Cruel Winter: A County Cork Mystery

by Sheila Connolly

  “And the cows?”

  “Called me wife before my phone went out so she’d know what’s what. She can handle the milkin’.”

  “No doubt she can—she’s too good for the likes of you,” Judith said with a smile. She looked up in time to see Diane come back in, shucking off her borrowed boots inside the door. “Sure and that’s not—”

  “Diane Caldwell,” Maura said quickly. “She’s been here since last night—got stranded when her flight to London was canceled because of the snow.” Maura watched Judith’s expression carefully, but she seemed more intrigued than hostile.

  “And do you know about—”

  “What happened twenty years ago? I do now, and so does most of this crowd. Leave her be, will you?”

  “I don’t stick my nose in where it isn’t wanted, Maura,” Judith said a bit stiffly. She turned to Joe. “Didn’t yer wife have some connection to what happened back then?”

  “I’ve no idea what yer sayin’, Judith,” he said, although from his panicky expression, Maura was pretty sure he did.

  Judith ignored his denial. “Yer Nora, she was a Dempsey before she married you, was she not? Sister to Ellen, who married the Layton man. Poor grazing land they had at his place. It was a good thing they got that other field back.”

  Rose had said that Judith kept cattle, so she’d know about that. Out of the corner of her eye, Maura noticed Bart straighten up. Funny that Joe hadn’t mentioned anything about his wife’s connection to Sharon’s neighbors. Maybe it meant nothing, but the fact that he’d concealed it didn’t look good.

  Diane must have heard as well, and now she approached the bar. “Judith, is it? You already know I’m Diane. We had an interesting time last night, going over the old case. Some of us here thought the Laytons deserved a harder look. Bart here”—she gestured to Bart, who hadn’t moved but was watching intently—“now, he’s a garda, and he was on the case when it happened all those years back. He thought we were just blowing smoke here last night, but the Laytons came up in conversation. Joe, why’d you not mention that your wife was sister to Ellen Layton?”

  “She had nothing to do with any of it,” Joe said, his tone surly. “The gardaí talked to us back then. Nora was home with me and the kids and the cows.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Diane said.

  “So why didn’t you bring it up, Joe?” Bart asked in a voice that sounded surprisingly official to Maura. “Everybody else seemed to have an opinion about what happened. Did yer wife never say anything?”

  “I didn’t want any trouble,” Joe said, looking at his boots, “and we never talked about it. Nothin’ to tell.”

  “Your wife was cleared when it happened,” Bart pressed on. “So where’s the trouble?”

  “It might be she talked to her sister after it happened,” Joe said reluctantly. “A long time after it happened.”

  Bart’s expression was colder than before. “And might it be that Ellen said something to your Nora, then, that made you think a bit different?”

  Joe avoided Bart’s glance. “Mebbe.”

  “And would you be wanting to share that with us now? Seein’ as how we’ve talked about almost everything else under the sun, includin’ everyone’s love life?”

  Joe looked around the room: anyone who’d been at the pub the night before was watching him now. The newcomers shrugged and ignored them.

  “Tell ’em, Joe,” Judith prompted him, “or I’ll tell what Nora told me. And I might get it wrong, you know.”

  Joe held up both hands. “All right, all right. Yeah, me wife is sister to Ellen Layton, but they didn’t see much of each other after Ellen married and they went to live on her husband’s father’s place. Like everyone’s said, it was poor land, and it took a lot of work. Yeh’ve heard that Denis and Ellen sold the land that the Morgans built on—they needed the money, but Denis came to regret it, for he found he needed the grazin’ more. But the idea yez were kicking around last night—that he cooked up some grand scheme to kill Sharon Morgan and somehow take back the land—is daft. Anyways, Ellen kept to herself when it was all over the news—didn’t come cryin’ on Nora’s shoulder then. And like you’ve heard, nobody was ever arrested, and the whole thing went quiet, did it not?”

  “So what did Ellen tell Nora later?” Maura demanded. There had to be something that was making Joe so nervous.

  “When Denis passed on years later, Nora went to the wake. Nora and Ellen had a coupla brothers—you’d know that, Bart—but they’d had their own problems with the gardaí, mostly petty stuff, so they kind of drifted around. Didn’t even show their faces at the wake.”

  “One of them was living at the farm, helping the Laytons, when the murder happened—is that not right?” Bart asked.

  “He did, now and then. Jacky, that was. The youngest. He’d been helpin’ out fer years. When Denis died, he moved in permanent, like, and he’s still there. Ellen couldn’t handle the cows by herself—not that Jacky’s much help—but what else is she to do?”

  “Was this Jacky a suspect?” Maura demanded.

  “Ellen and Denis told the gardaí he was home all night—after he’d come back from the pub in Schull, where plenty of people seen him. No one could prove otherwise. Besides, the gardaí had fixed on Diane here as the killer. So nothing ever came of it.”

  Maura was thinking about shaking the story out of Joe. A lot of the people she’d met at the pub liked to spin stories over a pint, but Joe was trying to avoid telling this one. “So what did Ellen finally say to Nora?”

  Joe seemed to shrink into himself, and he wouldn’t look at anyone. “She told Nora that she’d lied to protect her brother, and her husband did as well. She had no idea if Jacky was home or not, but she couldn’t swear he wasn’t—he could’ve been out with the herd. She felt she couldn’t say nothin’ because Denis needed his help on the farm, and Jacky needed the work and a place to live. But she said he always was a bully.”

  “That’s pretty vague, Joe,” Bart said. “Was there more?”

  Joe nodded. “After the gardaí had come and gone back then, Ellen told Nora she found something that made her wonder, and she asked him about it. Jacky fed her some kind of story and told her to shut up. And she did.”

  Bart said, almost to himself, “The gardaí took Ellen’s word and her husband’s, and the brother gave them the same story, if I recall. If Ellen did find something that troubled her after we’d talked with her, she never said anything more to us.”

  “So the brother’s still working the farm with Ellen?” Maura asked.

  “If workin’s the right word,” Joe muttered. “But you did have a part of it right, Maura—Denis was able to buy the land back cheap, and that kept them going. There was no love lost between him and Jacky, but it might be that Ellen never shared her doubts with him.”

  Everyone was silent for a few moments, apart from the patrons who hadn’t heard the story the night before, and finally Bart spoke. “It seems to me it might be a good idea fer the gardaí to talk to this brother and to Ellen again. Don’t get yer hopes up, Diane—it could mean nothing, and if Ellen and Jacky stick to their stories, that’s the end of it.”

  “I understand, and I appreciate your taking it seriously,” Diane told him. “If nothing comes of it, so be it.”

  Bart nodded. “I’ve a mind to pay a call on the Skibbereen garda station. And if I’m going to do that, I’d best sort out this lot from the weddin’.” He crossed the room and corralled the four young men, who seemed to be on their way to drowning their hangovers with more drink. Then Liam and Donal joined the discussion and apparently volunteered to take their new friends to wherever they were supposed to be staying.

  Bart returned to their small group. “Me car’s still in the ditch, Joe. Think we can get it out now?”

  “I’ve a truck back at the farm that should do the trick. You want to leave now?”

  “I think we should. Diane, will you be here the rest of the day?”

 
“I can be. I’ll be flying home tonight.”

  “I’ll let you know what they say,” Bart told her.

  “Talk to Inspector Hurley there—he’s a good man, and he’ll listen to you,” Maura said.

  “Thank you fer yer hospitality, Maura. I can’t recall a more interestin’ evening in years. Joe, let’s go.” Bart seemed to have taken control, and Joe followed him meekly.

  Diane and Maura watched them go. “Well,” Diane said, “do you think this will change anything?”

  “Diane, I can’t say,” Maura told her. “But I’ve seen stranger things happen around here.”

  * * *

  The crowd ebbed and flowed throughout the day. Judith hung around for a while, helping Rose with the food, then the washing up. After a couple of hours, she gave Jimmy a quick kiss—much to his embarrassment—and left with a cheerful wave. Otherwise, the crowd was made up mainly of men, which left Maura wondering whether they’d left their wives at home to deal with restless children and any snow cleanup. She couldn’t really complain because at least they were paying for their drinks now.

  Liam and Donal returned mid-afternoon after delivering the wedding boys to wherever they were going. Maura wondered what they’d made of the night—or if they’d even noticed anything unusual was happening.

  Shortly after two, the lights came back on, greeted by much cheering. Maura was briefly startled to realize how many other noises came with it, like the humming of the refrigerator behind the bar. She’d have to retire the antiquated but still useful lamps to the basement. Or maybe keep them in a handier place in case the power went out again—there was still plenty of winter to come. From what she could see through the crush of bodies, the snow outside was melting fast, as if the last twenty-four hours were being erased in front of her eyes.

  Finally, around three, the men began to trickle out reluctantly to go home to chores and children. Maura guessed that some might be back later, or there might be a whole new crop in the evening. The snowstorm would go down in local history as a memorable event to be hashed over for years to come. Unless it was followed by worse, but Maura couldn’t bring herself to worry about that yet.

  She turned to her staff, who were looking a bit ragged. “We made it. You think there’ll be another crowd tonight?”

  “If what’s left of the snow doesn’t turn to ice,” Mick said.

  “Do any of you want to go home, clean up? Mick, are you going to try to go up and see Bridget?”

  “I thought I might if yeh can spare me.”

  “For an hour or two, sure. I’d like to know she’s safe. And I have a selfish reason too—I want to know if I can get home tonight.”

  “I’ll let yeh know. I’m guessin’ the hill’d be the worst of it.”

  “That’s what Judith said. Jimmy, I think you’ve got a winner there.” Jimmy mumbled something that Maura probably didn’t want to hear.

  Maura lowered her voice. “You know, you’ve been in a lousy mood for a while now, Jimmy. You don’t want to be with Judith? Or married?”

  “That’s me own business,” he told her, his tone surly.

  Maura wasn’t about to back down. “Well, if you’re working here, it’s my business. You’ve been almost rude to some of our patrons. Including Diane.”

  Jimmy gave her a long look, then his shoulders slumped. “Rosie and me, we’ve been on our own fer a while now. It works for us.”

  “Jimmy,” Maura said impatiently, “in case you haven’t noticed, Rose is pretty much grown up. She might have plans of her own, beyond cooking supper for you. Things are going to change whether you like it or not. And Judith seems like a good woman.”

  “She is that. Yer still angry about that oil business?”

  “I’ll forget about it as long as it doesn’t happen again. Fair enough?” Jimmy nodded, and Maura added, “You want to take an hour or two off?”

  “Nah, ’cause Judith’d probably ambush me in me own home.”

  “What about Rose? She’s been working hard, and she deserves a break.”

  “I’m grand, Maura,” Rose said cheerfully. “I had a fine time in the kitchen, feeding all the people.”

  “And you did an amazing job, Rose. Thank you, from all of us.”

  Mick said, “I’d best be on my way before it gets dark.”

  “Let me know if you can’t make it back.” Bridget had no doubt weathered the storm just fine in her small, sturdy house, but she was far from young and might need some help with fuel or even getting the door open. “And give my love to Bridget.”

  “I’ll do that.” Mick too found his coat and left.

  Diane had retreated back into herself, working her mobile phone, probably looking for a way home. Would her husband meet her at the airport? Were they all waiting to see if anything came of Bart’s visit to the gardaí in Skibbereen? Assuming Joe had gotten his car out of the ditch. And what could they hope for after twenty years?

  Maura doled out a few pints, collected empty glasses and crumpled napkins, and wiped off tables, until she looked up to see Sean Murphy at the door. She hurried to greet him. “Hey, Sean. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look lousy.”

  “Then my face matches what’s inside. Could you do me a coffee?”

  “Of course. Sit down before you fall over.”

  Sean followed her to the bar, where he sat and shrugged off his coat. Maura started a fresh cup of coffee—now that the power was back, she could use the fancy machine again. While she waited, she asked, “Was everybody all right?”

  “About what yeh’d expect. A tree down here and there. A fence broken, and the cows strayed. No fires, thank God.”

  “And the roads?” Maura slid a mug of coffee across the bar to him.

  “All but dry, now that the weather’s turned.”

  “Almost like it never happened,” Maura said. Poor Sean—he looked exhausted. “Can you at least go home now and take a nap? Or are you still on duty?”

  “I’m on my way there now, but I wanted to tell yeh that yer Bart Hayes stopped by the station.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “He asked for the inspector. They were still talking when I came out.”

  “Is that good or bad, do you think?”

  “I can’t say.” Sean drained his coffee. “I’ve only half a brain workin’ right now, Maura, seein’ as how I’ve been up all night. But I thought you’d be wanting to know: if you and yer lot came up with something last night, and Bart thought enough of it to bring it to the inspector, then the gardaí are taking it seriously.” Sean stood up. “I’ll be goin’ home now, but if I learn anything new, I’ll let yeh know.”

  “Thank you, Sean—we appreciate it.” She escorted him out the door, noting that the snow really was almost gone now, except in shady corners.

  When she shut the door and turned back to the room, Gillian piped up. “Things are happening?”

  “So it seems. Bart Hayes was still at the station when Sean left to come here. We’ll just have to wait and see. Have you heard from Harry?”

  “No. I’m guessing he’s still at the solicitors’ office, assuming he and they all made it to Skibbereen. Or maybe at the estate agent’s—I’m sure they’d be eager for the commission on the old creamery. But first, Harry had to learn how much ready money he’d have and when it would be available before he could buy the creamery. And I’ve got a deadline of my own.”

  “The baby, you mean,” Maura said. “Of course. And you won’t want to be nine months’ pregnant or taking care of an infant with guys running around, tearing things down, and hammering new things up.”

  “Exactly. Which gives us three months. Of course, maybe we can stay at the manor that long, but we’d have to let the O’Briens go. I’m sure Harry’d rather not face telling them, although I think he’s planning to give them something for their years of service.”

  “It’s not like Eveline’s passing is a surprise.”

  “True, but they’ve been with her for years,
and I’m not sure what lies in store for them. But that’s not my problem.” Gillian studied Maura’s face. “Do you know, Diane’s lucky to have found you.”

  “Why?”

  “First, because you listened to her. Second, you believed her. Third, you managed to convince a bunch of half-drunk strangers to believe her—or at least question the official story. Fourth, you seem to have made the gardaí believe you. Maybe the stars are aligned in Diane’s favor.”

  “Well, it may all lead exactly nowhere. I don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up.”

  Gillian looked past Maura, and her expression brightened. “Ah, there’s the man himself,” she said. “How’d it go, Harry?”

  Harry made his way over to Gillian’s seat and leaned over to kiss her. “Couldn’t be better, love. I think we’re set.”

  Gillian looked over his shoulder at Maura and winked. “See? The stars are aligned.”

  Twenty-Five

  Another wave of people started turning up at Sullivan’s shortly before four. Mick returned just before it began. “Yeh’ll have no trouble with the lane, Maura,” he told her. “And Bridget’s fine. She was after tellin’ me about all the big snows of the past, else I would have been here sooner.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Mick.” It was a relief to know that she could get home without problems: after another busy day, she desperately craved some time alone and a shower. But that was for later, and she couldn’t exactly leave while business was so good. Worse, right now she was on edge. If Sean was right, the gardaí had taken their story seriously enough to look harder at it, but that might not lead anywhere. She was prepared for that, but she wanted to know. And she assumed Diane did too.

  She noticed Gillian and Harry heading for the door and was so busy that she could do no more than wave. At least Gillian looked happy. Harry really had stepped up, and maybe things would actually work out for them, at least for a while. Maura knew as well as anyone that plans didn’t always work out as expected, but people had to try. Just look at Jimmy! He had seemed content with things just the way they were, and then Judith had somehow wormed her way into his life and started rearranging it for him. Was that good or bad? Good for Rose, Maura had already decided—Rose might actually get a chance at a life of her own now. Judith looked like a woman who knew her own mind, although what she saw in Jimmy still mystified Maura. But maybe Judith was exactly what Jimmy needed.