The Celtic Riddle

I decided that maybe we really would have to come at this several different ways. Malachy, Kevin, and Jennifer could search for more clues. Alex I'd send on another research project, to the local library, or wherever, to begin to identify the names in the ogham clues. Myself, I thought I'd do a little poking around in Eamon Byrne's past. After all, we had the time. We were stuck here for a while as the murder investigation marked its stately course. Currently, we were awaiting the possible exhumation of John Heriihy to check for poison in his system, an outcome I didn't doubt for a minute.

Rob, I thought, was perfectly happy to stay indefinitely. He'd managed to convince his superiors on the force back home to lend him to the local authorities for a while, a stroke of good fortune, according to Rob, as it meant he'd be paid while he was here. I rather thought he would consider it a stroke of good fortune for other reasons, but held my tongue. Jennifer was only too happy to be able to stay a little longer. While Rob had initially objected to her taking sailing lessons from Padraig Gilhooly, who he reasoned was part of a murder investigation, I'd persuaded him to lighten up a little, there being no evidence whatsoever to implicate Padraig. Several of Paddy's chums had attested to his presence at their favorite watering hole the afternoon the Will was being read and the evening Michael had died. His landlady-he had a flat in town-claimed to have heard him come in shortly after closing time, not to leave again till morning. In any event, Jennifer loved her sailing lessons, was beginning to make some friends in town, and had really blossomed, not nearly the shy and rather immature person I'd arrived with. Alex was his normal calm self.

The only problem for me was the shop, and I was starting to fret about it. Sarah didn't seem terribly perturbed when I told her my return had been delayed, saying that Clive was being very helpful. This development I found disturbing. What exactly was Clive, the rat, up to, I wondered. I decided I'd go up to the room before the others came back so I could phone my friend, and Clive's new partner, Moira, to assess the situation without having to admit I was worried. I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, then turned back to put the Master List under lock and key once again at the front desk. I felt sort of silly doing this: carrying around my cash and credit cards, but locking up a piece of paper, but right from the start, I'd decided to be safe rather than sorry.

A good thing it was too. I opened the door to Jennifer's and my room, and my jaw dropped. If I needed confirmation that we weren't the only ones in this treasure hunt, I had it. The place was a shambles. The room had been thoroughly searched. The mattresses had been lifted and pushed against a wall, the carpet tossed in a heap in a corner; the drawers were all open and contents dumped; our suitcases had been lifted down from the shelf in the cupboard, opened and dropped as well. Even the bathroom had been searched. It looked as if every packet in my cosmetic bag had been opened.

Conail again, I wondered, or worse yet, Breeta? As much as I didn't like to think it, I had told her that very afternoon that we had several clues back at the Inn. At peak time in the bar, the residential part of the Inn was pretty much left untended. The front door of that part of the Inn was kept locked, but to someone who knew their way around the place, it would be easy enough to get in, through the kitchen, or the entrance off the bar. I'd given her plenty of time while I'd moped around the bar, licking my wounds after her accusations.

Shocked, I just stood there staring at the mess. Eventually I became conscious of footsteps coming up the stairs and two familiar voices.

"It's my money," Jennifer said. "You said so. You said I could do whatever I wanted with it."

"No daughter of mine," Rob began as they rounded the corner and stopped dead at the open door. Jennifer gasped.

Two thoughts came into my mind at that moment. One was that Rob was just being an old poop where Jennifer was concerned, and I was going to tell him so. The second was that it was time I saw a little more of Ireland.

We stood silently in the doorway for a moment or two.

"Ffuts ym gnihcuot mucs etah I," Jennifer said at last.

"Oot em," I agreed.

Chapter Nine. A SALMON IN A POOL

DEIRDRE almost dropped the tea tray when she saw me. And a shame it would have been too, as it would have fallen on an exquisite antique Aubusson carpet, and dashed to pieces some very fine porcelain cups. I suppose it might actually have cost her her job, the obsession of her new employer being what it was.