Free The Celtic Riddle by Lyn Hamilton Page B

again.
    "Yesterday afternoon. Ask your pals here," I said gesturing toward
the three men on the bench. "They'll tell you the Maire Malloy got
towed in late yesterday afternoon, with the gash in her stern, and her
crew rather damp."
    "That so, Malachy?"
    One of the old men on the bench nodded. " 'Tis so, Paddy." Gilhooly
frowned. "So was Lost Causes docked then?"
    Malachy thought slowly and carefully about that. "Difficult to say,
Paddy," he said finally. "Difficult to say. Close on sunset. We'd been
over at the pub for a spot of refreshment. Lots of the boats coming in,
and this one," he said, pointing at me, "being towed. Plenty of
excitement all round." The second old geezer cupped his hand to his ear
and looked at Malachy. "Do you recall if Paddy's boat was in when they
towed this one in?" Malachy yelled at him.
    "Can't say as I recall," the second man said after a moment or two
of contemplation.
    "No use asking this one," Malachy said, pointing to the third man,
who had turned away from us and was looking out to sea. "He's elsewhere
most of the time."
    "Well, Malachy, since you'll be on telling me about her story,"
Gilhooly said, "perhaps you'll also be verifying mine."
    "Which is?" I asked.
    "Cork," Malachy said. It sounded more like Cark to my ears, but I
figured it was Cork. "In Cork, he was, our Paddy. Took the train first
thing. Not a sight of him here all day. Not that I can see so good,
mind you. But Kev can, can't you Kev?" he shouted. Kev nodded.
    "So now that we've got that out of the way," Gilhooly said, "I'm
sorry to hear about your boating accident, but it's got nothing to do
with me."
    "Any chance Conail O'Connor could have taken your boat?"
    "Conail O'Connor!" Gilhooly exclaimed. "Conail O'Connor can kiss my
royal Irish arse!"
    " 'Tis James Joyce he's quoting," Malachy said solemnly.
"Ulysses.""Was that a no?" I said acidly, James Joyce or not. "How
about Sean McHugh?"
    Gilhooly remained silent, but I could see his jaw working, and he
looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel.
    "I assume your lawyer told you about Eamon Byrne's little game," I
said.
    "He did. Bloody nonsense. I'd have credited him with more sense.
Though I suppose you can't blame a dying man."
    "I'll tell you our clue if you'll tell me yours," I said.
    "You mean the one about the sea-swell? My solicitor was there,
remember."
    "I know another one, Michael Davis's," I replied. Actually I had
two, if you counted the one that was currently being painstakingly
dried out in my room at the inn in hopes that something remotely
legible could be found, but it didn't seem to be a good idea to give
everything away at once with this bunch. "A couple of us thought it
might be entertaining to try and find this thing, whatever it is."
    "Entertaining, you call it? There is nothing entertaining about
those people up at Second Chance, I can tell you. Nothing whatsoever."
Gilhooly tossed his rags into the bucket and started to walk away.
    "Are you going to sue the family for a share? Byrne suggested you
might, and your solicitor was there. What's his name?"
    "Dermot Shanahan. And I would be paying his legal fees how?" he
asked bitterly.
    I was tempted to suggest he could sell his beloved boat, but decided
to be nice. "Can I buy you a beer or something?" I asked him. Maybe, I
thought, his tongue would loosen and I'd learn what the bad blood
between him and the Byrne family was all about. "Where I come from,
girls wait to be asked!" he called over his shoulders as he left.
    "I'm not asking you for a date, Padraig," I retorted to his
retreating back. "Just for a drink. Sullen men with chips on their
shoulders are not my cup of tea. I mean do you fight with everybody on
principle, or are you just having a bad day? And by the way, I don't
care what girls of your acquaintance do." And don't call me a girl, I
added to myself. He ignored me and kept going.
    I looked back to see the old guys on the bench laughing so hard the
tears were running down their cheeks.