As Billy disappeared through the door to his home, Maura saw that Sean Murphy had arrived, so she stepped back. “That was fast!”

“I came by fer that list. We’re that hard up for facts.”

“Let’s sit down if you have the time,” she said and led him to the table that she and Helen had vacated. “You want something to drink, or are you on duty?”

“The inspector has given us the night off, seein’ as there’s nothing in hand to investigate at the moment. I didn’t wait to see what the sergeant had to say to that. A glass of Guinness would suit me fine.”

Maura signaled to Rose, who started filling two glasses. Maybe he was off duty, but Sean wasn’t going to overindulge, asking for the smaller glass rather than the larger pint. Or maybe he was in a hurry to read the list.

Helen’s envelope was still on the table where she’d left it, so she pushed it across to Sean, but he made no move to open it. Rose deposited the two glasses in front of them, then retreated quickly.

“So it’s yer mother gave you this?” Sean asked carefully.

“Yes.”

“Yeh’re gettin’ along, then?”

Maura almost laughed. Why was it that everybody was asking about how she felt about her mystery mother popping up in West Cork? Because they cared? Or was it just a good story? “We’re doing okay. In an odd way, it’s a good thing we have John Byrne’s death to talk about—it’s kind of neutral ground.”

“But yeh’re givin’ her a fair chance?”

“Yes, Sean, I hope I am. I’ve only known her for three days now.”

“Maybe yer showin’ off, just a bit, with your helpin’ the gardaí?”

That got Maura’s attention, and she looked Sean in the eye. “What, you think I’m trying to impress her with my brilliant crime-solving skills? Look, Mom, the baby you walked away from now owns her own business and home, and by the way, she solves murders in her spare time. Aren’t you proud?”

“Well, if you put it that way . . .” Sean looked down into his glass, and Maura suspected he was hiding a smile. She had to admit it did sound silly.

“Oh, all right,” she finally said. “Maybe I’m trying to convince her that I’ve done just fine without her.”

“And yeh have indeed. But let’s keep lookin’ at that death, can we?”

Maura sighed. “Sure. Nothing new since we talked earlier?”

He shook his head. “Yeh’ve looked at this list—do yeh see anything in it?”

“Not yet, but I’m the new kid here, remember? I gave Billy Sheahan a copy too. He’s taken it home to read.”

Sean nodded once. “Most of the time, I’d jump all over yeh fer handin’ a civilian a piece of evidence, but I can see why yeh did it.”

“Well, we still don’t know it’s evidence. It’s just a few pieces of paper. But Billy knows half the people in Cork, and he’s probably related to half of those.” Then Maura stopped. Something Bridget had said earlier, something about a mother and a daughter . . . “Sean, can I run something by you?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve told me you haven’t had much luck finding anything about John Byrne’s background, right? Well, I was talking to Bridget Nolan yesterday morning. She said she’d never been inside the hotel, but that the wife of her son—the one who died, not Mick’s father—had worked there and that she might be under a different last name than Nolan. And that gets me thinking—maybe John grew up under a different name? Maybe he was adopted or something?”

Sean rubbed his hands over his face, and Maura thought he looked tired. “So now yeh’re tellin’ me to look for a man whose original name we don’t even know? Only his age, if he gave the right one, and that he came from New York, if he wasn’t lyin’ about that. Are yeh sure yeh’re trying to help us? Let’s hope that Billy will give us a push in the mornin’.” Sean yawned, drained his glass, and stood up. “I’m desperate fer sleep—I should go.”

“Of course.” Maura walked him to the door. “Good night, Sean.”

Maura picked up the two glasses from the table and delivered them to Rose behind the bar. “Where the heck is everybody?”

“On this side of the bar or the other? Me da’s off doin’ whatever, and I surely hope you don’t pay him fer the time he isn’t here. Mick said somethin’ about repairing somethin’ at his gran’s but promised he’d be back before the evening rush.” Rose looked around the room and giggled. “I’m not sure if the two of us can handle this crowd.” There were four men in the room and one woman who’d come in with one of the men.

Maura sat down on one of the stools. “I need a coffee, if you don’t mind. And we should think about eating something.”

“Of course, boss.” Rose flashed a smile and started making a cup. “I’ll pick something up soon as the coffee’s done.”

“Thanks, Rose.” Maura hesitated, then said carefully, “I’m worried about Jimmy.” When Rose flashed her a look, Maura amended that. “I mean, about replacing him. I don’t expect him to want to keep working here forever. It’s clear he’s not exactly happy.”

“Ah, that’s just his way. He’s no happier anywhere else,” Rose said as she handed Maura the coffee mug.

“I don’t doubt it. He’s never going to make employee of the month here at Sullivan’s. But I need a minimum number of people working here regularly—people who I can count on to show up and keep our patrons served and happy. And don’t say you’ll do it. I want to see you doing something more with your life than handing out drinks from behind the bar.”

“Oh, and now yeh’ve got me life planned out for me?” Rose said, raising an eyebrow but smiling.

“No. I can’t tell you what to do. I just hope you can find something more . . . I don’t know—rewarding?—than working here.”

“I’ve been thinking . . .” Rose suddenly became very busy polishing the bar counter. “There’s this place that’s opened up in Skib, a combination restaurant and cookery school across from the Eldon. They give cooking classes, and I might like to try one or two. Mebbe learn a bit about how a real restaurant works.”

“That’s a great idea!” Maura said quickly.

“I could probably fit my schedule here around the classes,” Rose added, looking hopeful.

“Rose, we can work it out. Just let me know what you need. But actually, I’m talking about a bigger problem than just your hours. We’re going to need more staff here when the weather gets nicer and the tourist season starts, especially if the music takes off. But I haven’t any idea how to recruit anyone. And I can’t cover any more than I already am.”

“I can ask around,” Rose said. “Might be that you won’t find the likes of us again—yeh know, the ones who stay around fer years for lousy pay—but there’s plenty who’d like a job fer a while. Or there’s visitors, tourists who want a way to just hang out here fer a bit, especially in the summer when yeh need help most. Anybody can pull a pint, and there’s no call fer mixin’ those fancy cocktails here. Maybe yeh’d like to find some Americans?”

Maura was staring at her. “Rose, you are wasted on this place. Those are great ideas. Anyway, this doesn’t have to happen today, but if you run into anybody you think would fit, tell me, and I’ll talk to them. And maybe we could do something with those rooms upstairs, if they need a place to stay, at least for a while.”

“That’s grand, Maura,” Rose said enthusiastically.

Business picked up a bit after dark. Mick came in, and Rose went out to find something for their supper. Seamus and his gang were conspicuously absent—maybe they knew that John Byrne’s death was still an open case, and they’d be sure to hear from someone if that changed. Maura guessed they’d be in fast enough once there was a solution, demanding their reward.

“No Jimmy today?” Mick asked when there was a lull.

“Not a sign of him. That’s going to be a problem when we get busier. I was talking to Rose about it, and she had some good ideas about where to find more staff, or at least short-timers.” She realized she’d created the perfect opening to ask Mick what his long-term plans were, but she didn’t want to hear a negative answer, not right now. She shifted subjects quickly. “Rose said you were fixing something at Bridget’s place?”

“I was, and just checking things out, now that winter’s past. It’s easy to forget how old the building is, but things keep wearing out and need to be looked after. Nothing big, though.”

“She’s still got the old stove,” Maura commented.

“She does. And why not? There’s little to go wrong wit’ them, and she knows how it works. The kettle’s always on fer a guest.”

“Is it okay if Gillian visits her with the baby?”

“I told you as much, did I not?” Mick said, his tone surprisingly curt.

What was that about? “You know, Rose and I talked earlier about recruiting people to help Harry fix up the creamery so it’s livable. We should be doing that sooner rather than later—they can’t stay in Mycroft House much longer. Did I tell you about my idea of calling on some of the guys here to help out or chip in for what they need? I talked it over with Rose. What’s the best way to do that?”

“Talk to Seamus. He seems to be the ringleader here. I’ll do my part, but somebody’s got to stay here and mind the pub.”

“Of course. Well, let me know if you have any other ideas.”

“I will.” He turned away abruptly to serve a man at the other end of the bar.

The night remained quiet with few people coming in. She was lucky, she knew—the place was paid for, save for the lights and the heat and the taxes. She paid her staff only for the hours they actually worked, so during the slow times, she didn’t need them. If some nights—or even some months—were slow, she wouldn’t go broke.

Was that her life plan? To work here at the pub—her pub, she reminded herself yet again—serve whoever came in, and chat them up? In some ways, it was more than she had ever expected from her life, because she hadn’t seen many choices in her path. But maybe it was time to rethink a few things. She liked living in this part of Ireland, at least for now. She couldn’t imagine feeling homesick for Boston, but that could change.

Maybe meeting her mother had shaken her. Helen had made some big choices twenty-plus years ago: to marry her father, Tom; to have a child; and to walk away from that child and start over. Did she regret any of those choices?

Maura shook her head to clear it. She spent the next couple of hours pulling pints and making small talk with the people who came in, but many didn’t want to talk—they wanted to be left alone with their pint and their thoughts. She sent Rose home early and told Mick to leave too since he’d covered for much of the day while she was meeting with Helen. She closed up on time and drove to her house in the dark with no answers.