The Celtic Riddle

Fortunately, I was not the one to find the body. That sad task fell to Paddy Gilhooly, who was out in his boat early that morning, and saw something suspicious nearer to shore.

"Can't blame Conail O'Connor for this one," Rob sighed, "seeing as how we have him under lock and key. I suppose we'll have to let him go. We can't hold him forever for having battered a garda's nose. Not that we wouldn't like to, but it can't be done."

"And the rest of the family?"

"Eithne, Sean, and Margaret have, as usual, provided each other with an alibi. All at home all night together. Way too cozy, if you ask me. Fionuala is being coy, but I think we'll find she was with some guy, married, no doubt, who will eventually come in here looking furtive and asking us to promise we won't tell his wife. Now, Gilhooly, I haven't yet talked to. He may have found the body, but that doesn't automatically mean he's innocent, although I understand he's pretty upset by what happened. He's still hugging the porcelain bowl after the shock of finding her, I gather, according to Garda Minogue. We'll have to see what he has to say for himself a little later.

"I'm supposed to check on Alex, by the way, since he's on the list of people who got something out of the Will. I doubt he'll have anyone to confirm his whereabouts, seeing he's staying up there all alone. And no," he said looking at my startled face, "I do not think Alex did it. I'm taking this note of Deirdre's, you understand. Any idea what she might have wanted to tell you?"

I shook my head.

"When did she die?" I asked.

"Sometime in the night, or very early morning. Several people saw her at dinnertime, including one of those lawyer types. Those two drove back together to Dublin-I've talked to them." I was tempted to tell him that Charles had called me at midnight from Dublin, to confirm his whereabouts, but I decided that was unnecessary, and I was just being uncharitable.

"The family said she went to bed at the usual time," Rob went on, "but sometime in the night she must have crept out, to what? See someone, I guess. Who, I have no idea.

"God, she had a rough life," he said, riffling papers in the file. "Looks to me like years of really poor working conditions. Second Chance, for all its faults, must have seemed like paradise. No wonder she came back. She worked for several years in a dry cleaners before she went there," he said, pulling out a piece of paper. "In the back, too, with all those chemicals. Perhaps that's why she looked so morose. Well, if you think of anything I should know, call me."

I walked back to the Inn from the garda station, thinking about Deirdre. Despite the morbid events of the last few hours, the town looked rather gay, with posters and banners strung everywhere proclaiming the music festival, set to begin in less than a week. Everyone in town was talking about it and obviously looking forward to it. I found it impossible to get into the spirit, however. I could not shake an overwhelming feeling of helplessness in the face of terrible events. I just couldn't make any sense of what had happened: another staff person killed, another individual, who hadn't even been given one of the clues, had met a horrible death.

I kept thinking about my conversation with Moira, when she'd said that it would be either money or passion that had led to it all. If that were the case, there seemed to be only two possibilities for me to explore: the treasure or Eamon Byrne's past. I hadn't found the treasure nor knew yet what it was. There was also a lot about Eamon Byrne I didn't know. But I did know he was always looking for the four great gifts of the gods. I headed down to the pier. Denny sat there talking away to a post.

"Denny," I said softly, then more loudly. "Denny!"

He looked slightly baffled for a moment. "Lara," he said finally. "It's you."

"I brought you a bottle of whiskey, Denny," I said. "And I need to hear some of your stories."

"Which one would you like?" he asked, looking pleased.

"All of them, Denny," I said. "I want to hear all Eamon Byrne's favorite stories, the ones about the gods and the great battles, the arrival of Amairgen on Ireland's shores. And I want to hear about the lost child again, the story of the Kerryman and the child stolen by the fairies," I added on impulse. "The one that was Eamon Byrne's favorite. Start anywhere you like."