An Early Wake (21 page)

M
aura wasn’t sure how she got home, but it seemed she knew the way without thinking now. Or maybe the car knew the way, and it was probably older than she was and had done the drive plenty of times. Whatever the case, she arrived home and fell into bed without thinking of anything other than sleep. Not Sean, not Mick. That was for another day.

The next morning, Thursday, she overslept, in part because it was raining—not a gentle, misty rain, but rain that was determined to darken the day and soak everything. Maura fought against letting the weather dampen her mood, but in truth she was confused and a bit overwhelmed after the events of the day before. She dragged herself out of bed, pulled on sweats and socks, and wandered downstairs to boil water for tea. Then she sat at her table and stared at nothing, trying to figure out what had happened.

The bare outline was simple enough, at least at the beginning. Donal Maguire, recently identified as a low-level soldier in the drug trade in Cork city, had shown up at the door of Sullivan’s at closing. He’d demanded to be let in, and she had no idea what might have happened next if Old Billy hadn’t hobbled in and confused and distracted Maguire, and then Billy and Mick had held him down until the gardaí rode up on their white horses—well, police cars—to her rescue and carried Maguire away to the station to do whatever they needed to do to hold him.

She had been warmed to learn that she had Old Billy’s official stamp of approval, that he now considered her “one of them”—“them” being the people of Leap, or West Cork, or maybe all of Ireland. She hadn’t known she needed it, but she was glad she had it, and she owed him big-time—at least free pints for as long as he wanted them, and a permanent spot by the fire in the pub.

And then she and Mick . . . that was where she got confused. It wasn’t that she didn’t remember what had happened, but that she didn’t understand it.

She sliced some bread for breakfast, to keep her hands busy, but she couldn’t stop thinking. Mick had asked, in a roundabout way, if she was interested in Sean, and she had somehow managed not to answer the question. Was she? She liked Sean. He was a good guy—honest, decent, kind, thoughtful, a whole string of positive things. He clearly liked her, since he kept asking her out. He could probably have his pick of neighborhood girls, and he’d be a desirable boyfriend, since he was actually employed, unlike most of the few young men who were still around. So why’d he pick her? She didn’t know, and she hadn’t asked.

Come on, Maura—can’t you at least be honest and get to the point in your own head?
Did she “like” like Sean? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been looking for any kind of relationship because there was so much else going on in her life that she had to get sorted out first, and it wouldn’t be fair to anyone else to give them only a small part of her.

Uh, Maura—that “honest” part?
her inner voice reminded her. All right. First of all, she’d never given her real self to anyone who mattered. Second, she . . . wasn’t quite sure that Sean was the right one. She liked him, she trusted him, sure. Still, she didn’t want to give him false hope or send him the wrong message. He deserved better. But were there any sparks? None that she’d noticed. Not that that meant there might not be, eventually. But not yet.

And that was where things had rested until yesterday, when Mick had jumped into the middle of it. For a start, he’d put his finger on one thing that had troubled Maura about Sean: Sean seemed young. It wasn’t just his age: he seemed kind of unfinished, untested. He was going in the right direction, but was he there yet? When would he be a real grown-up?
What, like you, Maura? You’re not exactly a prize in that department.

And what the hell was Mick trying to signal by indicating that
he
was interested in her? She sure hadn’t noticed any sign of that in the six months they’d known each other. Maura sat, her tea cooling, and reviewed her interactions with Mick over the past six months—and came up with nothing. He’d been polite and punctual; he’d always done what he’d been asked; and he had kept the pub running while she was learning the ropes. He hadn’t asked for much of anything from her. As she’d said to him, she had started out thinking that he was kind of pissed about not getting at least a part interest in the pub from Old Mick. At least Jimmy had been up front about his resentment, since he’d wanted a share too, although he seemed to be coming around. Mick she’d never been able to read.

He hadn’t volunteered much of anything either. She knew very little about him. He was a nice-looking, eligible bachelor; why
hadn’t
some woman snapped him up by now? He couldn’t be gay, not if he was coming on to her. If “coming on” was the right term—she still wasn’t sure about that, because he’d been so vague. Did he have some deep dark secret? A dead wife? A not-dead wife? A divorce or three? No, this was Ireland, and divorce wasn’t all that easy. Illegitimate children scattered all over County Cork? A fatal disease? A criminal record? Sean would know that last one, but how could she ask Sean? Or was Mick just a very private—or did she mean secretive?—person who didn’t like to share personal details? And who was she to criticize that? Because she was the same way. Except that everybody in Leap knew her life story before she opened her mouth.

God, she was a hot mess.

Or had been when she arrived. Since then, she’d been working on it, and she’d learned to open up a little more; to let people in and to trust that they wouldn’t take advantage of her. It was hard. And she’d had an awful lot on her plate, hadn’t she? A new country, inheriting then running a pub in an unfamiliar place, trying to make friends. She’d been overwhelmed, and that was only now beginning to fade.

Maura, you’re making excuses
. All right—she felt more settled in Ireland; the pub was running smoothly and she’d even made some small improvements, and the music this past weekend had been amazing and at the same time had handed her a solution for how to keep the pub in the black; and she had friends. And not one but
two
guys asking her out. She was going to have to take a hard look at herself and figure out what she really wanted. One of them? Neither?

She wished she could talk to Bridget, but wasn’t sure she should. She had a nice relationship with the old woman, who’d kind of stepped into the role Maura’s grandmother had held. Did she want to jeopardize that? And hadn’t it seemed that Bridget kept nudging Maura toward Sean Murphy rather than her own grandson? Was she imagining that? Was Bridget concealing something about Mick? Or was Maura simply being paranoid and reading too much into simple things? How unsettled was she about everything that had gone on during the past week? Just when Maura had thought she was getting a handle on the situation, everything had shifted. Like bringing the music back: it had seemed like a good idea, but it had brought a whole batch of problems along with it. Well, it looked like those problems had been solved—with help from Sean
and
Mick. So maybe the music could go on without anything else going wrong.

Enough, Maura!
She slapped both hands on the table and stood up abruptly. She’d get dressed and then she’d go talk to Bridget and tell her about facing down a wanted criminal, and maybe test the waters about the Sean versus Mick problem, and then she’d go to the village and open her pub and see what surprises that might hold for the day.

Ten minutes later she was knocking on Bridget’s door. Bridget opened it promptly. “Come in, come in, before yer soaked through.”

“I’ll get your floor all wet,” Maura said. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“And the floor’s never been wet before?” Bridget asked. “The tea’s in the kitchen—take yer coat off and tell me all the news.”

“What’ve you heard already?” Maura asked cautiously, as she shed her coat and helped herself to a mug of Bridget’s strong tea.

“That grandson of mine called me this morning and said you’d had a bit of trouble last night but that it was all settled. Does he have any part of that right?”

“More or less.” Maura outlined the events of the prior evening, but ended lamely with, “Then Mick and I talked for a bit and I came home.”

Bridget gave her a searching look, but said, “Ah, Billy Sheahan—he was a fine lad in his day. I’m sure he’s pleased as punch to be able to help you out. Have you heard from Sean Murphy yet today?”

“Shoot, I haven’t even looked at my mobile. I suppose I’ll have to give my official side of the story sometime today, unless there’s enough to hold on to Donal Maguire without it. I mean, they’ve got breaking and entering, assault, kidnapping, and maybe even whatever they call accidental murder in Ireland to charge him with. But there are bound to be loose ends to tie up.” Maura sipped her tea. “Did you hear we’re planning on having another do this weekend, a wake to honor Aidan Crowley? Niall Cronin’s putting it together. If the gardaí have their killer now, all the more reason to go ahead with it, I guess. And I’m still trying to decide whether it’s worth taking on planning music events like we just had.”

“Ah, Maura, it’ll be easy once you get the hang of things. And wasn’t it grand?”

“I think so, or that’s what other people have been telling me—I was so busy managing the front of the house that I couldn’t spend any time in the back just listening. I only heard bits and pieces of it.”

“Did you not draw a good crowd?”

“Yes, we did. I know I made a very nice deposit in the bank this week. But there were problems too, you know.”

“Like Aidan Crowley? That wouldn’t be happenin’ each and every time. But I won’t tell yeh what to do, and if it’s too much fer yeh now, there’ll be time enough later. Like you saw, people remember.”

Maura read between the lines and decided that Bridget was in favor of the idea, even though she’d taken no part in the event. “Maybe. Look, Bridget, I know a lot of people around here talk to you. Can you let me know what they thought about that night? No rush—it’s not like I have to decide anything right now. Anyway, I’ll see how the wake on Saturday goes.”

“Sure and Mick will help you out with it all.”

Well, there was her opening. Maura took a deep breath. “About Mick . . .” And then she stalled, not sure what she wanted to say. “Bridget, I don’t really know what I’m asking, or if you’re the person I should be talking to, but . . .” Another fumble for words. “I got the idea last night that maybe Mick wanted . . . wanted to ask me out.”
Lame, Maura, lame.

“I’ve been wonderin’ when that would rear its head,” Bridget said, more to herself than to Maura. Then Bridget’s eyes sharpened. “And would that be a problem fer yeh?”

“Can I be honest with you?” Maura asked. When Bridget nodded, she plunged on. “I really don’t know. I haven’t thought about it, but maybe I have to—think, that is, and either say yes or put a stop to it now.” A stop to what? Nothing had started. “Bridget, Mick is pretty much a mystery to me. I’ve been working alongside him for six months now, and what I know about him would fill a postcard. Is there something he’s not telling me? Something I need to know?”

Bridget looked down at her hands in her lap, with a half smile on her face. “I learned long ago not to put myself in the middle of these things—there’s seldom any good comes of it. And if there’s any tellin’ to be done, it should come from him, not me.” Bridget looked up at Maura then. “He won’t press you, if you say no. But know this: he’s a good man. Decent, honest, fair-minded. Mind you, he’s also a closemouthed devil and you seldom know what he’s thinkin’. Is that what you want to hear?”

Maura shook her head. “I don’t know what I want. I need Mick to help run Sullivan’s—if we started seeing each other and it didn’t work out, that would make things harder all around.”

“Here yeh go endin’ what hasn’t even begun,” Bridget said, smiling. “I won’t tell yeh what to do, and if you do nothin’ at all, I won’t hold it against you. I’m old enough to know not to meddle in the lives of others. Yer a friend now, Maura, and that won’t change, whatever happens with Mick.”

“Thank you, Bridget. That helps.” She still didn’t know anything more about Mick, but she figured that Bridget had more or less let her know that there was nothing awful lurking under his surface—although there might be something she
should
know, but she wasn’t going to get it from Bridget. And that Bridget would let her work it out for herself and stand by her either way. That was good. “I should be going now—I’m sure there’s going to be follow-up to the capture of Donal Maguire yesterday, and planning for Aidan’s wake, and I’d better be there.”

“Not to worry. I’m sure half the townlands will be stopping by to tell me all about it today.”

“I’ll come by later, to give you the real story,” Maura said. She took her mug to the sink and rinsed it, and on her way to the door she leaned over and kissed Bridget on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Ah, go on wit’ yeh. Get yerself into the village—there’s work to be done.” Despite her words, Bridget seemed pleased.

“I will. ’Bye, Bridget.”

T
he rain didn’t let up as Maura drove cautiously toward Leap. She knew she wasn’t likely to meet any other cars, but the heavy downpour had nowhere to go but down the lanes, which in some cases were hardly paved, meaning she had to fight unexpected streams and mud. Besides, she wasn’t in a hurry, and the ride gave her time to sort out her thoughts. As she kept her eye on the road, she reviewed her to-do list for the day. Had it really been only a week since Tim had arrived, all starry-eyed about the rich music history at Sullivan’s, which she had known nothing about? Somehow he had started something that had produced that amazing gathering of musicians by last Saturday. And then Aidan Crowley had died.

She parked her car but didn’t get out right away.
Nervous, Maura?
Mick had said he’d be in early. Jimmy and Rose would be in around noon. She could check in on Old Billy, but she didn’t want to disturb him after the late night he’d had. She could go looking for Tim at the Keohane house, but he would probably come looking for Rose anyway. After the week he’d had, she wouldn’t blame him if he’d scurried back to Dublin. Now she had no idea what was going to happen. Tim had had his own agenda for coming here, and he’d been disappointed, at least by Aidan. Would he try again, or would he give up his hunt for his father? What was really keeping him in Leap? Was it Sean asking him to stay until the crime side of things was settled? Was it Rose’s sympathetic eyes? Or was he actually interested in the music, and he still entertained hopes of seeing another gathering of the bands at the Saturday wake?

But if that was going to happen, she wasn’t ready for it—she still hadn’t sorted through what she had learned the last time around. Of course, if Niall wanted to do it, as a tribute to Aidan, she was sure Mick would help him out with the details. She could veto the whole thing—but why would she? Actually, as she’d said to Bridget, she hadn’t seen or heard much of the previous weekend’s music, and she thought she should take a hard look—or did she mean listen?—before she made any decisions about bringing it back on a more regular basis. And this second event might solidify the success of the first one.

Well, Maura believed in facing things head-on. Sitting here was stupid. She climbed out of the car and headed for the front door of Sullivan’s. It was unlocked, and she could see Mick moving around inside. Taking a deep breath, she walked in.

“Hello,” she said. And stopped: she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Good mornin’,” Mick replied, curiously formal. He glanced at her and then went back to sweeping the floor.

No help there. “Any damage we didn’t notice last night?”

“Nothin’ that matters—these tables and chairs are as old as the hills, and a few more dents won’t matter.”

“I stopped by to see your grandmother this morning.”

“Did you now?” Mick replied, his eyes on the broom.

“She said you told her only that there was a bit of a fuss here last night but nothing important. Is that right?”

“I didn’t want her to worry.”

Maura almost laughed. “Mick, you know every friend she’s got is going to be calling her or stopping by today. You can’t exactly hide it from her.”

He leaned on the broom and looked at her then. “Do I take it you told her the whole story?”

“I did, right down to the drug dealer. I don’t think Bridget is stupid, any more than Old Billy is. By the way, have you seen anything of him yet today?”

“No, but it’s early yet. He’ll be fine.”

“Mick, he’s the same age as your gran,” Maura protested. “Her you protect, but Old Billy can take care of himself? Jeez, he assaulted a drug dealer last night!”

“He did,” Mick agreed. He pushed the broom around the floor some more before saying, “Maura, what’s this about?” Again without looking at her. “Yer a bit sharp this morning.”

She didn’t know how to answer that, because it was about at least four different things, all jumbled together—starting with the fact that she was now nervous to be around Mick. She was saved by the arrival of Jimmy and Rose, much earlier than expected.

“What’s this I hear about a brawl last night?” Jimmy demanded immediately.

How did the word spread so quickly? “Good morning, Jimmy,” Maura said. “Only a small one, and Old Billy took care of it for us.” That stopped Jimmy in his tracks, but Maura didn’t expand on what she’d said. Instead she turned to Rose. “So how was your dinner with Tim?”

“Lovely, thanks so much. He said to tell yeh he’ll be stopping in later today. I’m guessing that he and Niall are hatching a plot between them.”

So Niall still had his eye on a farewell do for his late friend. It would be nice if somebody kept her up-to-date on their plans, since it was her pub. “So Niall will be along too?”

“Looks like. Mick, do you need help with the sorting out of the place?” Rose asked.

This was
her
place, Maura thought indignantly, and she was the one who was supposed to be giving the orders, not Mick. “Could you check in the back, Rose, make sure it’s cleaned up?” Maura asked, instead of acting like a spoiled brat.

“I will,” Rose said and disappeared in the back room.

Mick was still sweeping, with a great show of energy, and Jimmy was watching them both. He seemed to sense there was something off. “So the boys in the bands will be back?”

“Maybe,” Maura said. “I haven’t heard anything final from Niall, since we first talked about it.”

“Speak of the very devil!” Jimmy exclaimed, and Maura turned to see Niall standing in the doorway, looking sheepish.

“Am I welcome?” he asked.

“Of course,” Maura said. “Come in and dry off by the—oh, Jimmy, could you make up the fire? Niall, can I get you something?”

“Coffee would be grand,” he said, settling on a bar stool as Jimmy bustled around with kindling, logs, and lumps of turf. Mick took the opportunity to disappear toward the back of the building, and a few moments later Maura could hear the clanging of barrels.

Maura fixed Niall a cup of coffee, passed it to him, and then waited for him to speak. He’d come to her; let him figure out what he wanted to say. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, even if he was a superstar, or a former one.

Finally he said, “Maura, I owe you an apology, for bringing all this down on you.”

“All what?” she asked cautiously.
The musicians? The drugs? The death?

“When I heard that Sullivan’s might be startin’ up again, I wanted to be a part of it, because I remembered the way it was. I didn’t stop to think what that meant, but the word spread and you saw what happened.”

“Yes, and I’m still trying to process it. But you don’t have to apologize for that—Old Billy was the one who started things rolling.”

“He knew who to talk to, and the rest took care of itself, true. But I haven’t been exactly honest about Aidan.”

Ah
. “What do you mean?”

Niall stared into the depths of his coffee, as if there were an answer there. Maura noticed Jimmy was moving very slowly and quietly to build his fire, hoping not to be noticed and shooed away. She could almost feel his ears stretching in their direction.

“It was true that I ran into Aidan in a pub in Cork,” Niall began, “but it wasn’t by chance. I went looking fer him.”

“You’d kept in touch?” Maura prompted.

“Barely. We started out together—you’ll know that. He had some talent, and he played with a lot of people, although he never took the lead. He was never a happy man, and you’d have to say he took the easy way out.”

“Drugs?”

“Not so much the using of them—his heart wouldn’t stand that—but being on the edges of the drug trade made him feel important. He’s related somehow to one of the families who run the business in the city, which got him in the door. He was a bit of an odd-jobber—he’d run errands, make pickups and deliveries for the boys, that kind of thing. It gave him enough cash to get by, and at least he felt he was part of something.”

“You knew this all along?” Maura asked. “Why didn’t you tell the gardaí?”

“I didn’t know at first if that had anything to do with his death, and even if it did, I didn’t want that to be the one thing that anyone remembered about him, that he was killed over the drugs. He was a brilliant fiddle player, and his last night was a happy one, with the music.”

Jimmy gave up all pretense of keeping busy and came over to lean on the bar. “So what part of yer story isn’t true, then?”

“I found Aidan at that pub and told him what was going on at Sullivan’s, and I persuaded him to come along—offered him a ride and a place to stay, though he took me up on neither. It wasn’t easy to convince him, but in the end I won him over, and he came.”

“And he never happened to mention that he was carrying money for the drug gang?”

“On my mother’s grave, he did not! I thought he was embarrassed by the idea of facing his old friends and that was why he said no at first. But he had his fiddle case with him, at the pub. I thought—I hoped—that meant he still kept his hand in. So I twisted his arm and made him promise to come along. And that’s what got him killed and brought the trouble down on yer head. For that I am truly sorry.”

He sounded as though he meant it, Maura thought. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. But you need to tell the gardaí this.”

“I will.”

Rose emerged from the back and did a double take on seeing Niall at the bar. Then she squared her shoulders and marched over to where they were gathered. “Pardon the interruption, but there’s something I must say to this man.”

Jimmy was about to stop her, but to his credit Niall took her seriously. “And what would that be?”

Rose looked around the group briefly before addressing Niall. “We all know why Tim came here, so I’m spillin’ no secrets. He wanted to find his da, and he thought Aidan might be that. So he asked him, and Aidan told him no. Was he lyin’, do yeh think?”

Niall shook his head. “It’s hard to answer that. You’d have to know how things were back then, and yer too young to recall them. It was a wild scene, no mistake, with some of us on the way up, and some of us scrabbling to hang on at all. We slept where we could, when we could. And we didn’t always sleep alone. Did Aidan cross paths with Tim’s mother? Might be. Would he remember? Most likely not. And there’s nothin’ to be done about that now. Even if some kind soul wanted to test everyone’s DNA and offer some proof, Aidan’s gone now, and he never would have been the father Tim wanted.”

“I think he’d still like to know for sure,” Rose said stubbornly. “Is there anyone else who might know somethin’?”

“Rose, you’ve done more than enough,” Jimmy interrupted. “It’s not yer problem.”

She turned quickly to face him. “Da, I’m tryin’ to help a friend. And before you ask, that’s all he is, and no more. I know he’ll be leavin’ soon. But right now he’s hurtin’, and he feels like he started somethin’ here and it got out of hand and he’s very sorry. So, Niall Cronin, is there anything yeh can tell me that might help Tim find what he’s after?”

Niall smiled ruefully. “If this was a show on the telly, I’d stand up and declare that I am that very man, and we’d have a grand reunion. But I can’t do that. If ever I met his mother, I have no memory of it either. I admire what yer tryin’ to do, young lady, but Tim would be better off if he stopped worryin’ about the past and got on with his life.”

Rose nodded, once. “Thank you fer listenin’ to me, then. Would you tell the same to Tim?”

“I will, when I see him today. He’s got a good friend in yeh.” Niall turned back to Maura. “Now, Maura Donovan, can we talk about wakin’ Aidan Crowley?”

“What did you have in mind?” Maura said cautiously.

“Giving the man a good send-off, with his friends in attendance. Put out the word, like the last time,” Niall said with a grin. “I know, yeh still don’t see how it works, but you’ve seen that it does. Trust me—and I’ll see to it that things don’t get out of hand.”

Maura had her doubts about his ability to do that, especially if he was lost in playing his own music, but could lightning strike twice? No one else could possibly die this weekend, could they? “Then let’s do it. Mick can see to the music and the back room, and I’ll cover the front again, with Jimmy. Let me know if there’s anything special you want.”

“Ah, that’s grand!” Niall told her. “Old Mick would be proud of yeh.” He lowered his voice. “One other thing—seein’ as Aidan has no family, and even if we found any they’re probably worse off than he was, I’ll see to buryin’ him. If anybody asks.”

Just as she’d hoped, and she’d let Sean know. Maura decided that Niall Cronin really was a good man.

Mick had returned from the back in time to hear the latter part of Niall’s conversation with Maura. “Niall, if this is going to happen I need to talk to you about some of the amps . . .” he interrupted, and they went off toward the back, deep in a conversation about amplifiers that could have been Greek for all Maura could tell. She sighed.

“Do you not want to be doin’ this again, Maura?” Rose asked softly.

“I really don’t know,” Maura said slowly. “I think it’s very nice that Niall wants to honor his friend—but after last time, I have to worry, don’t I?” When she heard that come out of her mouth, Maura laughed out loud. “Don’t answer that!”