Scandal in Skibbereen by Sheila Connolly

twice last night before I figured it out.”
    “Sorry, no food here, beyond a few bags of chips. You could go get something at the express market at the gas station, or go back to the inn, or there’s the Motorcycle Café down the street.”
    “I think I’ll try the gas station—it’s not far, right?”
    “Not far. It’s across from the church—you can’t miss it. Look, if you want me to, I can try to soften up the regulars, tell them about why you’re here . . .”
    Althea stood up. “Would you? I sure don’t have much to lose at the moment. And thank you. See you in a few.” She strode out the door. Maura was happy to see that her shoes were slightly more sensible than the ones she had arrived in the day before.
    “What’s going on?” Rose whispered.
    Maura cocked an eyebrow at her. “As if you didn’t hear every word we said.”
    Rose blushed. “Well, she has a loud voice. It’s not like I was hangin’ about to listen in. So now we’re all in the hunt for this missing art thing?”
    “Seems we are. Call it a treasure hunt.”
    A few minutes later Billy arrived. He was warmly greeted by several of the men in the place as he made his slow way to his favorite chair. Maura poured his pint and took it over to him. “You’re in late today, Billy. I was beginning to worry about you.”
    “I was chatting with the gardaí, I was. They asked me what I knew about the Townsends, and what I told that nosy woman.”
    Maura noticed that Althea had been demoted from “lady” to “woman” in Billy’s eyes. “You didn’t tell them you thought Althea killed the man, did you?”
    Billy took a long, slow pull on his pint. “Now, why would I do a thing like that?”
    Maura grabbed a chair and set it next to Billy’s. “What can you tell me about the Townsend family that I didn’t hear yesterday? Are they broke?”
    “In a manner of speaking. They’re what you’d call land rich but cash poor. The estate is mortgaged, and it’s only Harry Townsend’s money that keeps it going. But Eveline is well up in years, and when she’s gone . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. Maura realized that Eveline and Billy must be relatively close in age.
    “Would there be any buyers for it these days?”
    Billy didn’t seem particularly worried. “Could be. It’s near enough Rosscarbery that it might catch some of the overflow for the conference center there—maybe some business folk who want a pretty view of the harbor. And I hear there’s a new place in Glandore as well. But they’d have to put money into the house—it’s in sad shape now.”
    Maura thought for a moment. “You think they’ve already sold everything they could lay their hands on?”
    “I’m not the one you should be asking. I see Tom O’Brien now and then—he says they’re trying to keep things much as they’ve always been for Eveline’s sake. I don’t how what state she’s in, but she’d probably notice if the furniture disappeared out from under her.”
    Or a large painting,
Maura added to herself. “Do you know anyone who would want to do harm to Seamus Daly or the O’Briens?”
    “Seamus was never quite right, I told you. He was touched in the head—something happened when he was born. But he never crossed anyone that I know of, and he didn’t stray far from the estate—might have come in here the odd time or two. Set in his ways, he was, but he did his job well. Hard to make enemies when you see so few people.”
    “What about the O’Briens? Could someone have had it in for one of them?”
    “Florence has a sharp tongue, but Tom would be lost without her—she rules the place. Besides, the ground around here would be littered with corpses if people were killed for that. And why would they have gone after Seamus?”
    Maura thought for a moment. “Okay, so if the reasons weren’t personal, it’s probably a case of Seamus having tried to stop someone who shouldn’t have been there, and that person grabbing