Buried in a Bog (18 page)

Officer Murphy was smiling at her. “I had to ask the question, but I agree that it seems unlikely that any one of them would do this.”

“So…what? There’s no one with a grudge against me, so is it juvenile delinquents? Do you get kids joyriding around here? Just letting off steam? Are you going to interview people nearby to see if they noticed anything?”

“I see no point to that. I know the road, and there’s no one near enough to have seen anything, even if they were at home. Did anyone know you’d be on this road?”

“No, I’ve never even taken this road before. I was trying to find a new way back to town, and I’d only just made up my mind to try it. But that’s it. Does that mean the guy was
following me? Or waiting for me to leave Mrs. Nolan’s house?” Even as she said it, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. Suddenly she felt drained. “That’s all I know. Listen, can you take me back to Sullivan’s now? Or should I go and wait at the garage where they took the car?”

“Of course I’ll take you. And I’ll see that the car’s returned to you as well.” Sean led the way to his car, and they headed back along the road toward Leap. Maura found herself counting the houses that they passed. There was an old abandoned building at the bottom of the road—no witnesses there. Around another bend there were a couple of newish houses, but they were out of the direct line of sight for the hill.

They arrived in Leap in a couple of minutes. Sean pulled over and parked his police sedan in front of Sullivan’s. Maura gathered up her bag and opened the car door quickly, worried briefly whether the sight of the police car would have an impact on business.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said, and shut the door before he could answer. She entered the pub to find Mick behind the bar, polishing a glass.

“What’s that about?” he asked, nodding toward the police car parked outside.

“Car trouble,” Maura said curtly. “Jimmy’s not coming in today?”

“We’re on our own. Everything all right?” Mick asked.

“Depends on how you look at it,” she said. “Someone ran me off the road near your grandmother’s, but the good news is, I’m fine and we’re pretty sure the car is too—Officer Murphy there sent it to a garage to have it checked out.”

Mick’s expression changed quickly to one of concern. “You sure you’re not injured?”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’m not very fragile. Nothing damaged. Thanks for asking, though.”

He gave her a long look but wisely didn’t comment. “Jimmy’s staying at home today—says he’s in a lot of pain from the arm and all. He said Rose’d be in later, and I’ll be in tonight. You won’t need to stay, if you’re not up to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Besides, I really need the cash now—I’ve got to pay for the tow and any repairs the car needs.”

“Don’t worry yourself—it won’t be much. The car’s been through worse.”

Pride and relief fought in Maura’s head. If she owed money, she wanted to pay it, but she wasn’t sure how much she had, or how much would be coming in from her time at Sullivan’s. “Should be a busy day, what with that murder, eh?” She heard the door behind her open and turned to see Sean Murphy coming in. Mick straightened up and set down the glass that he’d polished several times.

“Nolan,” Sean said.

Mick nodded. “Murphy.”

The officer turned to Maura. “I just got a call—the car’s fine. I’ve asked the man at the garage to bring it over to you. I’ll stay here to ferry him back to Skibbereen.”

“Jeez, that was fast!” Maura said. “Did your mechanic friend really have time to look at it?”

“He did that. He’s just down the road, before you get to the Skibbereen roundabout. He knows his business, if you’re worried about him getting it right.”

“Well, great, thank you. Can I get you anything?” Maura asked, wondering if he was on duty or not and whether that mattered in Ireland.

“Tea would be grand,” he said, settling himself on a stool at the bar.

Mick silently filled a mug with hot water, dropped a tea bag into it, and set it in front of him. “Maura was just telling me there’d been some trouble with the car.”

Sean looked at Maura, as if asking permission. She nodded. “She was pushed off the road, near your gran’s. Is it her car?”

“My grandfather’s name is still on the papers.” Mick glanced at Maura, his expression unreadable. “Ran her off deliberately, you mean? Why do you think anyone would do that?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” Maura said sharply. “I haven’t done anything! I’m not hiding out in Ireland to escape the Mob or the police back home. I’m just a tourist. Why on earth would anyone be interested in me, much less want to hurt me?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Sean said mildly. He turned to watch a new arrival on the road: Maura’s car, with the tow truck driver at the wheel. The driver climbed out and came into the pub. “Car checks out fine, miss. The mechanic says they don’t build them like this anymore—real solid.” He laid the keys to the car on the bar in front of Maura.

“I’ll take you back directly.” Sean turned back to Maura and Mick. “Have you seen anyone paying particular attention to this lady here lately?”

Mick laughed. “Over the past few days we’ve had more
people in here than in the full year before. Most people have said hello to her, at least—she’s a new face, and American at that.”

“True, but it seems everyone’s been much more interested in the body you found in the bog, and then last night they were all talking about the new death,” Maura protested.

“Well, keep an eye out, both of you,” Sean said.

“Of course,” Mick answered, and Maura nodded.

“Then I’ll be on my way. Let me know if anything else unlikely happens.”

He and the driver went out to the garda car. Maura turned to Mick. “I’m sorry—you can take the car back if you want. Looks like I’m not taking very good care of it.”

“He said it’s not your fault,” Mick said, nodding at the garda car as it pulled away. “If you tell me it’s no accident, I believe you.”

“Are the…gardaí, is it?—going to find out anything?”

“They’re bright enough lads,” Mick said, “but it sounds to me like they’ve little to go on, and they’ve got other things, like this murder, to worry about.”

“Which sounds like a no to me. Should we tell your grandmother? About the car, I mean?’

He shook his head. “It’d only upset her. The car’s fine, and you should keep it for now. Just be careful, will you?”

“I thought I
was
being careful.”

“Listen, if you want to go have a rest or something, I can cover here,” he said again. “You seem upset.”

“No, really, I’m fine,” Maura insisted. “I’d rather keep busy than have to think about what happened up on that hill.”

“At least go have yourself some lunch—there’s time enough for that,” Mick said.

“Thanks, I guess I will.” Maura went out the door and stopped in front of the car. The garage had actually shined it up a bit, and the only signs of her encounter on the back road were a few scratches in the paint. Even she could tell that it was a relic from an earlier age, when car bodies were actually made of metal rather than plastic. But she wasn’t ready to get behind the wheel again—not just yet. She decided to walk up to the small market and pick up some food, and then find somewhere to sit and eat it—and think about why anyone would try to do this to her.

With sandwich and drink in a bag, Maura came back along the road to the Keohanes’ house, but rather than going to her room there, she followed the lane that ran alongside the harbor. Actually, she realized, what she had thought was the Keohanes’ driveway merged into a graveled lane that led to a couple of other houses, past a field with a grazing horse, and ended near a large, empty stone building three stories high. Since the land sloped steeply upward to the road above, she was sheltered from the wind down below, although she could see riffles in the water far from shore. She found herself a spot overlooking the water and sat. There was no noise, no crowds; no sirens blaring in the distance, no airplanes passing overhead. How often in the past had she found herself surrounded by such quiet? It was unsettling. She didn’t open her lunch immediately, but looked out over the water, waiting for her pulse to stop racing and her mind to stop spinning.

The peace and quiet were soothing, and did their job: after a few minutes she felt calmer. Even she had to admit
there was a kind of magic here. If she who had always been a skeptic could sense it, it must be real. Had Gran seen this view of the harbor, countless times? Had she missed it when she got to Massachusetts? How had she gone from this kind of silence to the endless bustle of a city? What would have happened if Gran had stayed here to raise her son? She must have hoped for a better life in America, and maybe that would have worked out if her son, Tom Donovan, hadn’t died. Maybe they would all have moved to a nice house in the suburbs and lived happily ever after.
Ha!
Maura thought to herself. Gran couldn’t have known what was in store—she had just tried to do the best she could. Throughout her life she’d worked hard and tried to help other people.

Kind of like the way people here have been helping you out, Maura?

That thought stopped her cold. She’d always secretly thought that Gran was a softy, a pushover, and that people took advantage of her kindness. Maybe she should be looking at it in a different light. Gran had just been doing what the people she had grown up around had done: she offered help and support to those who needed it. Payback, or paying it forward? Gran’s generosity hadn’t been a weakness—it had been her strength, and Maura had refused to see that.

How many other ideas was she going to have to toss out? About her Gran, about her own life?

Maura shook her head to rid it of such troubling thoughts. She picked up the sandwich she’d all but forgotten and wolfed it down, then trekked back to Sullivan’s. It was going to be a busy day.

W
hen Maura walked back into Sullivan’s Mick looked up and nodded but didn’t say anything, which was fine with her. After some food and the walk, she felt calmer and didn’t want to risk breaking that spell. She took a quick look around the pub; she and Rose had missed a few spots in their cleaning, but overall it looked pretty good, or at least better than it had when she’d first seen it. Not that the previous evening’s customers had seemed to notice, but Maura was pleased with it. Gran would have approved, Maura was sure—she was a stickler for keeping things clean, even when she was working two jobs, and she’d trained Maura well.

Billy Sheahan was already dozing in his seat by the fireplace, where a small fire was lit. Maura leaned over the bar toward Mick. “Is he always here?” she said in a low voice.

Mick smiled briefly. “Mostly. He’s been coming in for years—he and Old Mick were quite the pair, when they’d get going. I haven’t the heart to move him—he’s too old to change his stripes now. And he does no harm.”

It figured. Maura had already noticed that the Irish didn’t go in much for change, at least if something was still working. The very essence of the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” philosophy. “You know, Mick, I get the feeling this place is caught in a time warp. I mean, everybody else in the world is putting in fancy digital CD players and big-screen TVs and Wi-Fi, but here, it’s like nothing’s changed in the last fifty years. How does this place stay in business at all?”

He shrugged. “It was Old Mick’s place, and he ran it to suit himself. He saw no need to change.”

Maura waited a few moments, but Mick didn’t elaborate. It made a kind of sense—as long as Old Mick hadn’t needed the money. “I’ve been meaning to ask—you guys more or less set your own hours here, right?”

“That’s true. You’re thinking that’s no way to run a business? You’d be right, but Old Mick was here most of the time, so it didn’t matter much. And we haven’t had the time or the heart to reorganize yet. Are you worried about the local laws? Age limits? You have to be eighteen to drink.”

“And drunk driving? Don’t I have to look out for that?” At least she’d finally gotten some answers. It was only then that Maura noticed a new addition. “Where on earth did the espresso machine come from?” Maura nodded toward a machine against the wall. It looked brand-new.

“Ah, that was one of Jimmy’s grand schemes—he thought it would bring in a better crowd. He got it on the cheap somewhere. But he lost interest fast, after he’d burned his
fingers a time or two. It was down in the cellar collecting dust. I’d forgotten about it until I went down to fix the stairs.”

“I’d forgotten about the stairs. I’m glad you remembered. Why’d you bring the machine upstairs now?” Maura asked.

“I figured we should either use it, sell it, or dump it. Have you ever used one?”

“Now and then, but not this model—seems like each one’s different. This looks like a good one, though.”

“Will it be worth it, do you think?”

“Not for the customers I’ve seen so far. But who knows? It might attract more women. What did Old Mick think about having an espresso machine in here?” Maura walked behind the bar to where the machine sat in all its stainless steel glory, and poked around a bit.