The Collector 3: Cauldron

by A. J. Matthews

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said after a pause. Her voice was husky, and she sounded tired, but at least she seemed prepared to be sociable.

  “If you want to take a day or so to get over the jetlag, it’s fine with me,” he said. “I can easily find what I want to know from the local libraries and newspapers.”

  “I’m involved with this too, you know,” she said quickly, and flashed him an angry look. “Don’t try and cut me out of the loop! I warned you about that on the airplane.”

  “Okay, okay!” He waved his hand. “I’ve no intention of cutting you out of this. I promised the Collector that, and I keep my word.”

  “Good!”

  “If you can keep awake tomorrow, I’ll do a tour of the local resources, and you can tag along all you want.”

  “I’m not just a tag-along, Mister O’Brien!” she snapped and stabbed the air with her finger. “I’ve studied too! I’m tired of going traveling this same ground over my suitability to be here on this trip.”

  “It’s not just a trip!” he said, fuming. “This will be a properly conducted field expedition.”

  “Oh, what-fucking-ever!” she cried, throwing up her hands. “Get your head out of that tight butt of yours; it’s so far up, you can’t see daylight!”

  “Well!”

  They lapsed into an angry silence. Amid the annoyance of having to argue with her, the niggling little thought worked its way like a thread through his mind. Did she mean to say I have a tight butt?

  He was still puzzling over her choice of words when they reached Galway.

  * * * * *

  The bath was every bit as satisfying as Kate had hoped. She lay supine in the mass of bubbles, her eyes closed, letting the tension drain from her body. The Galway Bay National Hotel was five-star and thoroughly modern; it was nothing but the best for those working on behalf of the Collector, it seemed, and she was glad of it.

  Once upon a time it would’ve felt odd to take a bath so early in the day, but her brief modeling and sporadic acting career had put an end to any semblance of normal life. She grabbed comfort and ease when she could. Other times it was all down to hanging around dressing rooms and trying to avoid the bitchy comments and character assassinations that were a passion for some of her colleagues.

  Someone knocked at the door to her room, the distant sound reminding her yet again of the size of her suite, easily three times as large as any hotel room she’d occupied ‑‑ and usually shared ‑‑ and she felt again a surge of hedonistic pleasure.

  Irritated at having to get out of the bath, she put on the hotel's courtesy terry robe before padding barefoot across the deep pile carpet to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw Matt waiting in the corridor beyond. Clicking her tongue with annoyance, she opened the door a crack and peered out at him. “Hi, what’s up?”

  His gaze flickered over her, and two small spots of color bloomed on his cheeks. Those, and the way he shuffled on the spot before speaking, made her wonder if the guy was a virgin. “I’m just going down to do a spot of shopping and wondered if I could get you anything,” he said.

  “That’s ... kind of you,” she replied, “but there’s nothing I need just now.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll get going then,” he said, rubbing his hands on the seat of his pants. “See you later.”

  His eyes flickered once more down to her body, and then he walked away. She closed the door and leaned against it, thinking. Was a thaw in relations possible? It would make life more comfortable. She glanced at the great spread of Galway Bay beyond the window and smiled.

  * * * * *

  Matt strode down the quayside, the memories of the previous year’s expedition surfacing with every familiar sight, sound and odor. He was struck by the number of cars on the street bearing German plates; someone had told him the Germans were big land and house-owners in the Republic these days. They were leavened with a healthy mix of British cars. Whatever the troubles of the past, the tourist industry was in full swing.

  The store was where he remembered it, halfway down a side street off the riverside, sandwiched between a cobbler’s shop-cum-ironmongers-cum-pub, and a tailor-cum-undertaker. They were wonderful, eccentric examples of creative multi-tasking and typically Irish. The name board above the storefront read McCarthy’s Books.

  A bell rang over his head as he pushed the door open, to be greeted with the rich smell of old books. Leather, ink, dust in plenty and an undertone of mice droppings; he felt a smile break out on his face, felt the ease of a creature in its natural habitat.

  The storekeeper was perched on a tall chrome-plated barstool alongside the counter, a glass of milk at his elbow. A small, almost squat middle-aged man with slicked-down black hair shot with gray, he glanced up from the book he was reading as Matt entered. “Ah, it’s yourself then, Doctor O’Brien,” he said in the delicious lilting voice of the Western counties and closed the book with a heavy thud. “Welcome back, now.”

  “You remember me?” Matt asked.

  The man beamed, and Matt was struck by how tanned he was for a man whom, he assumed, spent all his days indoors. “Sure, and would I not remember an O’Brien when I saw your face, my mother being of that family her dear self?”

  “I’m flattered,” Matt said, looking up and around the shelves of the man’s stock in trade.

  “So you should be. You’ve come about that journal I sold you last year, have you not?”

  Matt turned and stared at him. “I have, as it happens. But did you not sell it to me as a puzzle book?”

  “Puzzle?” The man shrugged. “Maybe so. It puzzled a few folks in the time it was here. I’m just glad it found a good home, is all.” He proffered his hand. “I’m Patrick McCarthy, proprietor of this establishment. What can I do for you now?”

  “Well, Mr. McCarthy ...”

  The man held up a finger. “Patrick.”

  “Patrick – and I remember you too from last year.” Patrick spread his hands and bowed his head with an expression of good humor. “The book has been deciphered,” Matt explained. “It could have a bearing on the disappearance of the gentleman who owned it.”

  “He disappeared, you say?” Patrick replied softly, scratching his chin and staring into space. “That would explain it.”

  “Can you tell me who brought the book in to you?”

  “Ah, now that’s going back a bit.”

  Matt smiled. “You remembered my face after a year, sir; that speaks of a good memory.”

  Patrick chuckled. “There’s no getting past you, is there.” He nodded. “Yes, indeed, I had it off a lady name of Maria Byrne. She’s a collector, comes in sometimes to sell or buy books.”

  “Did she tell you how he came by it?”

  “No, not a word. A very private person is Maria. I’ve known her some thirty years, and I only found out her first name two years back.”

  “Could I talk to her, do you think? Where does she live?”

  “She lives up on the hill above Oughterard, overlooking Lough Corrib. A lovely place.” Patrick held up his finger again, a habit he seemed to have when emphasizing a point. “I’ve only seen her place from a distance, mind you.”

  “Would you have her phone number?”

  “Ah, that I do have, somewhere,” Patrick said, patting his pockets. “I sometimes get a book she expressed an interest in, and give her a call about it. One moment, I’ll look in my little book.”

  He returned to the counter and found a slim black-bound book after a moment or two of rummaging. He opened the book, licked a finger and ran it down the page a short distance. “Here we are; Byrne, Maria. All in alphabetical order, do you see?” He looked up at Matt and pursed his lips. “I’m minded to call her now, so I am, and ask if she’ll see you. A request from me would sound a lot better than from a perfect stranger like your good self.”

  “An excellent idea, Patrick,” Matt said, spreading his hands in compliance. “Go right ahead.”

  Patrick nodded,
and turned to his phone. Matt was like most of his generation; he was so used to push-button phones the old dial version Patrick possessed looked positively antediluvian. Glancing at the book, Patrick dialed a number, the dial making a pleasant, efficient sounding click-whirr as it rotated. After a few seconds, Patrick waggled his eyebrows and spoke into the receiver.

  The conversation was short, and the storekeeper put the handset down with a look of regret. “Sorry I am to tell you, after you’ve come all this way and everything, but Maria’s not of a mind to see you.”

  “Why not?” Matt said in annoyance. “How can speaking to me about an old book hurt her?”

  “Who’s to say?” Patrick said and shrugged. “She’s an odd bird, is Maria Byrne: Very reclusive.” He hesitated and gave Matt a calculating look. “I said before that I’ve known her for thirty years. In fact she’s been away for a long, long time and only returned two or three years ago. It may seem peculiar to say so, but she hasn’t aged much, if at all.”

  Matt smiled. “Everybody ages, Patrick. Maybe she has good genes.”

  Patrick shrugged but didn’t appear convinced. “Ah, you could be right, so.”

  “Maybe it would help if I offered her a cash incentive? Money’s no object to the guy I represent.”

  Patrick looked at him thoughtfully. “Indeed, I’m sure I don’t know. She might take it amiss if you try to bribe her.”

  “Well, there must be something I can do.”

  Patrick shrugged. “I’m sorry Doctor, but I can’t help you there. I’ve tried my best.”

  “Yes, yes, you have,” Matt said and sighed. “It’s a pity, but thank you all the same.”

  As Matt made to leave, Patrick coughed, rather theatrically. “Would you be interested in anything I’ve got in stock?” he asked pointedly as Matt looked at him. “What with money being no object, and all?”

  Matt smiled and thought briefly. “Do you have anything on cauldrons?” he asked.

  * * * * *

  Around noon, Kate went downstairs in search of lunch. The hotel restaurant was available but tended to the international cuisine. She decided that, as she was in Ireland, she wanted something more in keeping with the country. Asking for recommendations at the front desk, they gave her directions to the harbor, where she found a family-owned restaurant that offered a superb seafood menu.

  It was a small establishment, where both guests and staff passed through the eating area. One guy came in soon after she’d begun tucking into lobster bisque, and she found herself staring.

  He was another god-like being, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, with flowing red locks and a square, rugged face that bore the marks of a man out in all seasons under the sun. Of average height, he wore a grubby faded blue sweater that seemed a network of holes, and equally grubby jeans bearing a number of patches. The body that filled the clothes had to be one of the most physically toned specimens she’d ever seen, and her experience in modeling and acting had exposed her to more than enough to make a fair comparison. The man moved with the easy grace of a big cat, secure in the knowledge that he alone was the king of the jungle. He went through into the kitchens, carrying with him a wicker basket of fresh fish.

  “Colm has that effect on people, dear,” a voice said beside her, and she started and glanced up into the amused face of the waitress. The middle-aged woman patted her on her shoulder. “Eat your food, now, before it goes cold. He’ll be out in a minute after he’s spoken to my husband, and you can ogle the young brute some more then.”

  “I wasn’t ogling!” she blurted out.

  “Damn me, girl dear, but why ever not?” the waitress asked and laughed. “He’s a handsome feller, so he is. He showed up here a couple or three years ago and he’s been turnin’ women gaga ever since. If I was younger and not married ...” she shrugged and sighed. “Well, never mind. Would you be wantin’ anything else, now?”

  “No, no, it’s lovely,” Kate replied, bending her head to eat to avoid the woman’s knowing grin.

  The waitress walked away to attend to another couple, and Kate found her gaze straying up to the kitchen door. She alternated eating with watching, sure she’d see the guy come out, but he never did. Then, somehow, there he was, standing beside her table without ever coming through the door.

  Kate looked up into his handsome face, a pair of bright blue eyes gazing merrily back down at her. “Are you enjoying the meal of lobster?” he asked, his voice a deep melodic lilt.

  “Yeah!” she said. “It’s delicious. Did you catch it?”

  “I’m guessing I probably did.” Colm scratched the back of his head and grinned. “Jimmy in there may be a black hearted villain when it comes to making a price on my catch, but he’s loyal once he gets a good supplier.”

  His eyes twinkled and Kate felt a small hot patch grow in her panties. She found her whole body was growing warm, and hurriedly offered her hand to him. “I’m Kate Susadi.”

  “Colm Houlahan,” he said, clasping her hand and shaking it firmly.

  Damn but she liked that! So many men just squeezed her hand or kissed it and murmured some soppy nonsense, all the while either looking at her face or her tits ‑‑ most usually her tits, she reflected. Colm Houlahan was the only guy to treat her like a person instead of an icon.

  “I’m guessing you’re American, yes?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you here for business or pleasure?”

  The way he murmured the word pleasure made her feel even gooier inside, and she swallowed. “A bit of both.”

  “Oh? Well, you couldn’t have come to a better part of the world to do either,” he said with a smile. “It’s the gods’ own country, so ‘tis.”

  “Do you live around here?” she asked.

  “I’m not far away,” he replied with a shrug.

  “Forgive my manners!” She gestured to the other chair at the table. “Won’t you sit?”

  Damn! Why do I take on the local accent wherever I go? she asked herself.

  Colm merely winked. “I wouldn’t presume to sit or eat with the guests of the house.” He laid his hand gently on her shoulder. “Enjoy your meal and I’ll be seein’ you later.”

  And he walked out without a backward glance.

  Chapter Three

  Matt sat reading a magazine in the hotel lounge when Kate returned. His long legs were stretched out, and he seemed perfectly at ease, but as she approached without his seeing her, she sensed all was not entirely well with the Hahvahd man. “Hi,” she said.

  He jumped slightly and lowered the magazine. “Hi, yourself.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, sitting beside him.

  “Not entirely.” He scratched his chin and looked sheepish. “I’m afraid I struck out.”

  “What, where and when?” she demanded, the annoyance at his superciliousness rising again inside.

  He recounted his foray to the bookstore, and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t going to leave it at that. This woman, Maria Byrne, had to know something about the journal.”

  “My grandfather’s journal,” she said quietly.

  He waved his hand in annoyance. “Yes, yes, if you must be pedantic, your grandfather’s journal. I went for a drive while you were out to see if I could find her house.”

  “Without asking me!” she snapped.

  “You weren’t anywhere to be found!” he replied, stabbing the air with his finger. “I couldn’t wait for you to finish jaunting around Ireland; I had work to do on the project, even if you didn’t feel like it!”

  “Okay, okay!” She held up her hand. “I’ll give you my cell number so we can keep in touch.”

  “You have a cell phone that works over here?” He shot her a doubting look. “I’ve got one for college trips, and I know they’re expensive to run.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I also need to travel abroad from time to time, Matt. Not all movies or TV shows are shot in the US. As for expense, well, it’s tax deductible. Okay, back to what we were
talking about. Never mind not consulting me ‑‑ for now ‑‑ tell me what happened.”

  “I found the place; it wasn’t that hard to locate, but it was a real chore getting to it. I traveled three miles up a track that made the moon’s surface look like a skating rink. When I got there, she refused point-blank to even talk to me!”

  In spite of herself, Kate found she was grinning at his discomfiture. “That serves you right, going without me! I’d have had a woman-to-woman chat with her, and she’d have caved in a moment!”

  He looked affronted, but then, unexpectedly, he smiled and shook his head. “Damn, but I guess she would at that.” He held out his hand. “Look, Kate, I’m sorry about cutting you out of things. I’m so used to working alone I find it difficult to confide in others. It’s no excuse, I know, but I’ll try to make amends.”

  She took his hand and shook it firmly, remembering the feel of Colm’s hand in hers. “It’s okay, Matt. Just try to keep me in the loop from now on, yes?”

  “It’s a deal.” He laughed, the sound rather sour. When she looked at him with her head cocked, he gave her a half-smile and shrugged. “I’m sorry, but it’s my birthday today. I’m just thinking this is probably the most unusual background I’ve ever had to it.”

  “That’s a coincidence.”

  “It’s your birthday too?” he said, surprised.

  “No, but it’s my mother’s.”

  “Ah.” He grinned. “For a moment there I wondered.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. This whole mission is kinda freaky. I wouldn’t have been too surprised to find we shared a birthday either. To tell you the truth, I’m feeling guilty.”

  “Why so?”

  “If I’m away I always make sure to send my mom a present. I meant to do that yesterday, but we left in such a rush I clean forgot.”

  “If you like I can lend you my laptop. That way you can go online and order something.”

  She blinked. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  Matt gave a little shrug. “My pleasure.” He waved to the view outside. “Shall we go find somewhere to have a drink? I’d like to have some kind of celebration to mark the day.”