The Celtic Riddle

Eamon Byrne's body was barely cold-it was not two months since he'd been buried-and already his family's fortunes were on the downward spiral he had predicted just before his demise. One of his businesses, a distribution company, had posted a significant loss, and I got the impression from the news reports that investors were leaving the Byrne empire in droves.

The buzz in town was that Margaret Byrne would not be replacing either John Herlihy or Michael, at least not full time. A part-time gardener was being sought to keep up the grounds until the house could be sold. They were also looking for a housekeeper/cook to come in for a few hours a day to keep the household in order. Needless to say, with the rumors swirling around about what had happened to John and Michael, no one was lining up for the job.

Breeta had found employment, however, although the position was far beneath the capabilites of the young woman who had recited "Song of Amairgen" in a bar not that long ago. I suppose that, all alone, with a baby on the way and no inheritance, she took what she could get, in this case, a job as a waitress in a restaurant in Dingle Town. I had tried to track her down after our initial conversation after the funeral, without success. She'd given up her flat in Killarney and left no forwarding address. I'd seen her a couple of times on the streets of Dingle Town since then, but she'd crossed the street to avoid me.

At last I caught sight of her through the window of the cafe, and had gone in and sat down at a table. She was the only one there, and I figured she'd have to say something to me. I was wrong. She stood at my table, pushed a lank piece of hair out of her eyes, and just looked at me, pen poised over her order pad.

"Hello, Breeta," I said. "I've been looking for you, hoping to talk to you again." She said nothing. The silence between us lengthened. "I was wondering if we could get together, after you get off work, perhaps, for a chat." Still nothing.

"Tea with lemon," I said finally. "And perhaps a cheese sandwich."

She turned without a word and walked away, returning a few minutes later with my order, which she placed in front of me with what seemed to be a deafening clatter.

"I'm very sorry that what I said last time upset you so much," I said. I meant that, too, although I still wasn't sure if she'd been the person to trash our room or not. She said she wasn't looking for the treasure. Maybe. But if that really were the case, perhaps she was actively trying to stop the rest of us from looking. In any event, she turned away without a word.

"If I can help you in any way…" I said helplessly to her retreating back. I looked down at the tea and sandwiches, and realized I couldn't eat a bite under the circumstances. I left some money on the table and walked away.

Despite all the gossip in town about the cause of the two deaths, and my personal apprehension, the second autopsy on John Herlihy's body had not turned up any poison and had merely confirmed what we already knew: that John Herlihy was a drinker of serious proportions. Michael had been killed by an overdose of heroin, bad heroin, and there being no other indications he'd used drugs before, let alone been an addict, this was still being investigated as murder.

I hadn't yet told Rob about Jennifer and Gilhooly, although I still intended to do so, despite Jennifer's pleading. I told her I'd give her a couple of days to break it to him herself, but it was difficult for her to find a quiet and private time with him to do so. Rob was spending a great deal of his time with the gardai, or at least one of them, trying to solve Michael's murder, and he wasn't around much in the evenings either. He'd taken to smoking, something he'd told me he'd given up when Jennifer was born. The men-sex-smoking thing being what it is, I assumed his relationship with Maeve had moved to a more intimate plane, but perhaps he took it up again in self-defense-so many people in Ireland had the habit and the restaurants and pubs were filled with smoke most of the time. We didn't discuss it, although I gave him many a disapproving look on the few occasions he lit up in my presence.

Occasionally, he'd stop by and have a bite to eat with Jennifer and me at the Inn, but the place was invariably crowded, and when I tried to leave them alone together, it just didn't work out. I'd come back after hiding out in my room for several minutes to find Aidan telling Rob and Jennifer a joke, or Malachy and Kevin would have sat down at the table and ordered a beer. Rob was very distracted and would occasionally rouse himself from the private world he was inhabiting to ask me how I was doing and ask Jennifer how her sailing lessons were going, but that was about it. I'd never seen him like this, and was occasionally tempted to shock him back to reality by telling him Jennifer might well be learning more than how to sail with Paddy Gilhooly, but somehow it just didn't seem fair.