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a lick of sense would see that Logan had put me in a tough position. I knew he wasn’t coming back to be arrested, but if I told the cops that, they would get real antsy and issue all kinds of bulletins. The police would know that Logan was from Boston and would alert the department there. They would find his brother, and maybe Logan. But I was a lawyer, and my duties went only to my client. I had no duty to tell the cops anything, and would probably violate my oath as an attorney if I did say anything. It was a no-brainer. Let the cops find him.
    I locked up and headed to mid-key for lunch at a bar and restaurant called O’Sullivans’. It was a pleasant Irish country inn sort of place owned by two sisters from County Cork, Molly and Irene O’Sullivan. They were about a year apart in age, both in their early forties. They had worked as barmaids and waitresses in several places on the island for ten years, often working two jobs each and saving their money. About ten years before, they were able to make a down payment on a place that had housed several different restaurants over the years, all unsuccessful. An Irish country inn setting on a beach may seem a little incongruous, but it worked. Because they were well known to the locals, and because the locals appreciated their spunk, O’Sullivans’ was well patronized. The girls, as they were universally called on the island, were doing well, but they were working sixteen hour days to make it go. I had gotten to know the sisters when I was living part-time on the island, and ate at their place as often as possible.
    I arrived about two o’clock, still early enough for lunch, but late for the crowd. Glenda, the elegant blond hostess, was behind the bar. I was the only customer. I took a seat at the bar, and ordered the cottage pie, which is beef stew without the vegetables, cooked in a deep dish with a thick crust of mashed potatoes, browned on the top, covering the beef. I ordered a Harp, an Irish beer on tap.
    Molly saw me and came over. “Hey, Matt. How are you? I heard they indicted Logan.” Her years in Florida had robbed her of most of her Irish brogue, and all those hours working were taking their toll on what was left of her youth.
    “Sit down and have a beer with me,” I said.
    “Well, I’ll sit for a minute, but I’ve still got to take care of the book work for last night and lunch.”
    Molly asked Glenda to pour her a Coke, and asked, “So, Matt. What about Logan?”
    “You heard right, Molly. A grand jury indicted him yesterday for first degree murder.”
    “Logan didn’t kill her Matt. He doesn’t have it in him to hurt anybody.”
    “I know, Molly. But he doesn’t have much of an alibi. He was drinking with an old Army buddy, but I don’t have a clue as to where to find the buddy.”
    “Are you going to represent Logan?”
    “For now. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to try this case. I’m too close to Logan. And to Connie for that matter.”
    “You know, there was a guy in here one night at the bar asking about Logan. Said he and Logan had been in the Army together. Wanted to know if I knew Logan.”
    “When was this?”
    “About a month ago. Probably just before Connie’s murder.”
    “Do you remember anything about the guy?”
    “Not really. I only talked to him for a couple of minutes. He wanted to know if I knew where Logan lived. I lied and told him no, and he left.”
    “Have you ever seen the guy again?” I asked.
    “Not that I remember, Matt. Is it important?”
    “Probably not, but if you see him again, ask him to call me.”
    “Sure Matt. Gotta get back to the books. See you later.”
    I finished my meal amid small talk with Glenda, and headed home.
     
    Monday arrived, hot and humid. I did my four miles on the beach, and was glad to return to my air conditioned condo. There was no lounging on the balcony this time of the year. It was just too hot.
    I made myself a bowl of cereal and a pot of coffee and settled