The Lost Traveller Read online

  What she hadn’t realized in the beginning was that her property—she still had trouble saying that, even to herself—didn’t end at the back wall of the pub. It turned out that she owned an irregular chunk of land that ran up the hill. Next to the pub, there was a long, low shed with various odds and ends in it; directly behind was another shed where the oil tank for the pub lived, along with other emergency fuel, then an abandoned two-story building that someone had told her was once a butcher shop. That one might have some future use. Rental? A shop? Not urgent, and kind of fun to think about.

  Toward Skibbereen to the west, along the road, there were a couple of buildings that did not belong to her plot—including a decent lunch place on the corner that had been extended toward the back to include a large new room and now nearly reached the ravine on her side. Her property began directly across the ravine. Ravine was kind of an exaggerated term for the dip, at least by U.S. standards, but it had earned its fame because of that crazy Donovan who’d managed to persuade his horse to jump across it, thereby escaping pursuing British soldiers. And leaving a name for the village. Not town—village. There weren’t enough people living in Leap to let it qualify as a town.

  In any case, now she knew she had an irregular piece of land above the pub, with a bunch of scraggly trees and remnants of what somebody had told her (a lot of people kept trying to educate her about her new home) was the “church” road, from back in the days when the English wouldn’t let the Irish take the main road to church and they had to park the horses or carts up the hill here and walk the rest of the way. In any case, its bare outlines were still visible. She was wondering if it might be worth setting a few tables and chairs out here to handle the overflow at the pub, or in case someone wanted a breath of air or a more private setting. Wouldn’t work in the rain, though. She was still thinking about it.

  She perched on what was left of an old stone wall to eat her lunch. If she craned her neck, she could just see a bit of Glandore Harbour on the far side of the road, although in summer it was often hidden by foliage. Below she could see the road, and the stone wall of the old bridge that passed over the ravine. And at the bottom of the ravine was the small stream that over centuries had carved its way through the stone.

  And there was something else, a flash of color against one of the thick stone piers that supported the bridge and the roadway above. Trash? Usually people around the area were considerate in taking their trash to the dump, er, tip. Except for the occasional tourist who didn’t know the local rules. But this looked like a bigger load, and the colors were wrong for a standard plastic trash bag. There wasn’t enough water flowing to have washed whatever it was down from upstream somewhere. Maura sighed. Since it was arguably on her land, she guessed she had a responsibility to identify whatever it was and then get rid of it.

  Except she realized she had no idea how to get down there, some twenty feet below. She crept toward the crumbling edge and peered over. Then she stepped back and took a deep breath, and looked again. No, she’d seen it right the first time. A body. Someone dead. From what she could tell from where she stood, it looked like a man, youngish, casually dressed in jeans and some kind of jacket—his clothes were soaking wet, so it was hard to figure out the details. She couldn’t see his face because he was lying facedown, his head pointed upstream, as if he’d just toppled over the bridge and fallen straight down. Was that likely?

  Maura tried to remember if she’d seen anyone who matched his description at Sullivan’s the night before, but she came up blank. Of course, there were other pubs in town, including across the street in both directions. Or he could have driven from Skibbereen, where there were even more. Assuming the man had been drunk when he fell. If he fell. Or was pushed. She rejected the idea of suicide: it wasn’t a long enough drop to be sure of getting the job done.

  Maura, it’s not your job to figure out how the man died. Call the gardaí and let them work it out.

  She patted her pockets and was relieved to find she’d brought her mobile phone with her—the one with garda Sean Murphy’s direct line on it. That had proved useful more times than she wanted to count. Might as well get it over with. She turned on the phone and hit the button.

  Luckily Sean answered. “Maura, how are yeh this fine day?” he asked cheerfully. Maura felt bad that she was going to have to spoil his mood.

  “I’m grand, Sean, but I can’t say as much about the dead guy in the ravine.”

  There was a long silence from Sean’s end, and when he spoke, his tone had changed entirely. “Yer sayin’ yeh’ve found a body?”

  “I am. I have.”

  “And where would the body be now?”

  “On the, uh, north side of the bottom of the bridge at Leap, pushed up against one of the bridge piers. You couldn’t see it from the highway unless you leaned far over. Nobody’s reported it?”

  “No,” Sean said tersely. “And he—it is a he?—can’t have been there long, because there’s guys who run a concession there, come see the waterfall and all that, and they couldn’t miss it. Have they started up yet?”

  “Yes, it’s a he. I haven’t noticed the concession guys,” Maura told him. She peered across the ravine. “I don’t see the big sign up yet.”

  “Right. Stay where you are. Don’t try to go near the deceased. I’ll make a few calls and be there shortly.”

  “Okay,” she said, but Sean had already hung up. As if she could get anywhere near the dead person even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. Actually, she couldn’t swear whether it was male or female, in its current position. But whichever it was, he or she hadn’t moved since she’d first seen him. Her. Should she tell anyone else? Mick? Rose? No, she decided. The gardaí would be here soon. Maybe they’d find more information. And once they appeared, there’d be no stopping the spread of the news, and she’d have to be ready for it at the pub. She’d better enjoy the last few minutes of peace, because she knew they wouldn’t last.

  Maura had lost her appetite, so she thought she might as well take a hard look at the scene. The bridge was far from new, although she couldn’t guess how old. There was a stone wall that ran from end to end of the ravine, about three feet tall, capped with slanted stone slabs intended to divert the water. There was also what appeared to be a fairly sturdy and recent metal fence on top of the stone portion, which made the whole thing close to six feet high, she guessed. Nobody was going to be able to slip and fall accidentally. No kids or teens would be tempted to balance their way from end to end, not with the fence in the way. And it would take a very large, strong man to lift the victim over the fence and drop him. Not likely. From the side of the lunch place across from her? No more likely. Early in the evening there would have been plenty of people inside, and there were large plate-glass windows. After dark there were exterior lights, she knew. Which kind of left her side of the ravine as the spot where the body had been dumped or flung, unless someone had dragged the victim along the stream bed to leave him in that particular spot. Last night—if that was when he’d died—it had been busy at Sullivan’s, and she wondered if anyone would remember either the victim or someone following the victim and maybe leaving the pub with him.

  Who else might have seen anything? Well, there was a bus stop on the bridge, although it wasn’t usually very busy. She hadn’t memorized the schedule, but it was posted at the stop. How late did the buses run? Then there were some much-sought-after parking spaces along the road where it widened at the bridge. All those spaces were too obvious—how could anyone stroll by carrying a body? But nobody would have been paying attention to whatever might be going on in the very dark spaces behind the pub, where she was now sitting. And getting increasingly depressed.

  The bistro’s view from the opposite corner was blocked by a couple of buildings. Had there been anyone staying upstairs at the inn across the street? There was a nice row of large windows overlooking the road, on the upper story. Somebody should ask Ann Sheahan, one of the owners. Maybe someone ther
e had seen something.

  Maura, she reminded herself, leave it to the gardaí, will you? It’s their job. The problem was, she answered her sensible self: Yes, but it’s my property, and it might be where the person died.

  She made an effort to clear her mind, and luckily she didn’t have long to wait before she saw a garda car arrive, make a U-turn, and pull up in front of the bridge. Sean Murphy stepped out and spotted her on the bank, so she stood up and dusted off her pants. He raised his hands in question, and Maura pointed down below the bridge. He managed to find a way to step up a bit higher so he could look into the ravine, and finally his shoulders slumped. Had he doubted her? Maura wondered. He’d certainly known her long enough now to know that she wouldn’t overreact to what might be a body. After a few long seconds he looked back at her, and Maura pointed to her left, then signaled that he should come around. Sean seemed to get the message: he disappeared toward Sullivan’s, and a few seconds later he emerged to her left.

  When he was close enough, Maura said, “I probably should have come to you, since I’m not sure where whatever this is happened and I’d already covered the ground from the pub to here, but I figured you’d like to get a look at the body. Down there.” She pointed again.

  “I saw it. I suppose there’s little hope that it’s a dummy?”

  “You tell me. I came out here to eat my lunch, and I looked down and saw … that, then I sat down and called you. I haven’t moved more than three feet since. I didn’t tell anyone at the pub yet. Nobody else has noticed anything unusual, but it’s hard to see down there except from a couple of angles. Nobody much comes out to this particular place, including me. There might be a better view from the other side.”

  “I don’t suppose anybody knows the man,” Sean said, almost to himself.

  “Sean, I doubt his own mother would recognize him from here, lying the way he is. What happens now?”

  “You go back to Sullivan’s and burst into tears, and when everyone rushes to comfort you, you take an hour or so to spit out the story between sobs?”

  It took Maura a moment to realize he was joking. “Why, Sean, you do have a sense of humor. But that won’t work. For a start, I never cry. Let’s see—I can stay here, or I can go back and say nothing, or I can go back and tell whoever’s there whatever you’ll let me say. Which do you want?”

  “You’d best tell them—the word will be out soon enough. You can tell them what little you know. I’ve got to call Detective Hurley, and he needs to contact the coroner—you know how that goes, well enough. And then all the fuss will start. Do you have anything on at the pub tonight?”

  “Luckily, no.”

  “Then that’s all right. I’d best get on with those calls—there’s a lot that needs doing before we lose the light.”

  “Sean, it’s practically Midsummer’s Eve!” Maura protested. Even she knew that was the longest day—and the shortest night—of the year.

  “And you know all that we’ll be needin’ to do. Go on back, but don’t plan on leavin’ anytime soon.”

  “Got it. Let me know if your guys need anything. Like coffee.”

  Maura picked her way carefully back toward Sullivan’s. She hadn’t gotten around to asking Sean whether he thought the mystery man might have met his end on her land, but he’d only just started. And she really didn’t want to know the answer.

  When she walked in the door, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her—it was an odd feeling. Mick spoke first. “The gardaí?”

  So they’d seen the car. Might as well not sugarcoat it. “There’s a man dead at the base of the bridge.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I have no idea. He was too far away for me to see him clearly, and he’d landed on his face. And that’s really all I know. Sean’s there, and he’s calling in whoever else he needs.”

  “Could yeh tell if he’d been there long?”

  “You mean, was he, uh, decomposing? Not that I could see. Look, Sean’s going to come by here when he has time, and he’ll want to know if the man might have been here last night, or if there were any scuffles, or a bunch of strangers. Or if any of you recognize him, if Sean can get a clear picture of the face. So try to remember if anything odd happened or if anyone didn’t fit.”

  “There weren’t so many here last night, Maura,” Rose pointed out gently.

  “I know. And no one’s saying the man was here. But Sean’s got to ask.”

  “Of course.” Rose nodded.

  Maura had no idea what to do next. She’d never gotten to eat her lunch, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. She didn’t need any more fresh air—she’d just come in. Maybe she should talk to Billy, who was watching her from across the room. He didn’t exactly cheer her up, but he usually made her feel better. “Rose, can you fix me a coffee? I’m going to talk with Billy.”

  Rose nodded and got back to work, and Maura walked over and dropped into the armchair next to Billy’s. “You heard what I said?”

  “I did. How are yeh?”

  “Okay. You know, when I first saw him, I thought he was a bag of trash. Took me a minute or two to realize he was a person and he wasn’t moving. Stupid, isn’t it?”

  “Yeh see what yeh want, or mebbe I mean, yeh don’t see what yeh don’t want. I’m sorry it’s fallen on you again.”

  “So am I. Weird, isn’t it, that this keeps happening to me? I’m hoping it doesn’t have anything to do with us or with Sullivan’s. I mean, why would it?”

  “That I can’t tell yeh, but I’ll keep hopin’ fer the best.”

  Chapter Three

  Maura looked up when the door opened and the Albertsons bustled in. Linda and Marv were carrying an assortment of paper bags and looked very pleased with themselves. Jannie was still dawdling along behind them, but she looked slightly less sulky.

  “What a sweet little town!” Linda exclaimed. “We had so much fun—once we figured out which way to go and where to park.” She appeared not to notice that everyone else in the pub looked glum.

  Maura got up from her seat and manufactured a smile. “Did you find a place to eat?”

  “We did! And we saw a couple more we’d like to try. Did you have any luck with a place for us? Please don’t feel bad if you didn’t, because we’re feeling a lot more comfortable with getting around. I guess we were just suffering from jet lag or something.”

  “I’ll let Mick tell you about it.” Maura glanced at Mick and nodded, and he answered, “We did, if it suits you. It’s only a couple of miles from here, overlooking a lake, and yeh’ll have no trouble findin’ it. I know the people who run it—they won’t drive you mad askin’ questions, but they’ll give you whatever help yeh need if yeh ask. Breakfast’s included, but yeh’ll have to manage yer other meals. Shall I draw yeh a map, or would you rather think it over a bit?”

  Linda and Marv exchanged a glance. Linda was the one who answered. “I think it sounds perfect. Let’s say we try it for a week? And if we want to do something different, we can look again later. Right, Marv?”

  “Whatever you say, Linda. So, Mick, is it? How about that map?”

  “I’ll give yeh one of the official maps, but it’d be simpler for yeh if I just sketch it for yeh. It’s only two turns from here anyways.”

  The two men retreated to a corner table with a pad of paper Mick had miraculously found, and they bent their heads together over the diagram Mick was drawing. Linda came over to the bar and asked, “Could I get something soft to drink? Juice, maybe?” She turned around and called out to her daughter, who was huddled over her cell phone in a corner. “You want something to drink, Jannie?” The girl shook her head without looking up. Linda turned back to Maura and said in a low voice, “I do hope she snaps out of it soon. I wanted us to enjoy a nice family vacation, but she’s barely said a hundred words since we arrived.”

  “Problems?” Maura knew very little about what “normal” teenagers worried about, but she thought she had to try to look sympathetic. “She h
aving problems at school? Or with a boyfriend?”

  “None of those, or at least, none that she’s told me about, which isn’t the same thing, now, is it? I keep hoping it’s just the age and she’ll grow out of it soon. She was such a happy child.” She sighed.

  Maura set a glass and a bottle of orange juice in front of her. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” Linda took a sip. “Was that a police car I saw?”

  “It was. We call them gardaí in Ireland—guardians of the peace. Somebody reported that somebody had dumped a bag of trash or something into the stream, so they’re checking it out.”

  “I thought everything looked very clean here. Well, except for a few plastic bags. Those things will outlive us all, won’t they?”

  “Actually, the Irish government started taxing plastic bags a while back, and that cut their use by about ninety percent. Really reduced the litter.”

  “What a good idea. I’m glad it worked. So, what else should we see around here?”

  “Depends on what you like. Although it might be harder to entertain Jannie than you and Marv. The farmers market on Saturdays, in the middle of Skibbereen, is really popular, and they sell all sorts of stuff there. There’s a lot of history, like stone circles. Or you can go whale watching. Why don’t you talk to the people at the bed-and-breakfast and see what they recommend? Looks like the guys have figured out where you’re going.” Maura nodded toward Mick and Marv, who had stood up. Maura leaned in toward Linda. “How’s Marv’s driving?”

  “Don’t worry about him—he can handle driving on the left, or so he says. Better than I could, at least. And it’s good that it stays light so long these days. I can’t imagine getting lost in the dark around here.”