A Turn for the Bad (23 page)

“I hope Sean's still a friend when all this is over,” Maura said. “I don't want him to think I betrayed his confidence. Look, Gillian, I never meant to start anything. Sean just wanted me to watch what was going on and maybe keep some other people from interfering. To keep people safe.”

“And what would he call what you're doing?” Gillian demanded. “I don't think he'd be happy about it, when all this comes out. Which no doubt it will.”

“Gillian, what is it you want me to do?”

Gillian shook her head sadly. “I don't know, Maura, and that about sums it up.”

More and more men, and the occasional woman, drifted in, which kept Maura's staff busy with serving them. Maura was happy to chat with them as well, because it kept her mind off the other things. Of course, being chatty was kind of out of character for her, so her patrons might think that
was strange, but nothing felt normal to her, and she might as well drum up some business and sell a few extra pints while waiting for the next step, whatever that might be.

Harry didn't return until after six. Maura found it almost funny when the majority of the men in the bar turned to look at him and then look at each other knowingly before returning to their drinks. What did they know—or guess? Harry still looked angry, which was not good. He nodded toward the back room, and then she, Mick, and Gillian headed in that direction after Maura had whispered in Rose's ear to keep an eye on the bar. Gerard rose from the seat in the corner where he had been talking with someone and followed.

Maura looked at Brendan, still leaning against the bar. “You coming?”

“I'll be of more use to you out here. I'm a bit past the days of rowing and climbing up ladders. But I'll stay for now. Maybe spin a tale or two for Jimmy Sweeney, eh?”

Jimmy hadn't yet noticed their group disappearance, but he would soon enough. “Okay. You know where to find us.”

She stalked over to the back room, then closed the door behind her. “Okay, gang, what's the plan?”

“The boat's fit to go,” Harry said tersely, not looking at Gillian. “Tom O'Brien has earned his keep and more.”

“Tell us about it, Harry,” Maura suggested. “I don't know much about boats.”

“It's a 1960 Chris-Craft Continental, the twenty-two-foot model, belonged to my father, who bought it when he was feeling flush. Good speed, lousy for fishing, but he was more into the flash of it. Shallow draft, so it can handle the shallow water. Oh, and it holds four—five if they're not too large or you're in a hurry.”

“You know Gerard, Harry?” Maura asked.

“Don't believe I've had the pleasure.” Harry stuck out his hand, and he and Gerard shook.

“I'm one of the owners of the distillery over to Union
Hall,” Gerard told him, “but before that I crewed on me father's fishin' boat. So I know the local waters.”

“He's the one who identified the yacht, in Glandore,” Maura told Harry.

“Good job. I can't say I've spent much time around here the last couple of years, certainly not on the water, so I don't know what's going on in the harbor now.”

“Some fancy boats there these days. There's money around,” Gerard said.

“So a good place to hide. How big a crew?” Harry was addressing his questions to Gerard, ignoring the rest of them, Gillian in particular.

“One man could run it, but I'm pretty sure there's two there as can handle the boat. A couple more to do the shiftin' of the load, in a little boat—you can see it hangin' on the yacht. None of me mates mentioned seeing more on board.”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place for Maura. “Maybe there's only one other crew member. Remember that man who washed ashore? Sean Murphy said he hadn't been identified, but they knew he wasn't local. He could have been one of the crewmen. Nobody's come forward to claim him.”

“So why's he dead?” Harry demanded.

“The ‘how' was a blow to the head with a rock or something rough. Maybe there was a fight, but there are plenty of ways that could have happened. Maybe he slipped on a wet deck, or maybe somebody wanted a bigger cut of the pie and took him out. How should I know? But how many foreigners end up dead on the beach in West Cork?”

“We should be prepared for four men on the boat, regardless,” Mick said, speaking for the first time. “We wait for
the two in the small boat to head off with their delivery, and then we board. There'd be two left behind.”

“And we just waltz up to the owner or skipper or whoever the hell he is and say,
Excuse me, sir, but we're thinking you might have a friend of ours stashed on your boat and would you mind letting us look around?
” Harry's tone was sarcastic.

“That's your job, Harry,” Gillian cut in, her tone equally snide. “You show up with your posh boat and your public school accent, and I'm sure you'll think of something to say. All you need to do is get close enough to board.”

“And if the man pulls a gun on me?” Harry retorted. “And why should he not? He's handling a shipment worth millions, and he's going to protect that, isn't he? He'd shoot me without thinking, if he smells something funny.”

“Children, stop squabbling,” Maura demanded. “You both have good points. The idea is to get close without being noticed. We're assuming it's an ordinary private yacht, not some boat rigged up with sensors all over the place, which would see you coming. Say the guy sees the boat, which is a nice one, which should let you get close enough to talk to him. Make up any story you like: you ran out of gas, your thingamajiggy died, you're taking on water—it doesn't matter. Just distract him long enough to get on the boat. Make sense?”

“We're not armed, you know,” Mick pointed out. “What if there is a gun?”

“You take it away from him,” Maura said, quailing inwardly. Mick raised one eyebrow at her. “That's why Harry's part is important—he's got to make it look like you guys aren't a threat to anyone. You were out for a dawn spin on the water and your boat stopped, period. Don't ask me
why you won't be surprised to see someone on deck at that ridiculous hour.”

“We're drunk, that's why,” Harry said suddenly. It looked to Maura like he had finally gotten into the spirit of the plan. “I'm a spoiled rich kid with a fancy boat, and we've been drinking since the pubs closed. That way our silly behavior makes sense.”

“Good idea, Harry,” Maura told him.

“And what is it we're doin' once we get on the bloody boat?” Gerard asked. Maura was surprised nobody had mentioned that sooner.

“Find John Tully.”

“Fergive me fer sayin' so, Maura, but that's easier said than done. We've only a short time before the other boat comes back.”

A good point. “Look, Gerard, I don't know boats. You tell me: how many places could they put a man on a boat that size?”

“A few,” Gerard muttered. If Harry was warming to the plan, Gerard seemed to be cooling.

“All right, then—where would
you
stash somebody?” Maura demanded.

Gerard appeared to think about it for a moment. “The engine room would be my choice. It's noisy when the motor's runnin', so no one could hear him yellin'. Even in port there's often a generator runnin' to keep the lights on and the like. It's as far down as you can get in the boat, so no one would stumble over him when they shouldn't.”

“And how do you get to the engine room once you're on the boat?” Maura pressed him.

“I can find it. You gormless lads won't need help holdin' down the captain, will yeh, now?”

“We'll manage,” Mick told him. “Then you bring John up, get him onto the boat, and we all hightail it fer shore?”

“In a nutshell,” Maura said.

“And where would we be goin' when we get there?”

That stopped Maura in her tracks. She's been so obsessed with finding and retrieving John Tully that she hadn't thought about what came next. He was officially, in the eyes of all Ireland, a missing person: they couldn't just drop him off at home and say,
Sorry, it's been a mistake
. Take him to the gardaí? The coast guard? Maura had a suspicion that if they were in the middle of tracking a major drug deal, they wouldn't want to be distracted by the resurrected Mr. Tully. Certainly his wife and children deserved to know that he was safe, but how could they let that happen if they didn't know whether the bigger deal had been wrapped up?

Then something else occurred to her. “What's Conor Tully's role?” Maura asked no one in particular.

“You mean, in this rescue? Or in the drug transfer?”

“Either. Both.”

Mick answered first. “I'm guessing he'd be the one who recruited the driver or drivers to take the stuff wherever it's supposed to go. Unlikely he'd be doin' the drivin' himself, especially now, when he'd be missed. So he'd make the handoff on the beach and be done with it.”

“Then how about this,” Maura began. “Once his part is over and he knows we've got John, he heads for John's house, picks up Nuala and the kids, and brings them here to Sullivan's? And you bring John back here as well?”

“Why not bring everyone to the manor house?” Harry protested.

Maura's first reaction was that doing that didn't set the right note—and made Harry's role look more important. On the other hand, it would be less obvious than having everyone meet at Sullivan's. But the pub wouldn't be open so early in the day, and the traffic to Mass wouldn't begin until later. “I vote for here. It's a public place. Anybody object?” No one did.

“Shouldn't we be tellin' the gardaí
somethin'
?” Gerard said.

“Yes, but not until they've settled the drug deal thing.”

“What happens to Conor, then?” Mick asked.

“He'll have to explain. A lot. But he had his reasons for doing what he did, right? Won't the gardaí go easy on him?” Maura asked the group. She had no idea how Irish laws worked.

“They might do—if they're successful,” Mick said. “If they're not, they might lock him up for quite a while fer his part in the whole mess. And us as well.”

Which might be what he deserved for getting mixed up in the drug trade, Maura thought, but she didn't share her opinion. Was Mick's role in cigarette smuggling so different? Except that as far as she knew, nobody was getting killed over that. “And then there's the thing nobody is saying: what if you don't find John?”
Or he's dead?
She couldn't bring herself to say that.

“Then there's nothin' to report to anyone,” Mick said simply. “The ship's captain isn't about to tell anyone a story about a bunch of drunken eejits wandering about his boat at dawn and finding nothin' that matters, now, is he? He'll just hightail it out of the harbor as soon as his part is over.”

He could be right. She hoped he was right. They were probably breaking some laws, only she didn't know which ones, and it all might go away. John Tully would be forgotten, except by his family, and that would be the end of it.

Maura looked at her ragtag bunch. A pub owner, a pregnant artist, a bartender, a playboy accountant, and one lone fisherman who had decided to make whiskey. Only one of them knew much about boats; three of them might be capable of defending themselves or subduing someone. Not an encouraging picture. It was not too late to give up on the whole crazy plan. After all, they still had no proof that John Tully was alive. How much were they willing to risk to find out?

“Second thoughts, anyone?” she asked. “This whole thing sounds kind of crazy, and you have every right to pull out if you want to.”

“What, and miss all the fun?” Gerard grinned at Maura. “Tully's one of our own, and we look out fer each other. If there's a chance he's there on that boat, we're goin' after him. Right, mates?”

“And think of the stories yeh'll have to tell. It'll be the makin' of the pub, not to mention your whiskey brand, Gerard,” Mick added.

“If anyone higher up lets us talk about it,” Maura muttered. Still, she was warmed by the response. “So we need to talk to Conor and bring him up to speed, right? You guys all right with hanging around and explaining all this to him?”

“Might there be a round of pints involved?” Gerard asked slyly.

“Sure, why not? Mick, do you know how to reach Conor?”

“I'll take care of it,” he told her.

“Then let's get back to work,” Maura said, and threw open the double doors to the front room. She had to stifle a laugh when half the heads turned toward them, then quickly turned away again. What did they think was going on? Jimmy's glance lingered longer than most, and clearly he was unhappy at being left out of things; she wasn't even sure what to tell him if he asked her directly what was going on.

She made her way over to Billy, who had a fresh pint on the table beside him. Luckily there was a chair available—most of the others in the room were now filled.

“All's well?” Billy asked. He was smiling, but his eyes were somber.

“I think so. At least we have a plan, of sorts. I wish I knew if it had a chance of working.”

“Are you a prayin' woman, Maura Donovan?”

“Not really, Billy. My grandmother made me go to church, but it never really took. Do you think what we're trying to do needs prayers?”

“Can't hurt yeh, now, can it?”

Maura glanced quickly at her customers. “How much do you think this lot knows, or guesses?”

“More than you might think. I'd be bettin' they stand ready to help, if help is needed.”

She had no idea how they could use help in this case, but she was touched anyway. “I hope it won't come to that. Besides, they'll all be tucked safely in their beds when this goes down. Although I have no clue how we're going to sleep tonight.” Maura stood up. “I'd better get back to work. We're busy tonight.”

When she returned to the bar, Mick leaned over to say, “He'll come by later.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

The crowd continued to swell as the evening wore on. Maybe it was normal for a late fall Saturday night, but Maura would have sworn there was some kind of odd energy in the air, as though everyone was waiting for . . . something. Conor Tully arrived about nine, looking harried. People looked up quickly, nodded to themselves, and looked away just as quickly.

Conor made his way through the crowd to the bar. “A word?” he said to Maura.

“Come on back,” she told him, and led him to the back room. Mick tilted his head at her, and she gave a quick shake: there wasn't time to gather all the parties together, and if they all closeted themselves in the back room again, the entire crowd would know something was up. She could explain the plan to Conor and make sure she had a mobile number where she could reach him once things started happening.