The Celtic Riddle (11 page)

I think at that point I'd have been inclined to drop the whole
matter, but the convergence of a number of events made me change my
mind. One, of course, was this interview with the Byrne women, along
with their stated intention of trying to take the cottage away from
Alex.

Added to that were a couple of developments that meant I had a
little time on my hands, and we know what they say about idle hands.
First was Jennifer's decision, with her father's reluctant
acquiescence, to take sailing lessons every morning, from Padraig
Gil-hooly, no less. Apparently, her damp and frightening introduction
to the sport had merely whetted her appetite for it. As far as her
father's opinion on the subject was concerned, he wasn't exactly keen
on his daughter being anywhere near someone involved, even
peripherally, with a murder suspect, but Padraig, it seemed, had an
ironclad alibi, vouched for by his lawyer in Cork, no less.

The other was a realization that I wouldn't be seeing much of Rob
for the next little while, a turn of events that had been immediately
obvious the previous evening when I'd entered a bar on the main street
of town with Alex, to find Rob chatting up an attractive woman, slim
and rather fit-looking, with a halo of reddish hair around her face,
and attractive green eyes.

"Lara," Rob exclaimed as I'd walked up to the bar. I wasn't sure
what the tone meant. I suspected it wasn't Lara as in
Lara-I'm-so-delighted-to-see-you. He'd picked this bar a couple of
blocks from the Inn, in hopes I wouldn't find him, I'd warrant. "Lara,
I'd like you to meet Maeve Minogue. Maeve, this is my associate Lara
McClintoch." Associate? I see. "How do you do," I said, shaking her
hand. She had a very firm handshake.

"It's grand to meet a friend of Robert's," she said. "We're all
enjoying having him here."

Who is we, I wondered. The name Minogue was familiar, but it took a
minute or two for me to twig to it. This woman was the "chap" Minogue
Rob had talked to at the police station. It gave a whole new meaning to
the term "improving international relations," to use Rob's own words,
and the fact that he'd used the term chap to describe her spoke volumes
of his intention to keep her a secret from me.

"Well, Robert," I said, sweetly. "Perhaps you'll excuse me while I
go and sit with another of your associates. Lovely to meet you, Maeve."

I went and sat with Alex, trying not to huff. This was a development
I found intensely irritating, although I don't know why it incensed me
so much. Rob is, after all, free to do as he pleases. I have no claim
to his affections. Occasionally, I wonder if he might make a suitable
partner for me, but really our lives don't seem to work out in that
direction.

When I first met him, he was living with Ms. Perfect, and I was in a
long-distance relationship with a Mexican archaeologist. Then I was
free, which is to say I got dumped, but Rob was still with Barbara.
Then Clive, my ex-husband, persuaded his second wife, Celeste, to buy
him the store across the street from Green-halgh & McClintoch,
setting me off into a fury and putting me off relationships with the
opposite sex for some time. After a while Clive ditched Celeste and
took up with my best friend Moira, about the time Rob and Barbara
parted company. Rob expressed mild interest in me at that time, at
least I think he did, but Iwas so traumatized by Clive and Moira, that
I ignored him, or at least chose not to notice.

As I think about this, I am beginning to wonder if I might have a
career as a scriptwriter for afternoon television, drawing from my own
life experience for the plots, should the antiques business, perilous
at the best of times, not work out. I do know that as someone who has
seen the dark side of forty, I should probably just reconcile myself to
the single life, and take up needlepoint, or something, to fill the
long evenings, but I don't. Like many of my generation, I feel younger
than my years-or at least I delude myself that I do. I no longer feel
as if I could live forever, but I don't feel old, either. I am,
however, at the stage in life where men my age appear to prefer
younger-much younger-women. That made Ireland, that through some
demographic anomaly having to do with emigration rates and such, has a
population 5percent of which is under the age of twenty-five, pretty
much a paradise for forty-somethingish guys like Rob.

But I digress. The final and deciding factor in my renewed
resolution to find the treasure was a series of events that took place
as Alex and I left Second Chance after our unpleasant session with the
inhabitants, to head back to the village. It was late afternoon as I
negotiated the rental car down the long driveway toward the main road.
It had begun to rain quite hard, and Michael was nowhere to be seen,
having presumably gone indoors for shelter. The windshield wipers were
waving hypnotically in front of me, and the defroster was working
overtime to clear the fog from the windshield. As I rounded a turn a
hooded figure stepped out from dense brush at the side of the road and
into the path of the car. I slammed on the brakes but, forgetting I was
driving a standard shift, didn't depress the clutch in my hurry. The
car jerked along then stalled a few feet from the figure.

I rolled down the window and peered out at the face under the hood.
It was Deirdre, and she looked genuinely frightened, a trembling little
bird on scrawny legs, her hair matted from the rain, despite the hood.
"Stay away from Second Chance," she said breathlessly. "You have no
idea what's going on here. This family is cursed!" Then she looked over
her shoulder and quickly stepped back into the brush and disappeared.

Then I saw what might have startled her. Sean McHugh, son-in-law
number one, was walking down the drive toward the house. He was, like
his brother-in-law, fair, but a little softer looking, a little jowly
perhaps, and less threatening in demeanor, though not, in this case, in
stance. He was still in his tweeds and high boots, but he'd added a
rain cape swirling behind him-the aforementioned country gentleman
look- except that he wasn't looking particularly gentlemanly. He was
carrying a gun, a rifle, slung over one shoulder. Even though it wasn't
pointed at us, it was an unpleasant moment.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"We've had tea at the house," I replied.

"What are you doing snooping around on the road?"

"I'm not snooping," I replied haughtily. "The car stalled. A rabbit
ran in front of us, and I had to stop suddenly." I was speaking, I
suppose, metaphorically. There had been more than a little of the
frightened rabbit in Deirdre.

"Get moving," McHugh said, looking as if he didn't believe me for a
moment. Maybe there weren't any rabbits around here. Regardless, we did
what we were told. I consider it a good rule not to argue with a man
who holds a gun.I looked over at Alex. "All rather Gothic, wouldn't you
say?"

"Gothic, yes, but part of it is true," he said. "To Deirdre's point,
I have no idea what is going on here."

"I feel sorry for Vigs," I said. "I figure he's doomed. What do you
think she'll do to him? He's too big to flush down the toilet."

"I don't even want to think," Alex murmured. "We should have brought
him with us."

"Maybe we should have brought Deirdre, too," I replied. Alex smiled.

"We're going to have to do something about a road into Rose
Cottage," I said, seriously. "We can't have Sean McHugh waving a rifle
at you every time you try to get there."

"I'll think about it," Alex said. "I haven't decided what to do
about the cottage just yet."

"But you know you love it," I said. "And we can't let those awful
people intimidate you out of your inheritance!"

Alex just shrugged and took to looking at the scenery. I gathered
this was a topic he didn't wish to pursue at the moment.

"Pull over," he said suddenly. "Can you back up? About a hundred
yards?"

Surprised, I complied. "What is it?" I exclaimed.

Alex pointed down a little road off to the right. I looked but
couldn't figure out what he was talking about. It was just another
lane, as far as I could see.

"What?" I said to him, mystified.

"Look at the signs," he said. There were a number of signs hammered
into a tree, one of them for a B&B, another for a vegetable stand,
others individual names. At the very bottom, however, was a crude
hand-lettered wooden sign. The Breakers, it said. "Worth a try," I said.

We slowly made our way along the road, checking all the houses as we
went. After about five minutes, the pavement ended, and we bounced our
way around muddy potholes, then made a sharp left turn down an even
worse road.

At the very end was a little house, a shack really, with smoke
swirling from the chimney. Beyond it was the sea, huge breakers
crashing against black cliffs, the spume rising high up before
dissipating into a mist that blew across the little bay. The sign on
the gatepost was almost illegible, but apparently we were at The
Breakers.

I looked at Alex. We got out of the car and made our way to the
door, a little black and white dog yip-ping at our heels.

I knocked, then knocked again. I heard steps inside and the latch
being opened, then a familiar face peered out at us.

"Malachy!" I exclaimed.

"Lara!" he replied. "Kev," he shouted. "Put on some tea. It's that
nice young girl we talked to at the pier. Lara. And her friend," he
added, looking myopically in Alex's direction. I introduced the two of
them. "Did you bring some whiskey, by any chance," he whispered.

"Sorry again," I replied. "I didn't know I was coming here." I hoped
I didn't wear out my welcome with these two before I got them whiskey.

"Where's Denny?" I asked to change the subject.

"Denny lives with his sister and her family in town," Malachy said.
" 'Tis just Kev and me lives here."

Malachy cleared a space on the sofa, sweeping aside papers, and
taking unwashed plates to the sink. "Weweren't expecting company," he
said. "Please excuse the mess."

"It's fine," I replied, taking a seat and accepting a mug of hot tea.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Kev asked loudly.

"Shush, don't be rude," Malachy said, wagging his finger at his
brother.

"I just want to know," Kev replied peevishly.

"That's a fair question, Kevin. Actually, we didn't know you lived
here. We were just touring around. You have a fabulous view," I said,
trying to figure out how to broach the subject I wanted.

"The best," Kevin agreed.

"Grand, isn't it?" Malachy added.

"But now that we're here," I went on, "I have a question for you.
Did Eamon Byrne leave anything with you to give to his family or a
friend?"

"What did she say?" Kevin said, cupping his hand around his ear.

"She's asking if Eamon Byrne left anything here," Malachy shouted.

"How would she know that?" Kevin asked. Both men turned to look at
me.

"Byrne gave everyone who got something from his Will, well, almost
everyone, anyway, a riddle to solve. Alex here was one of the people
who was included in this riddle, and when we saw your sign for The
Breakers, we thought maybe it was a clue." I decided honesty was the
best policy, as unlikely as the story might have sounded.

"What did she say?" Kevin said again.

"She said Alex here is one of the people looking for Eamon Byrne's
clues," Malachy repeated.

"Good," Kevin said. "I like her better than some of the rest of
them. But she has to say the magic words, doesn't she? Does she know
the magic words?"

Both men turned to look at me again. "The furious wave," I replied.

"She got it!" Malachy exclaimed. "Get the clue, Kevin. It's hers."

"Where'd we put it?" Kevin said, looking perplexed. My heart sank.
For a few minutes the two men shuffled about, pulling open drawers,
looking under cushions. I was in despair.

"I got it!" Malachy exclaimed at last, pulling a slim white envelope
out of a book. "Here 'tis," he said handing it to me. I resisted the
temptation to rip it open on the spot.

At that moment, the little dog started yapping again outside, and we
could hear footsteps coming up to the door, then a loud banging.

"Goodness me, another one," Malachy said. "Tree years since somebody
came to visit, and now dere's two in one day!"

He opened the door slowly, then tried to close it again. A foot
stopped it from closing. "Have you got something from Eamon Byrne?"
Conail O'Connor asked harshly.

"No, I don't," Malachy said, rather craftily I thought. I had it, he
didn't. But he must have looked suspicious, because O'Connor thrust the
door open roughly and grabbed Malachy by the collar. The older man
staggered and started to fall, but O'Connor held him up. Kevin grabbed
a frying pan. I grabbed the teapot.

"Now see here," Alex said stepping forward, arms up, his hands
balled into fists, in a kind of a boxer stance. "You have no right to
treat these people this way!"

"Get out of my way, gobshite," O'Connor said, let-ting go of Malachy
and stepping toward Alex menacingly. I swung my arm back with the
teapot and started to move toward them.

Alex stepped to one side, dodged O'Connor's arm, feinted with his
left, then his right hand snapped forward. There was a loud crack, and
Conail O'Connor went down for the count.

Chapter Six

A RAY OF THE SUN

Now Mr. Stewart," Ban Garda Maeve Minogue said. Her tone was severe,
but there was a hint of a smile playing about the corners of her mouth.
Minogue was in her early thirties, I'd say, with reddish hair, now
pulled back and tucked neatly into her cap, and that flawless
complexion so many women in Ireland are blessed with. "That is quite a
punch you throw."

"I wish I'd hit him too," Kevin grumped.