“And how did you find this place, Dad?”

Heath held up his beer, grinning in delight as he examined the dark ruby-red liquid in the glass. He took a deep drink and licked the foam from his mustache.

“Oh, that’s a perfect pour, isn’t it?” He took another drink and then set the glass down. “I was looking for a place that showed the football matches.”

Molly looked around the crowded dining area. There wasn’t one television in Foley’s Public House. Only a small, unoccupied stage at one far end gave any indication that entertainment other than congenial chatter happened at the pub.

“Oh, apparently they bring in TVs sometimes, but they just show mixed martial arts these days. Their bartenders, however, have been finalists in the Guinness Perfect Pour competition the past five years.”

Molly laughed. “Oh, the truth comes out, huh, Dad?”

Her father winked and took another deep drink from his beer. “So, how was the rest of your week? Go any further into the shitter than it already had?”

“Heath!” Barbara said with a laugh.

Molly choked on her own beer. “Thanks for that, Dad. And for your information, other than Boone’s untimely intrusion, it’s been the best first week of school I’ve had in years.”

“Really?” Heath arched an eyebrow at her.

“Really, Dad. Oh, thank you.”

The trio fell silent as a dark-haired woman set their meals in front of them.

“Oh, this looks so good.” Barbara took a bite of her cottage pie. “Oh, and tastes delicious as well.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Meghan, the dark-haired daughter of the owner of Foley’s, smiled at the group gathered around the table. “I’ll bring some malt for your fish and chips right over.”

After she walked away, Barbara remarked, “Now that’s good service. And such a good price for the food. I don’t see how they stay in business.”

“Well, the place is pretty crowded, and it’s fairly early for a Friday night. The sign said there was music starting at seven thirty. I bet they do some pretty brisk business after the dinner crowd dies down.” Heath tucked into his fish and chips. “Oh, yes. That is brilliant.”

They spent the duration of their meal making small talk about Heath and Barbara’s week, and Molly was thankful that Boone didn’t come up again. It was during dessert that the conversation turned back to Molly.

“So, how is this year’s crop of five-year-olds stacking up?” Heath sat back, a mug of coffee in his big hand. “Any students that stand out so far?”

“Dad, it’s only been two days.”

Heath snorted. “Molly, dearest, you know as good as I do that two days is plenty of time to spot where there’s going to be trouble.”

Molly inclined her head in acknowledgment, but she wasn’t quite as confident in her abilities to read people. The fact that Boone had so thoroughly deceived her for so long left her rattled and unsure.

“No, nothing that sets off any internal alarms.” Her thoughts flickered momentarily to the conversation she’d had with Lucy’s father the night of the open house, but in the two brief days of the school year and the snooping she’d done in Lucy’s permanent record, not that she had much of one, she didn’t find much.

The sound of cheers and whoops emanating from the enclosed patio on the side of the pub cut through the general hubbub of the dining room, distracting Molly from her ruminations.

“That sounds like a lively bunch,” Heath remarked with a laugh. “Wonder what they’re up to.”

Just then, two little curly-haired girls, one sandy-blonde, the other strawberry-blonde, buzzed from the patio, past the table where the Mayhews sat. They held hands and were giggling conspiratorially as they raced toward the restrooms.

“Oh, I remember when you were that age.” Barbara sighed wistfully.

“I believe they are two of my students, but I can’t be sure because they flew by so quickly,” Molly said with a laugh. “Little dolls, they are, regardless.”

Barbara laughed and then asked, “So, the flea market tomorrow? Bright and early so we don’t die from heat exhaustion?”

“Certainly—if we go, we need to go early,” Molly agreed. “Are you going to join us, Dad?”

Heath snorted. “Not bloody likely. You two can go paw through dead people’s things. I’ll stay home in the air conditioning, where it’s civilized.”

“ ‘Paw through dead people’s things’ sounds so . . . inconsiderate,” Molly said, laughing. “But I suppose it’s true.”

“And we’ll enjoy every sweaty minute of it,” added Barbara. “All of it.” She leered at her husband, who rolled his eyes.

“Miss Mayhew! Miss Mayhew!”

Molly turned in the direction of the two chiming voices. “Maude, Lucy. How are you, girls?”