Helen took Maura out the back entrance of the hotel. Once outside, she pointed. “This is the formal garden, and it’s mainly for the guests. There’s a gate in the left wall, and it leads to a walking path that loops around to the right, then veers left toward the lake. Eventually there’s a path branches off to the right that would take you to the lake lodge, which also has rooms, mainly for dedicated fishermen. The lake will be to the left, and the land drops off fairly steeply.”

“So it’s hard to go wrong because this is really the only path in this direction, right?” Maura asked. “Where did John fall?”

“Off the main path, near where the lodge path branches off.”

“How was he found? I mean, could you see him from a path?”

“I’m not sure. But he was wearing a dark suit, so he wouldn’t be immediately visible in poor light. And it is a steep slope there, or so I’m told.”

“Who found him?”

“The groundskeeper, I think—I’ve forgotten his name, if I ever knew it. Bernard something, I think. I understand he’s been working here a long time. He was making one of his usual morning inspections when he saw John.”

“How many people actually go walking here?”

“Maura, I have no way of knowing. I’m not sure who keeps records about things like that, if anyone, but I can find out for you if it’s important. Or the gardaí will have those details. They talk with you, don’t they?”

“Sometimes. And there aren’t any security cameras or motion sensors or anything like that?” Maura asked.

“Apparently the prior owners didn’t think they were necessary in this part of Ireland, and we haven’t even gotten close to thinking about that. So the short answer is no.”

Maura saw Helen check her watch again, and she took pity on her. “I’ll let you get back to business, and I’ll take a look around. I can come by and pick up those staff reports, if you want.”

“I’ll let you know when they’re ready—I won’t have time to print them until after the meeting.”

“Okay. Thanks for the lunch. It was great.” Maura turned, walked briskly toward the fancy garden ahead, and spied the gate Helen had mentioned over to her left. She checked her watch: nearly two. She had no idea how far she had to go, but the place couldn’t be too big, could it? She only hoped she could find her way back to her car when she was done.

She had to admit that it was a pretty walk, and it would probably be even nicer in summer. The path was roughly paved and wide enough for two people to walk side by side. There were tall old trees on both sides; the underbrush was low and had obviously been trimmed recently, and the brush had been cleared away. There was no way to get lost unless she deliberately left the path. If there was a moon at night, it might be possible to follow the path without a flashlight. Had there been a moon the night John died? She hadn’t noticed.

If this had been back in the States, there would be flapping strands of bright-yellow police tape marking where John Byrne had left the path—forever. Here, there wasn’t much to mark the spot. The dirt was churned up, and several branches were broken, most likely from the removal of John’s body, their raw wood showing white. The land sloped down fairly steeply on the left, toward what Maura assumed was the lake, invisible from where she stood. If John had lost his footing in the dark, he would have had a hard time stopping himself. Helen had suggested that he’d fallen quite a way. Had he hit his head at the start or later during his tumble down the hill? And on what? There was no railing, just lot of trees in different sizes. Had the gardaí examined every tree and rock on the way down the hill, looking for evidence?

What the heck was she doing here? Standing on the path, she turned in a full circle and realized she couldn’t see any of the buildings on the grounds, including the main hotel and the lodge Helen had talked about in the opposite direction. This particular spot was isolated, all right. If John had not fallen accidentally—still a big if—then it was unlikely that he had just happened on somebody at this spot. More likely, someone had followed John until they came to a place where they would be unobserved, or that person had asked to meet him here—which mean his killer probably knew the path. So would this have been a spur-of-the-moment killing? Or had somebody planned it?

But Maura kept circling around to the “Why?” Why would anyone want John Byrne dead? Maybe he was arrogant and too smug, but not many people got killed for that. If it wasn’t something in his current life, maybe the answer lay in his early life, as Sean had wondered. Who would know? Had the gardaí found out anything? She should talk to Sean again.

“Can I help yeh, miss?” The voice came out of nowhere, and Maura turned quickly to find a stocky man of late middle age, with a traditional Irish wool cap pulled low on his head and clothes that were shabby and not exactly clean, leaning on a rake. She hadn’t even heard him coming.

“Uh, no, I was just looking around,” she said.

“Sorry if I startled yeh. I’m Bernard O’Mahoney, the groundskeeper. I look after the place.”

“By yourself?” A lot of ground for one man to cover.

“Nah, I’ve a crew of lads who help out in the warmer months. I can handle it on me own in the winter.”

“I’m Maura Donovan. I run Sullivan’s in Leap.”

“The pub? Ah, yeh’re the girl who got it from Old Mick. I’ve heard yeh’re doin’ him proud, with the music and all.”

“I hope so—I’ve had a lot to learn. You’re the one who found John Byrne’s body, right?”

“I am that. A sad thing, it was.”

“Was it near here?”

“Right there, in fact.” He pointed to the scuffed patch Maura had been looking at. “He were down at the bottom of the hill there, all twisted up.”

“Had you seen him out walking before? Because from what people have said, he wasn’t exactly into nature walks.”

“I seen him only from a distance, save the one time he introduced himself to all the folk workin’ here.”

“What do you think happened?”

Bernard shrugged. “No idea. He were hurryin’ and he slipped? He coulda tripped over something, but there was nothing on the path that morning that coulda tripped him up.”

“The gardaí already asked you all this, didn’t they?”

“They have done. I couldn’t give them much help. What’s it to yeh? Did yeh know the man?”

“No, but I know someone who worked for him. I don’t have to tell you that there aren’t many murders around here, so I guess I was curious to see where it happened.”

“So they’re callin’ it murder now? It’s no surprise to me.”

“Don’t tell the gardaí I said so because it’s not official and the coroner hasn’t said it yet. Why wouldn’t you be surprised?”

“The man didn’t belong out here in the dark—he was a city man. Someone musta asked him out here, no? Someone who meant to do him harm.”

“Any idea who?”

“I don’t move among the guests and such, so I couldn’t say who’d taken a dislike to the man.”

Maura checked her watch. “Thanks, Bernard. I guess I’ve seen all there is to see, so I’d better get back to Sullivan’s.”

“Good luck to yeh with that.”

“Stop by some time.” Maura turned and retraced her steps to the hotel, but when she glanced back, Bernard was still leaning on his rake, watching her.

* * *

Back at the pub, Maura found that surprisingly little had changed. There were few people, but then, it was the middle of the afternoon on a Monday, and there was nothing new about John Byrne’s death.

Billy was in his usual seat, right where she’d left him, dozing by the small glowing fire. Rose was behind the bar; Mick wasn’t visible anywhere. Maura joined Rose behind the bar.

“Hey, Rose, did I miss anything?”

“I can’t say that yeh did. Did yeh have a nice lunch?”

“I did. The menu sounded like a joke, but everything I tasted was wonderful. I’m just glad I wasn’t paying for it! Helen said maybe she could find a way to treat us both to a meal there.”

“Oh, that would be grand!” Rose looked like someone had just handed her a gift with ribbons on it.

“I’ll hold her to it, then. She can probably call it a business expense anyway.”

“And was business all the two of yeh talked about?”

“Pretty much. Look, I’ll tell you what I told her: I can’t deal with John’s death or murder or whatever it is and her all at once. I know you miss your mother, Rose, but for all practical purposes I never had one at all. Helen is a stranger to me. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“I didn’t mean to set yeh off, Maura,” Rose said stiffly. “I was only askin’. I hope yeh find the time to talk when this is over.”

“I hope so too, Rose. But until the gardaí figure things out, it’s going to be tense all around.”

Rose looked up and smiled broadly. “Speak of the devil—here’s the man himself.”