Free The Celtic Riddle by Lyn Hamilton Page A

and
rightsizing that are euphemisms for unpleasant results, in this case,
presumably, fewer employed people doing a lot more work.
    "Nice boat," I said.
    The man barely looked up from his work. "Yen. Thanks," he replied.
    "Who owns it, do you know?"
    The man ignored me, continuing to painstakingly clean the gunwales,
inch by inch.
    "Anybody know who owns this boat?" I said, turning to three old men
sitting on a bench on the pier.
    "Paddy Gilhooly," said one of them. This was not the name I was
expecting, but an interesting one nonetheless.
    "Do you know where I might find him?"
    "He's not far," the old man said. The second man cupped his hand
around his ear to hear better and laughed.
    "Yer lookin' at him," the second man shouted, pointing to the man
working on the boat.
    I suppose I should have known from all the guy-and-his-boat
behaviour, which is remarkably similar to the guy-and-his-car ritual,
that this man was the owner, even if he didn't look as if he could
afford it. In vain, I searched his face for a glimpse of Eamon Byrne,
having decided that the reason the family despised him was because he
was an illegitimate son of Byrne. If the resemblance was there, I
couldn't see it. "Is that true?" I asked him. "Are you Padraig
Gil-hooly?" The man ignored me still. I took that to be a yes. "I've
been looking for you."
    Still the man said nothing.
    "Too bad about that pea green paint scratch on the bow," I went on.
"Unusual color. You should be more careful."
    "Have we met?" the man said suddenly, and not just a little
belligerently, tossing his rag into his pail and standing up. He was
tall and wiry, a little too thin perhaps, dark hair and very dark and
intense eyes, and dressed in overalls and a white shirt, sleeves rolled
up, and heavy work boots. For a moment I almost lost my nerve.
    "Yes," I said, taking a deep breath. "As a matter of fact we have.
To be more accurate, it was our boats that met, this one and the one I
and a couple of friends of mine were sailing, the Maire Malloy."
    "So you've come to apologize for hitting my boat, have you?" he
glowered. "And to offer to pay for repairs, no doubt?" There was a
sarcastic edge to his voice.
    This conversation wasn't going exactly the way I had intended. "This
is your way of pretending that you didn't notice you hit and swamped
us, I suppose," I said. I was getting so annoyed, I was no longer
afraid of him. "Not only swamped us, but left us to drown, I might add."
    Gilhooly stared at me. "What are you goin' on about?" he said at
last. "I never hit nobody. And if I did, I most certainly wouldn't
leave them to drown."
    "Then where'd you get that pea green scratch on your boat?"
    "Did those fecking bastards up at Second Chance put you up to this?"
he asked. "Because if they did…"He raised his fist and I backed away
quickly.
    "No," I replied from a safe distance, "the fecking bastards, as you
so delicately put it, did not. The truth of the matter is they wouldn't
put me up to anything at. all, and frankly I expect they'd just as soon
I went back home. Now, could we start again, do you think?"
    He glowered at me for a second or two and then slowly lowered his
arm. "How do you do," he said finally. "I'm Paddy Gilhooly, owner of
this here boat, the one called Lost Causes. And you are?"
    "Lara McClintoch. How do you do."
    "A Yank, are you?"
    "I'm here visiting from Toronto."
    "Canadian. Not a friend of that fellow, Alex something or other who
got Rose Cottage by any chance?"
    I nodded. "His name is Alex Stewart. He's a friend of mine."
    "Aye," he said. "I heard there was a woman with him. My solicitor
told me," he added. "He was there, but you know that, seeing as you
were too. Now what's all this about my boat. Beautiful, isn't she?"
    "She is," I said, "unless you happen to see her first coming right
at you, and then later disappearing into the distance as you swallow
gallons of seawater from her wake."
    "And this supposed event would have been when?" His tone turned
aggressive