A Turn for the Bad (22 page)

Gerard now had an almost rapturous look on his face. “If he's done the job right, she'd be as quiet as anything fer miles. She holds four?”

Gillian shrugged. “I've no idea. You'd have to ask Harry.”

“Gillian,” Maura said firmly. “Call Harry. Now.”

To give Gillian some privacy to make the call, Maura led her little band of—what? What was the opposite of a pirate? Anti-pirates? Rescuers?—out of the back room. She was surprised to see that the crowd had grown, until she realized that it was Saturday afternoon, which came before Saturday night, which was her busiest night of the week. It was already getting darker outside, and the glowing fire looked inviting. The room smelled of peat smoke and wet wool. Conor had been there when they'd gone into the back, but he was gone now.

Jimmy and his daughter had arrived, a bit earlier than Maura had expected. “Hey, Jimmy, Rose. Everything okay?” Maura greeted them.

“Mick gave us a call, said we might be busy tonight,”
Jimmy replied, although he didn't look convinced by the handful of people in the room.

“Ah, Da, it's better than sittin' at home burning our own fuel. We're grand, Maura,” Rose told her.

“Glad to hear it, Rose.”

“Aha, Jimmy, good to see you again,” Brendan said cheerfully. “Rose, you're looking lovely, just like your name.” He turned to Maura. “Maura, I'm sure Gerard brought that shipment we talked about. You might want to talk to Jimmy and Mick about what to do with it.”

“I'll do that, Brendan.” Maura walked over to the fireplace and dropped into a chair next to Billy.

“How are yeh?” he asked softly.

“Confused. There's too much happening at once, and too little time, and”—she looked around quickly—“I can't exactly talk about it here, although I do want you to know what's going on. Give me a minute to think.”

“No worries,” Billy said, and relaxed once again into his chair, his eyes on the other people in the room.

Relieved of having to make conversation, Maura tried to fit together the pieces she had just heard. Gerard had located what he thought was the big boat: good. He didn't know anyone with a small, fast, quiet boat: not so good. Gillian said Harry had a boat that fit the description: maybe good. But nobody knew what shape that boat was really in and whether it was working at the moment: still waiting for information on that point, and Gillian should be talking to Harry at this very moment.

Say the boat was right—then what? They would need to organize a team to go out and wait for the big boat to make a move, probably before dawn the next morning, then follow
it carefully without tipping them off, then wait until at least two of the crew were off the boat before approaching it and trying to locate John Tully. Who might not be there. If he was, he might be well hidden. Would they need some kind of plausible story to get on board? She had trouble seeing any of the small group of people who knew the score boarding the big boat by force, even if there was only one man on board to deal with.

So who was on this little rescue crew? She was out because she'd be useless. The same for Gillian. If it was Harry's boat that was used, Harry would probably want to be part of it—Maura had no trouble visualizing Harry deciding he should play the role of swashbuckling rescuer. She'd have to ask Gillian if he was up to it. Gerard, obviously, because he knew the most about the local waters and boats in general.

Thank goodness Gerard had counted the crew members. Assume Harry's small boat held four people: they'd have to leave space for John Tully, dead or alive. So there was room for Harry and Gerard, plus one more man. Mick? Brendan? Would Gerard have anybody else in mind, like his buddy Jack? Did any of them expect a fight? Conor was supposed to be the point person waiting on the shore to receive the shipment, so they'd have to work out a way to communicate with him so they'd know when half the crew was out of the picture temporarily. Unless, of course, he bailed on the whole thing.

In addition to this unlikely rescue, they'd have to keep the gardaí and the coast guard and the navy and customs and just about anybody else in Ireland in the dark about the whole thing. If they
didn't
find John Tully, they'd be in deep trouble. Unless, of course, nobody ever found out—but
Maura counted the likelihood of that as all but nonexistent. If they were wrong, a lot of people were going to have to do a lot of explaining. Could she keep Sean out of it? After all, he hadn't told her anything, hadn't given her anything like privileged information, and nothing that hadn't been confirmed by more than one other person. Would he be angry with her for acting without letting him know? Would he understand her reasons for keeping him in the dark?

Back to business. The short-list crew was: Gerard, Harry, and most likely Mick, with Conor in the loop, and the ladies sitting and waiting somewhere. Probably the pub, rather than her house or Harry's manor. If—when—the news got out, good or bad, a lot of people were going to want the details, and the pub was the best place for that. At least at five o'clock in the morning she and Gillian wouldn't have to pretend that things were normal. And they'd know pretty fast if their crazy plan had worked.

Gillian emerged from the back room, looking peeved. “What did he say?” Maura asked, joining her at the bar.

“He wants to talk to me before he decides anything. He's a bit angry, Maura. He claims I dropped this bombshell on him and I've been avoiding him since, and then I call him out of the blue and ask to use his boat.”

“I can see his point,” Maura said. “
Have
you been avoiding him?”

“Answering his mobile, maybe. For pity's sake, we had dinner only last night.”

“When you did in fact dump your kind of important news on him, right? So he's had a little time to think about it.”

“Not as long as I have,” Gillian muttered darkly. “Not enough to be rational about it, anyway.”

Maura thought for a moment. “Will it make a difference about the boat?”

“I don't know. I do have to explain what we're doing, and then most likely he's going to want to be part of it. Like I said, he's very fond of that boat. Better still if he can act the hero.”

Maura and Gillian realized at the same time that Rose was watching them with great interest. “What?” Gillian snapped at her.

Rose held up her hands and backed away. “Nothin', nothin'. I'd say everyone's actin' a bit odd these days, yerself included.”

“I'm sorry, Rose,” Gillian said, contrite. “It's complicated.”

“I'm old enough to know what's what, Gillian. It's Harry's, isn't it?”

Gillian dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, hell. Does everybody in this bloody village know?”

“Seems like it,” Maura said. “Here's the man now.” Harry had just walked into the pub.

He spied Gillian at the bar and came over quickly. He nodded curtly at Maura and Rose, then said, “Gillian, we have to talk.”

Gillian faced him squarely. “Yes, Harry, we do. The back room?” She glanced at Maura, who nodded.

When Gillian and Harry had vanished into the back, closing the door behind them, Rose turned to Maura. “That's not all that's odd, now, is it?”

“Rose, you are too smart for your own good. No, there's some other stuff, but I'm trying to keep it quiet.”

Rose laughed briefly. “Maura, there's no more than a
coupla hundred people in the whole of the village, and not many more from the townlands, and most of them are related to each other. There's no such thing as keepin' anythin' quiet here—everyone talks.”

Maura sighed. “I keep forgetting that. But in this case it's kind of scary. I'm trying to keep this quiet because I don't want to put anyone in danger. And I don't want the wrong people to hear about it either.”

“And you don't want me da to know?” Rose said quietly.

Maura shook her head. “Oh, Rose . . .”

“It's all right—I know me da. He can't keep his mouth shut if he thinks bein' in the know will do himself some good.”

“He's your father, Rose, and I don't want to put anything between you two, but I think you've hit the nail on the head about him. I can't include him right now—it's too risky. Look, this should all be wrapped up by tomorrow sometime, and then everyone can hear the whole story.” Unless it was a total disaster. Of course, in that case they'd all hear about it on the telly. “If he gets curious about some of the odd things going on here tonight, try to distract him, okay? Or maybe I'll tell Billy to keep him talking.”

“So who'd be in it, then? Yerself?”

“No, not me. Mick, Harry—if Gillian doesn't bite his head off first—and Gerard from the distillery. Depends on how big this boat of Harry's is, and if it's running, and if he'll want to use it.”

From where they sat at the bar, Maura and Rose could hear the sound of raised voices, even through the thick door of the back room. They exchanged a look. “Think I should go in there?” Maura asked.

Rose shook her head quickly. “This is fer the two of them to work out between themselves. What they're decidin' will go on long past tomorrow.”

“So it will,” Maura agreed. She was relieved when a couple of men came in and asked for drinks, then stood in front of the bar waiting while the drinks settled, making small talk that had nothing to do with boats or drugs or any other secrets, as far as Maura could tell. They carefully ignored the argument going on in the room behind. If the words weren't audible, the tone was clear.

Luckily the argument did not go on much longer. The sound of angry voices died down, and then Harry opened the door, stopping short of slamming it back against the wall, and stalked through the pub and out the front door without a backward glance or a word to anyone. When he was gone, Gillian followed more slowly and came over to the bar where Maura was sitting, then dropped onto a stool. The men in the bar made an effort to pretend that they didn't see her and hadn't heard a thing.

Gillian sat. “Could you do me a cup of tea, Rose?” When Rose nodded and turned to fill a teapot, Gillian faced Maura. “He'll let us use the boat. He's gone to check out what state it's in and make sure there's fuel in it.”

“And?” Maura said.

“And what?”

Maybe this wasn't the best time to ask, but when was there a good time? “He's not happy? About the rest of it, I mean?”

Gillian shook her head. “He's angry. Insulted, I suppose—he said I thought he wasn't man enough to deal with it. I told him his manhood wasn't in question, just his maturity. It did
not go well. But I explained the other thing, and he agreed to the idea. He'll be back once he's looked things over with the boat, talked to Tom O'Brien.” Rose slid a mug of tea toward her, and Gillian added liberal amounts of sugar and milk before taking a long swallow.

“Have you figured out what you want yet?” Maura asked.

Gillian shook her head. “I suppose I was waiting to see how Harry took the news. I don't know what kind of reaction I expected, or wanted, but I can't say I'm surprised. He's had a day to get used to the idea. I'm not asking anything from him, although I'm not sure he believes that. Maybe that's what's got him in a panic—he wasn't sure how he was going to handle his own life and suddenly he has others to consider.” She took another sip of tea. “And then there's this whole other thing in the midst of it all.”

“Well, that part wasn't planned, and no one could have expected it.” Maura looked over the crowd: nobody was watching them, but she could swear that several sets of ears twitched. Couldn't be helped. Outside the rain had settled down to an occasional spatter, although the wind was still high, but it was already getting dark. Good or bad? Her little band wouldn't be able to see much in the dark, but on the plus side, the guys on the big boat wouldn't see them either.

Mick had been talking to a couple of the men, who appeared to know him, and then he came over and joined them at the bar. “Well?” he said, looking at Gillian.

“Yes to the boat,” Gillian said. “He's looking it over now. And yes to the other part as well. I don't think he wants to let the boat out of his sight. I'm guessing he fancies himself a bold hero.”

“Ah,” said Mick, and went to collect some empty glasses.

“I will be very glad when we can stop talking like this,” Maura said. “Are you Thing One or Thing Two? Because your thing came before the other one.”

“Fine, whatever. When Harry gets back from this mad adventure, assuming he does, we'll have to make a real plan, won't we?”

“At some point you'll have to. I hate it that the guys're going to have all the fun while we just sit and chew our nails. Not that there's much choice.”

“You started all this, did you not?”

“What part did I start?” Maura asked, vaguely offended.

“You're the one with the friend at the gardaí, aren't you? Who told you something was going on. And then you talked to Billy, who got the word out that it wasn't so secret anymore, and then Conor came and talked to you, and here we are.”