Death at Christy Burke's by Anne Emery Read Free Book Online Page A

time here, not a blow-in who stopped by for a pint and never darkened the doorway again. Now, who drinks here?”
    “Well, I have four in particular who call the place home.” Brennan waited. “Frank Fanning. I have to say I value his custom.”
    “All right. Fanning’s a pisshead. Who else?”
    “Tim Shanahan. Tim takes a drink, but he’s a gentleman. An intellectual.”
    “So. He might have bested somebody in an argument. Judging by the quality of the graffiti, that wouldn’t be hard to do. Go on.”
    “Jimmy O’Hearn. Lives on a boat out there in the harbour. And there’s Eddie Madigan. He was with the guards. Now he isn’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “There’s been talk of corruption. I don’t believe it. Whatever it is, it’s unknown to me.”
    “What can you tell me about the other three, or any of them, that might account for the slander spray-painted on your wall?”
    “Nothing. If I knew, I’d know. And I wouldn’t be bothering you about it. I’m hoping you’ll hear something I’ve never heard.”
    “Well, they’ve got their faces hanging over your bar day in and day out. If your ears haven’t picked up anything, my chances are slim.”
    “Maybe so. Give it a try.”
    “I will.” He understood his uncle’s concerns, and wanted to help him out. But it was not in Brennan’s nature to go probing into other people’s lives. He was a fiercely private individual himself, and was quite content to see others keep to themselves as well. Michael O’Flaherty, on the other hand, loved to gab with people and get their stories. He would be ideal for this assignment, unless and until it took a turn that might prove to be dangerous. Brennan would put O’Flaherty on the case. He tried not to think of it as fobbing the whole thing off on his friend and pastor. It wouldn’t hurt to have Michael distracted from the case of the missing American preacher; no good would come of that, and no good would come of Michael associating himself with it in any way. Brennan returned to the subject at hand. “I’ll have the others listen to the pub talk as well. Michael O’Flaherty is someone people open up to. The kind, sweet face on him.”
    “I know what you mean about him. Just as long as he doesn’t . . .”
    “I’ll caution him to be discreet. He’ll understand.”
    “Very well then.”

    After they emerged from behind the bar, and Finn had taken his leave, Michael O’Flaherty arrived. Brennan introduced him to the young barman.
    “Nice to meet you, Monsignor.”
    “Good to meet you, Sean. Please call me Michael.”
    “Okay. What can I get for you, Michael?”
    “A pint of Guinness would go down nicely, I’m thinking.”
    “Two would go down even better,” Brennan said.
    “Coming up.”
    Brennan and Michael sat at the bar and took delivery of their drinks.
    “Now, you don’t sound like a local boy,” Michael remarked to Sean. “Would you be from County Cork by any chance?”
    “I would. The fellows here are forever slagging me about my Cork accent. Better dan soundin’ like a Dub, I’m after tellin’ dem all!”
    Michael laughed at his imitation of the broad North Dub accent. “I know Nugents in my home town. I’m from Saint John, New Brunswick. That’s an old port city, in fact the oldest city in Canada, and it —”
    “Sure I know it well.”
    “You’ve been there?”
    “No, but it’s familiar to me even so. I had an uncle over there. He was my grand-uncle, really. And up until the week he died we were getting letters from him, telling us all about it.”
    “I may have crossed paths with him. You never know. I grew up on Waterloo Street, right across from the cathedral. The faces you’d see around that church, Sean, you’d swear you were in Ireland. And most of the Nugents, as far as I know, originated in Cork or thereabouts.”
    “You’re right. They would have. And from what my uncle had to say, it sounded as if history followed the Irish people over there and wouldn’t