Helen answered quickly. “Maura? How are you? I was wondering if I’d hear from you.”

“I’m fine. Look, I’ve got some questions about the hotel, and I thought maybe you’d have some answers. Can we have lunch?”

“I’m at the hotel now. Do you want to come here to eat?”

“Might as well, I guess. I didn’t get much of a chance to look around the last time I was there.”

“Twelve all right? I doubt we’d need reservations—things are pretty slow right now.”

Gee, I wonder why? Could it be the dead body found on the grounds?

“Twelve is good. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

Now Maura had an hour to fill before she was going to meet Helen at the hotel. She was pleased to see Sean Murphy at the door and waved him in. Maybe he had some news? She couldn’t quite read his expression—it was kind of a cross between dejected and determined. She nodded him toward an empty table in the corner, where she joined him. “Can I get you anything? Are you on duty?”

“Coffee would be grand. Right now we’re all on duty until John Byrne’s death is settled, but I think I’m callin’ our talks part of my investigation. Like with yer ma last night.”

Maura turned back toward the bar and signaled to Rose to bring Sean a coffee. “Did she give you something to think about?” she asked as they sat.

He shook his head. “Her idea about this Harvard place was golden, but I haven’t had time to follow up. We’ve been busy talkin’ to the staff and guests at the hotel, but no one saw anything. No word from the coroner yet, but we could hear today or tomorrow. Not soon enough for the sergeant, though—he’s after pushin’ this as murder, and he’s treatin’ it like a crime. Tryin’ to make his mark, I’m guessin’.”

“He seems an odd choice for the Skibbereen station,” Maura said carefully.

Sean looked around at the nearest tables, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. “I hate to be spreadin’ gossip, but word is he was sent to us to cool down, not that we aren’t glad to have another man. Seems he was a bit hard on a suspect back in Limerick with a bad outcome.”

“Is that going to be a problem here? I mean, even in the short time I spent with him, I got the impression that he wasn’t exactly patient and wanted to move faster with this investigation.”

“So he does. I don’t think he’s ever lived in the country, so he doesn’t know our ways.”

“What does Detective Hurley think?”

“He’s givin’ him his head fer now. To be fair, the investigation would be little different no matter what label we slapped on it. We’d be doin’ the same things, askin’ the same questions of the same people. I’m only hopin’ Sergeant Ryan doesn’t make too many enemies in Skibbereen along the way by rubbin’ people the wrong way.”

Rose set a cup of coffee in front of Sean, dimpled, and went back to the bar. When she was gone, Maura asked, “So, no suspects?”

Sean shook his head. “Not a one. Still seems odd to me, though, that there’s so little known about his past. Even by the people who worked with him. But I’m still lookin’. Yeh’ll let me know if yeh hear anything?”

“Sure. Must be frustrating for you. I’d better get back to work—I’m heading over to have lunch with my mother at the hotel soon. Good luck to you!”

* * *

Once again she would be underdressed for the place, but Crann Mor would just have to take her the way she was. Besides, she wanted to get a look at where John Byrne had died three days earlier in relation to the building where he had been staying, and it was bound to be muddy. She wondered briefly if Helen had brought rubber boots with her and snorted. Not likely. But if Crann Mor was as a good a hotel as it claimed to be, surely they’d have some they could lend her. After all, they sent people out fishing on their little lake, didn’t they?

Leaving Mick and Rose to deal with any customers who might wander in on a Monday at midday, she retrieved her car and drove to Skibbereen, or rather around Skibbereen, to get to Crann Mor. Who were the O’Donovans who had given it up? Any relation? At the moment, she didn’t know any living O’Donovans with real money, although they were still mentioned any time the name of Leap came up in talk at the pub. The popular local mythology was that some long-ago O’Donovan had convinced his horse (How? she often wondered) to leap over the small river leading to the harbor in order to escape pursuing Englishmen. Maybe the river had been even smaller back then. Or it had been one really strong horse.

When Maura walked into the hotel lobby, Helen was standing in the middle looking critically at the space, and she didn’t even notice Maura approaching.

“Sizing it up?” Maura asked when she was close.

Helen turned quickly and smiled at her. “I guess I was just fantasizing about what could be done with the place to bring it up to contemporary standards. I think the last remodel was about fifty years ago. I’m glad you caught me, though—since we talked, we’ve scheduled a meeting for this afternoon.”

“Who’s we?” Maura said, following her toward the restaurant.

“The JBCo people and the upper management of the hotel. I won’t say we’ve made any decisions yet, but we’re looking at various options.”

“Your crowd does own the place, right?”

“Yes, we do, paid in full. We could probably unload it again without any significant financial loss, but we aren’t yet sure that we want to do that.” Once they were seated, menus in hand, Helen asked, “I assume you had something specific to talk about?”

Had Helen been hoping for girl talk? “Yes. I’ve been talking to some friends around here to see what they know or remember about this place, and I realized there are things I haven’t asked.”

“Does this have something to do with John’s death?” Helen asked.

“Kind of. For example, I have no idea how many people there are on the staff or who’s running what here. I know the gardaí have talked to the current employees, and I want to see if I know any of them or if my friends do. The other thing is, I’d like to take a look at the place where John fell. I’ve never taken the tour, and I don’t know what the layout is apart from what you’ve told me. Will you have time to show me that before your meeting?”

“I think so—it’s a large site, but there aren’t that many paths. You weren’t planning to take off through the woods?”

“No, I just wanted to get a sense of distances and things like that. Anyway, I know we ate in the restaurant here before, but I was kind of distracted. What else would you recommend to eat here?” Maura read the menu and had to stop herself from laughing. Burnt Apple? Sprouting Broccoli? At least the desserts sounded good—if they had time for that.

“You like fish? Because the salmon with asparagus is great.”

“That works for me.”

The waitress took their order and slipped silently away. “Anything in particular you wanted to know about the staff?” Helen asked.

“I guess I want to know more about how things are organized here. I mean, is there an inside staff and an outside staff, and are they run by the same people? Is the billing and accounting done in-house? How big is the kitchen staff? Is any group short-handed or overstaffed? And I guess most important, is anybody worried about their job, or were they before John died, and will his death make a difference?”

Helen laughed. “Good heavens, Maura, you don’t ask for much, do you? Luckily, you’ve come to the right person. I know the police have a current staff list, but it occurs to me that I can pull up the staffing reports for the past few years on my laptop—we put those together when we were considering the purchase and reviewing their financial status—and I can give you printouts and also tell you where we were talking about making changes to the current staff, which isn’t on any list. Since we’d never been on-site before, we didn’t get around to speaking with the managers or any other employees to ask them for their opinions. Hence today’s meeting, although things will have changed since we first started thinking about it.”

“You actually do that? Talk to staff, I mean?”

“Yes, we do. This is a relatively small operation here compared to some of our hotels. But the underlying philosophy is the same: we want our guests to feel welcome and comfortable, and that means our staff has to be happy with their responsibilities, pay grade, and job security. I do know that this part of West Cork is a fairly close-knit community with a lot of personal connections that we don’t always see when we walk in cold.”

Maura gave her points for having done her research. “Like the fact that half the people around here are named O’Donovan?”

Helen smiled. “Yes, things like that. We try to be sensitive to details, even though it isn’t always easy. Otherwise we’d end up as no better than a decent Hilton or Marriott back in the States. We want to offer something more special, or at least that was the plan.”

“That makes sense to me. So, who keeps this place running? Who’s the top staff?”

The waitress appeared with their dishes, and Helen insisted that Maura take the time to really taste her food. Maura was glad she did, because she’d never met a piece of salmon that tasted anything like this dish. She’d always believed it was just orange chunks of blah the few times she’d eaten it before. This version was in a different league.

“You’ve got a very good chef here, if nothing else,” Maura finally managed to say.

“I believe the owners have recruited regularly from the Ballymaloe Cookery School not far from here. Do you know it?”

“Seriously? I’ve heard the name, and that’s it. So it’s the real thing?” She remembered Rose mentioning it in a reverent tone.

“Definitely. You like your fish?”

“I think it’s more than like. If I was a dog, I would be rolling in it.”

Helen smiled. “That is high praise indeed.”

“You know, I would love to bring Rose over to see the restaurant. She’s worked in the pub for a couple of years now, but she’d really like to cook for more than just her father.”

“Well, if we get things cleared up, maybe we can bring her over for a meal—on the company, of course. I know the prices are beyond the reach of most of the people who live here.”

“They sure are.” Maura decided to concentrate on her food and wait to try to figure out the administrative structure of the place. Helen would give her staff lists, old and new, and she could look them over later. Right now, it was more important to see the rest of the site. Even if that meant skipping dessert, she admitted with regret.

Helen was beginning to glance at her watch anxiously, so Maura said, “Look, you can give me the short tour of the grounds and show me where John died. I can figure out the rest for myself—it is open to the public, right?”

Helen looked relieved. “Yes, it is. Thanks, Maura. I wish I could tell you I knew the site well, but as you know, this is my first visit, so all I know is based on looking at diagrams and a quick walk or two. I haven’t even been as far as the lake. But I assure you, it’s very well maintained to prevent unfortunate . . . accidents.”

“Don’t worry—I’m pretty sure I can find my way around. You said there weren’t a whole lot of paths. Anyway, I’m glad you could make the time for lunch.”

“Are you ready to go now? It looks like you enjoyed your food.” Helen waved at Maura’s now bare and shiny plate.

“I did. I’m not much of a cook, and my place has about as little in the way of cooking options as possible unless I want to crank up the fireplace, which is about six feet tall and ten feet wide.”

“I’d love to see that sometime,” Helen said wistfully.

“Maybe later,” Maura replied. She wasn’t ready to let Helen invade her private space . . . yet.

“Shall we go?” Helen said, gathering up her bag.

“Sure. Lead the way.”