An Early Wake (15 page)

“I
’ll take that to the station now,” Sean said crisply. He shut the lid with a snap, then looked confused momentarily as he realized he had nowhere to put it, and nothing to carry it in.

“Do you need a bag?” Maura asked. “We’ve got trash—uh, bin bags, if that helps.”

“It would do,” Sean said. Maura went through the door between the two bars and retrieved a new bag, ignoring the sudden lull in conversation as half the people in the pub, including Mick, turned to look at her, eager for news. She avoided their looks and returned to the back room, handing the bag to Sean, who slipped the fiddle case gingerly into it, then tied it off.

“So you think that guy was looking for Aidan’s dosh but he couldn’t find the fiddle case?” Tim asked. When Maura looked blank, Tim explained, “That money in there.”

“That’d be my guess,” Sean said.

“I’m surprised the guy didn’t find it before, if he was in here with Aidan,” Maura said. “But maybe he wasn’t looking for an old fiddle. And that shelf isn’t easy to see unless you know it’s there. How much cash do you think there is?”

“I’m not about to count it out now,” Sean said firmly. “I’m goin’ to take this back to the station and let our boys there examine it officially. But I’d agree it must’ve been what the man was looking for. Question is, how did he know Aidan had it?”

“Aidan withdrew his life savings and this guy saw him pocket the cash?” Maura suggested. “He stole it from the guy? Or he was planning to settle a debt, but changed his mind? Who knows. Maybe he just hated banks and liked to carry it with him. Or maybe it’s all fivers and really isn’t as much as it looks.”

“We’ll see,” Sean said. “Thanks, Maura. Tim, stay around Leap will yeh, just ’til we sort this out?”

Tim nodded. “I will. Maura, yeh won’t mind if I hang around here fer a bit, will yeh? It’s been a hard day, and I’d feel better bein’ around a lot of people, after this mornin’.”

No doubt Rose’s sympathetic attentions would also help, at least in part. “Sure,” said Maura.

Sean added, “I guess you can talk about getting dragged off by that fella. Anyways, everyone in the pub saw you get dumped outside, didn’t they? Mebbe someone will have recognized the car or the man. But keep quiet about the money in the case.”

“Right so,” Tim agreed readily.

Sean turned and marched out of the room and then out the front door of the building, carefully carrying the fiddle case wrapped in plastic.

Maura and Tim went back to the front room. “What was that about?” Mick asked.

“Hang on, Mick—I’ll explain in a minute,” Maura told him in a low voice. All eyes in the front room had looked up eagerly, hungry for information. Maura sighed again—it was beginning to be a habit. No way were they going to be able to ignore what had just happened, when they had disappeared behind closed doors with a garda, who had emerged carrying an unidentified plastic-wrapped bundle. Besides, maybe somebody had seen or heard something that could be useful. She slid behind the bar, then she turned to the waiting patrons. “All right, if you guys will buy a pint we’ll tell you the story.”

Rose had sidled as far as she could toward the end of the bar to be closer to Tim, who looked both scared and excited to be the center of attention. If he wanted to talk about looking for his lost father, that was up to him—he could just say he had been interviewing Aidan, for example. Which was true, although Maura wasn’t sure how much information he’d managed to gather, or even how hard he’d tried. In fact, she wasn’t sure how much he really cared about that project he claimed he was working on. Was finding his father the main reason he’d come here and started the ball rolling?

No,
she decided. Maybe that had been part of it, Maura thought, but somehow Tim had tapped into something bigger. She’d seen it: Tim had planted the seed, but Old Billy had somehow sent the word out through his nonelectronic low-tech network, and the results had been amazing. Look at the people who had shown up—they’d included an old rocker who people kept telling Maura had been big news in his heyday. Maybe he was a bit past his prime, but he was still plugged in enough that he’d heard the news and cared enough to show up at the door. And that had drawn Aidan in. And Aidan had brought something with him that wasn’t part of the music, and he’d died for it.

Jimmy Sweeney came in about six and sent Rose home. She was reluctant to go, but Tim was telling his story for the fifth or tenth time to a group of men in one corner of the room, and while he raised a hand to wave good-bye to Rose, he made no move to join her. Maybe it was for the best, Maura thought. Better Rose shouldn’t pin her hopes on a student from Dublin, which was kind of a long way away, practically speaking.

Jimmy, his attention focused on the row of pints in progress lined up in front of him on the bar, spoke out of the side of his mouth to Maura. “You’ve stirred the pot, right enough.”

“Things kind of took off. Think it’s a good thing?”

“The music, yeh mean? Maybe. Or it may all blow away again.”

Jimmy was a pessimist, Maura reflected. Of course, he’d seen a lot of people come and go in his time at Sullivan’s, so he might know better than she would. “Is there any place in Skibbereen that has this kind of thing?”

Jimmy leaned against the bar to look at her. “Nah, although there’s a couple of clubs now, opened in the past year or two. But a different crowd there, younger—not likely to stop in here. The hotel in Rosscarbery books some events, but not in the off-season, and things are a bit more posh there. Bandon, maybe. Cork city, though I don’t get up that way much, so I wouldn’t know what’s on.”

Maura checked out the room. Mick and Jimmy had things under control at the bar, so maybe she should go mingle, find out what people were actually talking about. She realized that she hadn’t talked to Billy at all—he’d slipped in while they’d all been distracted hunting for Aidan’s fiddle, and she’d been busy ever since. He’d probably take himself home before too long, so she should talk to him first—if she could pry him away from his circle of admirers, who seemed to be hanging on every word. She didn’t recognize the group, so they weren’t from Leap. But they didn’t look like tourists either. From Skibbereen, maybe.

“You guys all set?” she asked, approaching the group.

“Ah, Maura, have yeh met these fine lads from the town?” Billy asked, beaming. When Maura shook her head, he proceeded to introduce the circle to Maura, who smiled and nodded and wondered if she’d ever remember even their first names. “Maura’s the new owner here at Sullivan’s, and a fine job she’s makin’ of it. Not that she’s any Mick Sullivan—she’s a lot prettier!”

Billy’s joke brought a laugh from the group. Maura smiled back and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

Billy seemed to pick up on her reason for coming over, for he said, “Can I have a word with this lovely lady without yeh oafs butting in? Go get yerselves another pint.”

To Maura’s surprise, the men complied, and they even went to the bar for the suggested pint. Maura dropped into a chair next to Billy’s. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“They’re after tellin’ me that this is better than the telly. A mysterious death, a nice young boy roughed up, the gardaí on hand, big-name bands thrown into the mix. What more could they want?”

“I’m glad they’re having fun, even if I didn’t exactly plan it. I’d be happy if we could get the first part sorted out at least. Do you think the whole music thing worked? I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about it. Will Aidan’s . . . passing”—Maura found she was reluctant to call it anything stronger—“mess things up?”

“Nah,” Billy said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’ll only add to the mystery of it all. It’ll spread the story even more. The gardaí will sort things out, soon enough.”

“I hope so.”

Billy recognized her intent. “I think I’ve told yeh, the place—the Sullivan’s that was—has been missed. It filled a need, but then it just kinda slipped away. Mick was a great friend, may God rest his soul, but he kinda let things go toward the end.”

“Would people take me seriously, if I try to bring it back?” Maura asked. “I mean, I’m an outsider, and a woman, and I’m kinda young, so I don’t have the right kind of history. Or was this weekend a onetime thing?”

“It’s not you that’s bringin’ ’em in—not that yeh aren’t a part of it, of course—but it’s the music. Yer walking a fine line, I’d say. It’s not music for the young ones, and they’ve their own places to go. You want the ones who remember the way it was.”

Hard to market nostalgia for something she’d never seen. Maura debated telling Billy about the money they’d found in the fiddle case, but Sean had asked her not to say anything about that. Besides, they were surrounded by people who shouldn’t know that bit of information. Then she realized that Billy’s earlier entourage had returned and were hovering, respectfully, to reclaim their places in the circle. One of them held two pints and offered one up to Billy. “I’ll let you sit down again, boys,” she said, getting to her feet. “Great to have you here.”

Business held steady until closing time, unusual for a Monday night. Toward the end Tim came over and dropped onto a stool in front of the bar. Maura thought he looked more settled than he had earlier—but who wouldn’t be unsettled by being kidnapped and threatened by a stranger in this peaceful area?

“Can I get you anything, Tim?” Maura asked.

“A coffee, please. Everyone in the place has been buying me pints all evening and I think me kidneys are floatin’. I’m glad I don’t have to drive anywhere.”

“Did you learn anything helpful?”

“About me mystery attacker? Or the long music history at Sullivan’s?” He smiled.

“Either one.”

“No one seems to have recognized the car, more’s the pity. But you’ll be glad to know that everyone loved the music, and they’re still talking about it. The general opinion is that Aidan’s death was a shame, but nothing worse.”

Maura presented him with a mug of coffee. “How much longer do you think you’ll be around?”

“I don’t have to be back in Dublin fer a week or two, and I’d like to talk with more of the others who remember the past—Billy’s given me some more names. The man’s memory is deadly, isn’t it?”

Maura hoped that “deadly” meant something good, because she hadn’t heard it before. “He is. He’s like an institution here, and he’s definitely the keeper of memories. Listen, uh . . .” Maura stopped, unsure how to go about talking to Tim about Rose. She felt kind of responsible for her, since Rose had no mother. “About Rose . . .” She swallowed. “I hope you’re not just looking for a little fun. She’s kind of young, you know.”

Tim smiled into his coffee, then looked up at Maura. “I like Rose, and I know she’s been lookin’ out fer me, and I’m glad of it. But I wouldn’t promise her anything I can’t give her, yeh know? And I think she knows that.”

“All right,” Maura said. “Just be careful—or I’ll have to sic Jimmy on you. And I’d bet he fights dirty.”

“I hear yeh. Thanks, Maura.” Tim drained his coffee and stood up, reasonably steadily. “I think I’ll go back across the road now, but I’ll be stoppin’ by tomorrow. I hear some of the musicians might be planning some kind of memorial to Aidan. He was one of their own, if not lately. I’d like to see that.”

That was the first Maura had heard of that, but it seemed like a good idea. She said good night to Tim and watched him make his way across the street, glad to see him look both ways.

And then Sean Murphy’s car pulled up.

M
aura checked her watch: just past closing time, not late enough to be a problem. She figured Sean’s arrival would probably clear out the last lingering patrons. They looked up as Sean came in, but when he clearly had no announcement for them, they started fumbling in their pockets for their keys.

Sean made straight for the bar. Mick was the first to speak. “Any news?”

Sean shook his head. “None to speak of.”

Maura turned to Mick. “You and Jimmy might as well go home—I can handle the cleanup.”

Mick looked at her for a moment without speaking, then collected his jacket and made for the door, Jimmy on his heels. The last of the patrons went out the door, leaving her alone with Sean.

“You really haven’t learned anything?” Maura asked as she mopped off the top of the bar.

“A bit. The Cork file arrived. The money came to a coupla thousand euros. A lot for a man like Aidan Crowley to be carrying around with him, but hardly a fortune.”

“Still no relatives for him?”

“Not a one. Crowley lived at three different addresses in the past ten years, and not a soul at any of them remembers the man. He’d been on the dole a time or two, but not currently.”

“Nothing more useful in that file?” Maura asked.

“There were suggestions that Crowley had been involved on the fringes of the drug trade in the city. He had to have had some income. But no arrests, just suspicions.”

“Have you talked to Niall about him?”

“I did the other day, but I haven’t followed up with the man yet. I’ve been phoning Cork half the afternoon. I’d run over there meself, but I don’t know the neighborhoods, and I wouldn’t be welcome there. The Cork gardaí don’t want to trouble themselves—seems Aidan Crowley doesn’t make the cut for them, and I can’t say I’m surprised. We don’t know if he’d seen a doctor about his heart anytime recently, but it seems like it was a condition he’d had since he was a child—the coroner said she was surprised he’d lasted this long. They’re content to call it a natural death.”

“I’m sorry. It must be frustrating for you.”

“Have yeh learned anything new here?”

“I don’t think so. After you left, Tim was a really popular guy, so maybe he picked up something from someone here.”

“I’ll talk to him again. Putting this investigation aside, it may be that Tim is better off, knowin’ that Crowley’s not his da. Lets him hang on to a few dreams about who it might be, I guess. You told me yeh never knew yer own father?”

Maura was surprised by the personal question, although they’d talked about it on their one, interrupted dinner date. “Yeah. He died when I was too young to know him, and I was raised by my gran.”

“And yer mother?”

“Took off. Not the maternal type, I guess. Never heard from her again—if Gran did, she didn’t tell me. So I guess I can understand Tim wanting to find someone to claim as his own. Although, like you said, maybe he’d rather hold on to a nice fantasy than be stuck with a down-and-out loser for a father.” At least her father, who’d died in a construction site accident, had been a decent and hardworking man. “What about you? You don’t talk about your family much. You come from around here?”

“I do. Both parents alive and well. Five brothers and sisters, scattered all over—the youngest sister’s at uni in Cork. Me da’s still running dry stock in his pastures, and me ma worked in a real estate office before that business went bust.”

“Dry stock—what’s that?” Maura asked.

“Cattle. Steers, not milk cows. At least people are still looking for good Irish beef.”

“There are cows down the lane past my house, but I don’t know whose they are or even what kind. They’re probably milk cows, since they have udders.”

Sean smiled, clearly amused. “That would be a good indication.”

“So what happens next? About Aidan, I mean,” Maura asked.

Sean rubbed his hands over his face. “Wait for the rest of the reports from Cork. Keep talking to anyone else who comes forward. Truth be told, there’s not that much more to be done, and not much interest in doin’ it.”

“Have you been looking for the guy who grabbed Tim?” Maura pressed, although she wasn’t even sure why it mattered to her.

Sean shook his head. “Not much to work with there. Twenty people, including yerself, saw Tim get pushed out of a car. He was a bit distracted so he couldn’t tell us much about it. What description the others gave of the car comes down to a two-door or four-door sedan that was golden brownish red, unless it was gray. Not new, not old. Do yeh have anything to add?”

Maura shook her head. “No. I only saw it through the window, and I didn’t even notice it until Tim fell out onto the street.”

“No surprises there, then. There was a man driving it, clear enough, but no one seems to recall if he had hair or glasses or even a nose. We’ve Tim’s description of him, of course, but no one’s added to it.”

“Think he’ll be back?”

Sean shrugged. “Hard to say. If it’s the money he’s after, he doesn’t know we have it, unless you or Tim has spread it around. If it’s drug money, he may decide to cut his losses. He’s been drawing too much attention to himself. So that’s where it rests, then,” Sean said. He stood up. “I should let yeh get home—you’ve had a long day.” He hesitated, looking suddenly nervous, and looked around the empty pub. “Uh, there’s a show on at the hotel in Rosscarbery week after next, a comic who’s been on the telly. I was wondering if yeh’d like to go? I’d need to see to tickets.”

Ah. Maura had been wondering if he’d get around to asking her out again. Their first date had been nice enough, but it had been cut short by a police call, and he hadn’t tried again, until now. Sure, she was a modern woman and could have asked him, but she’d been on the fence about that. No doubt Sean had a number of local lovelies pursuing him; employed, healthy young men were scarce in Ireland, especially rural Ireland.

Now here he was in front of her, asking her out again. She liked Sean—he was a decent guy. She certainly trusted him. But did she want to go out with him? Maura felt like she was standing on a tightrope: if she said no now, that might end it for good. If she said yes . . . “Sure, I’d love to go. Sounds like fun,” Maura said. “Tell me which day and I’ll make sure somebody can cover here.”

“Brilliant,” Sean said, looking relieved.

Maura quickly changed the subject. “Oh, by the way, somebody said that Niall and his crowd might be planning some kind of memorial thing for Aidan, since a lot of them knew him—have you heard about that? Nothing’s been set up yet, but it might be like Saturday’s thing.” Only sadder. Or maybe not: she’d seen wakes in Boston that were anything but sad. “When I know when it’s going to be, let me know if I need to ask you guys to keep an eye on things—I have no idea how big this thing might be. Or you might want to come yourself and see who else shows up. Maybe out of uniform?” Oops, that almost sounded like she was inviting him to come, as a guest rather than a garda.
Well, why not?

“I hear what yer sayin’,” Sean said. “I’ve always fancied goin’ undercover. I’ll see yeh tomorrow, then. Safe home.”

“You too.” She watched as he left, then she came out from behind the bar to take one last pass through the back room. Nothing seemed out of place, but this time she walked up the stairs to the balcony and checked the back and side doors to make sure they were locked. She hadn’t had the time to ask about getting the locks replaced, but it was probably pointless—a strong man leaning against either door would open it.

She went back down the stairs, turned off the lights, and shut the door to the back room firmly behind her. In the front room she collected the last few glasses and set them behind the bar. She gathered up the last euros from the top of the bar and put them in the cash drawer. A respectable take, although nothing like the past weekend. But if the pub’s income held at anything like this level, she wouldn’t complain.

And then she took the money out again. The way things were going at the moment, she figured it would be safer with her than in the pub. She closed and locked the drawer, turned off the lights, and went home.

*

I
n the morning, Maura counted the cash she’d brought home and filled out a deposit slip, then sat at her kitchen table eating breakfast and dreaming, something she rarely did. When she’d arrived she’d done all the necessary things to set up a bank account for the business in her own name, but she admitted to herself that she was kind of sloppy about balancing the checkbook regularly, and she hadn’t even thought about working out the overall income and expenses for the pub until recently, once the first six months had passed. She wondered yet again whether there were any business taxes in Ireland and told herself to find out before she faced a nasty surprise. Soon. Once the tourist season was over for the year. Mostly she’d been operating month to month, giving Mick and Jimmy and Rose their hourly wages in cash, and paying the distributors and the power bill. But she really had no idea what kind of a profit they were making, and she had been kind of afraid to find out. At least there had always been some money in the bank—she hadn’t scraped bottom or bounced any checks—but that was as much as she could say. But now? Saturday’s music had brought in an amazing crowd, and the income had given her enough to tide the business over for months—more than she’d ever expected or hoped for. Even the past few days had added to the total. When all the dust settled, she’d think hard about trying to keep it going—with the help of some people who knew something about who was who in music these days, because she certainly didn’t. Would Mick know? He’d recognized most of the older guys who had showed up, but would he know the new crop? Who else could she ask? Maybe in the dead of winter things would be slow, and she could do some basic research, see if she could get Sullivan’s listed in tourist brochures, stuff like that . . . Maura had never planned to run her own business and hadn’t exactly prepared for it. Yet maybe it didn’t matter: so far the best promotional route she’d seen here was word of mouth, and that she couldn’t control anyway beyond doing what everyone said Old Mick had done: offer music and drink and the people would come. Now she’d seen it herself.

She decided to make another quick trip to the bank in Skibbereen and deposit the previous day’s take, which was still larger than average. She didn’t like having that much money just sitting around. But that would mean no time to stop by and talk with Bridget this morning, not if she had to make a trip into Skibbereen before she opened the pub. Not that it was any great hardship to go there: she really liked the town, and from what she’d seen, it was a busy place, with lots of people on the streets at any time of day—women shopping, school kids coming and going, trucks delivering stuff. At least she finally felt comfortable navigating her car through the one-way streets, and she knew where to park.

After she had taken care of the bank business, Maura stopped on the sidewalk outside and took an informal count of the drinking establishments that she could see from where she stood. There was the big hotel down at the end, of course, which had a bar and a nice restaurant. The Eldon Hotel was smaller and closer to the center; it also had a bar, famous—or infamous?—for sending Michael Collins off to his death. A few more places also served food (still a back-burner idea for Sullivan’s, but she couldn’t reject it completely yet). It was tempting to think of taking a bit of time to explore her competition, but she had a pub to run. This early in the morning the other pubs in town wouldn’t be open anyway. She needed to see them at their busiest times, but of course that was when she was busiest at Sullivan’s too. Maybe after their recent busyness died down a bit she could sneak away. On the other hand, if the music thing took off, she wouldn’t need to check out her competitors because she’d have as much business as she could handle. She hoped.

Maura was still counting pubs as she drove back: nothing between Skibbereen and Leap, but in Leap there was not only Sullivan’s but also the old inn—Sheahan’s—and the new bistro, both of which also served food. She really was going to have to find something to distinguish Sullivan’s if she wanted to stay in the game—but without going quite as far as the relatively new Motorcycle Café up the road toward the church.

When she got close to Sullivan’s, Maura was surprised to see lights already on inside. Mick opened the front door before she could get her keys out.

“What’re you doing here?” she demanded.

“There’s been a robbery. The cash drawer’s been emptied.”

“No, it hasn’t—I took the money out last night and took it to the bank this morning. I just got back from Skib.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Mick said. “But someone still broke in—the side door was forced open.”

Without replying, Maura went through to the back room and up the stairs. Yes, the side door was still hanging open, its lock useless. She’d been right about that much, unfortunately. “It’s still early—how’d you find out?”

“A mate of mine saw from the street that the door was open and rang my mobile. You locked up last night, right?”

“I did, and I checked all the doors. And took the cash just in case, thank goodness. You know what this means?”