A Turn for the Bad by Sheila Connolly Read Free Book Online

eyebrow cocked. “Ah, Maura, yer hidin’ a hard heart in there somewhere. I’ll be here as well.”
    Maura was stung by Mick’s comment. “All I meant was that there may be a lot of people coming in tomorrow, so we should be here.”
    â€œTrue enough,” Mick said. “No doubt we’ll all want to be here until things are settled, and after, to mourn or to celebrate.”
    â€œSee you in the morning, then.” It was a good thing they hadn’t planned a music event for this particular weekend,Maura thought. She wasn’t sure how she would have handled that without insulting someone.
    The drive home didn’t take more than ten minutes, and Maura knew the way well now, even after dark. She pulled into the lane in front of her house. “Lane” might be a grand term for the half-paved path: it ended no more than twenty feet past her house in a muddy yard and an abandoned house, with a cattle pasture to one side. The nearer side held the ruins of an older house, reduced to bare stone, its roof gone. She saw an unfamiliar car parked near the cattle gate and assumed it belonged to Gillian. The front door was standing open.
    Maura stood on the threshold and called out, “Gillian?”
    â€œBe right there,” Gillian replied from somewhere upstairs. “I was just making up the bed.”
    It took Maura a moment to realize what was different about the big room: it smelled of cooking food. She hardly ever cooked, and then only enough to keep herself alive. Since she was rarely home by daylight, she’d kind of let the cleaning slide; the place was neat only because she had few possessions to spread around. How pathetic was she? At her gran’s there had always been people coming and going, and Gran had always fed them. And from all she’d ever heard, once someone back in the States knew you had a cottage in Ireland, they’d be beating down your door for a place to stay.
    Gillian came clattering down the narrow stairs; she was wearing a loose, flowing shirt over what looked like leggings, something Maura had never owned. “You’re back early,” Gillian said.
    â€œMick and Jimmy can handle the business for thisevening, what little there is of it. I wanted to find out what was happening with you. You went back to Dublin, what—three months ago?”
    â€œI did, just as the summer was ending. I hear Sullivan’s has become quite the spot for music now.”
    Maura wondered how or from whom she’d heard that. “I just revived what Old Mick used to do, or so I was told by a bunch of people. It seems to be working, bringing in new business, at least. It’s been interesting and I’ve learned a lot.”
    â€œI barely remember those days—my family wouldn’t let me come all the way into the village just to hear music, especially in a pub. By the time I was old enough to go about on my own, the music was over and done.”
    â€œIf you stick around you can listen all you want. I’m hoping we can bring the tradition back—it’s good for business.” Maura wondered how to get to the question she felt she had to ask. She had had few female friends back in Boston and had rarely talked about delicate subjects with them. But maybe Gillian didn’t think that description fit her case. She decided on a cautious, indirect approach. “Uh, have you seen much of Harry lately?”
    â€œIn Dublin? No, not since we left here.” Gillian grinned at Maura. “Go ahead, I know you want to ask.”
    So much for being subtle. “Are you pregnant?”
    â€œI am that. And happy about it, most days.”
    â€œDoes Harry know?”
    â€œNot yet. I’m not sure I need him to know. He’d probably go all stodgy and expect to have to marry me.”
    â€œYou don’t want that?” Maura asked.
    â€œI’m not sure that I do. You’ve met the man. I’ve known Harry