“So you’ll handle that?” When he nodded, she asked, “Any other supplies we’re running out of?”
“Coffee,” Rose said promptly. “Paper goods fer, you know. Some cleanin’ stuff.”
“In other words, everything. Want me to take care of it? I should stop at the bank with last night’s take.”
“Yeh’re thinkin’ like an American—the bank won’t be open today. But yeh can go to the farmers market instead,” Rose added enthusiastically. “It’s a grand time of year fer it—lots of goods to sell, and lots of people who want ’em. Yeh can stock up on food.”
“I guess. I could go now, before things get busy.” Actually she was kind of dismayed, because she didn’t know what to do with free time. Normally on any day she’d be at the pub, and when she wasn’t at the pub, she’d be visiting Bridget or Gillian. She rarely took time for herself. Okay, today she could check out the famous farmers market people kept telling her about, and the next time she had a couple of hours free, she could visit the other restaurants in Skibbereen to see what they offered and what she liked. Maybe one a week. It was a plan. “You want me to bring anything back?” she asked.
“Jest enjoy yerself—if yeh can,” Mick said, smiling. “Go.”
Maura fled to her car before she or anyone else could change her mind.
Saturday. She knew it would be a busy day in Skib, so she decided to park outside the center of town behind Fields and walk—walking was another thing she didn’t do enough of these days, although she was on her feet and moving most of the time. Once parked, she found herself walking fast and had to make an effort to slow down and actually look at things. For all that she’d lived near the town for over a year now, she still wasn’t exactly familiar with the shops, much less the people who worked in them.
She strolled along, keeping her pace slow, and studying whatever was in windows. A store selling paper goods—she could use some pads to make notes. And pencils, And erasers. Then a shop with secondhand clothes, but nothing she saw interested her. She had to wonder where people wore dresses these days. Church? Weddings and funerals? A corner store selling appliances. Would she replace any of her ancient ones at her cottage, if she had the money? It seemed kind of a waste, since she hardly ever used them. But she should look at prices, if they decided to move ahead with the kitchen at Sullivan’s. She crossed the street, passing the café where Rose had taken her. Half a block later she came to the farmers market.
On a beautiful day in June, it was mobbed, but in a good way. She perched on a low wall along the side and took it all in: ordinary people shopping, meeting friends, sitting down for a cup of coffee; families with small children, who seemed to be excited by everything they saw. Fish, meat, cheeses. Fresh vegetables, mostly the familiar carrots and potatoes and cabbage, but people were lined up to buy them direct from the farmer who’d harvested them that morning, and they chatted with each other while they waited. There were a few booths selling odds and ends, like discarded pots and pans, and even one with nice stuff like china that actually matched, and the odd piece of silver. There was something she had no use for!
She spied the Albertsons in the distance: Marv the strong anchor, Linda darting about pointing at things that caught her eye, Jannie dragging her feet behind them, pretending to ignore them as well as all the treats around her. Linda spied Maura and waved, so Maura stood and made her way through the crowd toward them.
“This is wonderful!” Linda gushed as Maura drew closer. “There’s everything you could want here, and the people are so friendly. You’re lucky to have a place like this nearby.”
“Yes, it’s great. You’ve been keeping busy? Seen anything interesting?”
“Well, we’ve been to Schull, and to Baltimore, and we’ve been the other direction too. But we’ve also spent some time just relaxing. It’s really hard to get Marv to slow down back home.”
Maura laughed. “I have the same problem. I’m playing hooky right now, but I can tell myself I’m mixing it with shopping for food. How much longer will you be around?”
“Till next weekend. I hope we’ll get to hear some music at your place.” Linda leaned closer. “Jannie seems kind of interested, maybe. It’s hard to impress a teenager these days.”
“You can probably find which group will be playing next week if you look on your mobile phone, or so Rose tells me. We’d love to have you come.”
“Thank you, Maura, and thanks for setting us up at the B and B—it’s been really nice. I’ll let you get back to your shopping now.”
Maura resumed her wandering, eyeing the food stalls and wondering what she would actually eat. There were some cookies that looked really good, but then she got distracted by a booth selling a mishmash of secondhand kitchen items. At the cottage she had one lidless pot and one fry pan to her name, both inherited from Old Mick—plus the required teapot to boil water—which might explain why she wasn’t interested in cooking. But she really could use a pot, couldn’t she?
Fifteen minutes later she found herself the owner of three pots in varying sizes, complete with matching lids. Rose would be proud of her. As she was juggling her prizes, she backed into someone, and when she turned to apologize, she saw it was Sean Murphy. “Hey, Sean. You here to shop or are you on duty?”
“A bit of each. Can I buy yeh a coffee?”
“That’d be great. If we can sit down somewhere, before I drop one of these on someone’s foot.”
He pointed to a table with two empty seats in the middle of the lot. “That’s a good place to watch the crowd,” he said. “I’ll bring yeh yer coffee.”
Maura sat on one of the rickety chairs and parked her pots between her feet so she wouldn’t forget them, while she jealously guarded the second seat. Sean was right: this was a great point from which she could see at least half the market, so she people-watched some more while she waited. She was surprised to find that she was smiling.
Sean was back in a few minutes and handed her a paper cup, then sat beside her.
“Are you looking for something? Or someone?” Maura asked, careful to avoid being overheard.
“It’s a busy season, and there are those who take advantage of tourists and the like.”
“That reminds me—I wanted to ask you about the Traveller family that Bridget has parked on her land. Says she’s known him for years. Is there anything to worry about?”
Sean smiled briefly. “That’d be Peter Sheridan and his family, I’m guessin’. They pass through here each year.” He suddenly perked up like a watchdog, and Maura followed his line of sight. A shabby-looking man was walking aimlessly, but as Maura watched, he tried to slide a hand into a woman’s handbag from behind. Pickpocket, then. But even as she watched, another man she recognized as Peter Sheridan came up behind him and grabbed the man’s arm before it reached the purse. Maura could feel Sean relax a bit beside her. “Didja see?” he asked her.
“I did. One man tried to grab something in the woman’s purse, and Peter stopped him.”
“Peter’s an honest man, and he keeps an eye on his mates here, because he’d like to be welcome back again. Others aren’t so particular.”
“So, Peter’s one of the good guys?”
“That he is.”
“I hate to ask this, but could the group have anything to do with that man’s death this past week? I mean, it happened just around the time they showed up here.”
“It’s not likely. The Travellers stick to the small stuff, because they know there’d be hell to pay if someone died at their hands.”
“Any more suspects?”
Sean shook his head. “I wish I could tell yeh different, but we’re no nearer to identifying the man who died, much less who killed him. Yeh do know they were face-to-face when it happened? The knife came from the front. So nobody sneaked up on him to rob him. It was more personal than that.”
Face-to-face with his killer, then, Maura thought. Had they known each other? Because it still seemed like nobody had known eithe
r of them—strangers stood out around this area. Maybe the men had known each other from somewhere else?
“The killer must have had a lot of blood on him,” she said. “Have any discarded bloody clothes showed up?”
Sean shook his head. “Too many places to get rid of such things. And the knife as well.”
Maura picked up her bag, which clanked. “I hope you find him soon.” She stood up. “I’d better be getting back to work, but Mick and Rose told me I had to go do something to get out of the pub, and everybody always says such great things about this market. And they were right. Maybe I’ll take them some cookies as a thank you. Good to see you, Sean. Let me know if you find anything new.”
She left him sitting and watching and wandered over to the booth with the cookies and bought a couple of small bags. By the time she found her path out of the crowded lot, she’d ended up with a few more odds and ends. It seemed that everybody had been right: this place was both fun and practical. She’d have to find a way to keep coming back, at least now and then.
When she got back to Sullivan’s, she found Seamus sitting at the bar, nursing a coffee. “Where’s your gang?” she greeted him.
“Busy. And discouraged. We’ve decided to give it another day—tonight’s usually a big night fer most pubs, as you well know—but we’ve little to report. If we give it more time than that, our wives will have our hides.”
“Hey, I’ve got something to report, although it probably doesn’t have anything to do with the murder,” Maura said. Seamus quirked an eyebrow. “What, you don’t believe me? Last night we were crazy busy with the band and the place was packed. So at one point I looked up and realized there was a youngish guy behind the bar, handing out pints, and he looked like he knew what he was doing.”
“Didja not know him?”
“No, I didn’t. I talked to him for a second, and he said his name was Niall, but that was all the time I had. Rose and Mick didn’t recognize him either. At the end of the evening he just disappeared without a word.”
“Takin’ yer money with him?”
“No. Not even to pay for his time. But the point is, he was the same age as the … body. And Rose said she saw him in Skibbereen this morning with someone she kind of knows, and she’ll look for him again.”
“It’s a long stretch between seein’ an unfamiliar face behind the bar and accusing the man of murder, yeh know.”
“Of course I know, Seamus,” Maura protested. “Maybe I’m grasping at straws, or maybe I’ve been spending too much time with you guys, because you seem to know everybody who walks in. Now when I don’t recognize someone, I figure he’s got to be a stranger to the village or even the area and I’m not too sure I can trust him. Or her. Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. One twenty-something guy who knows how to tend bar and stepped up without being asked and did a good job, then disappeared into the night. And Rose says he knows a girl who’s taking classes at the café in Skib, who seems to know the guy pretty well. And that’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry my pitiful crumbs don’t impress you.”
“Ah, don’t get yer back up, Maura Donovan. It’s a good effort.” Seamus slid off the barstool. “I’d best be on my way home, before the missus sends out a search party herself. Me and my mates will be around and about tonight, and I’ll let you know if we hear anything.”
“Happy hunting, Seamus.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday evening, the crowd at Sullivan’s had returned to a more normal level. Maura hoped to see the mystery bartender again, but no such luck. Still, they could manage without him, at least for the night.
During a lull, she said to Mick, “Are you taking Bridget to church tomorrow?”
“I am. Do yeh want to come along?”
“No, thanks. I used to go with my gran, but it never really took, if you know what I mean. But it meant a lot to her that I went now and then.”
“Didja have somethin’ yeh wanted to do tomorrow? Yeh don’t need to be in early.”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. The way I see it, we’ve got two possible big projects to look at: rebuilding the kitchen, and fixing up the rooms upstairs in case somebody like an employee needs them. I’m letting Rose worry about the kitchen, but the rooms would be easier anyway. I’m not asking anybody else to help, but I hate to sit still when there’s something that needs doing and things are slow down here. If we could clear out the stuff up there that nobody’s ever going to want, I could start on the cleaning part, when there’s time, and maybe paint the rooms. And you can tell me the best places to buy furniture and stuff. Not too expensive, or maybe even secondhand. Isn’t there a place that sells it down the street?”
“There is,” Mick told her, “And another in Skib.”
“Great. But I wouldn’t want to put anybody up—even a temporary worker—in a place I wouldn’t be willing to stay in myself.”
“Shouldn’t be hard, nor take too much time.”
Maura hesitated for a moment, then said, “Can I ask you something?” When Mick nodded, she went on, “I realized that even after a year, I have no idea where you live. I mean, I guess I know the townland, but for all I know you could be living in a barn there. Or a tent.”
“Yeh want me to invite you over?” he said with a half smile.
“Not necessarily, but I feel I should know. What if something happened to you, like you fell down and broke your neck? And landed on your mobile at the same time, of course, so you couldn’t call for help. Do you have neighbors who would notice? I mean, I’m not trying to invade your private space, but I’d like to have the information.”
Mick still looked amused. “I’ll draw yeh a map, when I have the time. Was that all?”
“No, I have the same question for Rose. I don’t know where she lives, and I don’t know how she gets here. I have to assume she walks, so I know it can’t be far. But is it where she lived with Jimmy? And is it okay for her to stay there alone now? How’s she paying for it? I know what I pay her, and it’s not a lot. And I don’t even know what rents are like around here, since I’ve never had to pay any.”
Mick looked more serious now. “And yeh’re thinkin’ that if Rose wants this kitchen to happen, it’d be simpler if she lived over the shop?”
“Well, it is possible, isn’t it? It would be good for everybody. But I’m not going to assume it will happen, and if she’s happy where she is, that’s fine. I just want to take the first step and clean up the rooms upstairs. Maybe I’ll hate the results. Maybe Rose will hate them. Or maybe we’ll find something else to do with them. But I have to see what they look like after they’re cleaned up.” Her only memories of the rooms upstairs were of darkness and a jumble of discarded items scattered on the floor—and the eerie view of blowing snow in the dim blue light out the window. Curtains, she reminded herself. And sheets and towels. Nothing fancy, just sturdy. Maura, what is wrong with you? You don’t put this much thought into the place you’re living, which is as much yours as the pub. Why do you care about those old rooms above? This was business, she reminded herself, but she wasn’t convinced. Maybe she just wanted to keep busy until this murder business was cleared up.
“Up to you,” Mick said. “I’ll help yeh move the furniture, but you and Rose can see to the cleanin’ between yeh.”
“Fair enough. I’ll take a look by daylight tomorrow, maybe take some measurements to find out what there’s room for.” Maura turned as a group of men came in, and she recognized Seamus and some of his friends. They headed for the largest empty table, then Seamus came over to the bar. “Maura, Mick,” he greeted them.
“Hey, Seamus. You look depressed,” Maura said.
“That I am, I’d have to say. Pints all around if yeh will.”
“Do I need to guess why?” Maura asked as she started filling pints.
“The poor dead man, of course. We’d been doin’ so well, solvin’ yer crimes fer yeh, up till now. Mebbe it started as a joke, but we had some luck, and we started to think it was
easy. But this one’s got us baffled. And the strangest part of it is, nobody at any of the other pubs is talkin’ about any fights there that might have led to a death. Sure and the gardaí will have asked the same questions, but we’re just guys talkin’ to their mates after a few pints, and nobody’s dropped a hint or a whisper. Fer all we know, the man was killed in Dublin and somebody delivered him here, dumped him, and went home again.”
Maura topped off the pints and waited for them to settle again. “So you’re giving up?”
Seamus shrugged. “Have I a choice? We’ve talked to everyone we can think of. Do the gardaí have anything fer yeh?”
Maura shook her head. “Not as of this morning. By tomorrow it’ll have been a week since the man died. That’s not good. But thanks for trying anyway, Seamus, and tell the rest of your crew that I appreciate it.”
Maura set the pints on a tray, and Seamus carried it back to his table.
Rose arrived shortly after that. “I’ve had me supper, Maura, if yeh want to go get a bite fer yerself.”
“I might do that. Oh, wait—let me show you what I got at the farmers market today.” She pulled out her bags from where she’d tucked them under the bar and unveiled her pots and pans with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
Rose broke into a smile. “Yeh’ve been listenin’ to me! This is a grand lot of cookware. Are yeh going to try more than grillin’ cheese now?”
“One step at a time,” Maura grinned at her. “But I’m working on it. Oh, and I got us some cookies from one of the stalls. Don’t flash them around or they’ll be gone in a minute.” She handed Rose the bags under the bar.
“True enough. Although I don’t think biscuits and stout go together very well.”
When Rose joined Mick behind the bar, Maura went out to the street. In June, she’d found, it stayed light what seemed like incredibly late, and there were plenty of people out enjoying the lingering sunlight and warm air. Where did she want to go? The Costcutter up the road, she decided—she wasn’t in the mood for a real meal. She set off in that direction at an unhurried pace.
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