I went straight to the restaurant. It was closed, but I could see a light at the back in the kitchen. Breeta wasn't there. I begged to know where she lived. "I shouldn't tell you," the cook said. "But you seem to be very upset. She's two doors down, the blue door, second floor."
But Breeta, when she saw me, tried to slam the door in my face. I was ready for her, and I was desperate. I shoved the door open and pushed past her into the room. She was thinner now, and the bulge in her tummy more prominent. "Okay, Breeta," I said almost yelling. "Enough is enough. I know this has been a very bad time for you. I know that losing your father was bad enough, but then Michael, in such a violent way. Well, it has been terrible. But you have had long enough. From now on, you're just wallowing in it. Talk to me." She said absolutely nothing, and kept her eyes averted from my face.
"Here," I said pulling up the map in front of her. "I have narrowed down the location of your father's treasure to this area. The two nearest towns are Mullingar and Athlone. You need to understand that it is not the treasure I am after. Jennifer Luczka, whom you've met, a young woman who is very dear to me, has gone off to find it with Padraig Gilhooly. For all I know, he is the killer, and even if he isn't, then the killer will be after them. I must find her. Please help me, Breeta. I don't have anyone else to turn to. You'll be a mother soon. You must understand what responsibility for a young person like Jennifer means."
Still she said nothing. I felt tears of desperation forming in the corners of my eyes. "What would be here, Breeta, that your father would be interested in? Right here, Breeta," I said, pulling the map and pointing at the place where the lines Alex and I had drawn intersected. "I can't cover the whole area. There isn't time. This is life and death, Breeta."
Silence greeted my plea. I was too upset even to cry. I turned and walked to the door. As I put my hand out to pull it open, I heard her move behind me. I turned. Breeta was looking at me, really looking at me.
"Ooshna," she said. At least that is what it sounded like. "Ooshna Hill. Find the stone, Aill na Mireann."
"Thank you, Breeta," I gasped, and dashed from the room to my car.
I blasted up the Dingle peninsula to Tralee, then picked up the N2toward Limerick, then the Nthrough Ennis, Gort, and Loughrea, then on through Ballinsloe to Athlone. It was a frustrating drive, two-lane highways much of the way with few opportunities to pass, and it rained off and on, leaving the pavement slick. It took me almost four hours with one stop for a coffee and gas, and another to try to reach Rob at the Inn and the garda station. I was cursing the fact that I didn't have my cell phone. I'd left him a note, and I could only hope he too was on his way.
That was four hours to think, as well as drive, about treasures and broken geise, fathers and daughters, inappropriate love, ruined lives and revenge. I knew, just as I knew that it was Jennifer who mattered, not the treasure, that this was not about wealth, but about a stolen life. By the time I got to Athlone, I knew who would be there. It was all a process of elimination. There was really only one possibility left. Denny had told a true story. Oh, he'd changed the location just a little, had added a little fantasy, and a happy ending to bring a tear of joy to Eamon's eye. This ending couldn't be happy, that I knew. But I had to find Jennifer.
In Athlone, I pulled into a gas station for directions. The gas jockey was a young man. "I'm looking for a place called Uisnech Hill," I said, pronouncing it Ooshna as Breeta had.
"Never heard of it," he said. "Is it around here?"
"Yes," I said. "Somewhere between here and Mullingar."
He shrugged. "You could ask my Da," he said, tossing his head in the general direction of the office.
"I'm looking for a place called Uisnech," I said to two men in the office, one I assumed to be the gas jockey's Da, the other, if I wasn't mistaken, his grandfather.
"Can't say I know it," the father said.
"What did you say?" the older man asked.
"Uisnech," I repeated.
"Sure," the older man said. "Uisnech Hill. Take the valley road," he said drawing me outside and pointing out the direction, "toward Mullingar. You'll come to a fork at the far end of town. I'm not sure if it's signed, and you'll probably get lost again. It's a ways yet, but once you're on the valley road, it'll be on yer left. You'll know you're just about there when you find the pub by that name. There'll be a small sign, not much else. People don't visit much these days."
"Thanks," I said. I sure hoped he knew what he was talking about. But he did, because as I got into the car he called after me.
"If you go to the pub, raise a cup to the Stone for me, will you?"
As navels of the universe go, Uisnech, the sacred center of Ireland, is not much to look at these days, a rather unprepossessing hill gradually rising just a few meters from the floor of the valley between Mullingar and Athlone. There's a small sign, terribly worn, and a cleared area for a few cars. There was no sign of Padraig's motorcycle, nor the van he'd borrowed earlier, but there was another car, a rental like mine. I prayed I wasn't too late. The way up to the hill was gated and locked, with a sign on it that read
DANGER, BEWARE OF BULLS AND SUCKLER COWS, DO NOT ENTER, LANDS PRESERVED POISONED.
There was a old metal turnstile beside the locked gate and I went through, undeterred. Bulls and poisoned earth be damned, I thought. Theoretically, at least, you wouldn't have both poisoned earth and suck-ler cows in the same field, but I reminded myself to keep my eyes open for a bull.
The route up was relatively easy at first, an overgrown lane. Near the top of it, though, I had to climb up some old cement stairs and over a wire fence into an open field, which sloped gently upward to a small plateau. I felt terribly exposed there, feeling the killer's eyes on me at every step. The ground was wet and very, very muddy, and the climb was an effort, my feet making a sucking sound in the mud after every step. My pant legs were coated in mud.
A few hundred yards later on, I came upon a large cleared area. The rain stopped for a few moments, and the sky cleared, and I found myself on a small hill surrounded by a ring of mountains off in the distance.
With the exception of the view to the west, which was hidden by trees, I felt I could see forever. It was a very large space, and I had a feeling finding the treasure would be almost impossible, but then I remembered the Stone, Aill na Mireann, the Stone of Divisions, the large stone on the slopes of Uisnech that is supposed to represent Ireland. I wondered where that might be.
I went on a little farther to a standing stone surrounded by a ring of smaller stones. Seated off to one side of the ring sat Charles McCafferty. He was wearing rain gear, including rubber boots, and an umbrella. At his feet was a bundle, maybe a foot or two long, well wrapped in plastic and twine. And he was pointing a gun at me.
"I have been expecting you," he said.
"And I, you," I replied.
"Is it this you came for?" he said pointing at the bundle at his feet.
"No," I replied.
"No," he agreed. "You came looking for that young woman, what is her name?"
"Jennifer," I said. "Where is she?"
"Gone," he said. My heart leapt into my mouth. What did gone mean?
"Gone," he repeated, seeing my dismay. "She left with that man of hers. They had a bit of a disagreement. I believe he had a somewhat closer relationship in mind, a reward, perhaps for bringing her here. She didn't see it that way. She wasn't ready, apparently." He smiled. "Then he confessed he still loved someone else. All rather sweet, I thought. Quite right, too. He was entirely unsuitable for her. They didn't find this," he said, pointing once again to the bundle, "because I already had it. Nor did they see me, so I let them leave.