Read Online Buried in a Bog by Sheila Connolly - Free Book Online Page B

today—and then the headlights. Both worked. Now she was supposed to tackle the driveway, which both curved and slanted up to the road some forty feet above her. Somehow it had looked less intimidating when she had parked the night before, but even she knew clutches were tricky going uphill. Why couldn’t she be staying in a nice, flat place? But there was only one way to the road. Maura gritted her teeth and engaged the clutch.
    Multiple lurches and heart-stopping stalls later, Maura found herself at the top of the rise, looking at the two lanes of the main south coastal road. At least there was little traffic. She had to turn right to get onto the road, therefore to the far side, then turn left almost immediately, where the smaller road ran between a high rock face on the left and the trickling river on the right. And then she had to hope that she recognized the road she’d taken yesterday.
You can do this, Maura. You did it yesterday. It will get easier.
Sheinched out onto the road, then made the turn and followed the road as it wound past a few newer houses close to the village, then older houses farther away, then a few abandoned construction sites and fields clotted with brambles. She kept going until she recognized the intersection where the policeman had spoken to her yesterday. Since there were no moving vehicles in sight, she stopped for a moment, but there was no sign of the police activity of the day before, not even any tire tracks. A trio of incurious horses contemplated her car as they munched on whatever grass they could find around the bog.
    With a sigh, Maura turned and drove up the hill until she came to the Nolan house on the left. She debated with herself for a moment: try to maneuver into the small area in front of the house, enclosed by a wall, or take the easy way and park next to the abandoned stone houses opposite, where there was more room? The second option, she decided: she’d rather get wet than risk scratching her borrowed car. She turned right and stopped, carefully pulling on the parking brake before turning off the engine. The rain continued to fall in sheets around her, and an unhappy cow bellowed in a nearby barn, setting off an unseen dog behind another wall.
    Maura got out of the car and debated about locking it. Back in Boston it wouldn’t have been a question: even if a car there was locked, the owner might still come back to find its tires gone. On a hill in Ireland, Maura couldn’t see another living soul, human or animal. What were the odds that a car thief would stumble on her car? She slipped the keys in her pocket, leaving the car unlocked, and headed toward Mrs. Nolan’s house.
    The door was closed when she came to it, so she knocked firmly, recalling that the older woman was hard of hearing. Inside there was the sound of shuffling, and a voice called out, “I’m on the way.” After thirty seconds or so, Bridget Nolan pulled open the door and beamed up at Maura. “Ah, it is you, after all.
Dia duit, a Mhaire.
I’ve been hoping you’d come by. Come in, come in, and dry yourself off.”
    “Thank you. It’s definitely wet today. Is it usually like this?”
    “Oh, no. Usually we have a hard rain,” Mrs. Nolan replied.
    It took Maura a moment to realize that she was joking. “I’m glad I know how to swim!”
    Mrs. Nolan nodded her approval at her reply. “Come in and sit by the fire. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I still love a good peat fire.”
    “Where do you get peat these days?” Maura asked.
    “The real thing, not those sad blocks you find in stores? I’ve a few friends who still cut their own.”
    Maura could see more or less rectangular pieces of what must be peat, half-burnt but still glowing in the small fireplace. They gave off a peculiar but distinctive smell, one that she’d noticed at the pub, the first day she was there.
    “It’s nice and warm in here, isn’t it?” Mrs. Nolan said. “I’ll just put the kettle on for the tea. Sit, will