Maura sat alone for a minute or two more, and then Helen Jenkins quietly let herself into the conference room and closed the door carefully behind her. She leaned against it, studying Maura’s face, and Maura couldn’t read her expression.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen quite like this, Maura,” she began tentatively.

“What? Why do you need to talk to me before the gardaí?” Maura’s words came out more sharply than she intended.

Helen took a seat across from Maura, so she could see her face. “Maura, this is difficult for me to say, and it may be hard for you to hear. But please let me say my piece. I’m sure you’ll have questions when I’m done.”

“All right.”

Helen nodded once. “There’s no easy way to say this. I’m your mother.”

Maura felt her whole body go still. Well, I didn’t see that one coming, she thought irreverently before her thoughts exploded into chaos. No. No way. Her mother had vanished from her life over twenty years earlier. She had no memory of her. She’d never known where she’d gone, and she’d never looked for her. Her gran had been mostly silent about her: she hadn’t criticized or complained, but she’d more or less erased her daughter-in-law Helen Lafferty from her life. And Maura had accepted that.

To the best of her knowledge, Helen had never made an effort to contact her, even though Gran had stayed in the same neighborhood for those past decades and she could have found her easily enough. If Helen had written to her, Gran hadn’t kept the letters or shared them with her, and Maura hadn’t found any in what Gran had left. Certainly Helen hadn’t sent any money. For all practical purposes, she was dead to Maura.

And now here she was, sitting in a small town in Ireland, in a police station of all places. How many things were wrong with this picture?

Helen had wisely remained silent while Maura worked through this jumble of thoughts, although she was watching anxiously. She was clearly expecting some kind of response, but Maura didn’t know where to start. She was surprised—hell, yes. And angry, too. Why did this woman have the right to walk into her life now? She was definitely confused, and she had no idea what the gardaí might be thinking.

Well, she was a grown-up now. If she’d been hurt and angry as a child that her mother had abandoned her, she’d have time enough to deal with that later. She was here to help the gardaí figure out what had happened to John Byrne—who just happened to be Helen’s boss. She took a deep breath. “You’re going to have to explain. A lot. Is Jenkins your name now?”

“Yes, it is. After I . . . left Boston, I went back to my maiden name, Lafferty. I pulled myself together and made a lot of changes in my life. And I got married again after a few years. You have a brother and a sister in Chicago. Well, half brother and half sister.”

Maura shut her eyes for a moment. This just keeps getting weirder. Now I’ve got even more relatives? “Let’s skip that for now. You left, you went on with your life, fine. How did you end up here? And why is your boss dead?”

“I can answer the first question. As for the second, I have no idea.”

“Then start with the first one.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Maura.”

“Were you planning to tell me, or were you just going to disappear again?” Maura heard the bitterness in her own voice and tried to quash it.

Helen looked away. “I know it’s awful of me, but I hadn’t made up my mind. I wanted to know if you were happy, if you had a good life. I was going to decide after I’d spent some time with you. I know none of this makes me look good, and I’m sorry. For the past and for now. I never expected anything like this.”

Inwardly, Maura was seething, but that wasn’t much help right now. “Let’s worry about that part some other time. Right now the gardaí are just asking questions. I don’t know all the facts about investigating a death, but I’ve worked with them over the past year, and they’re good guys. And not stupid country bumpkins, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“What is it you call them? Gardee?”

“Yes. The full name is Guardians of the Peace—gardaí is the Irish word.”

“Thank you.” Then Helen looked confused. “Wait—back up. You’ve worked with the local police?”

“Yes. Save that discussion for later too.” The list of “later” topics was growing fast. “For now, just answer their questions. They’re already looking at you funny because you insisted on talking to me before you talked to them, but as far as I know, they’re not even close to arresting anyone now because it’s not even officially a crime. Just a body found where it shouldn’t be, which I guess counts as suspicious circumstances. So they’re investigating.”

“I think I understand. I know it must have seemed odd, my asking to see you first, but I didn’t want you to hear about who I really am from a stranger first. And I couldn’t not tell them because it’s part of the reason I’m here. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Got it.” Maura thought for a moment. “Clearly you and I have a lot to talk about, but that’s personal stuff. The gardaí want an explanation for this death or at least to give the coroner something to work with. You haven’t been here long enough to notice, but crime’s pretty low in this part of Cork. Murder is rare, and murder of rich outsiders even rarer—if that’s what it is. So they’ll be looking hard at it, I’m guessing, and you’re right in the middle. How about you talk with them now, and I’ll sit in if they don’t mind? It’ll save you from repeating yourself.”

Helen seemed surprised that Maura had taken charge of the conversation, but she didn’t protest. “I assume they’ll want the JBCo people to stay around here until this is cleared up, so I suppose you and I will have time to talk later. Fine, bring in the detective. I’ll tell him everything I know.”

“All right.” Maura stood and walked over to the door, opened it, and signaled to Sean, who was back at his desk. He nodded and went to fetch his boss. When he arrived, he nodded to Maura and then gestured toward the conference room, and together they strode quickly across the room to the conference room—followed by the gazes of anybody else at their own desks. Was this an important case for them? They were joined a moment later by Sergeant Ryan, and Maura wondered whether he had been invited or had invited himself. But no one commented on his presence, any more than they had questioned hers, and the men spent a minute rearranging chairs to accommodate the group in the small room. Maura studied their expressions once they had finally sat: Sean looked intent, but Sergeant Ryan looked . . . ominous? Was he ticked off that she was there?

Detective Hurley spoke first. “Mrs. Jenkins, you’ve already met Garda Murphy, and this is Sergeant Ryan. Are you ready to give us your account of events for the past few days?”

Helen pulled her chair closer to the table and squared her shoulders. “I will be delighted, Detective. And perhaps I should start by explaining why I wanted to talk to Maura before I talked to you.” She glanced at Maura, who gave a sharp shake of her head. “Or I’ll let her explain it later, but it was a personal matter with no connection to John’s death. Shall I start from the beginning?”

“If you don’t mind, Garda Murphy will take notes.”

“That’s not a problem.” Helen seemed more composed now, Maura thought. “Would you like me to tell this in my own words, or would you rather ask questions?”

“Why don’t you proceed, and we can ask questions if we need to. This is not a formal interview—we merely want to know about the man and if you can shed any light about his activities last night. Could you start with your name and the like, please?”

“Of course. My name is Helen Jenkins. I’m marketing manager for JB Management and Investment Company, usually known as JBCo, named for John Byrne, its founder. We assemble investors for different entities in the hospitality industry, primarily hotels, and we provide management consulting services for them. We acquired a hotel in Dublin two years ago, and when Crann Mor came on the market, it seemed to present a good opportunity to take a different approach in this country. JBCo purchased the property last year, but it’s only recently that we’ve taken a closer look at how it’s been managed and what we would like to do with it going forward. Neither John nor I had been here before.”

“How long have you worked for this group?” Detective Hurley asked.

“About five years.”

“And your current position is pretty senior?”

“Yes, although my promotion to my current position is fairly recent. I worked my way up. I’ve participated in a couple of other projects with John. It was unusual for him to take part in a preliminary assessment like this, but I think he believed this would be a quick and easy trip, and I’m told there are some excellent golf courses in this area—he may have hoped to combine this with a few rounds.”

“How did he get along with his employees?” the detective asked.

“The ones on this trip or in general?”

“Either.”

Helen reflected for a moment. “He was successful at what he did. The company has grown quickly, and most employees have shared in that success. But at the same time, John was impatient, and he didn’t suffer fools gladly. I’m sure there were a few people he rubbed the wrong way. Not those that came with him on this trip.”

“How long has this project been under way?”

“Well over a year. The purchase of the property was quite public. I suppose the price tag was a bit too steep to attract much local interest here, but we never concealed our role in its purchase. Was there local resistance to our acquisition?”

“Not necessarily. The hotel has had multiple owners over time, as I’m sure you are aware. It’s not as though a long-lost heir emerged and felt he was being cheated out of his birthright.”

“We did our research on the title to the land, Detective. There were no red flags.”

“Could you give me a timeline for the last time you saw John?”

Maura cleared her throat. “Excuse me—can I ask a question?” Sean didn’t look up from his note-taking, but the sergeant looked startled at her interruption. When Detective Hurley nodded, she said, “How did he die?”

“He was found in the gardens behind the hotel—or rather, one of those areas left wild between the more cultivated gardens—about halfway between the main house and the lake. It appears that he slipped and fell down a hill and fractured his skull in the fall. There may be other injuries, but we won’t know until after the postmortem.”

“You think that’s suspicious?” Maura asked.

“The fall, you mean?” Detective Hurley asked. “Only in that he was not dressed for a stroll, particularly after dark. His injuries appear to be consistent with a fall. But at this time, we have called this an ‘unexplained death.’ The postmortem may take several days.”

Since he seemed willing to answer her questions, Maura pressed on. “Was this last night or early this morning?”

“Most likely last night, late.” The detective gave her a half smile. “If I may continue, Byrne was dressed in clothing inappropriate for a ramble amongst the gardens. Particularly his shoes, which were rather fine leather and had thin, slippery soles. Tell me, Mrs. Jenkins, was he meticulous in his dress?”

“I’d say yes. He enjoyed tailor-made suits and fine accessories.”

“Was he particularly athletic?”

“You mean, did he exercise regularly? Go jogging?” When Detective Hurley nodded, she added, “No. He liked golf, but that was about all. Was he robbed?”

“He was wearing a Rolex watch, and his wallet was in his pocket with nothing obviously missing, although we have not yet found his mobile phone. Are you aware of any late or early appointments he might have made?”

“No. He didn’t share his personal calendar with me. You can check with his assistant, Andrew. So there were no signs of violence?”

“As I said, none that could not be attributed to a fall. It was a rather steep hill, running some distance down to the lake. Any health issues that you might be aware of? Anything that might have caused a dizzy spell? Did he drink heavily?”

“If he had health problems, he didn’t tell us. And he wasn’t much of a drinker, although he did enjoy a good wine.” Helen paused for a moment. “You know, as I’m saying all this, I realize what a private person he was. In a meeting, or even one-on-one, he was, well, larger than life, but he never said much about himself or his personal life.”

“Was he married?”

“Yes, although I never met his wife—they live in a suburb outside of Chicago. I think they have two children. But he wasn’t the type of man who kept pictures of them all on his desk. He kept his professional life and his private life quite separate.”

Detective Hurley sat back in his chair and was silent for a few moments. “So from what you’ve told me and what we’ve learned, John Byrne was a healthy, successful man who enjoyed his work, who traveled to this corner of Ireland on business, and who ended up dead from a fall. The postmortem may provide some additional information, but as of this time, we can say no more than that his death may be suspicious. He could have slipped, or he may have been pushed. No one has come forward to say they heard or saw anything at the time, but we’ve only just begun collecting information and interviewing people at the hotel. Thus far no one has admitted meeting with him last night.”

Helen spoke after a long silence. “Will you be asking the rest of our team to stay around for now?”

“For the next few days, at least. Please don’t think we’re dragging our feet, but there are procedures that must be followed. Let us hope it’s no more than a couple of days. I’ve told the others in your group the same thing.”

“It’s not a problem,” Helen was quick to say. “Is there any more information about the hotel or our acquisition that you’d like me to request from our main office? Staff lists? Financial statements? Or is that premature? How and when do you decide whether John was murdered?”

“Do you have any reason to believe that he was?” the detective asked. When Helen shook her head, Detective Hurley chose his words carefully. “I know that where you come from, investigations happen fairly quickly. The process is different here. I’ve seen my officers’ reports, and they couldn’t say whether there was anything suspicious about Byrne’s death, nor is it their responsibility to make that determination. We are obligated to report this death to the coroner. Which doesn’t exactly answer your question, Mrs. Jenkins, so let me put it this way: the lists and such that you mentioned could be of value if the postmortem points in a certain direction. If it’s not easy for you to obtain those documents, you might request them now so they’ll be on hand if they’re called for.”

“That’s not a problem,” Helen agreed quickly.

“I’m glad to hear that, and thank you for the excellent suggestion.” The detective stood up. “You’ve been most forthcoming, and I appreciate your assistance. We will keep you apprised of any new determination, but I’d guess we won’t have anything definitive until midweek.” He opened the door and gestured for Helen to leave the room.

He was prepared to follow Helen when Maura interrupted. “Uh, Helen, I’ll meet you in a minute. I have a question for the detective.” Helen looked bewildered but went into the next room to wait.

“What do you need, Maura?” Detective Hurley asked. “Does it have to do with that closed-door meeting Mrs. Jenkins requested earlier?”

“No. Like she said, that’s personal, and as far as I know, it has nothing to do with what happened at the hotel. If I learn anything different, I’ll let you know. What I wanted to ask was, is there anything I can or can’t say to my customers at the pub?” Maura asked. “What do I say if one of the regulars asks if it was a murder, which of course is the first thing those guys will think of?”

“You may tell them that our inquiries are incomplete and the coroner has made no determination yet. Which is the truth. He’s only just been informed, and it’s up to him to locate a pathologist for the postmortem.”

“Thanks, I guess. Although they probably won’t buy that coming from me. They know I’ve got your ear and Sean’s.”

“Then just tell anyone who’s interested that we haven’t shared anything with you. Most likely they’re aware of the procedure in any case, more than you might be.”

Sergeant Ryan, who had been silent throughout the talk, now shoved his chair back into the wall and stood up. Sean stared up at him apprehensively. “Why aren’t yeh callin’ it a murder? Do people visitin’ fine hotels in yer backyard often fall off a hill and smash their skulls?” His tone was angry.

Detective Hurley eyed him for a moment before answering. “Are you questioning my interrogation?”

Sergeant Ryan didn’t back down. “Nah, I’m questioning whether yer afraid to call it what it is. And why yer not pushin’ harder for answers.”

Detective Hurley’s voice was colder when he answered the sergeant now. “I see no reason to call this anything but an accidental death at this time. My men began interviewing people at the hotel as soon as the body was located and retrieved. The regional coroner was duly notified and has removed the body and will have to appoint someone to examine it. The procedure would be no different if the man had been found with an ax buried in his head. Please remember that you are not in Limerick anymore, and trust me to know my responsibilities.”

Maura, holding her tongue, watched as the sergeant turned a darker shade of red. Unfortunately, Sergeant Ryan turned his attention to her since the detective had not risen to the bait. “And what’s this one”—he waved a dismissive hand at Maura—“doin’ in the room when yeh’re interrogatin’ a witness? She has no place here.”

Maura watched apprehensively as Detective Hurley controlled his anger. “Maura Donovan is here at my discretion,” he said in a calm voice. “You will not know this, but she has gathered important and timely information in more than one fatal event prior to this. She can be trusted.”

The sergeant glared at her but didn’t say anything more. Detective Hurley turned to her. “Let me see you and Mrs. Jenkins out.”

Once outside the interrogation room, he moved to a discreet distance before saying, “I apologize for the sergeant. He’s just joined us from Limerick, and he’s not yet used to our ways here.”

“That’s kind of obvious. Limerick’s pretty rough?”

“Perhaps the polar opposite of our corner of the country, even though it’s not far away. I want to give him time to settle in.”

“What if he does go charging around calling John Byrne’s death a murder? Will it make a difference?”

“I will try to rein him in. I’d venture to guess interrogation techniques in Limerick are rather unlike ours. And perhaps he’s too eager to prove himself right now.”

“Thank you for explaining. And for the compliment—I’m always happy to help if I can. So we’re free to go?”

“You are. Sean can take you back to Leap.” He waved for Helen to come over. “Mrs. Jenkins, will you need a lift to the hotel?”

Helen glanced at Maura. “I will, yes.”

Sean had emerged from the interrogation room and was waiting for further instructions. “Well, then, Sean, please take these ladies wherever they wish to go. And thank you both for your assistance.”

Maura and Helen waited outside while Sean went to fetch a car. “Maura, I . . .” Helen began.

Maura stopped her. “No. Not now. I know we need to talk—or at least, you want to—but I need some time to process this.”

“Maura, please . . . Look, I’ve got twenty years of apologies to make. Will you at least give me that chance?”

Maura waited until her emotions were almost under control, then said, “Yes. Not because I feel like I owe you anything, but because I want to be fair. How about we meet for breakfast tomorrow at the West Cork Hotel in Skibbereen? You know it?”

“Neutral ground? I’ll find it. Say, nine o’clock?”

“Fine.”

They didn’t speak as Sean drove Helen back to Crann Mor, then took the back way to Leap. He pulled up in front of Sullivan’s and stopped but left the engine idling. He looked like he was getting ready to speak, so Maura cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not yet.”

“I’ll listen to yeh when yer ready, Maura.”

“Thanks, Sean.” She clambered out of the car and into the familiarity of the pub.