04 A Turn for the Bad, page 21
Maura unlocked the door, and she and Gillian walked in. No surprise, it was cold and dark inside. The place looked shabby and bleak, and even turning on a light didn’t improve it. But then, everything looked lousy before dawn, didn’t it?
“What should I do?” Gillian asked.
Maura fought down a snarky comment about painting a picture. She wouldn’t need many colors of paint for Sullivan’s as it looked now, all muddy browns and greys, would she? “Let’s get the fire going—that always makes me feel better. Can you find some more peat?”
“I can. Where would I be looking for it?”
“In back, I think. Mick would know—and Jimmy usually brings it in.” But Mick was somewhere out in the dark, either bobbing around on the harbor in a boat or pretending to be a drunk to fool a drug runner or bashing the guy so he and the gang could search the yacht. Or maybe Harry’s damn boat wouldn’t start and they were all standing around on the shore cursing. And Jimmy wouldn’t be around for hours. “There should be a bag or bin or something, somewhere.”
“I’ll go check,” Gillian said, and headed toward the back.
Maura was both surprised and not surprised to see Billy standing at the front door, and she went over to let him in. “A bit early for a pint, isn’t it?” she said, joking.
“I thought you might be glad of the company,” he said simply. “Am I welcome?”
“Of course you are. Come on in. Gillian and I were about to get the fire going. How about some coffee?”
“That’d be grand.” For once Billy didn’t settle himself into that shabby armchair, but lowered himself carefully onto a bar stool as Maura went around behind the bar to make the coffee. “They’ll be all right, yeh know,” he said.
“No, Billy, I don’t know,” Maura said, concentrating hard on measuring coffee and water and putting containers in the right places. “I am in so far over my head, and I don’t even know how I got here. And now I feel like an idiot for letting myself think this was just a pretty, peaceful place.”
“Have you not read any Irish history?” Billy asked, chuckling. “We might have stayed out of the big wars, but we’ve been fightin’ one thing or another as long as there’ve been men on this land. If we can’t find an enemy, we fight each other. There’s never been enough money nor land to go around, and then the English took most of it and demanded rent fer it. But we’ve also learned to hide things. Do yeh know, when the English said we couldn’t go to our church, the priests served Masses on rocks in the fields? But the tourists bring in money, so we smile and put on the accent and talk about the rainbows and leprechauns and sell them more of the dark stuff and the crystal bowls and the fancy sweaters. But never forget that this country is more than a park for your American pals to take pretty pictures of and think they know Ireland.”
Billy’s voice was mild, but Maura sensed an anger under his words. In his eighty-odd years he must have seen a lot of changes, both good and bad. “Then tell me this, Billy, will you? Who’s behind the drugs here?”
“Yer askin’ if they’re Irish? To that I’ll say no, or not many. English, mebbe. The real market is to our east, not here, in Europe—we don’t have enough people or enough money to make it worth any smuggler’s efforts, although I won’t say there’s no dealin’ goin’ on in the cities like Limerick or Cork or Dublin. But mostly we’re just a stop along the way from somewhere else.”
That made Maura feel a little better. “If Harry and Mick and Gerard mess this up and they get caught, will the gardaí be hard on them?” Maura didn’t even want to think about any of the other agencies up the line. What would the Irish navy do with a bunch of mad locals in a wooden boat?
“Depends. I can’t say no, but they mean well. As do you. Maura, there’s the law, and then there’s doin’ what’s right. I think our Skibbereen men know the difference, and pray it goes no farther than that.”
A knock sounded at the door. Maura looked out to see Brendan, and he was carrying some bags. Maura let him in. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
“I could not,” Brendan told her. “May I join you? I brought some bread and butter—it was the best I could do. I told Anne Sheahan last night I wanted to go after the fish early.”
“And she believed you?”
“No, for even I know there’s no fish to be had right now. But here’s the bread.” He held up the bags.
So maybe Anne too had picked up some rumors or whispers about what was happening. Lots of odd comings and goings over the past few days, and she had the perfect place to watch, from across the street. “Come on in. Coffee’s on.”
Brendan came in and doffed his tweed cap to Billy. Gillian emerged from behind the building dragging a half-full bag of peat, and Brendan hurried over to take it from her.
“What is this, a party?” Gillian asked. “For God’s sake, it’s not even six o’clock in the morning!”
“The best time of the day. A man can hear himself think,” Brendan said as he knelt by the fireplace and started scooping out the ashes from the night before.
Fire burning, coffee made, they settled themselves around a table in the corner behind the fireplace, as if by unspoken agreement half hiding from any curious eyes. What reason could they give for getting together in the pub before the sun came up? Yet it seemed they were reluctant to hide out in the back room, in case … of what? In case the gardaí came to the door and demanded to talk to them? Or in case the lads stumbled in, having failed at their task? Or maybe, just maybe, they’d all appear at the door with a grinning John Tully, saved from the evil drug lords, hale and hearty. Maura wasn’t betting on the third option, but she certainly was hoping for it.
So they huddled together and ate their bread and drank their coffee and talked of nothing in particular, and the time passed, very slowly. After Maura had cleaned up after their makeshift breakfast she said, “Gillian said yesterday that I should have beds here in case somebody wanted or needed to crash. I know when we got the music going, the guys who used to play here said Old Mick had something like that set up, where the musicians could stay, but as far as I can see, nobody’s touched the upstairs here for a decade or two. Maybe we could take a look and see what the possibilities are?”
Brendan was out of his chair quickly, and Maura guessed that he was tired of just sitting, killing time. “A grand idea. Were you thinking of renting the rooms? Like a bed-and-breakfast? Or merely having them ready as a courtesy?”
“Brendan, I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it, since I’ve had plenty of other stuff to worry about. But if it’s this slow all winter, it might be a good time to clean the rooms out and see what we could do with them. Billy, you want to come up?”
Billy waved his hand at her. “Go on, the rest of yehs. I’m happy where I am, and I’ll be here to welcome anyone who stops by, wonderin’ what we’re up to. Or turn them away, if that’s what’s called for.”
“Give us a shout if you need us, then,” Maura told him, and led the way up the stairs. “Brendan, I guess you’ve noticed that this place is kind of built against a hill, so the back is higher than the front.”
“So what you’re saying is,” Brendan began, “you’ve the front room where your bar is, and you’ve the room behind it where the music goes on, which is higher inside, so there’s rooms along the front, upstairs?”
“More or less, I think,” Maura said. “Billy’s got two rooms at the other end, one up and one down. Mick let him use them, and I’m not about to throw him out. I think he may bring me luck. But that’s separate—he has his own door. On this end I’d have to work out how to get to the upstairs rooms, and make sure there’s at least one bath up there.”
They reached the top of the stairs and Maura flicked a light switch, which controlled a single feeble lightbulb in the narrow hall that ran the length of the building. She counted four doors, and from what she could see, one led to a bathroom and the other three to bedrooms, all facing the street. As they walked the length of the hall, they peered in through each door, and it appeared that the bedrooms were crammed with dusty boxes, everything draped with ancient cobwebs.
“Needs a bit of work, wouldn’t you say?” Gillian said, grinning.
“Maybe Mick hid treasure here somewhere,” Maura replied dubiously. “But it looks like he hadn’t been up here in a long time.”
Brendan had bravely ventured into the first bedroom and pulled back the flaps on a box. He was leafing through the contents, which to Maura looked like irregular piles of grimy paper. “Maura, I wouldn’t be too quick to toss these out—looks like every band that ever played here left a bit of their promo stuff, posters and the like. Could be worth something.”
“Can you see me opening an eBay account and peddling this stuff online, Brendan?” Maura asked, with a smile to soften her comment. “But thanks for the heads-up. I’ll set them aside and figure it out later. What about the rooms?”
“I don’t see much in the way of furniture under all the boxes,” Gillian commented, “so you’d have to factor that in. I’m sure Donovan’s furniture down the road could give you a hand with that.”
“I’ll think about it. Anybody brave enough to check out the bathroom?”
“Stand back, ladies!” Brendan took the lead and poked his head into the room. He walked in cautiously and tried the taps, which made some ominous gurgling noises before producing a stream of rusty water, then he flushed the toilet, which appeared to be working. When he emerged, he said, “I’d guess this has seen some use more recently than the bedrooms. Needs a good cleanup, but it works.”
“Good to know,” Maura said. “Anything structural? I don’t see any water stains on the ceilings, so that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Slate, the roof is,” Brendan said. “Built to last.”
Maura was drawn to the window in one of the bedrooms. Peering through the years of grime on the window, she caught a glimpse of the harbor through the bare trees on the other side of the road. Which reminded her that the others were somewhere out there on a boat, possibly risking their lives. Whatever distraction exploring the unused rooms had provided evaporated quickly. “We should go back down. Thanks for helping me check this out, though.”
“Shall we look at the kitchen?” Gillian said gamely.
Maura shook her head. “Not now. We can think about all that later. And you can try to convince me that I’d make a good manager for a B&B. I’d probably scare off anyone who stopped in by snarling at them.”
“Ah, the visitors expect a bit of an attitude—you’d be fine. It’d bring in a bit of cash, without you having to do much, and mostly in the summer,” Brendan pointed out, “or you could put up some of your musicians, like you said Mick did.”
“I know, I know. Later.”
They trooped back down the stairs and found Billy dozing in his chair. Lucky man, Maura thought, sleeping through the empty hours. Maura felt wired and anxious, and it wasn’t due to the coffee.
The day gradually brightened outside, and traffic began to trickle by. In desperation for any kind of distraction, Maura said, “So, Brendan, want to check my inventory and tell me what I should order?”
Brendan saw through her ruse, but was willing to play along. “Happy to, Maura. Can you show me where you store your supplies? And would you be wanting to stock both the front and the back bars?”
“Let’s cost it out and see what works, okay? Follow me.”
Maura and Brendan were returning from the basement when Maura heard Gillian’s phone ring. They exchanged a panicked glance, as Gillian mouthed “Harry.” Gillian pushed a button to connect and listened intently for a moment. Maura found she was holding her breath, until Gillian looked at her and gave her a thumbs-up signal. “Bring him here and we’ll work things out from there.”
She signed off and with a huge grin she announced, “They’ve got him. Tired, hungry, and filthy, but alive and well. The gang’ll bring him here as soon as they land at the manor.”
Before Maura had time to react, her own mobile rang. She answered quickly: it proved to be Sean Murphy. Sean said formally, “We’ve a man here in Skibbereen, says he needs to talk to you.”
“Who is it?” Maura asked, although she had a pretty good idea.
“His name is Conor Tully—says he’s John Tully’s brother. Yeh told me you know him?”
“Yes, here at Sullivan’s. Why is he there?”
“I can’t say over the phone,” Sean hedged, “but he won’t talk to us until he’s talked to you. It’s important, Maura, else I wouldn’t ask. Can you come over?”
“Yes. Give me a few minutes to get things sorted out here and I’ll be there. And tell Conor we’ve got him. He may talk to you then.” Maura hung up before Sean could ask any questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
She turned to the others. “That was Sean Murphy. They have Conor at the garda station, but he hasn’t told them anything yet. What do we do now?”
To Maura’s surprise, it was Billy who spoke first. “Seems simple to me. The lads are bringin’ John here. Call John’s wife and tell her to come and meet us at the pub here—just say there’s news of John. No doubt she’s family staying with her, to look after the little ones. She’ll be fine to drive over. When John gets here, get him cleaned up and fed, and let him give his wife a proper greeting, not in that order, I’m thinkin’. Then the whole lot of yeh, head over to Skibbereen and sort things out together. I’m guessin’ there’d be more of yeh than there are gardaí. Unless they’ve invited in the navy and customs and all their mates, in which case you’ll have a right mess on yer hands, but nothing a lot of talk can’t fix. After all, yer holding the trump card: John Tully.”
Chapter 26
They had no more time to plan, because within minutes a battered car pulled up in front of Sullivan’s and four men emerged: Gerard, whose car it seemed to be; Mick, untangling his long legs from the cramped rear seat; Harry, bounding out from the opposite side; and finally, more slowly, a man who had to be John Tully—Maura recognized him from the photographs plastered everywhere when he’d been missing. He was missing no more.
After a moment in which everyone stood staring at the door, Maura shook herself and hurried to unlock it, then stepped back as the four men tumbled in. She closed it behind them and locked it again: no need to advertise their successful mission until they knew what was what with the gardaí. “Welcome back, guys. John, I’m very glad to meet you.”
John Tully looked exhausted, which shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone. “You’d be Maura Donovan, I’m guessin’. These fellas have been after tellin’ me that you put together this mad plan?”
“It was a group effort, believe me. I’m happy I could help. Look, you must be starving. The gardaí want to see us—well, the ones of us they know about. We haven’t told anyone about you yet, but your brother Conor’s been picked up because of his part in this whole drug thing. You know about that?”
“I didn’t before, but I do now. But yer right—I could do with a meal and maybe some drink and a quick wash, and I’d better talk to me wife or I’ll never hear the end of it. Was Eoin safe?”
“He was. It was Conor took him back home to his mother. And your wife’s on her way here.”
“Ah, grand. Point me toward the loo and find me a bite and I’ll be right to go.”
“I’ve some bread and ham at my place,” Billy volunteered. “I can fetch it quick.” He hauled himself out of his chair and headed for the door.
“Loo’s that way.” Maura pointed, and John stumbled toward it. As he passed, Maura agreed that he was in sore need of a good bath, although for now a quick scrub would have to do—there were other issues to deal with first. She realized suddenly that Harry had been uncharacteristically silent, especially since he’d actually earned the right to call himself a hero, under the circumstances. His silence was quickly explained when Maura saw him closely entwined with Gillian in a dark corner. Maura wasn’t about to interrupt the reunion.
“All right, then,” she addressed Gerard and Mick, and Harry if he happened to be listening, which was unlikely. “You did a great job, and I’m sure you’re all proud of yourselves, and you should be. But right now the gardaí are waiting for us, and they don’t know our side of the story. We can distract them for a bit when we walk in with John, but that won’t last forever. As soon as Billy gets back with some food, we need to sit down and hear what you saw and did. Maybe we should start with the yacht owner. What kind of shape is he in?”
“Last we saw,” Mick began, struggling to hide a smile, “he was takin’ a bit of a nap in his cabin. He might have got tangled in a bit of rope, fer we didn’t want him to be callin’ his friends, now, did we?”
“And the other guy from the boat?”
“Never saw anyone else, not after two of ’em headed fer the shore with the small boat. We were gone before they came back. If they came back. They weren’t our worry. John told us they only took orders, and spoke mostly Spanish.”
Billy appeared outside the far window, making his slow way back, clutching some plastic bags. The sound of clanking water pipes signaled John Tully’s efforts to clean up. Maura sneaked a glance at Harry and Gillian, who hadn’t budged from their location. There was no daylight to be seen between them, but now they were speaking only to each other, in low voices. “I’m going to make more coffee,” Maura announced, and went behind the bar to start it.
By the time the coffee was ready, everyone, including Harry and Gillian, their hands wound together, was sitting around the low table farthest from the windows, with chairs pulled close. Billy had scrounged ham, cheese, a loaf of bread, and other odds and ends, and after John had helped himself the others began to pick at it. Maybe they’d skipped breakfast, or maybe dawn adventures on the high seas were good for the appetite. Maura doled out mugs, set the coffeepot on the table, and pulled up another chair. “All right, what happened?”
