started poking around, and that’s when she found there was a body buried there. She didn’t look any farther, but called the gardaí in Skibbereen and told them what she’d found, and they came and gathered up the body and sent it to Cork to examine. And that’s where things stood for a bit.”
He took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself. “I didn’t grow up here, but I’m pretty sure I know who the man was: my grandfather, Cornelius Hegarty. He died before I was old enough to remember him, and my family moved closer to Dublin. They never talked about him, at least not when I could overhear, but there were always a few odd comments about him. Somehow the name of this village—Leap—and the name of the pub came up. Bridget told me that my parents sometimes came back for a visit, and she met with them—and with me—now and then. She was always friendly to us.
“I know you must be wondering why I’m going on like this,” he went on. “Really it’s because of a couple of odd comments over the years, about why my grandfather Cornelius died, and who might have killed him. I remembered those comments mainly because of mention of a fairy fort, which stuck in my head, and when I got interested in archaeology at university, I did some research and found how many there were. But the last clue I came cross was the way my family members would mention a man named Mick Sullivan, especially after a few rounds in one pub or another. They never said why, but they hated the very name of the man. So when I was looking at old maps for the county and came across a map that showed a fairy fort on land owned by Mick Sullivan, I knew I had to come looking here. Once I saw the place, I was pretty sure I’d found a body, but I couldn’t look more closely just then, so I left for a while, and Maura showed up while I was gone.
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