Case of the Shady Shamrock

by Jeffrey Poole

  “Yes. I live in Oregon. Er, it’s a state in the Pacific Northwest, in the U.S.A.”

  “Ah. Very well. I will relay the message.”

  Clodagh must have immediately phoned her uncle, because my cell was ringing in less than five minutes.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Anderson? It’s Michael O’Connell. It’s good to hear from you! Apparently, you called my niece earlier, looking for me?”

  “I did. I’m sorry to bother you at home, especially when it’s late,” I began.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about a thing. That offer I made to you years ago still stands, my friend. I am intrigued. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been doing a bit of research, and stumbled across something I was hoping you’d be able to shed some light on.”

  “Research for a new book, I presume? Do tell. What did you need help with?”

  “The Irish Crown Jewels.”

  “Ah. Such a travesty. It never would have happened under my watch. What would you like to know about them?”

  Taking a deep breath, I decided to just plow forward. “Have the jewels ever been associated with any type of symbol?”

  Michael was silent for so long that I had to check the phone—twice—to verify I was still connected.

  “Michael? Are you still there?”

  “What would you ask me such a thing for, Mr. Anderson? Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “I will answer you, but only if you answer me first.”

  “Very well. You want to know about our crown jewels? As you may very well know, they were stolen in 1907 and never recovered.”

  “I do know that,” I admitted.

  “Did you know that those jewels were stored in a silver chest commissioned especially for them?”

  It was my turn to fall silent.

  “You knew that already, didn’t you?” Michael surmised. “May I ask how?”

  “Tell me about this chest first,” I pleaded.

  “The chest. Well, it was designed by a Japanese immigrant who wanted to find a way to secure the jewels.”

  My eyes found Sherlock, who had been staring at me with what could only be described as a smug smile on his face. How? How could that dog have known I could get so many answers just by picking up the phone?

  “It’s a puzzle box, isn’t it?”

  “Mr. Anderson?” Michael slowly and carefully asked. “Are you in possession of this chest?”

  “Well, Michael, there’s a chance I am. Now, about this special symbol of yours. Will you tell me about it?”

  “This chest that you have in your possession, it has this symbol you’re asking me about?”

  “It does.”

  “I’m finding it hard to believe you. Tell me what you see, and I’ll tell you if it matches the description I know.”

  “Please, Michael,” I implored, “just tell me. I’ve already had several people try to steal it. I just want to figure out what it is and then get it back to its rightful owner.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Mr. Anderson, am I to understand you plan on returning this … forgive me. If what you have in your possession turns out to be the actual stolen Irish Crown Jewels, you’re telling me your intent is to return them?”

  “Well, they don’t belong to me now, do they?” I pointed out.

  “It’s a shamrock,” Michael finally answered. “And, it’s a knot, woven together to form that shamrock. Is that … is it what you see?”

  “Yes.”

  “By all the saints! What … how … where …?”

  “It showed up at my door, Michael. That’s all I’ll say about it. I’m trying to open it now. If your missing jewelry is inside, then I’ll be needing your help in returning it.”

  “Of course! This … this may be the leverage I need to have another go as Lord Mayor!”

  “Looking to serve another term?” I asked.

  “Indubitably. The announcement of the return of our jewels would be all the publicity I need in order to secure another term.”

  “Glad to know I could help out,” I joked.

  “Now, on to serious matters,” Michael said, as his voice dropped and became stern. “You mentioned someone tried to steal the chest. Is this true?”

  “Yep. We’re dealing with the Forces of STUPID here.”

  “The forces of stupid?” Michael repeated, puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Wait. I keep calling them by the wrong acronym. I’m trying to remember what it stood for. Ah, I’ve got it. They claim to be the Strategic Team of Patriotic Irish Descendants.”

  “Oh, by heaven, not them,” Michael moaned.

  “You’ve heard of them? Are they someone I need to worry about?”

  “They’re committed, that’s for sure,” Michael confirmed. “Thankfully, they’re amateurs. They’re disorganized, clumsy, and not very resourceful. Is this not so? Have you seen something that suggests otherwise?”

  “No,” I said, laughing, “that totally confirms what I’ve witnessed over here. I just don’t want them to get desperate and try something that they’re going to regret. We already captured one of their group, but he escaped when he was in the hospital.”

  “My word,” Michael breathed, “what have you been doing with your spare time?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me, pal. So, before I go, I have to ask. Is there a known way to open this chest?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. The last person who knew the secret died in 1974.”

  “It was a shared secret?” I asked.

  “Known only to the Order of Saint Patrick,” Michael confirmed. “The jewels were created in 1831 for the Sovereign and Grand Master of the Order of Saint Patrick. The jewels were brought out and worn whenever a new knight was ordained. Those jewels, along with the collars of five knights of the order, were stolen from Dublin Castle. If those jewels are recovered …”

  “And?” I inquired, after Michael had trailed off. “What about it? If those jewels are recovered, what then?”

  “I would imagine the people of Ireland will have some celebrating to do, and it’ll be all thanks to you.”

  I automatically looked down at the dogs. “Believe it or not, I can’t take all the credit. My two assistants are the ones who pointed me in your direction.”

  “Your assistants?” Michael skeptically repeated.

  “You heard that right. I’ll explain later, provided everything pans out the way I think it’s going to.”

  “You lead a very interesting life, Mr. Anderson.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. All right, I’ll get working on this chest. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Please do, Mr. Anderson. Good day to you.”

  “And a good evening to you, too.”

  Hanging up, I looked down at the dogs and shook my head. I pulled out the middle desk drawer on my right and selected several treats from the extensive stash I kept there. From a writer’s point-of-view, if you’re in the zone, and the words are flowing so fast your fingers can barely keep up, the last thing you’ll want is to be yanked out by one of your dogs. Therefore, a drawer full of distractions was a good thing to have nearby.

  “Good job, guys. That was incredibly helpful. The Order of Saint Patrick, huh? And the chest was created by a Japanese immigrant. That means Jillian was right. There’s a very specific set of steps we need to take in order to open that blasted thing.”

  Right on cue, my cell phone chirped. Glancing at the display, I saw that it was a proximity alarm from my security system. A car had just pulled into my driveway.

  “Look at that, guys. Jillian is here! Wow, wait a moment. What time is it?”

  For the record, it was later than I thought, but much earlier than I expected to see my fiancée. Either way, Jillian’s arrival was a good thing. I was going to need her help in order to figure out the steps necessary to open the chest.

  The three of us headed downstairs, just in t
ime to see Jillian walking up the steps.

  “Hello, Zachary! What … you’ve learned something! What is it? What happened? What did you find out?”

  “I didn’t say a darn thing. How could you possibly know that?”

  Jillian placed a soft, cool hand on the side of my face. “You’re flushed with excitement. I can feel the heat radiating from your face. So, tell me!”

  “I spoke with former Lord Mayor Michael O’Connell, of County Cork, Ireland.”

  “Today?” Jillian asked, as she stepped inside and took off her coat. I promptly hung it on a peg just inside the door. “Someone from Ireland called you?”

  “I called him,” I clarified, “but not until Sherlock suggested I should.”

  Jillian looked down at the tri-colored corgi and ruffled his fur. Then, she did the same for Watson.

  “Well, isn’t that a smart boy? Good for you, Sherlock. Umm, can I ask how he did that?”

  “Come upstairs,” I said. “We’ve got lots to do.”

  Returning to my study, I pulled a folding chair out of the closet and set it next to my desk. Patting the seat, I pulled out my phone, intent on reviewing the pictures I had taken since this crazy case started.

  “I was wondering when we would start looking at the pictures,” Jillian said, once she was sitting beside me. She waited for me to locate the start of the corgi clues and, once I had passed the phone to her, she studied the image. “So, what are we looking at?”

  I leaned toward Jillian and glanced down. “The elderly couple from Vance’s house. Do you see this lady, right here? Granted, I wasn’t able to capture her face too well, but this is the one who planted the bug on Watson’s collar. Additionally, she’s the one who had the chest strapped to the back of her little scooter.”

  “Ah. And here’s the shamrock, from the front of the chest. Hmm, that’s odd.”

  “What is?” I wanted to know.

  Jillian tapped the screen. “Why wouldn’t you have taken a picture of the shamrock first? Why start with the old man and woman?”

  “Because,” I explained, “the first picture was taken before the chest even arrived. This was probably about half an hour before I opened the crate to find that.”

  “Interesting. Let’s see who’s next. Here we have … the Bradigan sisters. Why did you take their picture?”

  I pointed down at the dogs. “They’re the ones who perked up as they passed by. Trust me, I wish those two could talk. I’d love to know what they were thinking.”

  “Did they perk up for everyone?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “No, only select people.”

  “These were taken at the céilí, weren’t they?” Jillian asked, as she swiped my phone’s display to bring up the next set of pictures. “I can see that you’ve taken pictures of some people, and not of others. Should I assume these are the persons Sherlock and Watson were watching?”

  I nodded. “That’s exactly right. I wish I knew why.”

  Jillian was silent as she scrolled between the five or six pictures I took while I was at her Irish-themed party. Wait. Irish-themed? Was that the link?

  “How well do you know the people in the pictures?” I eagerly asked. “Look. There’s the one of Tori and her pendant.”

  “Waterford,” Jillian said, nodding. “More Irish themes.”

  “And here we have … I don’t know. I don’t know who this is, or who’s in the next one, for that matter.”

  “Let me see. Well, here’s a picture of the O’Sullivans. They’re Irish, obviously. And, of course, we have Aine and Saoirse Bradigan. They were also born in Ireland.”

  “What about the next two?” I asked. “I didn’t recognize them.”

  I watched as Jillian scrolled to the next picture. This one was of a woman in her forties, wearing a formal dress, complete with glittering studded earrings and a wide, shimmering necklace. My eyes alternated between the earrings and the necklace as a thought occurred.

  “Go to the next one, would you?”

  Jillian complied, and a second picture of an unknown woman appeared.

  “Do we know who this is?” I asked.

  Jillian shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure out why you took a picture. Oh, I mean, why the dogs showed an interest and you ended up taking her picture.”

  I tapped the screen, directly over the woman’s throat, where a very prominent set of jewelry could be seen.

  “There’s our answer. The dogs were zeroing in on jewelry. Look at the last picture. Do you see that necklace? That thing looks incredibly gaudy.”

  “It’s a bib necklace,” Jillian explained. “Think of them like showpieces. Oh! I think I see what you mean. Since this whole ordeal is focusing on the stolen Irish Crown Jewels, you think that’s why Sherlock and Watson were paying attention to fancy jewelry?”

  “That’s my running theory,” I admitted. “But … the Bradigan sisters? Look. They aren’t wearing … never mind. They’re Irish. That’s why the dogs perked up.”

  “We’re making progress,” Jillian said, delighted. “Let’s see what else you have.”

  I took the phone back and scooted closer to Jillian. Both corgis, I might add, lifted their heads to give the two of us neutral looks. I waggled a finger at them.

  “Back to sleep, guys. We’re still going through your clues, so no input is required, thank you very much.”

  “I’d say it’s fairly clear what the dogs were trying to show us.”

  “Ireland.”

  “Yes. They focused on anything having to do with Ireland, including anyone who had on gaudy jewelry.”

  “I’ve seen the pics of the stolen jewels,” I reported. “They’re gaudy, too. Hey, I think we’re getting better at this!”

  “Or, more likely,” Jillian argued, “is that Sherlock and Watson are making the clues easier for us to decipher.”

  That sobered me. I heard an exasperated snort as both dogs resumed their napping. Condescending little boogers. That had better not be what they were doing.

  “Next up is … ah. Here we go. Talk about the slowest chase in the history of chases.”

  “This is the group of seniors you were following?” Jillian asked, leaning close. “They certainly look harmless, don’t they?”

  “You should have seen them split after I took back the chest. Oh, there we go. I pretended I heard a ringing phone, and when I pulled mine out, I took their picture. Wow, could they move when they wanted to.”

  “And they left their canes and scooters,” Jillian observed. “What’s this? Is this another shamrock?”

  I pointed at the crystal paperweight a mere two feet away, on the surface of my desk.

  “There it is, right there. That picture was taken just a little bit earlier. The dogs came out of their room and stopped right there, to stare up at it.”

  Jillian hefted the shamrock in her hand. “Is this Waterford, too?”

  “It is. I bought it in Cork.”

  “I envy you, Zachary. Ireland is on my Bucket List.”

  “Not for long,” I reminded her, which had her hugging me tight. “Speaking of Ireland, when I reached out to my friend, the former mayor of Cork, Michael identified that chest. He confirmed it was the final resting place of the Irish Crown Jewels.”

  “Oooo! So, that means they’re in there? How wonderful! We need to figure out how to open this thing!”

  “Before I reached out to Michael, I spent over an hour on the chest, trying your suggestion.”

  “What suggestion?” Jillian asked.

  I slid my notepad over to her. “This one. You said we should treat it like a Japanese puzzle box. Moving one piece should unlock something different, or allow another piece to move even further or, perhaps, in a different direction. I tried all eight moving parts. Nothing happened.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I really thought I was on to something.”

  “You were,” I confirmed. “Michael informed me that the person who made that chest was Japanes
e. Do you know what that means? You were right! There’ve got to be some very specific steps we need to take in order to get that thing open.”

  Jillian was silent as she studied markings and symbols on the silver box. She leaned forward, experimentally twisted the top left corner, and then tried a few other combinations. Nothing worked. Just then, she lifted the chest and, holding it aloft, looked at me.

  “May I?”

  “May you what?” I wanted to know.

  Jillian turned and lowered the chest down to the floor. As if they had been personally called over to give it an inspection, both corgis appeared and began sniffing the chest. After a few moments, Sherlock stopped and touched his nose to the chest’s surface.

  “What’d he touch?” I eagerly asked, growing excited.

  “Just the corner,” Jillian said, giving out a dejected sigh. “There must have been something on my finger, so when I … Zachary? Sherlock is sniffing again. Look! He touched the thistle!”

  I hurriedly slid the notepad back over and made a few notes. “Anything else?”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “What if,” I began, “instead of finding the first step, which would unlock the next, what if we have to move two pieces before the second step is revealed?”

  “The corner and the thistle,” Jillian said, amazed. “May I?”

  “Go ahead,” I urged.

  Jillian twisted the corner once more, and then pressed down on the thistle’s stem. For all intents and purposes, it looked as though nothing had changed. I looked at Jillian and held up my hands in a now what gesture.

  “Let’s try to move the … Zachary! The shamrock! The petal isn’t moving!”

  “What? It was just a moment ago. Let me see. No, you’re right. What about the sun? Or the horses?”

  “Let me see. No! Those aren’t moving, either! What do you think that means?”

  Before I could answer, both dogs surged to their feet and began snarling. Staring down at the dogs, with surprise written all over my face, I was about to ask them what the problem was, when I suddenly heard a chirp from my phone. A quick glance at the camera confirmed that the front door had opened.

  “That’s the front door,” I quietly whispered. “Someone just came inside!”

  “We’re already here, Mr. Anderson,” an angry voice snapped, from the doorway behind us. “That’ll be far enough. We’ll take that chest now, thank you very much. We appreciate you taking the time to locate it for us. I cannot begin to tell you how long we’ve searched for it.”