The Celtic Riddle (20 page)

The Celtic Riddle "I asked Paddy about Lost Causes," she said. "I
didn't want to date someone who drove his boat like that. He left his
boat in for repairs while he went into Cork to see his lawyer. They,
the boatworks people, left it outside their place with the keys in it,
so that Paddy could pick it up after hours when he got back, because
he'd need it really early the next day. Someone had chartered his boat
to go fishing for an hour or two right about dawn. The boatworks closes
at four. So anyone could have taken it and then just put it back where
they'd found it."

"That's reassuring," I said. "Did he tell you why he's feuding with
the Byrne family and why they kept him out of the Will?"

"He hasn't told me yet," she replied. "I asked him about the family,
but he just got mad, so I dropped it. I told him about the treasure
hunt, though," she said after a pause. "And how well we're doing with
the clues and everything."

Bad idea, I thought, but predictable, I suppose, under the
circumstances.

"Anyway," she said triumphantly. "He told me his clue. A salmon in a
pool. He says that now that I've explained to him how the clues work,
he thinks he can find the one that goes with his clue when we get back.
He'll bring it to us to decipher the ogham because he doesn't know how
to do it. I knew I could convince him to help."

You'd think after my performance not even an hour earlier, I'd
consider Jennifer a woman after my own heart. I didn't. In fact, I was
aghast. "You mean to tell me you held his hand and let him kiss you to
get his clue!"

Jennifer looked wounded. "That's disgusting!" she exclaimed. At
least she and I agreed on something in this conversation.

"The thing is," she went on. "I think I'm in love with him."

Yes, Rob was going to kill me. But he'd torture me first.

Chapter Ten

A LAKE IN A PLAIN

YOU were asking me about the gifts of the gods. Let me tell you
about Lugh. There's many a fine tale about that one, sometimes called
Samildan-ach for his many talents, of which I'm planning to tell you
more, or Lamfada, Long arm, for his prowess with spear and sling. 'Tis
Lugh we are celebrating, whether we remember it or not, at the August
harvest festival of Lughnasa.

'Twas Lugh who convinced Nuada Argat-lam, king of the Tuatha de
Danaan, to throw off the yoke of the oppressors, those Fomorians,
demons that they were, who were exacting great hardship on the Tuatha
de, so much so that even the great Dagda was doing service for them.
But first Lugh had to get into Nuada's royal court, a mighty feat in
itself.

But to go back to his beginnings: Lugh was part Fomorian, believe it
or not. His mother was Eithne, daughter ofBalor of the Evil Eye, a vile
giant who was king of the Fomorians. Balor got his name because one
glance of his eye would kill you dead on the spot. Now Balor was living
up in the north of Ireland on Tory Island, and he kept Eithne locked up
in a tower because of a prophecy that he would be killed by his
grandson. Balor, you can understand, was determined there wouldn 't be
one. But Kian of the Tuatha de held a grudge against Balor and, dressed
as a woman, got into Eithne's tower. Just what you might expect
happened: Eithne bore triplets. The dreadful Balor had them thrown over
a cliff to be drowned.

But one didn't die and grew up to be a man, quite unlike any other,
a god really, of formidable strength and talents: Lugh Lamfada. Lugh
presented himself at the court of Nuada Argat-lam, Nuada Silver Arm,
and asked to be in service to the king. The doorkeeper wouldn't let him
in. "I'm a carpenter," says Lugh. "We already have one of those," says
the doorkeeper. "I'm a smith," says Lugh. "We've one of those already
too." And so it went, weaver, poet, harper, man of science, and many
more. And to each the doorkeeper said, "We have one of those. "

"But do you have one who is all of these?" Lugh countered at last,
and Nuada let him in. And a good thing it was, too, for it was Lugh as
much as anyone led the victory against the Formorians.

As for the gifts of the gods: Lugh had one of them, the spear from
the magic city of Gorias, a spear against which no battle was ever won.

Second Chance went up for sale. There were no unseemly signs stuck
into the beautifully manicured lawns, which were, quite frankly,
beginning to show the lack of Michael's attention. Instead, there was a
discreet notice in the local paper suggesting interested parties direct
their enquiries to McCafferty and Mc-Glynn, Solicitors, St. Stephen's
Green, Dublin.

Eamon Byrne's body was barely cold-it was not two months since he'd
been buried-and already his family's fortunes were on the downward
spiral he had predicted just before his demise. One of his businesses,
a distribution company, had posted a significant loss, and I got the
impression from the news reports that investors were leaving the Byrne
empire in droves.

The buzz in town was that Margaret Byrne would not be replacing
either John Herlihy or Michael, at least not full time. A part-time
gardener was being sought to keep up the grounds until the house could
be sold. They were also looking for a housekeeper/cook to come in for a
few hours a day to keep the household in order. Needless to say, with
the rumors swirling around about what had happened to John and Michael,
no one was lining up for the job.

Breeta had found employment, however, although the position was far
beneath the capabilites of the young woman who had recited "Song of
Amairgen" in a bar not that long ago. I suppose that, all alone, with a
baby on the way and no inheritance, she took what she could get, in
this case, a job as a waitress in a restaurant in Dingle Town. I had
tried to track her down after our initial conversation after the
funeral, without success. She'd given up her flat in Killarney and left
no forwarding address. I'd seen her a couple of times on the streets of
Dingle Town since then, but she'd crossed the street to avoid me.

At last I caught sight of her through the window of the cafe, and
had gone in and sat down at a table. She was the only one there, and I
figured she'd have to say something to me. I was wrong. She stood at my
table, pushed a lank piece of hair out of her eyes, and just looked at
me, pen poised over her order pad.

"Hello, Breeta," I said. "I've been looking for you, hoping to talk
to you again." She said nothing. The silence between us lengthened. "I
was wondering if we could get together, after you get off work,
perhaps, for a chat." Still nothing.

"Tea with lemon," I said finally. "And perhaps a cheese sandwich."

She turned without a word and walked away, returning a few minutes
later with my order, which she placed in front of me with what seemed
to be a deafening clatter.

"I'm very sorry that what I said last time upset you so much," I
said. I meant that, too, although I still wasn't sure if she'd been the
person to trash our room or not. She said she wasn't looking for the
treasure. Maybe. But if that really were the case, perhaps she was
actively trying to stop the rest of us from looking. In any event, she
turned away without a word.

"If I can help you in any way…" I said helplessly to her retreating
back. I looked down at the tea and sandwiches, and realized I couldn't
eat a bite under the circumstances. I left some money on the table and
walked away.

Despite all the gossip in town about the cause of the two deaths,
and my personal apprehension, the second autopsy on John Herlihy's body
had not turned up any poison and had merely confirmed what we already
knew: that John Herlihy was a drinker of serious proportions. Michael
had been killed by an overdose of heroin, bad heroin, and there being
no other indications he'd used drugs before, let alone been an addict,
this was still being investigated as murder.

I hadn't yet told Rob about Jennifer and Gilhooly, although I still
intended to do so, despite Jennifer's pleading. I told her I'd give her
a couple of days to break it to him herself, but it was difficult for
her to find a quiet and private time with him to do so. Rob was
spending a great deal of his time with the gardai, or at least one of
them, trying to solve Michael's murder, and he wasn't around much in
the evenings either. He'd taken to smoking, something he'd told me he'd
given up when Jennifer was born. The men-sex-smoking thing being what
it is, I assumed his relationship with Maeve had moved to a more
intimate plane, but perhaps he took it up again in self-defense-so many
people in Ireland had the habit and the restaurants and pubs were
filled with smoke most of the time. We didn't discuss it, although I
gave him many a disapproving look on the few occasions he lit up in my
presence.

Occasionally, he'd stop by and have a bite to eat with Jennifer and
me at the Inn, but the place was invariably crowded, and when I tried
to leave them alone together, it just didn't work out. I'd come back
after hiding out in my room for several minutes to find Aidan telling
Rob and Jennifer a joke, or Malachy and Kevin would have sat down at
the table and ordered a beer. Rob was very distracted and would
occasionally rouse himself from the private world he was inhabiting to
ask me how I was doing and ask Jennifer how her sailing lessons were
going, but that was about it. I'd never seen him like this, and was
occasionally tempted to shock him back to reality by telling him
Jennifer might well be learning more than how to sail with Paddy
Gilhooly, but somehow it just didn't seem fair.

Alex had taken himself off to stay at Rose Cottage for a few days.
He said he wanted to try the place out before he decided what he wanted
to do about it, but I figured that as much as anything he just wanted
to get a good night's sleep without Rob creeping in and out at odd
hours. The idea of Alex staying alone at Rose Cottage-I couldn't go
with him and leave Jennifer alone all night, that much was
certain-caused a frenzy of anxiety for me. I told myself that it was
because I was worried about his health, and his proximity to Second
Chance, and the possibility of a murderer there. He told me not to
fuss. The compromise was he had to take my cell phone and meet me for a
pub lunch, usually splendid fish and chips and a pint of Guinness for
him, Kilkenny for me, almost every day.

Jennifer, needless to say, was consumed by her sailing lessons, and
all that these entailed.

All of which meant that I was left on my own, feeling generally out
of sorts. I felt abandoned somehow, bereft, with everyone else involved
in something different-Rob with his Maeve, Jennifer with her Paddy,
Alex with his Rose-none of which included me. In the end, I concluded I
was just not myself, for reasons I could only explain as the aftermath
of finding two bodies and being so far away from home.

So I did what I always do when I am in the thrall of feelings that I
consider beneath my dignity: I threw myself into my work, or at least I
tried to. I called Sarah a couple of times to see how things were
going, but she sounded remarkably calm about my extended stay in
Ireland, a fact I had trouble believing. I could only assume that this
tranquility on her part meant that Clive had taken over control of the
store, a thought that I translated into visions of returning eventually
to find the place cold and dark, with Clive's shop across the road a
mecca of bright lights for antiques enthusiasts everywhere. After a
couple of nights of waking up in a cold sweat, I broke down and called
Moira.

"Everything's fine," she said, to my question about how things in
general were. I was working my way around to subject of the shop
gradually.

"Sarah must be exhausted by now looking after the place by herself,"
I said, testing the waters.

"No, I don't think so," she said matter-of-factly. "She seems to be
getting along all right. Clive has found her a co-op student, someone
studying merchandising at the community college, to help her out a
couple of hours a day after class. Sarah says the kid's terrific."

Kid, I thought. Knowing Clive this would be some nubile young thing
who liked to sit on older men's knees. Moira had better keep her eye on
him.

"And Ben thinks this is the best thing that's happened to him since
he started the course," she continued. Ben, I thought, in amazement.
So, no nubile young thing. What was the catch? Maybe Ben cost a
fortune. Maybe Clive was bankrupting me.

"He's cheap too," Moira went on. "The school picks up half his wages
as part of the course."

Much to my surprise, even after several more pointed questions, I
could find nothing to fault with Clive's activities. I didn't know
whether I was relieved or disappointed. "That's great," was what I said.

"Clive has an idea he'd like to discuss with you when you get back,"
Moira said. "A little joint promotion idea he's come up with. I won't
tell you about it, because he'll want to. I think it's a terrific idea,
though."

"Oh, I don't know…" I said. There was a pause in the conversation.

"Lara," Moira said. 'We have never discussed this business, Clive
and I, I mean. I know it's been difficult for you, and I've never felt
that you wanted to talk about it, which I really feel badly about,
because until Clive and I got together, you and I had always been able
to discuss everything. And maybe a transatlantic call isn't the right
time, but Clive is really trying hard. He knows how much your
friendship means to me. I've told him. I've told him that I've been
through a lot of men in the time you and I have been friends, and that
I intend for us to be friends forever. I've really been hoping that
despite your nasty divorce, the two of you could get along."

I kind of doubted that Clive and I could ever really get along, but
Moira's friendship meant as much to me as it apparently did to her, and
I figured I'd better try. "I'm sure we can," I said.