The Celtic Riddle

"Do you tink she'd like to hear a story?" Kev asked Malachy. "Denny tells a good story," he said to me. "No, she wouldn't," Denny said, suddenly, as if he'd come out of a trance.

"Sure, I would," I replied.

"Come on, Denny," Kev said. "Tell this nice young girl a story." I considered how irritating I found it when Gilhooly called me a girl, but how sweet I thought it was when Kev did. The path of feminism is not always simple.

"The young ones don't listen to Denny's stories anymore," Malachy whispered. "That's why he tells them to the post and the pier. So he won't forget them."

"What did you say?" Kev said, elbowing his brother. "Speak up!"

Malachy glared at him.

"Why doesn't he just write them down?" I asked.

Malachy looked horrified. "Dey can't be written down," he said. " 'Twould spoil them. They're too special for that."

"Tell her the one about the golden ring," Kev said, reaching over to poke his mate.

"No, that's no good," Malachy said. "Everybody knows that one. Tell her the one about the mirror. That's the best!"

Denny didn't say a word. "Okay, Denny," Malachy said in an exasperated tone. "Tell her whichever one you want."

"One of the old ones," Kev added. "I don't suppose you'd have someting to help Denny wet his whistle, now would you?" he said, looking dolefully at the now empty bottle. "A little liquid libation to get him going?"

"No, I'm afraid not," I replied, "not knowing that I was about to make your acquaintance. But I'll be sure to bring something next time I'm here," I added. "What does Denny like?""Whiskey, of course," Malachy said.

"Me too," Kev said. "It doesn't have to be really fine. Just about any whiskey will do."

"No, don't bring us the good stuff," Malachy agreed. " Tis no use acquiring the taste for that, our circumstances being what they are. A shame they keep perfectly good whiskey around so long without drinking it, anyway."

We all looked over at Denny.

"You'll just have to wait," Malachy whispered. "Denny talks when he wants to."

As we waited to see whether the spirit would move Denny, we all sat in companionable silence. I, of course, thought about the treasure hunt, as it had come to be called in my mind. I thought again about John Herlihy and the plunge to his death. It had to be linked to the treasure in some way, although how was not immediately apparent. Neither Deirdre nor Herlihy had been given an envelope to participate in the treasure hunt. It was a team-building exercise, to use that nau-seatingly overused business term, a ploy to get the family to work together. But Alex, Michael, and Gilhooly were included, for reasons I simply didn't know and couldn't guess.

On the surface at least, the ploy seemed to be working, with the family sticking together. We were seriously outnumbered, Alex and Michael against the rest: Breeta, Margaret, Eithne, Fionuala, Sean, Conail, and Padraig Gilhooly. I'd had unpleasant run-ins with two of the seven, if you counted Conail's nasty glance and the run-in with the boat as one, and counted Paddy as the second. If events unfolded the way they'd started, I had five more unpleasant encounters to go.

On the other hand, it was pretty hard to imagine that if Herlihy had been helped over the side-and I had to admit the jury was still out on that one-it could have to do with anything else but the treasure hunt. Alex had read his clue aloud, and everyone had heard him, Herlihy included. Perhaps Herlihy immediately linked it to the little boat, the Ocean Crest, in the cove and had made his way there as fast as his drunken legs would carry him, hoping to be cut in on the deal. If that had been the case, maybe one of the family had raced him to it, with deadly consequences. Once Herlihy's body had been found, the police were all over the site, and it would be difficult for any of them to get to the boat.

Maybe that's what Conail was up to. He'd been biding his time until the police left and was about to make his way down to the cove, when we breezed in from the sea. Or perhaps he'd been there already, but hadn't been able to find it. Seeing me pulling the little plastic packet out of the bow would certainly explain the ugly look on his face.