Maura’s cell phone rang before the pub opened. Gillian? Maura answered quickly. “Everything all right? Where are you?”

“Back at Mycroft House with my adorable squalling bundle. This is incredibly stupid, but I seem to have the wrong size of nappies. I hate to drag you away from your lovely pub, but could you swing by Costcutter and pick up some? I think I need the ones for three to six months since the newborn size is a joke on my little guy.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Monday’s usually a slow day. Where’s Harry?”

“He checked us out of hospital this morning and then he drove us here. He said he had to meet a client and he’d bring back lunch. I do hope this isn’t a sign of things to come—I could really use another pair of hands here. I wouldn’t ask you to run errands for me, and I promise I won’t be ringing you every hour, but I don’t feel comfortable driving yet. It takes a while to pack up the young master and install him in the car seat, which—by the way—we have only one, and it’s a pain to swap it out. And who holds Henry while I’m fastening all the buckles and such?”

Gillian really was in a state and babbling. “Slow down, Gillian,” Maura said, “and take a deep breath. I will go find some diapers, uh, nappies, for you and bring them by—shouldn’t be more than half an hour. How many do you need?”

“Like I know!” Gillian’s voice was tinged with hysteria. “Just buy as many as they’ve got that’re bigger than newborn, and I’ll figure it out later. Thanks, Maura. You’re a lifesaver.” At what sounded like a mewling cat in the background, Gillian added hurriedly, “Gotta go. See you soon!” and hung up.

Maura didn’t know whether to feel amused or dismayed that Gillian seemed so unprepared for the messy tasks of motherhood. “Baby issues already?” Mick said with a half smile after Maura had put away her phone.

“We’ll, she’s new at all this. I’ve got to go find nappies for her. Him. Whatever. Can you cover?”

“Go on with yeh. I’ll be fine here.”

Maura grabbed up her jacket from where she’d thrown it over a chair and headed up the street to the Costcutter, where, thank goodness, they had diapers in a variety of sizes. She wondered what else Gillian didn’t know she needed. Maybe Harry would be back soon and he could make the next supply run—he’d better get used to it.

Bearing her bulky prize in a large plastic bag, Maura retrieved her car and drove the mile or so to Mycroft House, where Gillian was waiting at the door.

“Thank God! This infant is leaking all over the place.” Gillian snatched the bag from Maura, then went into the back parlor. While a couple of generations of Townsend ancestors looked on from the portraits on the walls, Gillian laid Henry out on a blanket she’d spread on the threadbare oriental carpet, stripped off his soggy diaper, and swapped it for a dry one. “There you go, my lamb. That should hold you for about an hour.” Henry did not respond, unless blowing bubbles counted.

Gillian slumped next to her son. “Do I have to get up?” she whined.

“I don’t care.” Maura sat cross-legged on the rug. “I thought you had this figured out.”

Gillian made an unladylike noise. “Does any new mother? The ones who don’t have a nanny waiting in the wings? Don’t worry; I’ll work it out. It’s only that it’s been so mad lately, what with the house, trying to get the creamery into some sort of shape, Harry trying to find himself work, and the baby coming. Oh, damn, now I’m crying again. I do it about every fifteen minutes. All those leftover hormones.” Gillian pulled out her none-too-clean shirttail and wiped off her face.

“No word from your family?”

“Heaven forbid! I have heaped shame on the house of Callanan! Which is ridiculous in this day and age. Even the hospital has provided for unmarried parents—there’s a separate line on the certificate for the birth father if you’re not a legally recognized couple. It’s not like the bad old days under the Magdalens.”

“The what?”

“It was a group of asylums that took in so-called fallen women and made them do laundry while telling them they were criminals and evil, and most had to give up their babies. It only ended about twenty years ago. Not one of Ireland’s brightest episodes. Oh, look, the little darling’s asleep. That should last until the nappy fills up again. Tell me the real world’s still rolling along out there?”

“The guys at the pub have started a betting pool on who killed John Byrne, assuming it wasn’t an accident. Still no confirmation from the gardaí.”

“How many choices are there?”

“About a dozen, at last count.”

“You’re kidding!” Gillian wasn’t looking at Maura, but rather at the baby, who looked like almost every other baby Maura had ever seen. Which wasn’t many. He had a full head of dark hair, and apparently all the other working parts.

“Nope.” Maura proceeded to outline the list that they guys had put together. “And that list doesn’t even include a random psychopath wandering in the woods in the dark with an itch to kill someone. Or an animal, for that matter. If a bull got loose from somewhere nearby, would it head for the woods? And if it did, would it charge anything that looked like a threat and knock him down the hill?”

“A guy in a nice suit? This is Ireland—I’m sure a bull would attack him without a second thought. Ah, Maura, you’re cheering me up, at least.”

“That’s good. I should feel bad that we’re making jokes about a guy who’s dead, but it’s not like it was someone we knew. Did you tell me you’d been to Crann Mor?” Maura asked.

“A while ago. I didn’t exactly go exploring. No, wait, I remember—I was teaching a class one summer and I took a few of the students onto the public part of the property to try their hand at landscapes. There are some lovely views, but I had to ask the groundskeeper where and how to find them. The paths are well marked, but they don’t say ‘nice view’ anywhere.”

“Was the groundskeeper a local man? Assuming he’s a he?”

“I think he was from around here. If you read the brochures, the former owners brought in a big-name landscape architect to redesign the place, but he wasn’t about to dirty his hands with maintenance, so they kept on whoever had been doing it all along. The groundskeeper had a couple of people working for him—there’s a lot of land there, not to mention the lake.”

“You know anybody else who works there?”

“I had to ask the manager if my group could ramble about with me. She was helpful. She may still be there.”

“Do you remember her name?”

Gillian was staring at the baby again. “What? Oh, her name. Siobhan something or other. It’s been a few years. And she might not be there anymore. She was my mother’s age.”

Infant Henry was beginning to stir. “Will he be hungry, do you think?” Gillian asked anxiously.

“Gillian, I am so the wrong person to ask. You, uh, nursing?”

“If it works. The midwife said it would be best for the baby, and I don’t have anything else to do. I assume I’ll develop much greater sympathy for cows.”

“Well, it is a dairy region,” Maura said, grinning.

Gillian started laughing, and Maura joined her, and of course they woke up the baby, and then Harry walked in.

“This is a nice picture. All’s well?”

“So far, so good,” Gillian said cheerfully. “I think it’s feed time. All the time is feed time, when he’s not filling his nappy. I had to ask Maura to bring us emergency nappy rations. We really must get organized. How’d your meeting go?”

“Good, I think. I played the sympathy card—told the man that if I sounded incoherent, it was because you’d just had a baby. It seems to have helped.”

Maura stood up. “I should get back to the pub—I left Mick there to open. And I’m sure Seamus and his pals are cooking up more crazy ideas. I hope they have enough sense not to go tramping all over the hotel grounds looking for clues or something. I’m not sure the gardaí would like that.”

“Just keep filling their pints and they won’t leave Sullivan’s,” Gillian said. Small Henry let out a whimper followed by a wail. “Oopsies, lunchtime. Thanks so much, Maura. I’ll be bringing this one around to show him off as soon as the midwife says it’s safe to expose him to all those grubby bar hounds.”

“You do that. Oh, and Bridget would love to see him. She says it’s been a while since she’s held a newborn baby.”

“Of course. I think we can do that. Right, Harry?”

Harry seemed mesmerized by the sight of Gillian, curled up on the floor holding the baby to her chest. “What? Oh, right, Bridget. Sure, no problem.”

“I’ll leave you two to deal with . . . whatever.”

Harry and Gillian didn’t seem to notice her leaving.

Back at Sullivan’s, not much had changed. Rose had come in, but Jimmy was nowhere in sight, not that he was needed. Old Billy had arrived and was settled in his usual chair. Maura waved to Mick and Rose, then went over to sit next to Billy.

“I saw Bridget this morning. She’s looking forward to seeing Gillian’s baby.”

“How’s the new mother fairin’?”

“Frantic. Confused. Tired. She’ll be fine. And Harry’s on board, as far as I can see.”

“There’s many who’ve sorted things out before—nothin’ new there. At least there’s only the one child. Imagine yer cottage with only a smokin’ turf fire to cook on or boil water and four or five small children underfoot. And yer man’s out milking the cows or carrying the milk to the creamery.”

“I don’t even want to try. But didn’t families help out?”

“That they did. And the neighbors as well. People got by as best they could.”

“Aren’t families in Ireland getting smaller?”

“They are.” Billy sighed. “When I was a young man, havin’ a lot of children was common, and the houses and townlands were filled with them running about. Now? The townlands are quieter.”

Maura tried to remember the last time she’d seen a child near her cottage and came up blank. The world had changed, even here in rural Ireland.

“Do you need anything else, Billy?”

“Nah, I’m grand.”

Back at the bar, there was little to do. Mick came out of the back room, which reminded her to ask, “We’ve got music this weekend, right? Friday?”

Rose spoke quickly. “We do, and I’ve already pushed it online and on social media.”

Whatever that meant. Maura was glad that Rose had a handle on advertising. “Thanks, Rose. I’ve been thinking I should learn how to do all that stuff, but you beat me to it. Jimmy planning to come in today?”

Rose shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Judith’s got him runnin’ in circles, and half the time he hides where she can’t find him.”

Maura went into the back room, not because there was anything she needed to do there, but because she wanted to keep busy. The bar in that room needed some restocking, but she assumed Mick had noticed that. The place was reasonably clean and would get another pass before the event on Friday—not that any of the music lovers would notice dirt on the floor or cobwebs hanging from the balconies in the dim light. It was atmosphere. Maybe she should be adding spiders rather than swatting them to increase the “authenticity” of the space.

That thought brought her back to John Byrne. Bridget and then Gillian had mentioned they had known some of the people who worked at Crann Mor. Surely the gardaí had looked at the staff, but it wouldn’t hurt to double-check. She couldn’t exactly ask an employee who was who at the hotel, but maybe her mother had gotten ahold of the staff lists, past and present? It wouldn’t hurt to confirm. Before she could overthink it, she pulled out her phone and hit redial.