An Early Wake Page 7

  “Hey, we could use a hand over here!” Mick called out from the back as Rose poured a mug of tea for Niall and handed it to him, then filled another one for Billy.

  “Shall we?” Niall said with exaggerated gallantry, letting Maura go before him.

  “As long as you’ll tell me what I’m looking at and promise it won’t all blow up when you plug it in.” Maura led the way into the back room. She was surprised by how much larger it looked now that a lot of the junk had been cleared away. (She had no idea where it had gone. Would she ever see it again? Did she care?) Things were moving fast. Mick and Tim had pulled out the old music equipment—Maura could do no more than lump all the pieces together under the heading “amplifiers”—and assembled it in the middle of the floor. Niall went over and ran his hands over the biggest piece with something like affection.

  “I haven’t seen one of these beauties for a long time. Does she still work?”

  “One way to find out,” Mick said and began hunting for an outlet. There weren’t many in the room. “We may have to beef up the power supply a bit.”

  “Can you do that?” Maura asked skeptically.

  “Short term, sure. In the long run we might need to do a bit of wiring. Although the equipment has changed some. We’ll see.”

  “Uh, Mick, is there a fire department in Leap?” Maura asked, stymied by the electronic side of things. She looked around the room. She’d spent so little time in it, she had no idea what was really in here. Was there even any heat? No fireplace, though if the space was packed full with moving bodies, a fire might’ve been a hazard, and all those bodies probably provided plenty of heat. Maura shook her head, still having trouble believing this empty room could ever be “full” or “packed.” She’d never seen more than two people in it before now. But best to keep the possibility of a crowd in mind, she supposed. Were there any access doors? There appeared to be one on the side, past the small wooden stage. Although maybe “stage” was an exaggeration: it was a roughly square wooden platform that rose no more than a foot from the floor. One more door opened out the back, up at the balcony level. The bar Maura remembered ran along the width of the room opposite the stage—and it was filthy. How long since anyone had used it? There were glasses lined up, but they’d all need washing. No liquor on the shelves, though, and probably no kegs for the taps.

  “Mick? Can we serve from here? Or does it all have to come from the front? And what about supplies?” she asked.

  “I’ve already laid in two more kegs—they’ll be here this afternoon,” he replied absently, studying a cluster of electric cords in his hand. Niall went over to help sort out which was which.

  “Should I ask Rose to wash the glassware?”

  “Good idea.”

  “I’ll help,” Tim volunteered, which surprised Maura: he’d been gaping at Niall like a lovesick puppy since the man had walked in. Rose should be flattered, if she knew.

  Maura felt like a third wheel, so she left Niall and Mick to their electrical issues and went back to the front of the house. She stopped first at the bar. “Rose, can you figure out what needs cleaning up in the back? And make sure we’ve got enough glasses out for . . . whatever. Tim said he’d help you, if you need to carry stuff.”

  “Right away.”

  When Rose disappeared to the back, Maura went over to talk with Billy, who was happily settled with a thick mug of dark tea. She dropped into a chair beside him and checked her watch: still an hour from opening. What had she just gotten into?

  “Yer lookin’ a bit unsettled, Maura,” Billy observed.

  “I am. Suddenly there are all these people setting up for something I don’t even understand. Even you—I’m not sure I’ve seen you before opening time more than a few times since I took over here. I feel like I walked into a different universe. I have no idea what’s going on right now and even less of a clue what’s going to happen later today. That is, if something is going to happen.” She cocked her eyebrow at Billy.

  He smiled benignly at her. “Sure and it is. We’ve set the bird to flight and the ball to rolling and the clock to ticking. It’ll be a day like no other since yer arrival.”

  Maura shook her head, more from confusion than because she disagreed. “I don’t understand the ‘what,’ and I definitely don’t understand the ‘how.’ You really think people are going to just show up?”

  “That they will, when they hear that the music’s back at Sullivan’s. It’ll be grand, you’ll see.”

  There was a tentative rapping at the door, and through the glass Maura recognized Aidan from the day before outside. She figured Niall must have asked him to come help out, so she went over to open the door. By daylight he looked a bit frayed around the edges. “You’re Aidan, right? Come on in. If you’re looking for Niall, he’s in the back. Can I get you some tea or coffee?”

  “You’d be the American, Maura, right? Tea would be grand, ta. Hey, Billy!” Aidan nodded toward Billy, who raised a hand in salute. He followed Maura to the bar, clutching a battered fiddle case.

  “Are you from around here, Aidan?” Maura asked as she prepared his tea.

  “I live up to Cork these days.” He didn’t explain. Aidan was clearly not the chatty type. Maura hadn’t visited Cork city, an hour away—with the exception of a scary trip to the Cork hospital when Jimmy had broken his arm.

  “How’d you hear about this, uh, thing here?” Maura pressed on, determined to figure out how this was unfolding.

  “Niall. He found me at my pub in Cork and persuaded me to join him. You may have noticed that he can be a very persuasive man.”

  Maura laughed. “Yeah, I have kind of noticed that!” She slid his mug of tea across the bar. When Aidan reached into his pocket for some change, she waved him off. “On the house.” She was already in so deep it wouldn’t make a difference. Call it promotional expenses—not that she had any such line item in her budget. All right, call it an investment in the future.

  Aidan lifted his mug to her. “Thanks, love.” Then he picked up his fiddle case with his other hand and went toward the back, from which ominous noises were emerging.

  Chapter 9

  In an hour, the old pub was as clean as Maura had ever seen it. She’d even sicced Tim on the bathrooms; he’d started this whole thing, he could do the grunt work. He didn’t even complain, and now the loos were better than they once were—still far from what they could be, but they’d have to do. By ten thirty, the regular opening time, there were already a few people waiting outside on the sidewalk, talking to each other. Maura unlocked the door, and as they came in, one asked her, “Is it true? About the music, I mean? Will it be happenin’?”

  “Wait and see.” She had no better answer to give them, so might as well keep them guessing.

  She hadn’t noticed Skibbereen garda Sean Murphy waiting behind the others. “Hello, Sean,” Maura greeted the young police officer. “What brings you here, business or pleasure?” She wasn’t sure which she would prefer. They’d gone out together once—technically, only a half date, since it had been cut short by a call from the gardaí station in Skibbereen. She had the feeling Sean would like to try it again, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted: Sean was a nice guy and she enjoyed his company, but that didn’t mean she wanted to date him. Going out with him again would probably have half the women in County Cork planning their wedding.

  “Shall we walk?” he said.

  From his tone, Maura decided that he was in official garda mode. Was there some regulation she didn’t know about that she’d already violated? “Sure, I guess. What’s up?” she asked as she joined him, after checking that Rose had seen her leaving. He gestured up the low rise toward the church, and they walked side by side until they were a few paces beyond the pub. Sean cleared his throat. “There’s a rumor going about that yer plannin’ a night of music here tonight.”

  “Maybe,” Maura said cautiously. “I wouldn’t say it’s exactly planned.” When Sean gave her a solemn look, she hurried to
explain what had been going on over the past couple of days. “I told Tim to talk to Billy Sheahan, which he did—and then things start happening, and this guy Niall Cronin ups and walks in yesterday afternoon.”

  “Hold on—you mean the Niall Cronin?” Sean asked, surprised.

  “Apparently. So you’re a fan too? I had never heard of the guy.”

  “Ah, Maura . . .” Sean shook his head. “He’s quite well-known here in Ireland. So what happened next?”

  “Well, this Niall comes in asking for Billy, and Tim—that’s the student—nearly falls off his chair, he’s so excited.” She explained about how the guys had talked all afternoon, then left together. “Then I show up this morning and it seems like they’ve all decided they’re having a thing at the pub tonight.”

  “A thing?” Sean raised one eyebrow.

  “Shoot, I don’t know what to call it. A musical event or something.”

  “You may need a permit for a gathering of unusual size,” Sean said, his tone official.

  They’d almost reached the church. Maura stopped and said, “But I don’t know what’s happening! I don’t know who’s coming, or how many, either musicians or listeners. It still may turn out that no more than three people show up. I just don’t know!” She sat down on the low stone wall in front of the church parking lot and glared a challenge at Sean.

  He settled next to her. “I see yer problem, Maura, but I wouldn’t want things to get out of hand.”

  “You think I do? How am I supposed to plan for something I don’t begin to understand? You tell me. I mean, how far would people come to hear an over-the-hill rocker playing in a small room that’s basically a cave?”

  Sean’s mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “I hope you’ve not been callin’ Niall Cronin old to his face! There are those would say he changed the course of Irish music in the last years of the twentieth century.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Maura muttered. “I’ve already heard that. I do know better than to go around insulting people—if nothing else, it’s bad for business. But what is it you want me to do?”

  “What you’ve just done: tell me what’s goin’ on, so I can keep an eye on things. Do you know what the legal capacity of Sullivan’s might be?”

  “No, not officially. Mick said something like two hundred people. I’m pretty sure the biggest crowd we’ve had since I’ve been here was more like fifty. Why? Do I have to count heads and lock the door if the head count goes too high? Sean, look, I’m not trying to make this hard for you, but this thing has just taken off like crazy since yesterday, and I truly don’t know what I’m dealing with. And nobody mentioned permits.”

  Sean sighed, his eyes on the gas station across the street. “I wish we had more men, but there are few enough as it is to go around in Skibbereen of a Saturday night. I’ll ask a patrol to swing by when they can, and you know where to find me if you need assistance, should things get out of hand.”

  “You think they might?” Maura asked.

  “It’s been known to happen,” Sean said, smiling. “How about I come back with you and talk with Mick and Tim and Niall, just so they know there’s someone looking after the place? I’m not assuming there’ll be trouble, but I’d rather be ready for it if it happens. Does that suit you?”

  “That’s fine.” Maura smiled at Sean—and wondered if he was looking for a chance to talk with the great Niall Cronin. “You sure you aren’t just looking for an autograph? I really wish there was a quickie guide to Irish music for the last twenty or thirty years that I could read fast, so I don’t embarrass myself. Again. If I don’t watch out, I’ll end up insulting any other musicians who show up.”

  “You’ll be grand—just smile and look like yer glad to see them.”

  “Thanks, Sean. I know you’re trying to help. My problem is, I don’t know what help I’ll need. Every time I think I have a handle on running this place, something else comes up. I’m still trying to figure out if we have enough glasses and whether plugging in a lot of electrical stuff will short out the electricity. Do I have a circuit breaker? Fuses? I don’t even know where to look. I’m just hoping Mick or Jimmy does.”

  “I’d start with the basement, although whoever wired the place might have found that too damp, being so close to the water and all, and put all the connections somewhere else. You could ask at Donovan’s Hardware, down the road. They’d likely know who did the work.”

  “I keep forgetting how small this place is. In Boston, if your power went off, you’d have to call your landlord, and if you were lucky enough to reach him, he’d have to figure out who to call to check it out—if he felt like it. It could take days.”

  They stood and started walking back toward the pub. “Sean, you’re too young to remember the days when there was real music at Sullivan’s, aren’t you?” Maura asked, recalling that Sean was a year or two younger than she was. “Mick said he was a teenager then, and he’s older than you are.”

  “I never saw it myself, though I’ve heard others talk about it.”

  “When I first heard about it, I kind of figured it just faded away because people lost interest. That’s why I’m surprised there’s so much excitement about the idea now. Or maybe that’s just hot air and nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Could be. Or could be something better,” Sean said. They’d reached Sullivan’s, and Sean opened the door for her. Inside, everyone was still bustling around like ants on an anthill that had been poked with a stick. Billy was settled in his chair with a benevolent expression on his face. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

  Maura dragged Sean over to where he sat. “Billy, Sean wants to know what we’re planning here, and I told him you’d know best.”

  “Ah, the young garda, keepin’ an eye on us all. Sit, please, so I can look yeh in the eye.” He waited until Sean had taken a seat. “What do the young folk call it these days? A gathering of the bands? The word has gone out.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Sheahan, but how many people do you expect here this evening?” Sean asked politely, sticking to the point. Maura figured he knew Old Billy well enough to keep him from starting up one of his stories.

  “And how am I to know? Back a ways, say, twenty years ago, we’d fill the place wall to wall. Hard to say who’s going to come out again. You might do well to talk to young Mick—he’s in the back. He’s got a better head for the business side of things. Should we have asked yer permission first, me lad? No more than a day ago, we didn’t know this was happening.”

  “I understand that, sir. I’m just hopin’ to fend off any trouble before it starts.”

  “And so you should. Go on now, and talk to Mick.” Billy waved his hand at the same moment Mick and Niall appeared in the doorway to the back room. Maura watched with amusement as Sean’s eyes lit up at the sight of Niall, although he quashed it quickly. After all, he was the garda here, and he was on duty. He stood up and strode over to where the two men were standing.

  Maura kept her eyes on the trio while asking, “Billy, do we have anything to worry about? I mean, I’ve never seen this place get really crowded, and I have no idea who’s likely to show up. Is this going to be”—she fumbled for a music term—“like, heavy rock music? The kind of thing that gets people worked up?”

  Billy smiled at her. “No. Even though this won’t be a traditional session, the music still draws on the old tunes and some of the instruments.”

  “Which means it might be kind of sad?” Maura asked.

  “Sad, yes. Sometimes funny. Now and again, angry—mostly at the English. Don’t borrow trouble, my dear. Let Sean keep an eye on things, but I’m sure it will all work itself out.”

  “I hope so, Billy. This is all new to me.”

  Maura saw Sean shake hands with both Mick and Niall, before coming over to say good-bye to her.

  “Satisfied?” she asked.

  “Fer now. I’ll stop by later and, like I said, I’ll tell the others at the station what’s going on. Those who aren’t on
duty may come by on their own, once they hear.”

  “Everyone’s welcome, as long as they buy a pint or two. Thanks, Sean, for worrying, and for looking out for us.”

  “That’s my job, Maura. Good luck to you!”

  Rose was behind the bar, watching the proceedings with glowing eyes when she wasn’t busy serving the customers who came in—who weren’t leaving in any hurry. What had they heard? And how?

  When he’d gone, Maura turned to Rose. “Should I warn the local restaurants that this is happening? People will want to eat, won’t they?” Both a bistro-style restaurant and a takeaway place had opened their doors nearby in the past few months and had done good business during the summer season. But Maura had her doubts that they’d be ready for a crowd today—it seemed only right to tell them now, so they could stock up if they needed to.

  “It might be a smart thing to do, if you want to stay on their good side,” Rose agreed.

  “Then I’ll do it now, before things get crazy. If they get crazy, that is.” She went back out the door, turning right this time. The takeaway restaurant was the closer of the two new places. The new owner had retained the old building facing the road, and that now served as a kind of deli and order station, but there was plenty of seating in a new building to the rear, alongside the river and across from Sullivan’s. Since it was nearly noon, the place was beginning to fill up.

  Inside, Maura leaned across the high glass case. “Is Gerry around?”

  The woman making sandwiches nodded toward the rear. “In back. Big doings tonight?”

  So she’d already heard. “Looks like it,” Maura agreed, then headed back to find the owner. He was talking to a family seated around a table, but smiled when he saw her come in. “Ah, Maura, how are yeh? I hear yer plannin’ a do tonight.”

  “‘Planning’ might be kind of exaggerated, but it looks like something’s happening. I wanted to give you a heads-up in case you needed to stock up, since people may end up here looking for a meal.”

  “Thanks fer thinking about us. I’ll warn the girls. Who’s on the ticket?”