The Celtic Riddle

Whoever had renovated and decorated the place had done so with meticulous attention to detail, a real sympathy for the Irish Georgian style, and a thoroughly lavish budget. I could only just imagine how much it would cost to accomplish the look. It was very impressive, and a little intimidating, and I decided this was intentional. If the fee schedule you were given upon entry to the building didn't deter you, then this room might prove an effective winnowing process for all but the spectacularly financially endowed or, like me, the profoundly stubborn. After a few minutes here, one would be either impressed and prepared to pay big for Tweedledum and Tweedledee's clearly exceptional services, or would have skulked away, convinced one couldn't afford them. I stayed the course, hoping I wouldn't have to take out a second mortgage on my house, or worse yet sell my half-interest in Greenhalgh McClintoch, to pay the fees.

After several minutes of cooling my heels and being suitably cowed by the decor, I heard footsteps and voices coming down the stairs from above, someone more important than I, apparently, then a few minutes later, footsteps coming up the stairs, and Deirdre entered with the tea tray. We were both surprised to see each other.

"What are you doing here?" she gasped, cups rattling and the tray precariously balanced. I immediately remembered my promise in Dingle Town that I wouldn't follow her to Dublin. But how was I to know?

"I'm here to see one of the solicitors about Alex Stewart's inheritance," I said in my most soothing tones, reaching out to steady the tray. "It's lovely to see you again, Deirdre. I'm delighted to see that you've been able to find some employment right away. I hope everything is working out well for you."

"Yes, thank you," she said regaining her composure. "Would you like a cup of tea and a biscuit?" She poured tea from a silver tea service into two faintly iridescent cream-colored cups, Beleek most likely, mine clear, and another drowned in milk. Seconds later, the solicitor entered the room.

I rose from my chair. "Mr…" I began. Which one was it? McCafferty or McGlynn, I wondered, frantically. Tweedledum or Tweedledee?

"Ms. McClintoch, I'm Charles McCafferty," he said, I extending his hand. "Thank you, Deirdre. You may leave us. How may I be of service?" he said looking first at me and then at his watch. Was it my imagination, or could I hear a meter ticking away?

He was dressed just as formally as he had been that day at Second Chance, dark three-piece suit, white shirt with impeccably starched collar, silk tie and puff, this time in a classic maroon with a crest of some kind. I wondered what his partner was wearing, maroon tie with stripes perhaps? He smelled nice, though, a subtle cologne that made me think of fresh sea breezes blowing across fields of heather, and leather armchairs in front of roaring fires.

Get a grip, Lara, I told myself. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," I said, shaking his hand.

"A pleasure," he said graciously, gesturing me toward a chair, and sitting opposite me.

For several minutes, it was all business. We talked about Irish taxes, land ownership by foreign residents, the question of the right-of-way across Byrne's land, and so on, all things Alex might legitimately need to know. McCafferty made a few notes with his expensive but refined fountain pen, in a little notebook with gold-edged pages and a leather cover, and from time to time dispensed advice which, considering how much we'd have to pay for it, I hoped would be useful for Alex.

I had a rather delicate matter I wanted to discuss with him, and it took me a minute or two to work my way around to it. It was a subject on which Alex seemed surprisingly passive, but I was not about to give in. "The Byrne family has indicated that they may be contesting the Will in an effort to get Rose Cottage back," I said finally. "I don't want to put you in a bad position," I added, "and I know you have represented Mr. Byrne's interests for some time, but whose side would you be on, in that regard? And if not ours, could you recommend another solicitor? We don't know anyone here, of course."

"The heirs would sue the estate, and as executor of that estate, I would be obliged to defend it," he said. "We would enlist the services of a barrister, of course, to represent us in court. I sincerely hope it will not come to that, however. I think that would be quite unfortunate. And so, yes, I would be on your side, to use your terminology."

"Thank you," I said, rising from my seat. "By the way, what happens to the money that would have been paid to John Herlihy and Michael Davis?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Stewart does not benefit," he said.

"I assumed that," I persisted, "but who does?" This was, after all, one of the things I'd come to Dublin to learn.