The Celtic Riddle

"Given the absence of dust here, and wheat for that matter," I said, "what are you going to do this afternoon while the rest of us are sailing?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I'll think of something."

There was something in his tone. "Rob!" I said.

"I was thinking maybe I'd just pop down to the local police station-what do they call themselves? Gardai is it?-introduce myself."

"Would you know a vacation if you tripped over it?" I asked. "You wouldn't be planning to prove your theory that John Herlihy met with foul play, would you?" I can't believe this man, I thought. He's absolutely obsessed by his job. How can people be like that, thinking about crime and criminals every waking moment, and maybe even dreaming about it, too? It's a sickness.

"Will you look who's talking like she's an expert on vacations all of a sudden?" he said mildly. "When she hasn't had one in all the years I've know her. No, I'm just trying to improve international relations, inspire a little goodwill between police forces, that sort of thing. Now get going, will you, so I can get on with this noble activity? And try and stay out of trouble, both of you." He gave his daughter an affectionate hug.

Jennifer and I turned left as we exited The Three Sisters Inn, as the guest house where we were all staying was called, and with Jennifer chattering away about all the things she'd have to tell her chums about when she got home, we ambled along a cobblestoned street that wound its way down to the sea past charming littlehouses, shops, and pubs painted sunny colors, yellow, red, blue, and green.

To save money on the trip, I was sharing a room with Jennifer, and Rob and Alex were doing the same. It was not my idea of the perfect holiday, bunking in with an eighteen-year-old, but I found I was enjoying her company, and, as we made our way down to the harbor, I got caught up in the enthusiasm she brought to everything about her. Although she'd been reluctant to come with us at first, she was clearly having a good time now that we were in Ireland. She was on the cusp of adulthood, a little young for her age in some things, in my opinion, but very worldly in others, a whole new life ahead of her at university when she got home.

Jennifer's mother had died when she was very young, and Rob had raised her on his own. He'd not remarried. The way he told it, he and Jennifer had never found a woman they agreed on. So Jennifer had the combination of self-reliance and yet the essential loneliness of the only child. The big problem with her life right now, I'd quickly ascertained, was that she hadn't yet had a serious boyfriend. As painful as this was for Jennifer-she claimed she was the only girl in the western hemisphere who hadn't had a date for the prom-this state of affairs suited her father just fine, considering as he did all his daughter's potential suitors to be lascivious louts, to use his own words. After a couple of days sharing a room with Jennifer, I began to realize it was time I had a serious talk with her father, something along the lines of his reserving his interrogation and intimidation skills for the people he came across in his chosen line of work, rather than the young men who came calling on his daughter. It was not a conversation I was looking forward to, but what are friends for? And certainly Rob has never held back from telling me things about myself he feels I need to know.

The town lined the mouth of a river at the head of a large bay that provided snug harbor for the dozens of boats, large and small, moored there. We found Alex waiting for us at the end of the pier, aboard the Maire Malloy, a rather old and lumpy little wooden craft painted a dreadful pea green. The sea was perfect for sailing: a good stiff breeze, but not too much of one. The sky was clear in all directions, so it looked as if the weather would hold. Gulls squawked and wheeled after us as Alex started the engine and we put-putted out of the harbor, past fishing boats, large and small. When we cleared the edge of the harbor, Alex cut the engine and gave orders to hoist the sail. The wind ;aught us immediately, and appearances to the con-rary, the boat surged forward very nicely.

"Oohay!" Jennifer yelled. Sailing was a new expe-ience for her, and her excitement was contagious. I bund myself starting to enjoy myself, pushing the pic-ure of John Herlihy's black boot back to the further-nost corners of my mind.

"Oohay!" I agreed. From the sea, the land was even nore spectacularly beautiful: blue mountains in the dis-ance, cut by the enormous gashes of valleys, rolling ills that swooped down to sheer cliffs at the sea, far-tier out, the wild columns of spray where the sea met le shore. And everywhere, tiny isolated houses stark gainst the most extraordinary shades of green.

"Where to?" Alex called to us, the wind whipping is words away.

Jennifer shrugged. "Dnaleci," she shouted.

"I have a more practical idea," I called back.