The Celtic Riddle

The English got blamed for quite a few things around here, I was beginning to notice. As I was getting my wallet to pay the bill, I looked toward the bar. It looked nice, the walls deep blue, with lots of old posters, nicely framed, advertising various types of brew. Newcastle Brown Ale! one poster said. Courage! said another. Apparently they drank English beer here, their views of the English notwithstanding.

I looked at the sign for the British brew, and then picked up one of the spoons and peered at the crest on the handle. It was a boar, rather fierce-looking with two bones crossed in its mouth. "What's the name of this place, Deirdre?" I asked.

"Here or the bar?" she replied. "This is Brigid's Tea Room: That's Brigid over there," she said pointing to the woman who had brought the tea and who was now at the cash. "The pub's called The Boar's Head Arms."

"Give me a minute," I said. I took a piece of paper out of my bag and scribbled a note on it. I handed both the money and the note to Brigid. She looked at it, and then me.

"Come with me," she said finally. She picked up a tray of tea and headed up a flight of stairs to the second floor. This was obviously the living quarters for Brigid and her family. An elderly woman sat in a large armchair in front of a television set. She looked up as we entered the room and surveyed me suspiciously. "Is everything all right?" she asked Brigid in a querulous voice.

"Just grand, Mother. Here's your tea now. How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, at my age. Is it strawberry preserves?" the woman replied, poking at the food with a spoon. Apparently satisfied, she turned to me. She was very frail, her hands almost transparent and lined with blue veins, her hair absolutely white. Despite the warmth of the room, which I found uncomfortable, she was wrapped in a blanket, and she was almost dwarfed by the large chair in which she sat. But her eyes were bright, and I had the impression she was sharp as a tack.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Lara," I said.

"She's come for Eamon's clue, Mother," Brigid said. "She has the password, 'the boar enraged.' "

"You're not from around here. How would you know about it?" the old woman asked suspiciously.

"A friend of mine received something from Eamon Byrne in his Will."

"Who is your friend, and what did he get?"

"His name is Alex Stewart, and he was left Rose Cottage."

The old woman looked surprised, and then peered at me intently. "Then he must have been a special friend of Eamon's."

"I suppose in some way he was," I agreed. "Alex saved Eamon's life long ago."

The woman just nodded. "He was a fine man, no matter what they say. He's been very good to us. Wasn't his fault what happened, you know."

"And what was that?" I asked, but Brigid returned from another room and handed me a piece of paper.

"None of your gossip now, Mother," she admonished her mother. "Pay her no mind," she said to me as she lead me to the door.

I'd have loved to ask more, but one thing about this place seemed clear. If there were secrets here, and there were enough hints they existed, people were not about to share them, at least with me.

I walked Deirdre back to the car, and got out her bag, and waited with her until the bus came. As she was about to board, she turned and handed me the hat-box. "For Breeta, when she's ready," she said.

She was almost on the bus when I thought of one more question. "Who gets Michael's and John's money now that they're gone, do you know?"

She paused, one foot up on the lower step, perplexed. "Now, that's a question, isn't it? I can't say as I recall. I was so pleased to be receiving something I didn't pay much heed to the rest of it." She shrugged and stepped up on to the bus. "I don't expect it's me."

As the bus pulled out, I opened the hatbox. Vigs was happily munching on a lettuce leaf inside.

"What am I going to do with you?" I asked him. The simple answer was give him to Breeta as Deirdre had suggested. There were two problems with that. In the first place, I wasn't sure this was the best idea. Michael had gone back to Second Chance to get Vigs at Breeta's request, and while neither she nor the tortoise could be blamed for what happened, the sight of the little creature might upset her. The second was that I didn't know where she was. Sheila, the innkeeper, had said Breeta had been seen around looking for work and a cheap place to stay, refusing, even under the circumstances, to move back home.

Rather fortuitously, or so I thought at the time, I caught sight of Breeta at a table of a small local eatery, and approached her, Vigs in his hatbox with me.

"May I join you for a moment?" I asked her. A few seconds went by before she nodded her assent and I sat down across from her and ordered a coffee.

Breeta went on eating, virtually ignoring me. She was obviously eating for two, a rather large platter of fish and chips in front of her, with bread on the side, and a large cola too.