A Turn for the Bad (13 page)

She realized that Brendan was talking to her and with an effort managed to focus on him.

“I'll stop by tomorrow and see how you are, shall I?” Brendan asked.

“That would be fine,” Maura said, pronouncing her words carefully. “Thank you for doing this.”

“My pleasure. Tomorrow, then.” He closed up his bag and went toward the door, where Jimmy unlocked it and ushered him out.

“I'll be on my way, then, too,” Jimmy said, and disappeared into the night.

Mick walked around the room, shutting off the few lights left burning and scattering the coals of the fire. He ended
up back at the bar, where Maura was still sitting. “How're yeh feelin'?”

“Happy,” Maura said without thinking.

“Now, that's somethin' I've seldom heard from yeh.”

“Y'know, I think it's easier to be happier when you've been drinking. Which explains a lot. Will I feel bad in the morning?”

“Hard to say. Do you want to try standin' now?”

“Let's see . . .” Maura slid off the bar stool and almost kept going. “Whoopsie!”

Mick grabbed her arm before she melted into a puddle on the floor. “Time to get you home.”

“Good idea,” Maura agreed amiably. “Where's your car?”

“Out front. Let's go.” He didn't release his grip on her arm, grabbing her bag and guiding her out the front door, locking the door behind them.

The cool night air could have been a bucket of cold water as it slapped Maura in the face. Inside the pub it had been warm and cozy and dark, with low lights glinting off the amber whiskey. Out here it was chilly and windy. Maura managed to straighten up, and took a deep breath. “Better,” she said.

“Get in,” Mick said, and opened the passenger door. Maura had no trouble sliding into the car and even remembered to fasten her seat belt.

They rode silently back to her cottage. Maura didn't feel any need to make conversation, but concentrated on analyzing what she'd learned. Irish whiskey was much easier to drink than Scotch, she decided. Why had she never known that? And why was everyone so excited about all those unpronounceable brands of Scotch? Too bad she'd probably
never get the chance to do a tasting with them like the one that Brendan had just given her. Okay, he was trying to make a sale, or a lot of sales, but he had in fact done her a favor. He'd been right: she needed to know what he had shown her, even if she never touched another drop. It was her business to know.

She hadn't realized they'd arrived at her doorstep until Mick stopped the car and said, “We're here. Can you make it to the door?”

“Of course I can, Mick. I didn't drink that much, and the night air helps. I'll be fine. And I get the whole point now. That was some good stuff Brendan gave us.”

“It was that. But don't go overboard—he wants yer business.”

“Of course he does—that's how he makes a living, not by educating clueless Americans. But this isn't a onetime thing, is it? I mean, he wants me as a long-term customer who'll put in an order more than once.”

“Mebbe yer not so drunk after all, Maura Donovan.”

“Hard to say.” She leaned back to look at Mick. Hard to see much in the dark; there wasn't even a moon. “Why'd you take me to the stone circle?”

“What?” He looked confused, which wasn't surprising, given her leap of logic. But he recovered quickly. “Because yeh looked like yeh needed a dose of magic right then.”

“Well, you were right: I needed it, and it was magic. Why'd you stop there?”

“I don't follow,” he said, confused again.

Instead of answering, she leaned toward him and kissed him, at first experimentally—
what does a drunken kiss feel like, Maura?
—and then with more intensity. She had no
idea what she wanted from him, but he'd started this thing, first at Drombeg, then at Sullivan's when the music was flowing. And now she was curious about this man she didn't really know, who kept surprising her in odd ways.

After the first few seconds, he responded and met her halfway. And then pulled back. “Yer drunk.”

“Not really, but you can think so if you want. I'll see you in the morning—I'll ask Gillian to give me a lift to the pub, since my car's still there. Good night, Mick.”

Before he could answer she was out of the car and standing at her front door, key in hand. He waited until she was inside and then pulled away quietly.

The next morning Maura awoke and was afraid to move. She'd never had so much to drink at once—she'd always been too chicken to get really drunk—and she had no idea what to expect the morning after. She began by opening her eyes: okay, that went fine, and the light didn't hurt. She tried lifting her head from the pillow: great, it didn't fall off. It didn't even hurt. Encouraged, she moved on cautiously to sitting up and hanging her feet over the edge of the bed. Everything seemed to be working. A triumph: she had drunk a lot and apparently didn't have to pay the price. Not that she planned to make a habit of it, although the memory of feeling all warm and fuzzy and free from worries was appealing, and it went a long way toward explaining why people drank. But from what she'd heard, that moment didn't last, and if you kept trying to chase it,
things got worse. No, she'd learned what she needed, and she'd file away the information. And probably buy a couple of bottles of something from Brendan, to show her appreciation and to have the good stuff on the shelf, in case anyone ever asked. Handy that so much of the stuff came from somewhere in Cork—it was a good selling point for people just passing through.

Downstairs Gillian was sitting at the table with a pad of paper in front of her, drinking a cup of tea. “Good morning,” she greeted Maura. “Late night?”

“Kind of. There's this liquor distributor who offered to give us a whiskey tasting at the pub, and I figured I could learn something.”

“And did you?”

Maura poured herself some tea from the pot and sat down. “More than I expected. I've never seen the point of drinking, but maybe I was doing it wrong. Not that I plan to get into it now, but I figured out some things. Mick wasn't drinking, so he drove me home. Which reminds me—can you take me into Leap this morning? Because I left my car there.”

“Smart woman, catching the ride, and it's no problem taking you there. So Mick was looking out for you?”

“I guess,” Maura said. She wasn't about to mention that she'd planted one on him in the darkness. She wasn't sure why she'd done it—maybe as payback for when he'd done it after that wake a couple of months earlier—but she wasn't going to blame it on the whiskey. She remembered all the details; it was the logic behind what she'd done that she didn't understand.

“And?” Gillian asked, studying her face.

“And what?”

“You said Mick brought you home, and then you went somewhere in your head.”

“Just thinking.”
Change the subject, Maura!
“It's Friday, so we'll be busy tonight, especially if John Tully isn't found.”

“It's been five days now. Odds are poor that he will be.”

“But people seem to keep hoping. Do you think it's better to know that he's dead than to keep wondering?”

“Could be. But then, maybe it's easier to accept the truth slowly rather than all at once. I pity his poor wife, though.”

“Yeah, it's got to be lousy for her. What about you? Have you got a plan yet?”

“No.” Gillian looked down at the table. “Do you know, it always takes me a few days here to wind down—slow the pace, kind of. It feels different here than in Dublin. The bad side of that is, a decision I make here won't fit in Dublin, and the reverse is true as well. In the city I have friends, people I hang out with, and they'd wonder why I was so upset about my situation. Have the baby or not, whatever, you know? But here . . . it's not the same. I was raised here, I still have family here, people know me. If I was to stay, it would mean a different life.”

“But wouldn't it help to have friends and family around?” Maura asked.

“Yes and no. It'd be easier in some ways, less so in others. Maybe I've been selfish all along, with only myself to think about. Maybe making art is just self-indulgent, and it's time I grow up.”

“Look, you picked art, and you don't want to give it up, do you?” Maura asked.

“No, I don't, but like I told you, there's no way to look after a child and paint, not the way I do, and if I don't paint there's no money to care for the child. Or for myself as well.”

“Althea said you had talent, last summer,” Maura protested. Althea had come from New York, and she was part of the art world there—shouldn't she know what was good and what wasn't?

“And do you see her here inviting me to a one-woman show in a fancy gallery? I'm grateful that she liked my work, but I don't expect anything to come of it. I didn't mind making do when I had only myself to consider, but that's no longer true.”

Maura wondered why she was bothering to argue. Gillian was right. She made one last stab. “Gillian, I've seen people's reactions when they walk in and see your paintings on the wall at the pub. They're drawn to them. They're excited. It's too bad that most of them don't have room in their suitcases to take one back, but at least they want to. Isn't there someplace in Skibbereen where you could show your pictures?”

Gillian shrugged. “I've thought of it, but I've been mostly in Dublin for years now.”

“Well, think again,” Maura said firmly.

Gillian laughed. “Who would've thought you'd be giving me advice? But I'm grateful for it. If I'm not counting on Harry to help out, then I have to make some choices of my own.”

“Does that mean you'll stop mooning over Harry Townsend?” Maura snapped back, then stopped. “I'm sorry, that was rude.”

Gillian smiled. “Rude, maybe, but true. You have to understand, I've known Harry forever, but we've kept a kind of distance between us. He went off to the city first, and then he encouraged me to come, but mostly because the art scene was better in Dublin. We've never lived together. I've always known he has his girls in the city and that he turns
to me when he's got the time, or maybe the itch. And I've gone along with that because I can't say I want to spend my life with him, so I didn't ask for more. But for all of that I can't imagine my life without him in it somewhere. And with a baby, things will change. They have to. I'm just not sure where Harry fits.”

“Well, I can't speak from experience, but I'd say you've got to talk to him. I don't know what legal rights he might have in Ireland or what rights you have to ask anything from him, but he deserves to know.”

Gillian nodded. “I know. But right now I'm just drifting until I'm a bit more settled myself. Or maybe I'm kidding myself and that's the hormones talking.”

Maura held up her hands. “Don't ask me! I'm clueless. But I'll help if I can.”

“Thank you, Maura. That's kind of you.” Gillian sat up straighter in her chair. “So, when do you need to be at Sullivan's?”

“Ten thirty, maybe? I'm pretty sure Brendan Quinn will drop by again today, just to see if he's converted me to a serious drinker and can sell me a case or two of something. But I owe him for last night, so I'll probably buy something from him. You have any leads on a place to stay?”

“I've put the word out, I guess you'd say. I've told some people I'm looking to be around here for a while, and would they know of a place that's for let now? Somebody will get back to me with something, in time.”

“And the stuff from your studio? You've asked Mick to help move it and maybe Jimmy will as well, but where do you put it? Although I've got to say that Jimmy seems to disappear
when there's any heavy lifting to be done. Claims his arm hurts him. Jesus, it's been six months or more since he broke it! The exercise would probably do him good.”

“That's Jimmy for you. Maybe I'll come in with you and hang around at the pub—it does seem very quiet around here in the townlands.”

“It must be dull, after Dublin.”

“Different, certainly. Oh, and I can remind Mick about your heat problem.”

“He says he's working on it. What does that mean?”

“That he's looking for a deal, I'd guess.”

“Legal, or one of those ‘I don't want to know' things? I mean, how much can you haggle over propane tanks or the oil supply?”

“One or the other. Don't ask too many questions. Get yourself some breakfast, take a shower, and we can head into the village.”

Clean and fed, Maura and Gillian arrived at Sullivan's just after ten. Somehow Maura wasn't surprised to see that the lights were on and Mick was straightening the furniture inside. Maura walked in and Gillian followed her.

“Mornin', Gillian. How's the head this mornin', Maura?” Mick said with a smile.

“Just fine, thanks. I'm surprised Brendan wasn't waiting on the doorstep.”

“He'll be by, no doubt. What do yeh think?”

“About the whiskey? I think I understand better than I did yesterday. But I don't think Brendan is going to get rich off my orders. No news on John Tully?”

“Not that I've heard,” Mick said. “I'd say the gardaí will be thinkin' there's little hope, after so long.”

As if on cue, Sean Murphy appeared outside the front door, and Maura beckoned him in. “Good morning, Sean. Any word?”

He shook his head. “Sadly, no. Could I have a word with yeh, Maura? In private?”

“Sure. You want to go into the back room?”

“That'd be grand.”

Maura led the way, conscious of Mick's glance following them, wondering why Sean suddenly wanted to speak privately. Another date? Something about pub hours? When they reached a far corner, out of earshot from the front, she turned and said, “Is there a problem?”

“Maybe,” Sean said, his eyes darting nervously into the corners. “I shouldn't be tellin' yeh this, but I'd like yeh to discourage any more talk in the pub about the search for Tully.”

That made no sense to Maura. “Why? Have the gardaí given up?”

Sean shook his head. “It's not that, exactly, but there's a reason. I'm askin' yeh to keep quiet about what I'm about to say.”

“Of course. What?”

“I know people talk to you and to each other here, and there's no way to keep the lid on things.”

“Sean, what is it?” Maura said impatiently. Why was he dancing around whatever he wanted to say?

Sean took a deep breath before he explained. “There's rumors of a drug deal happenin' around here any day now. It's big, and the Garda Sióchána and the Irish Navy and Customs and the National Crime Agency are workin' together, but keepin' their distance until they see how it plays out.”

“And you don't want other people to keep poking around looking to find John?” Maura guessed.

Sean looked relieved. “That's it. We're hopin' whoever's bringin' the stuff in will see that the search has died down and will go ahead and make their shipment. We know they'll have customers waitin' so they can't delay much longer.”

“Why can't you just arrest them now, if you know this is happening?”

“Fer one, they're not easy to find and there's a lot of sea out there where they can hide, even with the navy lookin' fer 'em. Fer another, we'd like to track them—not just the delivery here, but where it goes after that—who's waitin' on the other end of the shipment. So we don't want to scare them off.”

“Okay, I see the problem. But what is it you want me to do?”

“Nothin' in particular. Just say the gardaí have little hope of finding John Tully now, and that may quiet the talk.”

“Is that true?”

Sean shrugged. “It may be. It's true about the search—we've been lookin' for goin' on a week now, with no luck. Whether John Tully is still alive to be found, there's no tellin'. He may yet wash ashore. But this drug thing is far bigger than any one man.”

Don't tell John's wife that
, Maura thought. “All right. It's been so long, that's probably not unexpected. What do I tell the others? Mick and Jimmy?”

“Tell them what I said about Tully, is all—not the rest of it, please. The search is over. That's all I can say. I'd best be gettin' to the station fer the mornin' meetin'.”

“Thanks for filling me in, Sean. I'll tell whoever comes in that there's no hope, officially. And I won't say anything about the other thing.”

“I never thought yeh would.” He turned to go, and Maura led him out the front door.

When she'd shut it behind him, she turned to find all her staff looking at her. “What?” she demanded. For a disconcerting moment nobody said anything. Well, it was time to start shutting down the rumor mill, as Sean had asked. “He says the search for Tully has been called off.”

As if they'd recognized she wasn't going to tell them anything more, they turned away to their own tasks. It left her with an uncomfortable feeling, but Maura couldn't see what good breaking a confidence that Sean had shared would do anyone. She certainly couldn't tell Jimmy, who had a tendency to use whatever he could to make himself look important. Secret knowledge of a planned drug bust would do just fine.