Seamus settled back in his chair, clearly looking forward to explaining things to Maura.

Before he could start, Maura said, “Have you shared any of this with the gardaí?”

“Nah. It’s just a bunch of the lads shootin’ the breeze over a pint or two. Or mebbe three.”

“Great.” She looked around the pub: nobody was paying attention because there were no patrons except for Seamus’s betting crowd in the corner, it seemed. She raised a hand at Old Billy, dozing by the fire, and he winked at her. Had he been part of this discussion? “Okay, I’ve got fresh ears, and I’m sober. Hit me with them.”

“Well, if we’re thinkin’ it’s really a murder, first on the list is yer ma, that Helen Jenkins. We set her aside pretty quick, out of consideration fer yer feelin’s.”

“Gee, that’s nice of you. She had opportunity, at least—she was there, and she knew John better than anyone else around here. What’s her motive?”

Seamus looked embarrassed. “Well, we though they might have been lovers, see, and somethin’ went wrong. Or he wanted to have a bit of fun, bein’ away from home and spouses and all, and she wasn’t havin’ any of it, so she shoved him away, and he fell down the hill, accidental-like.”

Maura considered that. “Possible, although I’ll tell you she denies it.”

“Sure, and she would. Leavin’ her aside, we next thought of one of the others in this Byrne’s group. There’s, what, two others still at the hotel, apart from yer ma?”

“Yes, his assistant and my mother’s assistant.”

“Ah,” Seamus said. “They don’t seem like the best of suspects unless they were lovers in one combination or another. Or there’s this: mebbe their financial genius back home found out that John was dippin’ into the till or had blown all the company’s assets on the horses, and he got mad and had someone bash John. Maybe his own assistant, this Andrew lad?”

“I guess that’s possible,” Maura said amiably. “My mother says the financial officer in Chicago is very attached to his numbers. But I’ve met both of the assistants, and I can’t see either of them getting physical, especially not in a place they don’t know in the dark. What about a hired gun?”

“There’ve been no strangers seen around the place,” Seamus said dubiously. “And I can’t say as I know any assassins fer hire in Cork.”

“You know, Seamus, as far as I can tell, it would be hard for anybody to sneak in and out of the place without being seen, even in the back. A local would make sense since he’d know the lay of the land.”

“Mebbe one of his colleagues from the company thought this deal would bankrupt them and that John had to be stopped,” Seamus mused. “Killin’ him here had the added bonus of puttin’ a black cloud over the hotel. Although there’s a problem with that one—the deal’s already done, and a murder at the place would only drive down the sellin’ price.”

“I agree.”

Encouraged by Maura’s comment, Seamus picked up the thread again. “Might also be someone from back in the States, sneaked in under cover like and did the deed,” Seamus said. “No one would be looking for ’im.”

“Interesting,” Maura commented. “Would that person have been a guest at the hotel, do you think?”

“He might have done. How else would he have known the gardens well enough to meet up with John in the dark? He’d’ve had to check the place out first.”

“Good point. I’ll try to find out if the gardaí have looked at that angle. You have more ideas?”

“I do. There’s the manager at the hotel, who might be worried about her job under new management. She’s done a fair job, but she might not be refined enough for John and his lot with their big plans. They might have passed over her and brought in someone else,” Seamus said.

“Good point. The gardaí are looking at employees. But would this woman care enough to kill John over her job?”

“Maybe they met up for a private chat, John gave her the bad news, and she just lashed out.”

“Seems kind of unlikely, but I’m pretty sure that the gardaí have that covered. Any black marks on the hotel woman’s record?”

“None that we know of, but people do manage to keep secrets now and then. Even in West Cork.” Seamus grinned again.

“It’s not easy, I know. Okay, more? We aren’t up to eleven yet.”

“I never said I’d finished, did I now? There’s the last owner of the hotel. Maybe John stiffed him.”

“What, never paid him? My mother said he played fair with money. And his financial officer would know.”

“Unless they were in it together,” Seamus said darkly.

“Ah, two for the price of one. Go on.”

“Would there be another pint in it fer me?” Somehow Seamus’s last pint had disappeared as they talked.

“Sure, why not?” Maura started another. “So, who’s next?”

“We were thinking maybe John had his way with the gardener’s daughter. Or the cook’s daughter. Or the boatman’s daughter. He was a good-lookin’ man and rich as well, so the temptation woulda been there.”

“Or son,” Maura said absently as she thought about that idea. “Was it willing or by force? Because we know how it ended—with John dead.”

“Even if it was willin’, the girl might have told her da, and he might have taken it wrong. Or they could’ve done the deed together, the girl and the da.”

“They’d’ve had to plan it. Is that all?”

“Unless the man committed suicide by hitting himself over the head and throwing himself down a hill in the dark, yeah, that’s all we’ve thought of.”

“Actually, I think you’ve done a great job, Seamus, although by my count that’s only nine.”

Seamus brushed away her comment. “Ah, go on—I’d count that angry father as three possibilities.”

“You’re just trying to pad your betting pool, Seamus, but I don’t mind. Listen, can I share any of these with the gardaí? I don’t have to say where the ideas came from.”

“And you’d deprive us of our boasting rights? You tell them whatever yeh like as long as yeh add who gave it to yeh.”

“Okay, then. I’d still guess they’ve looked at some of these possibilities already, like the hotel staff, but you may have added some new angles. Thank you, and tell your friends thanks as well. And before you ask, there’ll be a round of drinks in it for you all—but only if one of your ideas turns out to be right.” Maura grinned at him.

“Ah, yer killin’ me, darlin’. But I’ll hold you to it.” Seamus picked up his glass and sauntered back to his pals in the corner.

Now what? Almost closing time. Helen had gone home, giving her a little space—thoughtful of her. Sean was going off on his own, pursuing new theories on his own time. Did his boss approve? Was he doing it to score points with his new sergeant or with Detective Hurley? She didn’t want to see Sean walk into something unexpected, but she didn’t think there was a crazed killer wandering in the woods at Crann Mor. It seemed to her that John was the actual target of the attack, if there had been one, but she had no clue who would have done it. And as Seamus had neatly outlined, there were a lot of possibilities, along with a lot of motives.

Mick joined her behind the bar. “I can cover if yeh want to go home.”

“No, I should stay—I was out for a lot of the day. You can go.”

“It was a slow day, and the evenin’s no better. I’m not tired.”

“Then send Rose and Jimmy home. I can’t keep paying three people to serve pints to three other people. That’s not good business.”

“It’ll be better come summer,” Mick said. “What with the music now, it’s better than it was under Old Mick at the end.”

“Well, that’s something. Did Bridget have a nice day? I don’t see her in the village very often, much less in Sullivan’s.”

“She felt up fer it today, but she may pay the price tomorrow. It takes a lot out of her these days.”

“I can stop by in the morning. By the way, does she, uh, know about last night? Us, I mean. Did she say anything to you?”

“About what two people may do alone in the dark, yeh mean? She’s lived a long time and seen about everything there is to see between people. If she didn’t like it, she’d be one to tell you. She did say something about hearin’ me car go by in the night. If she says nothin’ to yeh, I’d guess she’s all right with it. Will you be askin’ her about what she thinks?”

His direct gaze—and the questions that came with it—made Maura uncomfortable. “I haven’t decided yet. She’s a friend, and I don’t want to mess that up. And I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Mick gave her a long look that she couldn’t read, then gathered up his jacket and left. She still had no idea what he was thinking. If she was the type to bet, would she put her money on a one-night stand or the start of something more with Mick?