Page 138 of Road Trip
“Rodney!” One of the men standing near the pool table cuppedhis hands like a megaphone. “Get yer lazy ass over here and pour us a pint.”
The barman hurried away.
The tavern door opened, and a distinguished-looking silver-haired man stepped inside. He glanced around the room as though he were looking for someone.
Maeve turned to Liam. “Who’s that man?”
“Oh, that’d be Billy McCracken. He’s a solicitor.”
The solicitor looked out of place in the working-class crowd. He had a Van Dyke goatee and wore pressed trousers, a polo shirt with an embroidered crest over the pocket, and wire-rimmed glasses. He was clutching a briefcase.
“Odd,” Liam said. “McCracken’s posh. Never seen him in a workingman’s pub before.”
The barman set their food on the table—thick ham sandwiches for both of them, beer for Liam and a Coke for Maeve—and hurried away.
As they were eating, a constant stream of pub-goers stopped by the table to greet Liam and give Sinead a head scratch. “There’s a good girl,” one grizzled old man cooed, crinkling the cocker spaniel’s silky ears.
“It’s like they’re the dog’s grandparents,” Maeve commented.
“For all practical purposes, Esme’s family, and Sinead’s, is right here in this tavern. Mostly pensioners, I’d say.”
“Well, that’s sad.”
“’Tis. She was an irascible character. One of a kind, you might say.” He clinked his glass against the side of Maeve’s. “Sláinte.”
“Sláinte,” she repeated. She bit into her sandwich and chewed. “Why is bread here so much better than what we get at home?”
“Dunno,” he said. “When I was going to school in Kentucky, I used to wonder why you Americans put up with that mushy white sandwich bread.”
“Sunbeam bread does have its fine points. It’s key to making a grilled cheese sandwich,” Maeve informed him. “And it slays with peanut butter and jelly.”
She absent-mindedly pinched off a bit of her sandwich and fed it to Sinead, who’d been drooling since their food arrived at the table.
“I’m worried about what will happen to Sinead. After I head home.” She waved a hand in front of Liam’s face. “You like dogs.”
“I do.”
“Maybe you could adopt her.”
“Don’t think so,” he said, between bites of his sandwich. “Lucy is very particular about the company she keeps. She’s used to being an only dog.”
“You could take Sinead to work with you.”
“Impossible. It’s a distillery, not a shelter for orphaned dogs.”
“You told me earlier today that you’re the boss and you can do whatever you want.”
He gave her a stern look. “But I donotwant to be responsible for a dog running around my place of business all day.”
“Liam Grogan!”
Billy McCracken stood looking down at their table. “I see Sinead has a new friend. When I stopped by the gardener’s cottage earlier, nobody could tell me where she’d gone.”
“Hiya, Billy.” Liam gestured to an empty chair. “We were just talking about what will happen to the dog now, with Esme gone. Weren’t you her solicitor?”
“That I am. It’s a sad day. A real loss for Tarrymore, and for me personally. Esme did leave me with her wishes on the matter of Sinead, but it’s quite difficult, I’m afraid.”
“My friend here was trying to talk me into taking her,” Liam said. “I was just explaining that was impossible.”
