Scandal in Skibbereen (A County Cork Mystery)

by Connolly, Sheila

  “You know I don’t know anything about all this stuff, but if you really think I can help, I’ll be there. Are we going to tell Eveline Townsend what’s going on?”

  “Grand. If there are more of us going through the papers—assuming we find them—things might go faster. And let’s allow Harry to tell Eveline what he thinks she needs to know.”

  Maura said quickly, “Then I’ll help. Tomorrow and Tuesday are pretty slow days here, so I can get away for a few hours.”

  Gillian stood up. “Right, then, I’ll give Harry a ring.” She grabbed her mobile and walked out the front door, leaving Maura and Althea alone at the table.

  “You know, Althea, you really are a pain in the ass,” Maura said.

  Althea grinned. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. But I usually get what I want.”

  While Gillian made her phone call, Maura got up and collected a few glasses around the room, taking them back to the bar.

  “So, what’s that all about?” Mick asked Maura, his eyes on Althea.

  “As if you haven’t heard every word, just like everybody else in the place,” Maura said. “I’ll fill you in later. I may need to take some time off over the next couple of days. Can you and Jimmy cover?”

  “Maura, you’re the boss. You can bunk off whenever you want. You tell us what the schedule is.”

  She didn’t feel like anybody’s boss, but he was right, at least in theory. “We’ll figure something out. Oh, and I’ll be out tomorrow night.”

  “That’d be your date with Sean?”

  “You know about that?”

  “It’s a small town.”

  Figures, Maura thought. Was there no way of having a private life around here, short of living in a cave? Eveline Townsend and the O’Briens seemed to have managed it; no one knew much about any of them. But was becoming a recluse the only way?

  Gillian approached the bar. “We’re on for tomorrow. I’ll pick you up here at eleven, Maura, if that suits—Harry won’t be awake earlier than that. And you’re to wait to hear from us, Althea, so don’t just show up.”

  “Got it. I’ll be waiting on pins and needles.”

  Chapter 14

  After a while Gillian and Althea left to find dinner. The pub had filled gradually, keeping Maura and the others comfortably busy. This is the way it should be, Maura thought. Happy people, chatting, sharing a drink and a pleasant hour.

  “Will you be wanting me to stay, Maura?” Rose asked.

  “Only if you want to. I think we’ve got it covered.” Maura hesitated, reluctant to go on. “Look, Rose, I, uh, need some help with something different.”

  “I’d be happy to help you. If I can, that is. What is it?”

  “I’m kind of going out for a meal with Sean tomorrow night, and . . . jeez, this sounds so stupid, but I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Ah,” Rose said wisely. “Do you know where Sean’s taking you, then?”

  “No idea. I don’t think I’ve been to a restaurant since I got here. You and everyone else in Leap know more than I do about this date. Where do you think he’s taking me?”

  Rose dimpled. “Well, if he wants to impress you, I’d guess either the hotel or the Church.”

  “He’d take me to church?” That was not what Maura expected to hear. Was it some weird local tradition, to pray before a date? Rose giggled at the look on Maura’s face. “It’s a restaurant that used to be a church. Oh, no—they don’t do dinner of a Monday. Probably the Voyage, then. More likely than the hotel.”

  Maura knew nothing about any of them. “Okay, so what do I wear to any of those? I don’t want to make a big thing about it. I just don’t want to look out of place and embarrass Sean.”

  Rose seemed to be thinking hard. “There’s not time for real shopping. Wait—I’ve an idea. Can you meet me here early, say, at ten tomorrow morning? I know where we can go.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Gillian at eleven. Will that be time enough?”

  “No worries.”

  “Then I’ll see you here at ten.”

  Rose looked excited as she waved good-bye—maybe too excited. Oh, man, Maura thought, what am I letting myself in for? And why did I have to ask a sixteen-year-old how to dress?

  • • •

  The next morning Maura woke early and lay in bed listening to the birds. And the cows. And the sheep. A rooster crowed somewhere nearby. She almost laughed out loud: she never would have seen herself as a country girl, but here she was, living right where her father and grandmother and great-grandparents and who knew how many other ancestors had lived, where there were still more cows than people. It was barely past seven, so she was in no hurry. Monday was usually a slow day at the pub, and she often spent the time cleaning and going over the accounts. But today was going to be different: first, she had to do the girly thing and buy something pretty to wear for her date with the nice young policeman. Ick. No, not ick to the idea of going out with Sean, but ick to the whole idea of dating. In Boston it had been easier—she could just hang out with a gang of people. But a lot of them had paired off over the past few years and disappeared from the group, leaving her the odd woman out more and more often. Was she odd for not wanting to be half of a couple? But she wasn’t looking for a string of casual hookups either. She wasn’t sure what Sean wanted. She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, and she had no idea what he expected from her. She knew that a lot of twenty-somethings had left the area and even the country to find work. Maybe the pool of available females of the right age was kind of small, and Sean was desperate. Did he think he was going to court her? Or to go to the other extreme, did he think all Americans were casual about sex?

  Somehow she didn’t think so. She couldn’t claim to know Sean well, but he seemed nice and sweet and dependable. Wow—not the first things she thought she would have looked for in a date. Maybe a sense of humor, or some electricity between them. But she couldn’t think of a good reason not to go out with him at least once. After all, it might be useful to have an in with the cops—no, she liked him too well to use him that way. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings or insult him tonight and drive him away altogether. She sighed. This was why she hadn’t dated much. It was just too complicated.

  She still had time to fill before meeting Rose at the pub, so she decided to walk down the lane and see if Bridget Nolan was awake. Bridget claimed she slept less and less, now that she was older, although Maura had caught her napping during the day more than once. But Bridget was a bit like a cat looking for warmth—she sought out the sun when it was out or the fireside when it was wet. Maura pulled on a sweatshirt and wandered out her front door, leaving it unlocked and open to the summer air, although it still unsettled her to do that. Off to one side, cows grazed contentedly in a field. Maura went the other way and walked down the hill to Bridget’s cheery yellow house. As she had guessed, Bridget was not only awake but out in the front garden, picking dead flowers off her lush array of potted plants.

  “Good morning!” Maura called out, not wanting to startle Bridget.

  “And to you!” Bridget replied, straightening up slowly. “It’s another fine day we’re having.”

  “Looks like it, yeah.”

  “You’re out early. Busy day ahead of you?” Bridget cocked her head and regarded her with a bright eye, like a small sparrow.

  What had she heard? Maura wondered. Bridget had an amazing network of friends who kept her up-to-date on what was going on in the townland, the district, maybe even the county, for all Maura knew, even though Bridget seldom left her house. “I do. Rose is taking me shopping for my date tonight, and then I’m meeting Gillian and we’re going back to the manor with Harry to look for—well, I guess you’d call it a bill of sale for the painting. You know we found it?”

  “I heard. Is it worth all the shouting?”

  “You know, I think it is. I don’t know a lot about art, but I was impressed.” As she had suspected, Bridget’s friends had updated h
er since yesterday. Clearly there was no way to keep a secret in Leap.

  “There’s tea made, inside, and a bit of bread. Help yourself. Then come back out and sit with me and keep me company.”

  Maura went into Bridget’s clean and tidy home and poured herself a cup of strong tea, as instructed. She buttered a piece of brown bread and went back outside to take a seat next to Bridget. Bridget had her face turned to the sun like a flower, with a small smile on her face. When Maura sat down, she opened her eyes and turned to her. “Sean’s a good boy.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “But? Yeh don’t seem all that pleased about stepping out with him.”

  “It’s not that. I guess I just don’t know if I want to go out with anybody.”

  “And why would that be? I know you young girls are so independent these days, what with jobs and education and all, but wouldn’t you like to share your life with someone?”

  “I don’t think about it a lot. Look, Bridget, you know about my family. My grandfather died, leaving Gran alone with a son to raise. She did her best for him, and then he died too, and my mother just . . . left. So I guess I don’t have much of a model for happy relationships, you know?”

  “There’s no sure thing, but my Michael and I were happy.”

  “I know some people are, I just don’t know how. And I’m still not sure what I’m doing here.”

  “Would you rather be back in America?”

  “No, it’s not that. But I’m still trying to get used to owning a business, and a house. There was never anything that permanent in my life before. I don’t want to blow it at the pub, because now other people are counting on me to keep Sullivan’s going. Like Jimmy and Rose and Mick.”

  “I learned long ago not to meddle in other people’s lives. Mick’s a grown man, and he’ll find his own way. It’s not on your head. Jimmy, now, I’m not so sure how he’s doing, but the likes of Jimmy always land on their feet somehow.”

  “I know what you mean,” Maura said, smiling. Then her smile faded. “I worry more about Rose. There are so few jobs, it seems, and so many people fighting for them. She has no skills or training beyond working at the pub. What can she do? Jimmy’s no help at all.”

  “She’s young yet. And I seem to recall you did much the same work at her age.”

  “Yeah, and I wish I could give her better advice than I ever got. Though I don’t know how helpful I’d be—do you know, I had to ask her what I should wear tonight?”

  “For Sean? Sure and he won’t mind, whatever you wear.”

  “I guess. But I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “He seems like a good guy, and he’s helped me with a couple of messes. But it never occurred to me to date him.”

  “He comes from a good family, and he’s steady. Give him a chance, is all.”

  “And if it doesn’t work out and I stay around, I’m stuck with seeing him for the next fifty years or so. It’s tricky.”

  “And now you’re worrying yourself about the next half century? It’s only the one meal you’re having.”

  All right, Maura admitted, she was nervous. Stupid, at her age. And a lot of her questions about dating in modern Ireland, she couldn’t ask Bridget—too old—or Rose—too young. Time to change the subject.

  “I really like Gillian. It’s almost like she’s two artists—one for the tourists and one for herself. The styles are very different. It must be hard to make a living that way. I told her I’d hang a couple of her paintings at Sullivan’s, where people would see them. If a tourist comes into the pub and sees something she likes on the wall, she might think about buying it, right?”

  “I’m sure the pictures will brighten up the place,” Bridget agreed.

  “Gillian . . . seems to have a history with Harry Townsend.” Maura was curious to see how Bridget would respond.

  “There’s little future in it, I’d say. Harry doesn’t want to settle down. He’s been good to his great-aunt, I’ll give him that, but once she’s gone, I suspect he’ll sell up.”

  “Gillian can see him in Dublin, can’t she?”

  Bridget just shook her head. “He won’t change. Now, Sean—that’s a lad you can depend on.”

  Maura was hit by the thought that maybe, somehow, Bridget had sent word through her grapevine that Sean should ask Maura out. Would she do that? Was there any harm in it? If it was true, at least Bridget meant well.

  Maura stood up. “I should be going. I’ve got to meet Rose at ten, and then Gillian at eleven.”

  “You go on your way, dear. I’ll just sit here a bit longer. Mick said he’d be by later.”

  Maura took her cup inside, then said good-bye to Bridget on her way out. She wasn’t sure Bridget heard her, since she seemed to have dozed off.

  She drove into Leap and parked up the street from Sullivan’s. She was waiting in her car when she saw Rose walking toward her. “Right on time,” she called out. “Where are we going? Skibbereen, I assume?”

  “Yes. You’ve said you’ve little money for clothes, so I thought I’d take you to the charity shops.”

  Maura had never considered that. “There is such a thing in Skibbereen?”

  “Oh, yes. More than one. They’re mostly for Oxfam and the like and support good causes, like raising money for wheelchairs or for taking in stray animals. There are a couple on the street leading to the square. Have you not noticed them?”

  “Guess not.” Back in the States, thrift stores had begun to achieve a little class, especially if they labeled themselves as “vintage.” She hadn’t spent much time in them around Boston—she didn’t like the idea of wearing someone else’s rejects and preferred to buy what she could afford and wear it as long as it lasted. What would an Irish thrift store be like?

  After they had traveled a couple of miles on the highway, Maura asked, “What do you think I should be looking for?”

  “A nice sweater or shirt, say. No sequins or strappy things, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “Where on earth would people wear stuff like that around here?”

  “There’d be clubs over to Clonakilty or Bandon, I’ve heard.”

  They drove past the roundabout, and a half mile further on, Rose pointed. “There. Pull in and park where you can.” Maura complied.

  Forty minutes and two small shops later, Maura emerged with a lightweight wool sweater that would do for any season. She’d been pleasantly surprised by the experience, and she liked what Rose had chosen for her. The sweater had a modestly scooped neckline, and Rose assured her that the teal blue color looked great with her coloring. “Too bad you haven’t time for a trim,” Rose said.

  “A haircut? I never even thought about it, but it’s kind of late now. I’ve got to meet Gillian in about seven minutes.”

  As they drove back toward Leap, Maura asked, “Are you . . . seeing anyone?”

  “You’ve only now begun to wonder?” Rose laughed. “No. Most of my old classmates are somewhere else now, and you might have noticed there aren’t many fellas around to choose from. Not that any of those have asked.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Not so much. I’ve me da to look out for. And I’m far younger than you.” Rose grinned wickedly at her.

  “Oh, right.”

  Gillian was waiting when they returned. When Maura climbed out of her car, Gillian said, “You know, your place could do with a slap of paint.”

  “Among a lot of other things, I know. I’m working on it. Are we still on?”

  “We are. Shall we take my car?” After they’d settled into it, Gillian said, “I talked with Harry already—this whole thing seems to have finally caught fire with him. He actually got up before ten, the dosser. He says that very likely the estate records are there, in a storage room in the attic.”

  “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? Did you tell Althea?”

  “I thought I’d wait a bit for that, until we’ve seen what’s wh
at. She can be rather . . .”

  “Obnoxious?” Maura volunteered.

  “I was thinking ‘demanding,’ but that works as well. In any case, this may take some time. Harry says the records are all jumbled up in crates and such—there’s no order to them, and he has no idea how far back they go. He never cared.”

  “No wonder these old families ran out of money. Not that Old Mick did any more with Sullivan’s books, I have to say. But since I started, I’ve been trying to keep an eye on what comes in and what goes out.”

  Gillian shook her head. “Smart woman. On the other hand, we should count ourselves lucky that the family stuck them away and forgot about them, if Harry’s right.”

  “Good luck for Althea, maybe. We’re the ones doing all the work.”

  “Aren’t you curious? This is a snapshot of over three hundred years of Irish history, in one place. Who knows, maybe your ancestors worked for the Townsends, or leased land from them.”

  “Well, I know Gran did, if only for a short while, and I don’t expect her to show up in any record book. As for earlier family members, I haven’t a clue. Sorry—I’ve never been interested in Irish history.”

  “Well, maybe this will change your mind. We’re here.” Gillian pulled up in front of the portico, where Harry waited.

  Chapter 15

  “Hello, Gillian. Maura. I hope you don’t mind getting dirty.”

  “That bad, eh?” Gillian said.

  “Nobody’s been up there in years, so you can well imagine.”

  “Does Eveline know we’ll be up there? I don’t want her hearing thumps and bumps over her head and worrying.”

  “She hasn’t gone above the ground floor for quite some time.”

  “What about the O’Briens?” Maura asked.

  “I don’t owe them an explanation for my activities in the house,” Harry said, annoyed. “They work for me.”

  “Harry, that’s rude,” Gillian protested. “They’ve taken good care of Eveline, so they deserve a little courtesy.”