The Celtic Riddle (29 page)

"Well, what if it was Owen? What if he's given up looking for the
child and has turned his attention to taking revenge on the Byrne
family?"

"And to exact this revenge, he kills the hired help? One of whom is
his sister, I might add? Are you trying tosay that having to do your
own housework is puntment enough? Surely not!"

I glared at him. These policemen with their gallows humor. "I'd
still like to know where Owen Mac Rothbeen for the last thirty-five
years," I muttered.

Rob just looked at me. "I'll check it out," he said at last.

"Please do," I said. I didn't care how ridiculous it sounded. My
money was on Owen Mac Roth.

Chapter Sixteen

THE PLACE WHERE THE SUN SETS

ABOUT Owen Mac Roth," Rob said the next day. "He spent twenty-five
of the last thirty years in jail. Joined the IRA and bombed somebody,
got caught, and got a life sentence."

"But he's out now, right?" I said.

"He got out," Rob agreed. "Five years ago. And promptly got himself
killed in a drunken barroom brawl. Artery cut by a broken whiskey
bottle. Bled to death before the paramedics could get to him. I'd say
we could cross Owen Mac Roth off our list of suspects now, couldn't we?
Any other theories you'd like to explore?" I was finding his tone
irritating, and was about to say so.

"It was a good idea, though," he added. "And worth checking into.
Maybe you should have gone to police academy instead of taking up such
a risky profession as retail," he smiled. That's the thing about Rob:
Just when I'm about to claw his eyes out, he says something funny and
nice.

So much, though, for my theory about Owen Mac Roth. I thought about
it for some time. The point was, while I had come away that first day
at Second Chance with a very poor opinion of the Byrne family, I was no
longer sure I'd been right. Eithne Byrne was a very nice person;
Fionuala and Breeta were too, despite appearances to the contrary. And
Eamon Byrne had been a very sick man. Once long ago, he had made a
mistake. A very bad mistake, no doubt about it, with tragic
consequences, but a mistake nevertheless. And now the family was paying
for it. I didn't believe in curses, or broken geise, any more than I
believed in the fairies. Instead, I was sure that some malignant force
was pulling the strings off stage, bringing the family to ruin. I just
didn't know who this malignant force might be yet. It wasn't Owen Mac
Roth. That much was certain. And it could hardly be Deirdre, although
somehow she had to be part of it. So whom did that leave?

When I thought about it, there was something patently wrong with
Deirdre that went beyond the fact that she was a Mac Roth. She wasn't a
maid, either. Eithne and Fionuala had laughed about how she kept
spilling everything and breaking their mother's ornaments. I'd thought
at the time she might be either paying Margaret back for her ill humor,
or was just nervous in her presence, something it was easy enough to
understand. But Rob had said she'd worked for years in a dry cleaning
establishment. Bent on revenge, perhaps, she'd infiltrated Second
Chance. But how had she managed to snag the position with absolutely no
qualifications that I could see?

I picked up the telephone and called Second Chance. Anticipating
Margaret, I was relieved when Eithne answered.

"I'm sorry to be a pest, Eithne, but I have a couple more questions.
Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she replied. I'd been afraid when the sherry wore off,
she'd regret her candor, but she still sounded very nice and friendly.

"It's about Deirdre again. Where did she come from, do you know?"

"Not really," she replied. "As I told you, she came when Kitty
McCarthy, our old housekeeper retired. I do remember we had trouble
finding a replacement. We were heartbroken when Kitty left. She was
getting on, of course, but we didn't seem to notice, at least I didn't.
She'd been with us since I was a little girl. She was a hard act to
follow, I suppose. We advertised, of course, in town, but my mother,"
she paused and then lowered her voice. "Well, my mother isn't the
easiest person in the world to get along with. She has a warm heart
under it all, really she has, but it's not what people see, and no one
in town wanted the job. So we advertised a little farther afield and
found Deirdre."

"Did she come with references?"

"I suppose she must have. Mother looked after all that."

"So you don't know who gave her a reference?"

"No. I suppose we could ask Mother."

"Would you mind? I know it would help the police in their
investigation, tracing something of her life before she came to Second
Chance." It wasn't entirely a lie. If they knew enough to ask, then the
answer would be helpful to them, I was sure.

"All right. Wait a minute. Mother!" I heard her call.

She was back on the line in a minute or two. "Sorry for the delay,"
she said. "Mother's trying to cook. Terrible scene. She says our
solicitors, McCafferty and McGlynn, helped us find Deirdre."

"Thank you. One last question," I said. "Does the name Mac Roth mean
anything to you?"

"It's a good Irish name," she said after a short pause. "But other
than that, no, I don't think so. Should it?"

"I don't know," I replied. "Perhaps. I really don't know."

I hung up and dialed again.

"McCafferty and McGlynn," the officious voice said.

"May I speak to Charles McCafferty?" I said.

"Who may I tell him is calling?" she said.

"Lara McClintoch," I replied.

"I'm sorry Mr. McCafferty is out of the office," she replied. "May I
take a message?"

"I'm assisting the police in their investigations at Second Chance,"
I replied. "Either put Mr. McCafferty on the line, or the police will
have to call." This was patently untrue, but I was beyond caring.
Furthermore, brush-offs by imperious secretaries bring out the worst in
me.

"Really, he isn't here," she replied. Then why did you ask who I
was, I was tempted to say.

"Mr. McGlynn, then," I said.

I thought she was going to hang up, but in a few seconds McGlynn
came on the line. "Ms. McClintoch," he said smoothly, although I could
hear a hint of irritation in his voice. Apparently, he didn't like it
when his receptionist was bullied by people like me. "How nice to hear
from you again. How may I be of assistance this time?"

"I'm making inquiries about Deirdre Flood," I replied. "Margaret
Byrne was telling me that you provided a reference for Deirdre and…"

"I do not believe that is the case," he interrupted. "I did not know
Deirdre personally." His tone implied that he wouldn't have anything to
do with a lowlife like Deirdre. "I do recall that Margaret, Mrs. Byrne,
asked us to assist her in finding someone. This is not, you will
understand, the kind of thing we would normally do as their
solicitors." I got the distinct impression Ryan McGlynn considered this
little task very much beneath him. "I would have thought Mrs. Byrne
could have dealt with an employment agency," he continued. "But she
insisted, for some reason I do not understand. We had just snagged, I
mean we had just secured, the Byrne account, and of course, wished to
do anything we could to help out."

"Did that include checking references?" I said.

"I'm sure it would have," he replied.

"She was a dry cleaner," I said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She had worked for years in a dry cleaning establishment, you know,
throwing clothes into large machines filled with cleaning fluid, then
taking them out again and putting them on hangers. What was it about
this kind of work that you thought qualified her to be a maid at the
home of one of your best clients?"

"Well… I don't really know what you are talking about. What are you
implying?" he blustered. "Of course we would have checked references."

"So who gave her a reference?" I asked.

"I would hardly recall five years later, now would I?" he said. "And
even if I did, and if what you say about her background is true, which
I'm not aware that it is, who is to say she didn't falsify her
experience and provide bogus references?"

"I'd have thought you'd make a more thorough check than that, for
such a good client," I said. "But perhaps you could check your files?"

"I very much doubt we would have kept such information in our
files," he replied. "I am certain, however, that we would have taken
the utmost care in selecting someone for the Byrne residence."

"Would you mind checking the file just in case?" I said.

"I do mind," he replied. "The information would be confidential in
any event."

"Okay," I replied. "I'll let the police here know. If they really
need the answer, they can get a warrant. But you know all that, of
course."

"Stay on the line," he said icily.

A few minutes later, Ms. Officious was back on the line. "Mr.
McGlynn has asked me to let you know that Deirdre Flood gave as a
reference a training school called Domestic Help International. The
letter says she passed her courses with distinction."

"Dated when?"

"March 1, 1990," she replied.

"And this is a well-known institution, is it, this Domestic Help
International?" It had a rather generic sort of name. Just the same, I
knew I'd never heard of it. Apparently she hadn't either.

"Well, I don't know," she replied. "I don't think I've heard of it,
but I wouldn't. I graduated from secretarial college, of course."

"Of course," I replied. "Good for you." I was tempted to ask her if
they had special classes in imperious demeanor at her college, a
subject at which she would no doubt have excelled.

"It must be a reputable place, though," she went on, apparently not
noticing my particular tone. "It's located in Merrion Square."

"That's good, is it?" I asked. I actually knew that Merrion Square
was a posh part of Dublin, but I wasn't about to say so. I wanted her
to tell me all she knew.

"Merrion Square? Of course it is. One of the finest addresses in
Dublin. Very close to St. Stephen's Green," she added.

"And does it have a fine phone number too?" I asked.

"There's no phone number on the letter," she replied.

"Thanks for your help," I said as I hung up. "And give my regards to
Ryan and Charles, won't you?"

I checked with Dublin information, but the prestigious Domestic Help
International didn't appear to have managed to get itself a telephone.
Somehow I doubted it had managed a real address for itself either.
Bogus references indeed. Deirdre had apparently pulled the wool over
McCafferty and McGlynn's eyes completely, a fact that should have
caused them considerable embarrassment, but didn't. She was able to do
it, I was sure, because they were miffed at having to do such a menial
task for the family, but too afraid to say no to their new, rich, and
powerful client. They needed the money to restore that lovely Georgian
town house of theirs.

So where did this leave me? Nowhere, I thought sadly. Absolutely
nowhere. I went out for a walk to think about it some more. Large buses
of the touring variety were parked on the edge of town. The music
festival was about to begin. Already the streets seemed more crowded as
tourists clogged the area. All the shops, thrilled no doubt by the
business, had posters in their windows advertising the special events,
and canned music blasted from many a store. Despite all the noise and
excitement, I continued to noodle the problem around for some time.

Deirdre would have been a good bet for the murders except for two
things. The Byrne family, with the exception of Eamon himself, who'd
apparently died quite naturally as a result of his illness, were all
still alive. As Rob had pointed out, if she was bent on revenge, why
kill the staff? Unless, of course, Herlihy and Michael had figured her
out. That could be the explanation. Herlihy as the butler couldn't help
but notice Deirdre didn't have a clue what she was doing when she
arrived. But she'd lasted almost five years there. If he was going to
rat on her, it should have been right away. And Michael? Probably much
too nice to reveal her as a fraud. Somehow this didn't work.

All that aside, the most compelling reason for eliminating her as a
suspect was that she was very dead, and a murder victim at that, a fact
that almost automatically disqualified her as a candidate for
perpetrator of the other deaths.

I decided to go back to the Inn to see if I could find Jennifer and
have a bite to eat with her. Aidan, the proprietor greeted me as I came
in. "Miss Jennifer says you're to read this before you go upstairs," he
said smiling and handing me an envelope.

I tore it open. Inside was a hastily scribbled note. Aunt Lara-Dad's
here. I'm going upstairs to tell him about Paddy. Stand clear! Love,
Jen.

Chapter Seventeen

WHO CALLS THE STARS?

YOU, young lady, will go to your room," Rob shouted. "And stay there
until I say you can come out. And you will never, ever, see that guy
again!"

Do we suppose Jennifer has already told her father about the
boyfriend, by any chance? I asked myself.

"But it's the music festival," Jennifer sulked.

"I don't care if it's the Second Coming," Rob said. "You are
grounded, confined to barracks, under house arrest. Do you get my drift
here?

"As for you," he said, his face flushed with anger, as Jennifer
stomped across the hall to our room. "Have you aided and abetted in all
of this? Have you set my daughter up with this Gilhooly fellow? I left
her in your charge, you know."

"You did not leave her in my charge," I retorted. "And I did not aid
and abet. I was as surprised as you are when I found out. Yes, I may
have known about it a few days before you did, but that was because I
was paying attention. You, on the other hand, have totally abrogated
your responsibility as her parent. And furthermore, I do not think that
yelling at her about it is going to change anything."