The Celtic Riddle

"I understand from Breeta that there's been a robbery at Second Chance," I said at last, sipping tea awkwardly from the cup and saucer she'd handed me. I really dislike those delicate little teacups that don't give you enough room to put even one finger through the handle, forcing you to hold on for dear life lest you dump the contents on the wool rug at your feet. But everything about Margaret Byrne was like that. The room was filled with delicate little ornaments of crystal and china, some balanced breathlessly on the edges of glass shelves and side tables with delicately carved legs. I found myself wondering what she and Eamon Byrne, who favored dark wood and ancient swords, had ever found in common.

"Yes," she replied, eyes downcast once more. "At such a time…" her voice trailed off again. It was a favorite conversational gambit of hers, I noticed, to allow others to finish off sentences for her, without having to voice the hypocrisies personally.

"Breeta says her clue was stolen from the safe in your husband's study," I said, ignoring her attempts at delicacy. "Who would do that, do you think?"

"But she, you, couldn't think this robbery was about a clue," Margaret said, her chronic expression of surprise heightened at the thought. Eithne raised her eye-brows the same way her mother did. "They were looking for money, surely."

"Was money taken?" I asked,

"There was very little money in the safe," she said. "Just a little housekeeping money. But yes, it was taken."

"Was anything else stolen?" I asked.

"Nothing of value, just some of Eamon's things," she said. Then, thinking perhaps that might sound callous, she added, "Though, of great sentimental value, of course."

"Of course," I agreed. "How dreadful for you. I hope you called the police." At least on this score I was sincere. I could hardly wait to send Rob back down to the garda station to inquire about signs of forcible entry and so on. Not that I thought there'd be any. I was prepared to bet the store this had been an inside job.

Margaret shook her head. "There was really no need to bother them about something so minor."

"What things of your husband's did they take?" I asked, trying to sound sympathetic, which in many ways I was. Not about the robbery, perhaps. I just didn't believe her on that score. But the situation, her deceased husband's rather callous remarks, and the little treasure hunt he'd concocted for his heirs must have been truly upsetting for them all. I told myself to be more understanding about their general demeanor.

"His diary, and two of his maps."

"Surely the maps are worth something?" I went on doggedly.

"But they weren't any of the old ones," she said. "Perhaps the thief was unaware of the value of what he missed. My husband's collection of weapons and manuscripts is quite valuable. Regrettably, he has left these things to Trinity College." Her tone hardened.

"Now," she said setting down her teacup and looking straight at me, so that I saw for the first time her eyes, hard as polished diamonds, and the firm lines around her mouth that even surgery couldn't erase. "If I have satisfied your curiosity, I have a request to make of you. Please leave us to our grief. This treasure hunt of my husband's is cruel and inappropriate, and the family has decided we will have nothing whatsoever to do with it."

Really, I thought. And maybe pigs can fly, babies are brought by storks, and the Little People do live at the end of the garden. She was right, though, about her husband. His cutting words on that video must have been truly awful for them. I decided I should be more tolerant.

"I would ask you to do the same," Margaret went on. "Please leave us to deal with our grief as best we can. Which brings me to one more matter we wish to discuss with you." She said we, but so far, she'd done all the talking.

"Rose Cottage is a place of considerable sentimental value for the family," she continued. Eithne nodded vigorously, and even Fionuala looked up from her study of her hands. "It was a place where Eamon…" she paused for effect. "Where Eamon spent a great deal of time. We were somewhat surprised that someone whom Eamon had known so slightly, and so long ago, should come to possess it. We would ask that you consider returning it to the family."

Alex looked startled, and after a second, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I don't think we'll be doing that," I said quickly, before he could say anything, and as any glimmer of sympathy I'd felt for the widow Byrne vanished in an instant."Then you will understand the family will feel compelled to pursue whatever legal options we have to bring Rose Cottage back where it belongs. My husband was very ill and didn't know what he was doing. Otherwise, I am sure he would never have left the cottage to Mr. Stewart." She spoke as if Alex wasn't even in the room.