They parted on weirdly formal terms, like they were trying to ignore what had just happened. As she drove toward Leap in her own car, Maura wondered exactly what had just happened. Sure, there’d always been some spark between them, but Maura hadn’t been ready to think about a . . . what? Lover? Boyfriend? At least now she knew why Mick had been sending mixed signals.

So how’s that working out for you, Maura? Could she actually handle a real relationship with Mick? Could he?

She arrived in Leap and parked up the road from the pub. She was walking toward the door when Billy’s door opened, startling her. He peered out. “A word wit’ yeh, Maura?”

She checked her watch. It was still shy of opening time, and Mick could cover. “Sure. Is something bothering you? Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, but there’s a few things I’d like to talk wit’ yeh about.” He stepped back, holding the door wide. “Come in.”

She walked in. Much of the time, she forgot this little apartment existed, tucked away at the opposite end of the building from the pub.

“Please, will yeh sit? There’s tea made, if yeh want,” Billy said.

Maura sat on a sofa that had once been floral and now was just sort of . . . gray. “No, I’m fine. Tell me what’s bothering you, please.”

“Me mind’s not as quick as it once was, so it took me a bit to work some things out. It was Dunmanway that set me to thinkin’,” he said. “And I had to go back a long ways before I figgered out why. I don’t get out as much as I used to, and I don’t stray far from Leap and Skibbereen these past few years, but my memory’s good for them earlier days.”

Maura held her tongue. Billy had a fondness for traditional storytelling, and he was enjoying spinning out his discovery. She could wait.

“Has to do with yer John Byrne,” he began again. “It took me a while to recall that there were once a few Byrne families up north of Drinagh, near to Dunmanway.”

Once again Billy’s endless memory amazed her—and then she realized what he was trying to say. “Hold on, Billy—are you seriously thinking that John Byrne came from there? I mean, Byrne’s not a rare name.”

“I won’t argue wit’ yeh on that point, Maura. But if it’s true, it might go a long way to explain why the man chose to buy the hotel in Skibbereen.” He fell silent, patiently waiting while Maura put the pieces together.

“I see your point,” she said at last. “It’s certainly not his typical kind of hotel. So, local boy makes good and buys up luxury hotel to impress anyone who might remember him? Is there anyone around who would remember him?”

“I’d put money on it,” Billy said firmly. “See, there’s more to the story if I’ve got it right. The Byrnes were dairy farmers, like so many around here. There were always too many brothers and not enough land to go around, so John’s father, Paddy Byrne, got fed up and took himself off to New York to find a better life, leavin’ young Johnny with his ma.”

A common enough story there too, Maura recognized. Hadn’t her grandmother done the same thing, packing up with her young son and heading off to Boston hoping for a better life? “What’s this got to do why John ended up dead all these years later?”

“I’m tellin’ yeh the story, aren’t I?” Billy said. “As I remember it, turned out that John’s father, Paddy, got himself mixed up with some shady business in New York. John was still livin’ on the farm with his ma. Paddy was doin’ real well at doin’ bad things in New York, or so the story went. Mebbe he didn’t exactly write a letter home each week, but people heard.”

“Paddy Byrne was a criminal?”

“More than that, some said, though I’ve no way of knowin’ how much was true. But there’s those that claimed that Paddy Byrne was the last of the Irish bosses in the city there in a place called Hell’s Kitchen. But then all these other people from other places came into the city and had their own gangs, and that was the end of it. Paddy’s long dead.”

Maura shifted forward on the lumpy couch and leaned closer. “So where does John come in?”

“Johnny’s ma died when he was sixteen, and there was no room for him on the family land. So the uncles scraped enough money together to send him to live wit’ his father in New York.”

Maura didn’t answer immediately, trying to make the dates work in her head. Finally she said, “So what you’re saying is that John Byrne, Harvard graduate, rich developer, and business owner from New York City and Chicago, is the same Johnny Byrne who grew up on a dairy farm north of here, and whose father was a criminal?”

“Would yeh rather it was a blooming bunch of coincidences?” Billy asked.

“Of course not. You know, you’ve got an amazing memory, Billy. It’s great that you figured this much out. But why would anyone kill him here and now?”

“Yeh’re wantin’ me to give yeh all the answers?” Billy grinned at her. “I’ve found out who he was fer yeh.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any proof?” Maura wasn’t sure she needed it: Billy’s memory was definitely sharp, as he’d proved more than once. But the gardaí would want something to call evidence. She should give this to Sean quickly, so he could follow up on it.

“There’s Byrnes up toward Dunmanway still,” Billy said, “and some might remember Johnny. Some might remember his leavin’ as well. Or even his da, Paddy.”

There were still some gaping holes in the theory. One of them was how a farm boy from West Cork somehow ended up at Harvard University. Where, admittedly, he’d done well in his own right at business school and also on Wall Street before creating his own company, which was apparently successful too. If he’d had a shady start, he’d kept his nose clean and worked hard ever since. “When did John’s father die?”

“I couldn’t say—I never knew the man—but I’d guess yer friend Sean Murphy could look it up on the computer. Paddy Byrne was well known in criminal circles in New York, or so the stories said. Mebbe it’s true, mebbe not.”

Did it matter? John Byrne had done well, maybe with some help from his shady dad. It wasn’t a big jump to guess that he had come back to Cork for reasons both public and private. And he’d died. Why?

Maura shook herself. “Billy, you are amazing. I hope I remember my own past as well when I’m your age.”

He smiled gently. “I hope yer mother will be part of those memories now. We’ve all done things in our lives that we regret, but yeh’ve still got time to fix ’em.”

“I know, Billy. I know. We’re working on it.” Maura stood up. “I think I need to talk to the gardaí about all this. They may laugh at me, but at least there are details they can check to find out who John Byrne really was.” Maybe a DNA test would prove something—if the Irish gardaí even used such a thing. No, it would be better if the gardaí just headed for Dunmanway and looked for relatives. “Will you be coming down to the pub later?”

“Do yeh need to ask? I’ll let yeh make yer calls and see yeh a bit later. Oh, and here I almost forgot.” Billy winked at Maura, then shuffled over to the table where he usually ate, came back with the list of hotel employees, and handed it to her. “I might have added a note or two, if yeh can read ’em.”

“Thanks so much, Billy—you’re amazing.”

“Ah, g’wan wit’ yeh. I’m just an old man with a long memory.”

So much more than that, Billy! Maura gave him a final wave, then hurried down the sidewalk to Sullivan’s front door, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she went. She stared at it for a moment, trying to make up her mind: Should she call Sean right now, or should she go to the pub and think about what she’d heard? There would be few patrons in the pub at this early hour. Would it be awkward to face Mick after what he had told her? Maybe. So it would be Sean first. She hit his speed dial.

“Sean Murphy,” he answered briskly. “Oh, Maura, it’s you. Everythin’ all right?”

“Sure, it’s fine. Look, Billy Sheahan just told me something that I think you might want to follow up on.”

“Can yeh tell me on the phone?”

“I could, but I’d rather explain it to you. I’m in Leap right now, so it’ll only take me a few minutes to get there if that works for you.”

“Sure. Come straightaway—we’ve a meeting at eleven.”

“On my way.”

But her good intentions were diverted when she saw Sergeant Ryan walk into the pub. He looked grim, but then, he’d looked grim every time she’d seen him. Did he even know how to smile? “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

“A word in private wit’ yeh, Miss Donovan.”

Maura checked out the empty room. But someone might come in, maybe. The sergeant radiated “angry cop” at anyone who looked at him with half an eye, so maybe it would be better for business if she took him into the back room. “Follow me,” she said and led the way. She waited until he came in, then shut the door behind them.

He moved into the center of the room and studied it. “This where the music takes place?”

“It is.”

“How many does the place hold?”

Maura was suddenly wary. Was he looking for faults? Something he could use to make her life difficult? “Our certificate says two hundred. Did you have questions for me now?”

“I do.” He leaned against the bar and stared at her. She stared back. “How does it happen that yer mother’s boss dies as soon as they get here? She’d never been to this part of the country before, am I right? Nor had he.”

Maura debated briefly with herself about sharing Billy’s theory, but the sergeant wasn’t exactly inviting confidences. “That’s what I understand. I gather John Byrne had visited his Dublin hotel but not Skibbereen. I only met the man a few days ago, and we never had a private conversation.”

“And it’s only a coincidence that this woman who says she’s your mother happens to be travelin’ with him?”

“She is my mother,” Maura said, trying to turn off the alarm bells ringing in her head. Why would he question that?

“And who would yer father be?”

“Thomas Donovan, born a few miles from here. What does this have to do with anything?”

He ignored her question. “Where did they meet?”

“In Boston. Where I was born a couple of years later. Sergeant, what are you getting at? My mother isn’t my mother? Just look at the two of us—clearly we’re related. That the man I called my father wasn’t? That’s ridiculous. If you’re trying to dig up a motive for John Byrne’s death, you’re definitely looking in the wrong direction. Is this how you city cops here operate? Try to piss off the people you’re talking to?”

“Just lookin’ at all the possibilities. Seems the Skibbereen gardaí are pretty soft on people they interview.”

“Yes, because they know the people they’re talking to. And from what I’ve seen, they’ve got pretty good instincts about people.”

“They seem to trust you. And yeh’re an outsider.”

“Yes, they do, and I respect that trust—but I earned it. What is it you want from me? Do I suspect my mother of killing her boss? Hell, no. Do I know who did? Why would I? I had never seen Crann Mor until this past week. If you look around here, you can guess that I don’t travel with that crowd.”

“Are yeh hard up for money?” Sergeant Ryan asked without any expression.

“The pub? We get by. What, do you think I was hitting up Byrne for a loan? Or I wanted to sell him this place?”

“Did you?”

“No. I like it here. I still have a lot to learn about running a pub, but I don’t plan to give up anytime soon. Look, Sergeant, you’re barking up the wrong tree. None of us here knew John Byrne, and none of us gain anything from his death. And if that’s not good enough, I have an alibi for the night he died.”

“The whole night?”

“Yes.”

“Yer mother doesn’t,” he said flatly.

Maura swallowed her bubbling anger. “Then tell me why she would want him dead.”

“I don’t know—yet. I’m only askin’ questions. Yeh’re right—I don’t know the folk around here the way the others at the station do. Doesn’t mean I can’t take a hard look at the outsiders, because we’re all on the same footin’ with them. Byrne and yer mother don’t fit, and one of ’em’s dead.” He gave her a long look and added, “I’ll see myself out.” He turned and left, leaving Maura fuming.

God, the man was infuriating. She gave herself a minute or two to calm down. Then she remembered that she had information she wanted to share with the gardaí, but Sergeant Ryan wouldn’t appreciate what she had to say. Sean would, and young though he was, he would know how to fit it into the big picture. She fished out her cell phone and called him.

“Sean?” she said when he answered. “I’m running late. Your charming new sergeant paid me a visit, but I still need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere outside the station? This won’t take long.”

“Apple Betty’s around the corner?”

“Great. See you in ten.”