The Celtic Riddle by Lyn Hamilton Page B

Will."
    "Brilliant!" Jennifer exclaimed, having managed to pick up the local
slang within minutes of our touchdown at Shannon Airport. Or rather,
she said something that sounded like ten-ale-erb. Jennifer had taken a
class in what was called creative thinking in her last term, in which
the teacher had encouraged them to free their minds to think outside
the box, to use that odious expression beloved of management
consultants, by speaking backward. Jennifer had readily taken to this
suggestion, a development her father found intensely irritating. I,
however, had a dim memory of school chums doing the same thing, secret
societies and the like, and I assumed this was a stage that would pass.
I did not wish to stunt her creative thinking, of course, but I hoped
it would be soon. "Tiod stel, Dad," she added.
    "Not both of you," Rob grumped.
    "Have you seen Alex?" I asked.
    "Yes," she replied. "He's down at the docks renting a boat. I've
come to ask you both if you'd like to go sailing with us."
    "Wonderful idea!" I replied.
    "Sailing!" Rob exclaimed, feigning horror at the thought. "You
forget I'm a Ukrainian from Saskatchewan. My idea of relaxation is to
sit on a porch and watch fields of wheat stretching as far as the eye
can see. Now there's a vacation for you. Why risk seasickness, when you
could have the taste of dust in your mouth, and not so much as the
tiniest breeze to mess up your hair?"
    "What hair?" Jennifer grinned as she reached over and patted a small
bald spot on the top of her father's head. I noticed she switched to
regular speech when she wanted to tease her dad, so he wouldn't miss
the jibe.
    "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