The Lost Traveller

by Sheila Connolly

  Once again, Maura couldn’t hide her blush. “Fine. I think. I have nothing to compare to. He smiles more than he used to.”

  “He never used to smile at all, whenever I saw him, so that must be a good sign.”

  “We’re taking things slowly. I’ve made enough big changes in my life in the past year, so I’m not in a hurry.” Still, it was nice to know that Mick was happy, or at least happier than in the past.

  “I’m not pushing you in any direction, Maura. But you’re a friend, and I want you to stay around. Oh, and I want you to be happy too, but if that doesn’t include Mick, that’s all right. It’s your life.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.” Maura smiled at Gillian. “None of this kind of stuff used to happen to me back in Boston. Anyway, enough about me. How’s the hunt for a childminder going?”

  Gillian’s face fell. “Terrible. I started out with high hopes, you know. There are all sorts of agencies listed on the Internet, but when I started looking at the details, most of the girls or women wanted full-time, live-in positions, in or near a city. None of which can I offer. I didn’t even dare look at how much salary they expected to receive, beyond room and board and a day or two off each week. I wouldn’t mind offering a room, or at least subsidizing one. Has Rose had any luck finding someone for us?”

  “Gillian, we only asked her to ask around yesterday, and she’s been to exactly one class at the cookery since. So no, no results. You know, she hasn’t been there very long, and she’s usually at the pub when she’s not taking classes or putting in time in the kitchen there, so I’d guess she hasn’t had a lot of time to get to know the other people. And she’s been so busy that she hasn’t been able to keep up with her local friends from school, most of whom seem to have moved on anyway. What kind of a schedule are you looking for? Or maybe I should ask, what do you think is the best you could hope for?”

  The waitress delivered their lunch and stopped a moment to coo at Henry, who, miraculously, was still asleep and looked angelic. When she’d gone back behind the counter, Gillian resumed, “Well, I know I can’t be as flexible with my painting schedule as I was before. You know—getting lost in the work and trying to capture the last of the light, and then looking up to find that ten hours have passed.”

  Maura laughed. “No, I don’t know. I run a pub, remember? It has set opening and closing hours and we’re always short of staff. But to get back to you, in the real world, what do you want?”

  Gillian reflected. “Well, I’d settle for maybe four uninterrupted hours at a stretch, three days a week. If I’m inspired, Harry can fill in now and then. But I don’t know where I can find someone with that irregular a schedule.”

  “At least that gives me an idea of what you’re looking for. Now, as far as I know, twelve hours a week isn’t going to support much of anyone around here, unless you’re offering a lot per hour. Of course, I don’t have any idea what the going rate for much of anything is. I mean, Rose and Mick kind of came with the place, and I asked them what they’d been making under Old Mick and they told me, and that’s what I’ve been paying them. Which for all I know is completely unfair to them.”

  “Do you know what the minimum wage is in the country?”

  “Uh, no. I assume you do?”

  “Of course I do—I’m married to an accountant, remember? Since 2017, an experienced adult worker is entitled to at least nine point two five euros per hour—and that term ‘experienced’ is pretty easy to meet. The rate goes down from there, based on age and experience. Which means, you can hire someone younger and unskilled for less.”

  “Huh,” Maura said, feeling stupid. She’d never liked math much, but she did have a responsibility to the people who worked for her, and she needed to know this kind of stuff if she was going to hire more people, which might mean she’d have to increase what she paid Mick and Rose too. And then take a hard look at her budget.

  “Do you pay yourself?” Gillian asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Uh, sort of. I mean, I have the house, and I don’t eat much, but I do have to buy gas and insurance and stuff. But it’s not exactly a salary I can count on.”

  Gillian was shaking her head before Maura finished talking. “I think I need to get you together with Harry when you have some free time.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I never expected to run a business, so I didn’t prepare for it. I mean, I took a couple of night classes on budgets and accounting, but I guess I didn’t take them seriously—I just thought they’d help me get a job. But can we please get back to the problem right now? I need to find more staff, you need a part-time someone to look after Henry. What do we do?”

  Gillian poked at the food that remained on her plate. Without looking at Maura, she said, “Well, there are some other options, if you’re not too particular about the legal side of things…”

  “What, hire somebody undocumented?”

  “It doesn’t have to be someone who’s in the country illegally, but some don’t qualify for work permits and the like right away if they’re waiting for a green card or a visa or permanent status. And they may not have family or friends around to support them while they wait.”

  “Oh,” Maura said. “That sucks. But—the gardaí are in and out of Sullivan’s all the time. How could I hire anybody who’s not quite legal without them noticing?”

  Gillian shrugged. “I don’t know, but I may find out when I get truly desperate, and I don’t get a lot of visits from the gardaí. I love this child to distraction, but I’m forgetting who ‘me’ is. I need some outside help, and my family’s useless.”

  “I do understand, Gillian—really. Like I said, it sounds like we have the same problem but for different reasons. You need to find some time to keep you sane, and if I look hard at it, I’m probably going to burn out if I try to keep doing everything at the pub myself. So somehow we have to find a hidden group of part-timers with flexible hours who can fill in when we need them.”

  “Or we could share one person and make it up to full-time hours. Half barmaid, half baby-minder.”

  “Worth thinking about!” Maura said. “Are we having dessert?”

  “Need you ask?” Gillian grinned.

  They managed to make it back to Sullivan’s in less than an hour. By that time, Henry had begun to make little whimpering noises, so Gillian elected to take him home to feed him his lunch. As she was leaving, she told Maura, “Let’s think some more about what we talked about. And talk to Rose—she probably has a better idea of what the other students’ schedules are like. And if we come up with an arrangement that suits, it doesn’t need to be forever. Things do keep changing—even babies.”

  Maura smiled. “I’d make a bad pun, but I don’t think you need to hear it.”

  “Oh, sorry. I guess I’m used to it. See you soon!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Even after a full year and more, Maura was still trying to figure out the crowd patterns for the pub. Actually, crowd was kind of an exaggeration, since sometimes—usually midweek, midafternoon—the crowd might be only three people, each buying one and only one drink. But she couldn’t open and close by the hour, could she? Maybe that one person who arrived and found the door locked at three o’clock in the afternoon would be the one who could have changed her life, but he went to the Harbour Bar only a few steps away instead. Although, come to think of it, she seldom saw more than one person working the bar there, and they served food. She really needed to work out a plan for staffing.

  The next arrivals were the family she had met the day before—she struggled a moment to remember the name. It started with an A … Albertson, that was it. American. Mom, Dad, and sulky daughter. Mick had set them up with a friendly B and B not far away. Right now the Albertsons looked kind of nervous, and Maura guessed that they’d heard about the death.

  Mom—Linda?—took the lead. “Hi, remember us?” she said, advancing tentatively into the room.

  “Sure,” Maura said promptly. “You’re the Albertsons. H
ow’s the place working out?”

  “Oh, it’s very nice. Peaceful too. I didn’t realize there’d be so many cows around here.”

  “County Cork is a major dairy region. I’ll bet you even get Cork butter in the U.S. these days. Can I get you something?”

  “I, uh—could we talk for a minute? You don’t look too busy.”

  “No problem. You sure I can’t get you something? Coffee? A Guinness?”

  The husband—Marv, Maura remembered—finally spoke. “I haven’t had a Guinness since we got here. Give me a pint. Please.”

  Linda laid a hand on his arm and said anxiously, “Oh, Marv, should you be drinking so early in the day? And you’re driving.”

  “Don’t worry, Linda,” Maura reassured her. “It’s not that strong, and he doesn’t have to finish it, if you’re worried. But he’s right—everybody should try it in Ireland. If you’ve had it back in the States, it’s a very different drink.”

  “Okay, I guess.” Linda didn’t seem convinced. “But let me have a coffee, please. Jannie?” she called out to her daughter. “You want something to drink?”

  Jannie tore herself away from the array of old music posters and souvenirs on the walls and said, “What sodas you got?”

  So the girl actually could speak? “Of course. Coke? Pepsi? Or juice, if you want.”

  “Whatever,” Jannie said, trying to pretend she wasn’t connected to her parents.

  “Coming up. Why don’t you sit down at a table and I’ll bring your drinks over?”

  “Great!” Marv said with forced heartiness. “This way, ladies.” He shepherded his little family to a corner table overlooking the street.

  While she poured the drinks, Maura told Mick, “They seem worried about something, and I said I’d talk with them. Either they hate their B and B or they’ve heard about the body. If it’s the second one, I have to figure out how to tell them that this is about as safe a place as you can be in Ireland. I’ll bet Indiana has a higher crime rate.”

  “Could be, but it’s not what they were lookin’ fer in a happy holiday,” Mick said.

  “True. Could you do me a coffee while the pint settles?”

  When the drinks were ready, Maura carried them over to the table, handed them out, and sat down. “So, what can I help you with?”

  Linda took the lead, after a glance at her husband, who was enthusiastically sampling the Guinness. “We’re sorry to bother you, but I thought that since you were American, you’d understand.”

  That could mean any number of things. “Is it something about the B and B? I don’t know the people who run it, but Mick does and he vouches for them.”

  “Oh, no, no, it’s not them. They’ve been very welcoming, and the place is lovely—simple, but it has all the necessities. But we were in the town, and I overheard someone say something about a murder?”

  Maura had guessed right. “We don’t know officially if it’s a murder yet, but yes, a body was found yesterday—he’d died the night before, it looks like.”

  Linda looked down at her coffee and swirled it around with her spoon. “It’s just that we came to Ireland because we thought it was peaceful. No crime, you know.”

  “And it is,” Maura said firmly. “Look, I grew up in a kind of rough part of Boston. I knew plenty about crime there, and I knew people who committed them. This place is nothing like that. Ireland isn’t like that, and this corner of the country is about as crime-free as it gets. I won’t sugarcoat it. You go to the cities—Dublin, Cork, even Limerick—and you’ll find crime, because that’s the way the world is these days. Yes, there are gangs and drugs, and people get into fights. But not once you get outside of the cities. I’m pretty sure you can look up the numbers on the Internet for Cork. It’s too bad this guy had to die, but nobody’s even sure how or where it happened. Please, don’t think it’s normal for around here. And I know some of the guys at the police station—that’s in Skibbereen—and they’re good people. Does that help?”

  Marv spoke up in a hearty voice, “See, Linda? I told you you were worrying about nothing.” He turned to Maura. “She worries a lot, you know. She’s sure I’m gonna run headfirst into a car because I forget which side of the road I’m supposed to be driving on. Or I’ll give somebody the wrong bill and blow the budget.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about that—people around here are honest. You overpay, they’ll tell you. As for the driving stuff, just take it easy until you’re used to it. A lot of the local roads are too small to worry about which side you’re on—just don’t go too fast, especially around curves. On the bigger roads, like the one out there”—Maura nodded toward the road that ran in front of the building—“you might have noticed that there are dotted yellow lines along the side in some places. That means you can pull over there and let someone behind you pass. If they really, really want to get by, they’ll flash their lights. Just take it slow.”

  “Good advice just about anywhere,” Marv said. “Doesn’t seem too crowded anyway.”

  “Mostly it isn’t. But don’t try to drive through Skibbereen on a Sunday morning when church is letting out.”

  He smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Anything else I can tell you? What brought you to this part of the country? What kind of things do you want to see? This time of year, there are a lot of small festivals going on that might interest you.”

  Jannie spoke—the first time Maura had heard her put together two sentences. “Hey—those posters and stuff on the walls. They for real?”

  “Yeah. The guy who used to own this place probably had all those bands here in the past, going back a long way. We’re trying to bring that back now, with current bands, although things are really different now.”

  “Cool. Can anybody come? I mean, would they let me in?” For once, Jannie looked almost excited about something.

  “Janice!” Her mother protested quickly. “A bar? At night?” She turned to Maura. “I assume this music takes place at night?”

  Maura hid a smile. What kind of a place did Linda think she was running? “Yes. But look around, will you? This is not some grungy bar full of scruffy characters. Anybody is welcome, if you pay the cover fee, which isn’t very high. Before you ask, Linda, no, we do not serve alcohol to minors, and my staff knows that. No exceptions. Heck, you probably saw Rose the first time you came in. She’s seventeen, and she’s been working here longer than I have. She knows the rules, and she doesn’t drink. As for the music, I’d guess the average age of the audience falls somewhere between you and your daughter, but we don’t allow any kind of violence. No fights. We want people to have a good time.”

  “You got anybody coming in this weekend?” Jannie said.

  “Sure. Check the poster on the door—I have trouble keeping track of the band names.”

  Jannie flashed a brief smile. “Dad? Can we? Come some night, I mean?”

  Marv looked conflicted, and then glanced at Maura and seemed to come to a decision. “Yeah, why not? That’s why we came to Ireland, right? To see what the place is really like.” Linda looked worried but didn’t say anything, but Maura assumed Dad would win out.

  “Hey, if you’re worried, why don’t you talk to Rose? She’s just come in.” Maura nodded toward the bar, and Rose raised a hand and waved.

  “She looks like a perfectly nice girl,” Linda said dubiously.

  “She is. Go talk to her, Jannie.” Maura stood up quickly. “Oops, gotta go—customers.”

  The place filled up gradually over the next hour or so, and Maura didn’t notice when the happy Albertsons slipped out. She wondered why they had really come to Ireland. People who just wanted a change of scene usually went to the beach somewhere, like Florida. Whose idea had it been to come all the way to Ireland? And why not England? Maybe there was a story there, but Maura didn’t have time to worry about it. Despite the Albertsons’ reaction to the death, most local people came for information, to trade gossip, to catch up on local news. It wasn’t ghoulish; it was
just normal human curiosity. And, lucky for her, most people wanted a pint to go along with the gossip.

  At some point, Maura joined Rose behind the bar. “You saw the Albertsons, right?”

  “I did that. They seem a bit out of place, do they not?”

  “Yes, I guess they do. They seem scared of their shadow. The first thing they asked about was the dead man here.”

  “Maybe they came here to get away from things like that back home?”

  “But I wouldn’t have thought they’d get so upset by one event. I’ll have to ask where they come from exactly. They said Indiana, but there’s a lot of Indiana, I think, and some of it’s kind of rough, or so I’ve heard. Never been there.”

  “Rougher than yer Boston?” Rose asked, polishing a glass.

  “Maybe in a few parts, but not in general. If we see them again, maybe you could talk with Jannie? I don’t know if it’s true in Ireland, but I’ve been told that in the States, traveling and hanging out with your parents is the kiss of death, even if you get along well with them. I feel sorry for Jannie—she’s just too old to enjoy that part of things. Or that’s my guess. What do I know about cheerful families on vacation?”

  “I’m thinkin’ yer right, Maura. She’s just actin’ her age, I’d guess.”

  “Which is pretty close to yours, Rose, but you act a lot older.”

  Rose shrugged. “I had no choice. Da was a mess when me mum died, and there was no one else to step in fer us.”

  “How’re your classes going?”

  “Good. It’s harder work than I imagined, but it’s great to learn what really goes on. You should eat there sometime.”

  “Like, go out to dinner?” Maura smiled. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d done that, and one of those had been with Sean Murphy, on an official date that went nowhere. She was grateful that she’d managed to keep him as a friend. He was a good guy, and she kind of hoped he and Rose might get together at some point—something she’d never mentioned, because she wanted Rose to have a life outside Leap before she settled down with anyone.