"Gothic, yes, but part of it is true," he said. "To Deirdre's point, I have no idea what is going on here."

"I feel sorry for Vigs," I said. "I figure he's doomed. What do you think she'll do to him? He's too big to flush down the toilet."

"I don't even want to think," Alex murmured. "We should have brought him with us."

"Maybe we should have brought Deirdre, too," I replied. Alex smiled.

"We're going to have to do something about a road into Rose Cottage," I said, seriously. "We can't have Sean McHugh waving a rifle at you every time you try to get there."

"I'll think about it," Alex said. "I haven't decided what to do about the cottage just yet."

"But you know you love it," I said. "And we can't let those awful people intimidate you out of your inheritance!"

Alex just shrugged and took to looking at the scenery. I gathered this was a topic he didn't wish to pursue at the moment.

"Pull over," he said suddenly. "Can you back up? About a hundred yards?"

Surprised, I complied. "What is it?" I exclaimed.

Alex pointed down a little road off to the right. I looked but couldn't figure out what he was talking about. It was just another lane, as far as I could see.

"What?" I said to him, mystified.

"Look at the signs," he said. There were a number of signs hammered into a tree, one of them for a B&B, another for a vegetable stand, others individual names. At the very bottom, however, was a crude hand-lettered wooden sign. The Breakers, it said. "Worth a try," I said.

We slowly made our way along the road, checking all the houses as we went. After about five minutes, the pavement ended, and we bounced our way around muddy potholes, then made a sharp left turn down an even worse road.

At the very end was a little house, a shack really, with smoke swirling from the chimney. Beyond it was the sea, huge breakers crashing against black cliffs, the spume rising high up before dissipating into a mist that blew across the little bay. The sign on the gatepost was almost illegible, but apparently we were at The Breakers.

I looked at Alex. We got out of the car and made our way to the door, a little black and white dog yip-ping at our heels.

I knocked, then knocked again. I heard steps inside and the latch being opened, then a familiar face peered out at us.

"Malachy!" I exclaimed.

"Lara!" he replied. "Kev," he shouted. "Put on some tea. It's that nice young girl we talked to at the pier. Lara. And her friend," he added, looking myopically in Alex's direction. I introduced the two of them. "Did you bring some whiskey, by any chance," he whispered.

"Sorry again," I replied. "I didn't know I was coming here." I hoped I didn't wear out my welcome with these two before I got them whiskey.

"Where's Denny?" I asked to change the subject.

"Denny lives with his sister and her family in town," Malachy said. " 'Tis just Kev and me lives here."

Malachy cleared a s.p.a.ce on the sofa, sweeping aside papers, and taking unwashed plates to the sink. "Weweren't expecting company," he said. "Please excuse the mess."

"It's fine," I replied, taking a seat and accepting a mug of hot tea.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Kev asked loudly.

"Shush, don't be rude," Malachy said, wagging his finger at his brother.

"I just want to know," Kev replied peevishly.

"That's a fair question, Kevin. Actually, we didn't know you lived here. We were just touring around. You have a fabulous view," I said, trying to figure out how to broach the subject I wanted.

"The best," Kevin agreed.

"Grand, isn't it?" Malachy added.

"But now that we're here," I went on, "I have a question for you. Did Eamon Byrne leave anything with you to give to his family or a friend?"

"What did she say?" Kevin said, cupping his hand around his ear.

"She's asking if Eamon Byrne left anything here," Malachy shouted.

"How would she know that?" Kevin asked. Both men turned to look at me.

"Byrne gave everyone who got something from his Will, well, almost everyone, anyway, a riddle to solve. Alex here was one of the people who was included in this riddle, and when we saw your sign for The Breakers, we thought maybe it was a clue." I decided honesty was the best policy, as unlikely as the story might have sounded.

"What did she say?" Kevin said again.

"She said Alex here is one of the people looking for Eamon Byrne's clues," Malachy repeated.

"Good," Kevin said. "I like her better than some of the rest of them. But she has to say the magic words, doesn't she? Does she know the magic words?"

Both men turned to look at me again. "The furious wave," I replied.

"She got it!" Malachy exclaimed. "Get the clue, Kevin. It's hers."

"Where'd we put it?" Kevin said, looking perplexed. My heart sank. For a few minutes the two men shuffled about, pulling open drawers, looking under cushions. I was in despair.

"I got it!" Malachy exclaimed at last, pulling a slim white envelope out of a book. "Here 'tis," he said handing it to me. I resisted the temptation to rip it open on the spot.

At that moment, the little dog started yapping again outside, and we could hear footsteps coming up to the door, then a loud banging.

"Goodness me, another one," Malachy said. "Tree years since somebody came to visit, and now dere's two in one day!"

He opened the door slowly, then tried to close it again. A foot stopped it from closing. "Have you got something from Eamon Byrne?" Conail O'Connor asked harshly.

"No, I don't," Malachy said, rather craftily I thought. I had it, he didn't. But he must have looked suspicious, because O'Connor thrust the door open roughly and grabbed Malachy by the collar. The older man staggered and started to fall, but O'Connor held him up. Kevin grabbed a frying pan. I grabbed the teapot.

"Now see here," Alex said stepping forward, arms up, his hands balled into fists, in a kind of a boxer stance. "You have no right to treat these people this way!"

"Get out of my way, gobs.h.i.te," O'Connor said, let-ting go of Malachy and stepping toward Alex menacingly. I swung my arm back with the teapot and started to move toward them.

Alex stepped to one side, dodged O'Connor's arm, feinted with his left, then his right hand snapped forward. There was a loud crack, and Conail O'Connor went down for the count.

Chapter Six.

A RAY OF THE SUN.

Now Mr. Stewart," Ban Garda Maeve Minogue said. Her tone was severe, but there was a hint of a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. Minogue was in her early thirties, I'd say, with reddish hair, now pulled back and tucked neatly into her cap, and that flawless complexion so many women in Ireland are blessed with. "That is quite a punch you throw."

"I wish I'd hit him too," Kevin grumped.

"You should be glad you didn't, Kevin," Minogue said sharply. "If you'd hit him with that frying pan, O'Connor might be dead, and you'd be in a fine mess. As it is, he won't be eating solid food for days. Last I saw of him, he was down at Tom Fitzgerald's pub, taking in his daily requirement for calories in liquid form.

"Now, Mr. Stewart," she began again, "seeing as there are three witnesses here who claim you were provoked and the fact that you have a member of a sister law enforcement agency here," she said gesturing to Rob, "who can attest to your good character, as wellas several people around town who can speak to O'Connor's less than exemplary behavior of late, we will not be laying charges. Conail O'Connor is threatening to bring a.s.sault charges on his own, which he is quite ent.i.tled to do, but I do believe he will change his mind, seeing as how he's already been the b.u.t.t of several jokes regarding the difference in his and your ages, to mention nothing of size. We will not be laying charges against him either, unless you wish to make a case for it. Extenuating circ.u.mstances."

I wondered what these extenuating circ.u.mstances might be, but decided it was better not to ask.

"I won't be laying charges," Alex said.

"Me neither, I guess," Malachy said. "Though that boyo better not come 'round to our place again."

"Right, then. Now if you gentlemen will agree to behave yourselves for the balance of the evening," the garda said, "I'll be away." She glanced at her watch. "Off duty at last," she sighed.

"Can I buy you a drink in that case?" Rob asked.

"That would be grand," she said. "I'll call in and then be off home to get changed and come back, if that's all right?" Rob smiled his a.s.sent. I got the distinct impression he was smitten.

"Well, can I buy you two the whiskey I've been promising?" I asked, turning to Kevin and Malachy. Rob may have found himself a new woman, but I had my two new men.

"You can," Malachy said. "She's buying us a drink," he said in Kevin's ear.

"And how about you, Alex?" I said. He was favoring his bruised knuckles.

"I believe I will," he said. I ordered three whiskeys for the men, a cola for Jennifer, and a gla.s.s of wine for myself. Rob declined my offer and headed off to his room, to beautify himself, no doubt, for Garda Minogue's return.

"Who's that woman at the bar?" Jennifer asked me. I looked across the crowd.

"Fionuala Byrne O'Connor," I replied. "Why?"

"One of the hags, you mean?" Jennifer said. "That makes it even worse."

"Makes what worse?"

"She's been chatting up Dad," Jennifer said. "Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice."

She sounded annoyed, and I had to smile. Fathers and daughters, I thought. The jealousy seemed to go both ways. She had a point, though. Fionuala was definitely out for a good time. She was holding down a stool at the bar, her tight, short skirt riding provocatively high on her thighs, and a cigarette, held delicately between brightly painted fingernails, sending swirls of smoke around her head. I wondered if she'd heard about her husband's jaw's intersection with Alex's hand.

I was also speculating whether Jennifer would like Maeve Minogue any better, when Michael and Breeta joined us.

"What happened to your hand?" Michael said, eyeing Alex's knuckles, now an unbecoming shade of blue.

"It came in contact with Conail O'Connor's jaw," Malachy proffered.

"He was trying to kill Malachy at the time," Kevin piped in. "O'Connor, I mean. He had his hands around Malachy's neck and was throttling him. Malachy was almost unconscious." My, I thought, how these stories grow! Denny would be telling this one to the post on the pier before long. "Alex and I went after O'Connor, Lara too.""Knocked him out cold." Malachy grinned. " 'Twas a fine sight to see. I think we should drink another toast to Alex's right hand." I ordered them another round, but pa.s.sed myself. It was beginning to look as if this was going to turn into a long night, and I thought I might be called upon to do a little chauffeuring later.

Michael looked at me. "Can you enlighten us a little? We saw O'Connor leaving Tom Fitzgerald's place. Face all swollen, and in a right bad mood. Staggering drunk, of course. Headed off down one of the lane-ways," he added.

"Not in this direction, I hope," I said, thinking that a drunk Conail O'Connor might be a real problem.

"He might be," Michael said. "But if he is, it's going to take him a while to get this far, the shape that he's in. So tell us what happened this afternoon."

I told them the story, with a lot of help from Malachy and Kevin.

Throughout this conversation, Breeta said nothing, although she looked shocked enough when she heard the story. She seemed sort of out of it, somehow, her mind somewhere else entirely. I'd offered her a drink, but she didn't take me up on it, and sat, instead, holding a gla.s.s of soda water, which she barely touched, as she stared into the flames of the fireplace across from us.

"I've lost my job," she said, suddenly rousing herself from her torpor.

"Oh dear," I said. "That's too bad. What happened?"

She was silent for a moment or two. "I've been working in a dress shop," she said finally. "A very fancy dress shop, in Killarney. I think," she said slowly, "I think-they didn't say so, but they didn't think I looked good enough to work there. They wanted someone who looked better in the clothes." Her lip trembled, but she didn't cry.

"What do you mean, Bree?" Michael exclaimed. "What do you mean you didn't look good enough to work there?"

"I've put on so much weight," she said. A tear slipped out of one corner of her eye. She brushed it away angrily. "And they're right. I don't look good in the clothes. I don't care about the job. It wasn't very interesting," she went on. "But I'll have to give up my flat in a couple of weeks, and I don't know where I'll go."

"I think you're just beautiful, Bree," Michael said, his voice hoa.r.s.e. "And you can stay with me. I know I'm not good enough for you, working on your family's estate and everything. But I have that little flat in the staff cottage. Now that John Herlihy's gone, maybe I can get his. It's bigger, with a little kitchen and everything. There's room for..." He stopped and looked down at his rough hands. "There's room for all of us."

I wasn't sure who all of us were, but I thought his offer was very nice, and Breeta could do a lot worse. Michael wasn't exceptionally bright, maybe, but he was smart enough, and he was also kind and generous, and obviously sweet on Breeta.

"Thank you, Michael," Breeta said softly. "I appreciate your offer. Very, very much. It's the nicest thing that's happened to me in a long time. I will have to think about it, but..." Her voice trailed off, and they both sat looking at each other.

Ain't love grand? I thought. Certainly it was thawing Breeta, which was nice.

"That settles it. We'll have to look for that treasure," Michael said suddenly. "Really look for it. I mean it. Everything will be all right, Bree. There'll be lots of money. We can all look together. I'm sure there will be enough to go around when we find it. You can have my share." He paused. "I forgot," he said, turning to me. "What happened when you went to ask about Breeta's clue?"

"We were stunningly unsuccessful," I said, as Alex nodded. "Your mother," I said looking at Breeta, "insists it was an ordinary robbery. Some money was taken from the safe along with the clue, if we believe the clue is really missing, and a map or two. She also said the family has decided to have nothing whatsoever to do with the hunt for your father's treasure."

"I don't believe that," Malachy said indignantly. "What was that s.h.i.te Conail O'Connor doing at our place if he wasn't looking for the treasure?"

"But we don't need them, do we?" Michael persisted. "Breeta knows the poem. Come on, Bree. Tell us about the poem. Please!"

"Oh, Michael, you're such an optimist. Touched in the head. Maybe Da was just making a joke, teasing us all."

"And maybe he wasn't! It's worth a try, anyway. What do we have to lose?"

Breeta looked over at him affectionately. "All right," she said at last. "It's called 'The Song of Amairgen,' and it is supposed to be the words spoken by Amairgen of the White Knee as he set his right foot on Ireland's sh.o.r.e. My father made me translate it from the Old Irish, and to memorize it. It goes something like this. I am the sea-swell, the furious wave, the roar of the sea." The sound of her voice was lovely, the Irish lilt and cadence carrying the words along.

"Her Da taught her well!" Kevin exclaimed, his hand cupped over his ear. "Young people today, hardly any of them are interested in the old tales, want to pretend the past doesn't matter, but Breeta always was. She's like her Da in more ways than one."