eleven

Danny had picked the wrong time to chat with Elder Joe’s cohorts at the Plough. The din of a pounding hammer disrupted their afternoon pints, and they shifted and squirmed on their bar stools, calling out to Alan to quit with his bloody renovations already. Even Bijou had abandoned her pillow in favor of blocking the front door.

Alan stood on a ladder in front of a newly painted wall. Gemma, his girlfriend, motioned Alan to shift a nail a few inches to the left. At her nod, he pounded it in, raising his voice above the clamor to ask Gemma where the sleán—or turf cutter—had gotten to; did they send it to the restorer?

Alan waved his hammer at Danny. “Don’t be leaving before I ask you a question.”

Joe Junior and a couple of other regulars—Mackey and Mickey—grumbled their hellos when Danny sat down.

“You here official-like,” Joe Junior yelled over the hammer thuds, “or unofficial-like?”

“Sorry to say, official.”

Danny knew how to play the game. As long as he didn’t lord his position over them, they’d see fit to talk to him. One whiff of superiority and they’d tell him to feck off.

They waited in silence while Danny ordered his pint. As soon as the junior barman set it down, the men raised their pints. “God rest him, a saint among drinkers,” said Mackey.

“Sláinte.”

Danny sipped his Guinness and set the pint down. He waited for the pause between hammer blows. “What have you heard?”

“Someone killed Elder Joe in his own home,” Mickey said. “Gutted, I am.”

“Pure madness,” Mackey added. “Blood everywhere. A sea of blood.”

They were off then, the three of them bellowing over each other when Alan’s pounding started up again. Lamenting the demise of Irish culture and declaring that this was what came of letting go of the old language and letting in the violence from the States through television and movies.

“And the Internet, don’t ye be forgetting that!” shouted Mackey.

Alan glanced at them from his position mounting a pitchfork onto the wall. Its sharp prongs could do some damage, but nothing like EJ experienced.

“Tell me about Elder Joe,” Danny said.

Mackey’s red nose twitched. “How do you mean?”

“You’ve sat here with him for the last two decades. Tell me about him.”

Mackey shook his head with a puzzled expression, as if Danny had asked the question in Latin.

“He’s just Elder Joe,” Mickey said.

“You mean to tell me that in all these years he hasn’t talked about his family or his work or his pet cat?”

“He has a cat? First I’ve heard of that,” Mickey said. “Didn’t strike me as a cat person.”

Danny swallowed down a hefty mouthful of the black stuff. “Right, let’s put it this way. Why do you think someone would kill Elder Joe? I’m taking ideas.”

Mackey gurgled into his pint and came up guffawing. “That’d be easier than a Saturday night tart. He was a right old bastard, that one.”

“Can you be more specific?” Danny said. “What about his business?”

Again, the puzzled look. “You mean the lodgers?” Mackey said.

Lodgers. Is that what he called them?

“EJ rented rooms out of his house,” Mackey said. “He has a huge house for one old codger. The family home.” He shook his head. “One of the big families around here until a few generations back—before you were born, anyhow. Three generations of Macys lived in that house. Full of children and baking wives.”

“I know his daughter is up in Galway,” Danny said. “The next of kin, but she refuses to travel down here to see to his affairs. Any idea why?”

“You’d have to ask her,” Joe Junior said. “She gave up on him years ago.”

“We haven’t found any other family members. No one else you’ve heard of ?”

“Dunno, quite.” Mackey stared into a middle distance with bleary eyes. “Yet another family with too many girl daughters and unmarried sons.”

“I find it hard to believe that you know nothing personal about Elder Joe,” Danny said. “If he was as much of a bastard as you say, he’d have had enemies, full stop.”

Joe Junior snorted.

“Did he mention anything unusual of late? New lodgers?” That question earned Danny three head shakes. “How about this—when did you last see him?”

Joe Junior spoke up. “Last Friday night. He went fishing that afternoon with Nathan. You know Nathan.”

“I do.” Nathan Tate, the potter with a damaged way about him that attracted women.

“Nathan, now,” Mackey said, “he might be the one knowing more about EJ, seeing as how he lodged with EJ for a while. I’d say the two of them were decent friends, all in all. At least, here in the pub, they’d chat.”

“That’s helpful. What about Elder Joe’s other lodgers?”

“What about them?” Mackey said. “Just something he did. He didn’t pay it no mind.”

Which was too obvious, given Cecil’s state. Danny swallowed another mouthful of beer. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re bloody useless when it comes to helping me find Elder Joe’s killer.”

Head wags all around. “About the size of it,” Joe Junior said, “but if we think of anything we’ll ask Alan to ring you.”

“Helpful of you.”

As Danny stepped away, Mackey took ownership of the half-full pint he’d left behind on the bar. Alan intercepted Danny halfway toward the door. He rubbed his bad shoulder, a holdover from his hurling days. “What do you know about a lass named Zoe, daughter to Nathan?”

“Nathan, eh? What about him?”

“More to do with the daughter,” Alan said. “An hour ago I picked up Bijou from Liam’s house and received an earful about his daughter fixing a cut on Bijou’s paw. There’s a scar on her paw, all right, but I’d never noticed it before. We got to wondering—”

“We?” Danny didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re not turning into a meddler, are you? Merrit’s a bad influence.”

“Cool your ever-mighty jets.” Alan lowered his voice. “It’s only this—Zoe will be helping out with Liam’s care. You heard his cancer is back?”

Danny nodded, curt, not wanting to delve into it.

“There’s something off about Zoe,” Alan said. “That’s my interpretation, anyhow.”

Danny considered Alan. Except for his sometimes fiery half-French temperament, Alan was a hard one to read. That said, he had one tell: the way he rubbed his shoulder when he was bothered by more than a muscle ache.

“Go on then,” Danny said.

The junior barman called out a clogged toilet. Alan swore under his breath. “Merde. In a nutshell, Zoe fancies herself a healer. Liam, and by association Merrit, has taken an interest. You might want to check in on Liam, see how he fares.”

Alan strode away after dropping that oversized hint about Danny’s fractured relationship with Liam. Danny had considered Liam a father figure until the events that followed Merrit’s arrival estranged Danny from him, all but ended Danny’s marriage, and caused Liam’s son Kevin to take off for Christ only knew where. A bloody mess all around. After that murder investigation, Danny had preferred to keep his distance, especially after Merrit moved in with Liam.

It seemed he was about to venture over the threshold of Liam’s house for the first time in a year and a half. However, he had a funny feeling it wasn’t Liam who needed the talking to.