Buried in a Bog by Sheila Connolly

his offer. “But I hadn’t planned to stay here long. Shouldn’t you be looking for someone more permanent?”
    Another exchange of cryptic glances. This time Maura was watching for it.
    “I didn’t come to Ireland to spend my time cleaning up after drunken old men, you know,” she snapped, more rudely than she had intended. “I’ve got a flight home next week. And I can’t afford to buy another ticket. I’ve got no money.”
    “We’d pay you, of course,” Mick said carefully.
    “Enough to live on here, even for only a while?” Maura shot back.
    Mick cocked his head at her. “What do you need? I’ll venture Ellen will give you a good rate for a longer stay–she doesn’t see much business herself, this time of year. You’ve got my grannie’s car, and you’ll be needing a bit of gas for that, to get around. That leaves you with food to worry about. We can manage enough for you to get by on.”
    “How many other employees are there?” Maura said.
    “There’s my Rose,” Jimmy began.
    Maura cut him off quickly. “Is she even old enough to be serving here, legally? What about you, Jimmy—do you take your turn?”
    Jimmy managed to look hurt. “Now and then–I watch over the business side.” He ignored Mick’s short laugh.“Ordering and the like. But it was Old Mick who covered the bar, most days, and we’re still adjusting to him being gone. When it was slow, he’d sit by the fire there, but when we got busy, he’d be behind the bar, telling stories and having a grand time. We always thought that was what kept him going so long.”
    “So do you two own this place now?”
    “No, we just manage it,” Mick answered. “Old Mick only died last week. He was ninety-four when he passed, and he’d never married and had no children. He’d outlived most of the rest of his family, or they’re long gone from Ireland. It’ll take a bit to sort out what’ll happen with the place now. We’re just keeping it running until then.”
    “I’m sorry to hear about his passing,” Maura said. Not that she was, particularly—after all, she’d never known him—but it was the polite thing to say. “So who does the pub go to now?”
    Both men shook their heads. “We don’t know. Old Mick, he didn’t say much about his affairs. There might be a will, or not.”
    “Apart from tonight, are there ever many customers here?”
    “Ah, you’ve just seen it at a slow time,” Jimmy said jovially. “Come the weekend, there’s lots more going on. And summer! We’re right along the main road here, and there’s many a tourist who stops by for a quick glass. It’s a solid business, isn’t it, Mick?”
    “It could be,” he agreed. “If Old Mick had done anything with the place, it could have been better.”
    Maura yawned. “Listen, guys, I’m about to fall over. Look, I’m glad I could help out today, but that doesn’t meanI want to keep doing it, okay? Let me think about it. Good night.”
    She gathered up her bag and jacket and walked quickly out the door, to end any discussion. The road was deserted, and nothing moved. Quiet: something she wasn’t used to. There wasn’t any real quiet back where she came from, or any real dark. She crossed the road slowly, marveling at the unexpected emptiness. Gravel crunched under her feet as she walked down the drive that passed in front of the now-dark Keohane house and found her way to the back door leading to her room.
    But before going in, she sought out a plastic chair on the small patio and dropped into it. She was exhausted, but she was also confused and bewildered by what she had seen and done that day. She’d spent time with what was probably her grandmother’s oldest surviving friend; she’d acquired a car, if temporarily; she’d been offered a job. Before she’d left Boston, she’d thought about what she might say to Mrs. Nolan, once she’d learned of her existence, but the car and Jimmy’s offer had come as a complete surprise. And as for that