Scandal in Skibbereen (A County Cork Mystery) Page 26

  “Ray Finneran?” the detective asked the newcomer.

  “Yeah, that’s right. What is it you want from me? Those two there”—he pointed to Nate and Althea—“they almost killed me last night. Have you arrested them?”

  “We are still gathering information,” Detective Hurley said, giving nothing away. “Do I hear Irish in your accent?”

  “I’m from New York. My parents came from around here, long time ago. I’m just visiting.”

  “How did you come to be at that particular place last night, in Skibbereen?”

  “I was taking a walk. No law against that here, is there?” Ray said belligerently.

  “No, there is not. Are you staying in Skibbereen, Mr. Finneran?”

  For the first time, Ray looked unsure. Apparently he hadn’t prepared for that question. “I hadn’t made up my mind.”

  “So you were not sharing a room in Rosscarbery with Mr. Reynolds here? And no one there will recognize you?”

  Ray didn’t answer quickly. “I might have done.” He didn’t elaborate.

  “How did you get to Skibbereen, then, Mr. Finneran?”

  “I drove.” Maura thought that Ray Finneran was sweating now, even though the room was cool.

  “And where is your car?”

  Definitely sweating, Maura decided.

  “It’s parked in town.”

  “Can you tell us where?” the detective went on relentlessly.

  “I . . . uh . . . well . . .” Ray stumbled.

  “Let me save you the trouble. My men report that they have recovered a car reported stolen from the hotel in Rosscarbery. Will we find your fingerprints in it?”

  “I want a lawyer,” Ray snarled.

  “Very well. You are entitled to representation, of course. Let’s move this discussion to the garda station, shall we? Althea, Nate, I would appreciate it if you would accompany us there.”

  Like they had a choice, Maura thought.

  “Uh, okay,” Althea said tentatively. Nate just shrugged.

  “Garda Murphy, take Miss Melville and Mr. Reynolds with you. I’ll see to Mr. Finneran.” He turned to the others. “Thank you for your assistance. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again.”

  When they were all gone, Maura said, “Well, that was interesting. I wonder what happens next.”

  “I know what you mean,” Gillian said. “Harry, what about the painting?”

  “What?” Harry said, looking confused.

  “The painting, Harry,” Gillian repeated. “What do you think you’ll do with it now?”

  “Blast if I know,” Harry said. “I suppose after all this, I’d be happy to be rid of it, but I’ll have to talk to Eveline about it. After all that’s happened, she may be ready to part with it. Do I have to decide right now?”

  “Of course you don’t, although you might want to think about getting an alarm system or something, to protect it. But if Althea’s not facing any legal charges, I bet you’ll be hearing from her again.”

  Harry rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re probably right. Then if Althea’s not guilty of anything, legally at least, I’ll consider what she proposes. I’m not sure Nate will get off as easily, but there’ll be other ways to sell it, if that’s what Eveline and I decide to do. Will you help me with that part of it, Gilly?”

  “Of course.”

  “You two can figure that out,” Maura said. “Right now I’ve got to get to work . . . After all this excitement, it’s bound to be a busy night. You two want to come over?” she asked Harry and Gillian.

  “I for one could use a drink,” Harry said. “We’ll be along in a bit, right, Gillian?”

  “We will,” she replied.

  Maura hadn’t realized how much time had passed while they’d been more or less locked in the drawing room at Mycroft House, finally untangling Seamus Daly’s death and maybe the history of the two paintings. It was midafternoon now, and Maura was emotionally exhausted. And that was only from watching the process unfold. She couldn’t imagine how the others felt.

  Jimmy Sweeney greeted her when she came into Sullivan’s. “Well, look who’s here. The lady’s finally decided to show her face.”

  Maura stalked around the bar and stuffed her bag beneath it. “Put a sock in it, Jimmy. I’ve been over at Mycroft House with the gardaí, sorting out Seamus Daly’s death.”

  “Oh-ho! Now you’ve a second job? They’re using consultants such as yourself, since the government can’t afford to pay the gardaí?”

  “What’s the right term? ‘Assisting the guards in their inquiries’? Either way, it should be a busy night here. I’m sure everyone will want to know what really happened. Hey, Rose,” Maura said in greeting as Rose emerged from the back room.

  “Ah, there you are, Maura. Is everything all right?”

  “As right as it can be, with a dead body in the mix. Don’t worry—we worked it out. Busy day?”

  “Middling.”

  “Well, expect a busy night. Depends on how fast the word gets out, but it moves pretty fast around here, although I still haven’t figured out how. And don’t tell me ‘mobile phone’!”

  “Would it be telepathy, then?” Rose suggested, smiling.

  “Maybe. I’m going to go say hello to Old Billy there. Does he need another pint yet?”

  “No, he says he’s grand for now. I think he’s waiting for a tourist to offer to buy him one so we won’t have to.”

  “Smart man, Billy.” Maura crossed the room to Billy’s “throne” near the fireplace. “Hey, Billy. Thanks for the hint.”

  Billy smiled. “What hint would that be?”

  “Telling me we should talk to Bridget Nolan about Jane Deasy.”

  “And what did she tell you?”

  “She said that Jane’s sister was still alive, in a nunnery, so we talked to her yesterday, and she pointed us back to Mycroft House. And Eveline Townsend filled in the blanks for us today.”

  “About poor Jane?” Billy said softly.

  “And the baby, yes. I think I understand why you didn’t just come out and tell me.”

  “Ah, that kind of thing is women’s business. So you worked it out in the end?”

  “Almost. The child—a boy—was raised by Jane’s sister in New York, and it was his daughter who inherited the painting and kind of started this whole thing.” And indirectly led to Seamus Daly’s death, not that that was Dorothy Ryan’s fault. “Anyway, thank you. You led us to find Seamus’s killer.”

  “Glad to be of help,” Billy said, and he asked no more questions.

  As Maura made her way back to the bar, stopping to greet a couple of people she recognized, she marveled once again at the invisible network that seemed to link everyone around here. How did it happen that Old Billy should happen to overhear a conversation at Sullivan’s and know enough to send them to the person who held a critical piece of information, which then led them back to where it all began? Maura wondered if she’d ever understand how Ireland worked.

  Gillian and Harry came in more than an hour later, as the evening crowd was beginning to build. Rose saw them before Maura and called out, “Gillian, we’ve just sold another one of the paintings!”

  Gillian came over to the bar. “Have you, now?”

  “Yes, and at the full price. The woman said she’d be back in the morning. Are there more?”

  “There are. I’ll bring some by in the morning and I can meet her then. Thanks, Rose. Harry, can you snag that table in the corner? It looks like those people are leaving.”

  “Consider it done.”

  As Harry left on his mission, Maura leaned toward Gillian. “Is Eveline all right?”

  “Just tired, as she said. Harry talked to her for a bit. I’ll fill you in when we get settled.”

  “Okay. Pints, or you need something stronger?”

  “This calls for whiskey, I think.”

  “I’ll bring it over.”

  Mick came in not long after and stopped to speak to Maura. “It’s all sor
ted out now?”

  “More or less. Believe it or not, it looks like it was a thug from New Jersey who killed Seamus, or at least that’s the story of the moment. And now he’s at the garda station, as are Althea and Nate, although I’m not sure how many of them are under arrest.” At Mick’s bewildered look, Maura laughed. “It’s complicated—I’ll tell you when things aren’t quite so busy.”

  “I can see that we need to talk.” He was interrupted by a trio of men who wanted drinks, and he turned away. “What can I get for yeh?”

  Maura poured three glasses of Paddy whiskey and carried them over to the table Harry had grabbed. “Here you go,” she said, setting down the glasses and taking a seat herself. “Have I missed anything? Harry, is Eveline really all right?”

  “She is, no thanks to us.” Harry took a long swallow of his drink and stared into what remained. “I realize now that I haven’t been fair to her. Sure, her practical needs are met—the O’Briens are good and loyal people, and they’d be hard to replace. I hope Hurley’s right and they won’t be in any sort of trouble. But I’d sort of put Eveline on a shelf, in my mind. You know, ‘old lady: taken care of; done.’ It never occurred to me that she would feel shunted aside. Lonely, as you put it, Gillian. I wasn’t paying attention—I just went about my life in Dublin.”

  “Harry, you have to work to keep the place going,” Gillian said. “There are few jobs around here.”

  Harry looked at her with a brief smile. “Ah, love, you’re making excuses for me. But, do you know, if I can sell that cursed painting, things would be a lot easier all around.”

  “Do you think you can just sell off your ancestor like that?” Maura asked.

  Harry smiled. “Nobody ever liked the thing, and nobody’s looked at it for years. From all I’ve ever heard, the old boy was a bit of a . . . what shall I say? A cad? A whacker? Come on, help me out here.”

  “Bounder? Rake?” Gillian suggested.

  “Pond scum,” Maura added.

  “Any of the above will do. Bottom line, I wouldn’t miss him or his painting, nor would Aunt Evie. If there’s some museum or collector out there who’s willing to come up with a few million euros, they’re welcome to him. As I said earlier, I’ll give Althea a shot at handling it, but I’d like Gillian here to keep her honest, so we get a fair price for it.”

  “I’m happy to help, Harry,” Gillian said.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” A look passed between them, and Maura wondered if maybe the whole mess had opened Harry’s eyes to what—or who—was right in front of him.

  “What about Dorothy Ryan?” Maura said.

  “Ah, right. Can we track her down?” Harry asked.

  “No doubt Althea or Nate will know how to find her. But what do you want to do?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the small painting belongs to Dorothy, to do with as she pleases,” Harry said. “If it comes to legal proof, I’m sure it exists, according to what Aunt Evie told us, and I’ll be glad to pass it on to her.”

  “If Dorothy chooses to sell, I’d guess Althea’s right—it would fetch more if it’s linked to the painting here,” Gillian commented. “But somebody has to explain it to her.”

  “You’re kind of forgetting the other side of all this,” Maura said. “She’s a Townsend, even if she doesn’t have the name.”

  “Maura, there’s no estate or title to claim,” Harry protested.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Maura replied. “It’s not about claims or money. She’s family. Dorothy grew up thinking Mary Margaret Deasy was her grandmother. She barely knew her real grandmother, Jane, and only as some great-aunt she never saw. Her father was an only child. So no matter how you look at it, she hasn’t got many relatives, on that side, at least. But Eveline is her great-aunt, same as she is yours. And you’re some kind of cousin. So like I said, she’s family, and she should at least have the chance to know that and maybe to meet you. And Eveline, before it’s too late. And Sister Benedicta.”

  Gillian smiled her approval. Harry looked a bit stunned. “I never thought about that. Do you think Aunt Evie would like to meet her?”

  “Of course, Harry,” Gillian said. “The only grandchild of her favorite brother, and Joseph, who’s his son? Let’s see if we can make it happen, or at least get in touch with Dorothy and offer her the chance. I can follow up on that too, if you like.”

  “Please,” Harry said gratefully.

  Maura took a look around the room. More and more people were coming in, and the noise level had definitely gone up. Rose had to get home, which meant Maura had better take over. She stood up. “Hey, guys, I’d better get to work. Let me know if I can help with anything.” Not that she knew the first thing about high-end art auctions, but maybe she could offer Dorothy some advice, as one American to another, about how to deal with Ireland and unexpected relatives—now, that she did know a little about.

  Maura was busy when Harry and Gillian slipped out not much later; Gillian waved on the way out the door. Nate and Althea hadn’t shown up: maybe the gardaí had decided to hold them. Though Maura had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of Althea.

  Sean Murphy came in an hour later, when the pub was full to overflowing. He waded through the crowd to the bar.

  “Sean! You off duty now?” Maura had to yell to be heard.

  “I am. I’ll have a pint.”

  “Coming up,” Maura replied and started filling yet another glass. “Everything wrapped up?”

  “Let’s say the process has begun. Ray is after telling us that he’s a tourist here to visit relatives, but no one believes that. I think we’ve plenty of evidence against him to make a case. At least we know what happened to Seamus now.”

  “You believe Nate’s story? Is Althea in the clear?”

  “Most likely. And you can trust Detective Hurley to be fair.”

  “That’s good. It’s been kind of a crazy week, hasn’t it? I mean, Althea just arrived here a week ago, and look at all that’s happened.” She topped off the pint and slid it across the bar to Sean. “I can’t hear myself think—do you want to go outside?”

  “Can’t and take this,” Sean yelled, holding up his glass. “Against the law.”

  “How about in back?” Maura led the way to the large, empty back room, where it was much quieter.

  Sean appeared fascinated by the space. “I never knew this room was here. You’ve a bar back here as well?”

  Maura surveyed the mess of jumbled tables and chairs and discarded equipment. “I really don’t know the history of the place. I’ve been kind of waiting to see what business is like during the busy season before I decide if I need to use this part. And if I do, I won’t be able to get it cleaned up until fall.”

  “Looks like there’s been music here, if not lately.” Sean nodded toward what looked like a mishmash of drums and bulky amplifiers stashed on the balcony that ran around the upper part of the room.

  “Could be. I can ask around, and I’ll talk with Billy—I’m sure he’d know the whole story. So tell me, why haven’t you arrested Ray?”

  “It’s about getting the warrant. It’s not like in the States, from what I hear. We take a suspect into custody, and we can hold him for a time, but we have to request the warrant for the arrest itself directly from Dublin, and we have to present convincing evidence for it before they’ll issue it.”

  “You mean, put the whole case together before you can get it? No wonder it’s not easy. You think you have enough?”

  “We do for Raymond Finneran. Is it the others yer worried about?”

  “Not so much Nate, but maybe Althea. Althea may be annoying, but she didn’t plan to kill anyone. According to her story, Ray attacked Nate, and she was only trying to help. Nate doesn’t sound like the smartest guy, but he’s not responsible for what Ray might have done. Well, maybe for his being here at all, but he couldn’t have known what would happen.”

  “Maura Donovan, are you tellin’ me yer stickin’ up for Althea now?” Sea
n took a swig from his pint.

  “Well, maybe. Kind of. She didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Do you know, Maura Donovan, you were a great help in our investigation. You watched and listened. If you hadn’t put Althea together with Old Billy, Althea might have just given up and gone home.”

  Which might have been a better outcome for everyone, Maura thought. “I think she was pretty determined—she might have worked it out on her own.”

  “Not if no one would’ve talked to her. And you listened to Billy when he told you to talk with Bridget Nolan. There are some would’ve blown him off.”

  “I like Old Billy. He has a sharp memory, no matter what he looks like. Although I have noticed he puts on kind of an act for tourists, but it gets him plenty of free drinks.”

  “I’m not surprised. What I’m trying to say is, Detective Hurley sends his thanks. And I thank you as well. You’ve done me a good turn, helping me out with this. It looks good on the record, that I’ve had a hand in solving another murder.”

  Maura could feel herself blushing. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

  They both fell into an awkward silence, and for a wild moment Maura wondered if Sean was thinking of kissing her—and realized that maybe she wanted him to. Before either of them could decide, Mick ducked his head in the doorway.

  “Maura, can you lend a hand out here? The word’s out about the murders, and it’s mad busy.”

  “I’d better go,” Maura told Sean. “I’ve got a business to run.”

  “I’ll be seeing you later, then,” Sean said.

  Chapter 30

  It turned out to be one of the busiest nights Maura had seen at Sullivan’s. The solution of Seamus Daly’s murder combined with a juicy story about the local nobs had everyone buzzing—and buying pints. Maura was glad she knew a lot of what had happened behind the scenes, but she restricted herself to correcting errors rather than spreading gossip—there was enough of that floating around the pub without her adding to it.

  Billy Sheahan stuck around for a couple of hours early in the evening, but Maura wasn’t worried that he’d say too much. He was more discreet than most people gave him credit for. Gillian and Harry had left together, and Harry’d had an arm over Gillian’s shoulder—had they gone home together? Maybe this past week had shaken Harry up a bit, made him look at things in a new light, but whether he would stay with Gillian was another question. Maura was pretty sure that Eveline would like that, though.