Maura’s revelation stopped Gillian in her tracks, and Maura was almost amused to watch her trying to figure out which question to ask first. “You told me she’d left you when you were a small child.”

“She did. Walked out and we never heard another word from her. Until now, when she walked back in.”

“And she’s part of this group of hotel investors or whatever they are?”

“That’s what she says.”

“Oh, dear God. And is she suspected of killing that man?”

“Her boss, you mean? The gardaí have only just started looking into things. They’ve asked the rest of the group to stay on for a few days.”

“And have you talked with . . . your mother since her big announcement?”

“Yes and no. I had breakfast with her this morning, but we kind of avoided all the personal stuff. Turns out she married again and had a couple of kids, so I’ve got a brother and a sister. Well, half.”

“But I’m guessing you didn’t get into the stuff like ‘Why the hell did you abandon me, dear Mother?’”

“Not a lot. We did talk about John Byrne’s death, which may or may not have been an accident.” Maura glanced around the room, but nobody seemed interested in their conversation. “You know, things like who worked for who, who had issues with him, that kind of thing.”

“Who stands to gain, you mean?”

“Sort of. Look, so far we’ve spent maybe two hours together, so there’s a lot we haven’t covered.”

“And will you?”

“I’ll listen to her story. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to get all warm and fuzzy and fall into each other’s arms.”

“What’s she like?” Gillian asked.

“She seems smart. She speaks well. She wears expensive clothes. I guess she’s got to be good at what she does, or she wouldn’t have her job. She didn’t gush all over me, if that’s what you’re asking. She was very . . . careful, I guess I’d say.”

“Maura Donovan, what would you expect from her? She’s here, and she must have had to do some searching to find you. She hasn’t seen you in over twenty years. She must figure she treated you badly, and she wasn’t sure how you’d react. So she’s being cautious, I’d say. At least give the poor woman a chance.”

“That’s more or less what I’d planned to do, Gillian. But I can’t forgive her all that easily.”

“Nor should you. But talk to her.”

“Fine. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the gardaí will have figured everything out by then.”

But Gillian wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. Instead, she seemed focused on something Maura couldn’t see. “Maura,” Gillian said carefully, “I think something’s happening.”

It took Maura a moment to put two and two together. “The baby.”

Gillian nodded. “I’ve been having these odd feelings for a while now, but they’re getting stronger rather than stopping. The midwife said there was such a thing as early contractions—I forget the name—but I didn’t want to worry Harry, so I didn’t say anything. Maybe I should have.”

“This is early, right?”

“It is, but it’s not like the date is chiseled in stone. It’s not too early, which is a good thing.”

“What’re you supposed to do?”

“Wait a bit longer and make sure it’s not a false alarm. Would you believe the instructions the hospital hands out say, ‘You need to think positive thoughts’? Then at some point I have to get myself to the hospital in Cork.”

“You should call Harry,” Maura said firmly. “Unless you do think this is a false alarm?”

Gillian flinched again. “Maura, I think it’s the real thing. And I’ll call him now, but I may need a ride from you.”

While Gillian called Harry, Maura hurried over to the bar to tell Rose what was happening. “You and your dad can handle the business for now, right? Mick will have to take Bridget home, but he’ll be back after. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Don’t worry yerself, Maura, we can manage. Where’s the dad-to-be keepin’ himself?”

“Gillian says he was meeting a client on a golf course somewhere. Before you jump all over him, remember that they need the money right now.”

Maura looked back at Gillian to see her beckoning her over. When Maura was in earshot, Gillian said, “He’ll meet us there—he’s closer to Cork than to here. I’d call an ambulance, but they take a year and a day to arrive, and driving would be faster. Do you mind, Maura?”

At last, something practical she could do. “Of course not. I’ve been there before when Jimmy broke his arm, so I know the way. You ready to leave now?” When Gillian nodded, Maura added, “I’ll go get my car.”

She grabbed up her bag and fished out her keys on the way out the door. On the bright side, at least Gillian wasn’t about to give birth on the floor of Sullivan’s. That kind of drama she could do without.

At least the hospital was relatively close. Maura had heard stories about injured people in other parts of Ireland who had to travel halfway across the country to find the medical help they needed. She’d been spoiled by Boston, where there were top-of-the-line hospitals all over the place—luckily, she had never needed them, but it was nice to know they were there.

She started up her car, checked that she had gas, and drove to the front of Sullivan’s. Before she could get out, Gillian came out the door, supported by Rose. Rose settled her in the passenger seat, then stepped back and gave Maura a thumbs-up sign as they pulled away.

“Everything okay?” Maura asked, praying for a positive answer.

“No changes, but I’m pretty sure these are labor pains. Little Darling here is ready to make his or her debut.”

“Is Harry ready for all this?” Maura asked, heading east on the main highway toward Cork city.

“Who knows? Is anyone? So, talk to me, Maura. Take my mind off what’s happening and what’s to come. Anything new on the murder?”

Maura had to swallow a laugh. Gillian was about to birth a watermelon, and she wanted to talk about murder? “The gardaí haven’t used the word murder. Yet.” But they might if Sergeant Ryan had his way. Was he going to work out in peaceful Skibbereen?

“But you’re thinking they will. Officially, I mean.”

“They might. Depends on what the coroner says. Look, I trust the gardaí in Skibbereen to do their jobs. I’ll let them decide.”

“I won’t argue with you. But why’s the man dead? Why here? Who was he, and who wanted him dead?”

“Gillian, would your hospital manual say these are positive thoughts?”

She grinned briefly. “Let’s say I’m happy to be distracted. It’s better than staring at my watch and counting the time between contractions.”

“Got it. I don’t know a lot about the guy. Helen told me a few details, and of course I met him that once at Sullivan’s.”

“And as I recall, you didn’t like him.”

“Not much. Nice clothes, nice watch, nice haircut. But he was very self-important. You know, all ‘Look at me—I’m rich and successful, and you’re not.’”

“But he was rich and successful. Good-looking?” Gillian asked.

“Sure, if you like that type. What I didn’t like was how his staff acted like a bunch of lapdogs around him.”

“Including Helen?”

“Not as much, but it was clear she knew who was boss. Can we get back to whether this was murder?” Out of the corner of her eye, Maura could see Gillian’s face tense, then relax.

“Right. So, John Byrne’s group bought the hotel about a year ago, right? You know, I think I’ve been in his Dublin hotel—definitely top-drawer. Which doesn’t explain what he’s doing setting up business in this remote corner of the country.”

“Maybe he got it cheap,” Maura guessed. “Maybe he has insider info on the growth potential for West Cork. I don’t know. But his company or group or whatever it is owns it now.”

“This was his first trip here? I mean, he didn’t take a look before he bought the place?”

“As far as I know. Before you ask, yes, it was also Helen’s first trip.” As far as she knew, Maura amended silently.

“How did he die?” Gillian asked.

“I don’t have all the details. It was after dinner, that much I know. I think it was dark, or getting dark. He was still wearing his fancy suit and shoes—I’m pretty sure the gardaí will have checked if he ate with his team or with a guest by now.”

“And if he stopped in the bar after dinner or went prowling the mean streets of Skibbereen looking for a drink and some company.”

“He would have had to find a ride—a taxi or something. Helen rented a car, but I don’t think John did. Maybe the hotel would have provided a car and driver. But it’s pretty clear that he wouldn’t have walked into the town—I don’t think he was the type, and his shoes weren’t meant for walking. The gardaí will check that stuff out.”

Gillian was silent for several moments, her jaw clenched. Then she said, “But he died where he was found? On the Crann Mor grounds? Outside, not inside?”

“I think so. Remember, I didn’t get to ask many questions, and all I got was hints. But nobody said he died somewhere else and was dumped in the woods. And I think it was just off a walking path, not a lane where anyone could drive to drop off a body. Have you been there?”

“A while ago. It’s an impressive site. So, John had dinner, might have had a drink, and well after dark, he decides he wants to take a walk. Does the hotel have surveillance cameras?”

Maura zoomed past a slow-moving truck. “Gillian, how am I supposed to know? I’ve been there once, and I wasn’t looking at the security. Nobody’s mentioned cameras, and why would they tell me? So I can’t say if he walked out of the hotel arm in arm with anyone, male or female.”

“Are you thinking he was gay?”

“No, not really. Helen told me he had a wife and kids in a suburb outside of Chicago somewhere, but that’s all I know. His personal assistant might have more information. Think the gardaí will ask him? About John being gay, I mean?”

“They’re more open-minded than they once were, I think.”

“By the way, there’s a new garda—a sergeant. From Limerick.”

“Really? He’s bound to be bored in Skibbereen, then. Limerick would keep any garda busy. Though he has walked right into a suspicious death.”

“I’m pretty sure he’d like to call it a murder. Maybe that’s just what he’s used to.”

“Hmm,” Gillian said. “But to step back, John, alone or with company, strolled along the garden path in the dark. Was he looking to smoke a cigar?”

“Gillian, I don’t know!”

“Did he have a torch?”

“You mean a flashlight? Again, I don’t know.”

“Was he robbed?”

“He still had his watch and wallet on him.”

“What were his injuries?”

Maura risked a glance at Gillian. She looked pale but focused, and she managed to smile at Maura. “I’m doing fine. Keep talking—it helps.”

“Based on what little the gardaí told me, there were no injuries that could not have been caused by the fall down the hill. Mainly a blow to the head that did a number on his skull. Seems he fell quite a long way. That’s why they’ve been careful about avoiding the word ‘murder.’”

“Was he the type who liked to take rambles?”

“After hearing about the man’s clothes from Helen, I’d say no. And why after dark? In an unfamiliar place?”

“Maybe he did know it—he’d sneaked in before in disguise when he was considering buying the place,” Gillian suggested, stopping to pant.

“That’s a possibility, although I don’t think there was anything shady about the deal, but I don’t know a heck of a lot about business. But why take a walk?”

“He needed some air after a big dinner? He wanted someplace private to think about what he’d seen and heard? Or he could have been meeting someone.”

“In the woods in the dark?”

“Someone he didn’t want anyone to see him with or to know about? Ouch!”

“You okay?” Maura asked quickly.

“Yes. Little Darling just kicked me. Impatient bugger. So what do the gardaí do now?”

“Talk to everyone around here who ever met the man, saw him from a distance, heard of him, had any connection to the ownership or management of the hotel before or after he took it over, or just hated guys with nice suits and shiny shoes.”

Gillian laughed. “Well, that should cover it. And they talked to you? Which category do you fit in?”

“I did meet the man, although I doubt that he saw me as anything other than a rural pub owner who might be useful to him. He was on a fact-finding mission, checking out local resources that might appeal to guests. Plus Helen kind of dragged me in without knowing that I’d worked with the gardaí before. She wanted to come clean about being my mother.”

“I suppose that was good of her. Did John know that Helen was your mother?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know where that part fits. Pretty big coincidence, don’t you think? I mean, Helen has worked for the man for a few years, she told me, but they didn’t get this hotel deal set until maybe a year ago—I don’t know when the earlier owners decided to put it on the market. So she could hardly have spent two years putting herself in a position to visit here with a good cover story just to check me out. Heck, up to a year ago, it would have been easy to find me in Boston if she’d wanted to. She could have written a letter or picked up a phone or jumped on a plane anytime without all this fuss. I mean, really—flying to Ireland just to get a look at me? That’s a stretch.”

“Maybe she was the person who identified the property and pushed her boss into looking at it?”

“That’s even harder to imagine, don’t you think? I doubt she had enough influence at the company a year or more ago to get John to buy the place, even if she did suggest it to him. I’m not really sure what her department does, but I don’t think it has anything to do with acquiring properties. More with spiffing them up after they’ve bought them.”

“So, let’s say we set your mother aside for a bit. Who else would want John Byrne to die? He was traveling with a small group, right? He didn’t bring a huge team along?”

“Small. His personal assistant, Helen, and her assistant.”

“Maybe someone back in Chicago was cooking the books and was afraid John would find out, so he killed him here to confuse things. Or had him killed.”

“I suppose that’s possible. Hey, we’re getting close to Cork. You know where Maternity is?”

“I do. Keep going past the roundabout, and I’ll guide you. Ooof!”

“How often are these pains coming?”

“About every ten minutes, more or less.”

“Isn’t that pretty fast?”

“Maybe. We’re almost there. Turn left at the next corner, and follow the signs.”