Scandal in Skibbereen by Sheila Connolly

he?” Maura asked. “From what I’ve seen, Gillian attracts a lot of attention.” And Althea in her New York clothes and shoes simply looked out of place in a shabby pub.
    “Dunno,” Rose replied. “Oh, here he comes now.”
    Maura checked him out. He had close-cropped hair and a cheap leather jacket, and he didn’t quite look like a typical sightseer. Whether or not he noticed Maura’s examination, the man came up and leaned against the bar. “Can I get another?”
American,
Maura noted, as he pushed his empty glass toward her.
    “Sure. You’re American?” Maura asked conversationally.
This couldn’t be Nate, could it?
she wondered, then immediately stopped herself.
Good grief, Maura, you’re running a pub! See a stranger, assume he might be a murderer? You can’t be suspicious of every unfamiliar face that walks in!
    He gave her a perfunctory smile. “Yeah. First trip to Ireland. You’re American too, aren’t you? What’re you doing here?”
    Maura watched the pint she was filling. “Actually, it’s my first trip too.” She grinned. “Came over and never left. I’m behind the bar because I own the place now. Are you enjoying your visit?”
    “Kinda quiet. I’ve only been here a day or two.”
    “I’m Maura,” Maura offered. “And you?” His eyes kept drifting toward Althea and Gillian. Of course, Gillian was a striking woman by any standard, and Althea was dressed to attract attention.
    He turned back to Maura. “Oh, uh, Ray. You sound like you’re from Boston.”
    “Southie, born and raised.”
    “Ah,” Ray said. “So, what should I see?”
    Maura topped off his pint and pushed it back toward him. “On the house, for a fellow American. Have you thought about visiting the Blarney Stone?” Their talk shifted to touristy things, and the man proved to be clueless about what to see, leaving Maura wondering why he had chosen this end of the country for his first visit, rather than someplace like Dublin. Maura made some suggestions, based on her own scant three months’ worth of knowledge, and he seemed interested—but his gaze kept returning to the corner table where Gillian and Althea sat with their heads together. Well, if he wanted female company, Maura wasn’t about to set him up. If he was lonely, he could go over and introduce himself. Maura was pretty sure that both Gillian and Althea could brush him off if they wanted.
    As the afternoon wore on and local people drifted in, talking about the death of Seamus Daly, Maura didn’t see the American leave.

Chapter 9
     
    G illian and Althea went off to strategize their approach to Harry and Mycroft House. There was finally a lull in midafternoon, and Maura realized she hadn’t ever eaten lunch. “Did you eat, Rose?”
    “I brought a bit from home. There’s some left, if you like.”
    “If you’re sure you don’t want it.”
    “Most recipe books have recipes for at least four people, and there’s only the two of us at home, when we’re at home at all. Please, help yourself.”
    “Thanks.” Maura rummaged in the small refrigerator and came up with a half-full container of something that smelled wonderful when she opened it.
    “It’s better hot, but it’s fine cold.”
    “As long as I didn’t have to make it, I’m happy,” Maura said.
    “You don’t like to cook?” Rose seemed to find that idea surprising.
    “Let me put it this way. I
can
cook, well enough to keep myself going, but I don’t
enjoy
cooking. You do?”
    Rose beamed. “I do. When . . . me ma was sick, a few years ago, I kind of took it over. She’d tell me what to do, and after a while I started trying things out. You know me da expects his supper, though I never know when.”
    Maura sat down at the end of the bar with the container and a spoon and tasted it. It seemed to be a cross between a soup and a stew, but whatever it was, it tasted really good. She looked closely at it: there wasn’t anything she couldn’t identify, but she’d never