BACK HOME, I made my second call of the day.

A familiar voice answered. “Temperance Brennan.”

“Aunt Tempe? Hi, it’s Tory.” Then I quickly added, “Kit’s daughter.”

“That was my guess,” Tempe quipped, “since I’ve only got one grandniece. How are you, sweetie?”

“I’m good. You?”

“Swamped. I’ve got three cases in the lab, and a fourth on its way. The price I pay for the glamorous life.” Her voice grew softer. “I heard about LIRI. I’m so sorry, Tory. Tell Kit I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“Thanks,” I said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate your offer.”

Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Tempe changed the subject. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Not that I’m complaining, since we rarely get a chance to chat.” Her voice became mock stern. “You must call more often.”

“I will, promise. But I do have a specific question, if you’ve got a moment.”

“Fire away. Your timing is perfect. I’m grabbing a late lunch.”

“Are you sure? I know how busy you are.”

I was finding it hard to get to the point. Aunt Tempe is my hero. She’s the last person I want to view me as foolish.

“Never too busy for you,” Tempe chided. “Let’s hear it.”

“You once told me your family came from Ireland.”

“Our family,” Tempe corrected. “Kinsale, in County Cork. My grandfather was born there.”

“You wouldn’t happen to speak Gaelic would you?”

“Níl agam ach beagainin Gaeilge,” Tempe replied. “That means, ‘I only speak a little Irish.’ At least, I think that’s what it means.”

“So you know the language?”

“Nil agam ach beágainín Gaeilge,” Tempe repeated with a laugh. “I’ve conquered French, can get by with Spanish, even a little German. But Gaelic is tough stuff.”

“There aren’t any Gaelic translator programs online,” I said. “Only chat rooms.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s a beautiful language that was spoken for centuries, but Gaelic declined sharply under British rule. Then the Great Famine of 1845 devastated rural Ireland, where Gaelic was most prevalent. The language never really recovered.”

“So no one speaks it anymore?”

“Less than fifteen percent of the Irish population, though the current government is working hard to preserve it. Gaelic speakers are fairly rare here in the States.”

“Oh.” My spirits sank.

“I can give it a shot.” I heard static as Tempe adjusted the phone. “When I was a kid, a second cousin lived with my family briefly. She spoke Gaelic fluently, so I learned the language to keep her company.”

“And you still remember it?”

“We’ll see. Do you need something translated?”

“I’ve got a … poem.”

“From a book?”

“No,” I said. “Some pottery washed up on the beach near my house. A few lines are visible on the inside.”

I hated lying to my idol, but what choice did I have?

“A mystery! Awesome! Email me the poem and I’ll take a run at it.”

“That’d be great! Thank you so much.”

“Stop,” Tempe chuckled. “After what I’ve been slogging through today, poetry will be a welcome change of pace.”

There was an awkward pause while I debated with myself.

“Was there something else, Tory?”

Snap decision.

“Do you know anything about Anne Bonny, the female pirate?”

“I’ve heard of her, of course. But I’m a little light on specifics. Why?”

Throwing caution to the wind, I told Tempe my suspicions. Mary Brennan. The painting. Bonny’s Massachusetts rumors. Our shared handwriting trait.

When I’d finished, the line was quiet for a very long time.

Great. She thinks I’m a moron.

“Wow. Who knows? It could be true.”

I realized I’d been holding my breath. “It’s wacky, granted. But I can’t shake the feeling there’s a connection.”

“I understand,” Tempe said. “I’m a Brennan too, remember? Though I’m definitely not related to Anne Bonny. My grandparents didn’t leave the Emerald Isle until after World War I.”

“It’s crazy we share the Brennan name, even though I grew up in another family. But I’m glad we do.”

“It shows we were meant to connect,” Tempe said. “I just wish it had been under happier circumstances.”

Tempe went silent, possibly regretting the reference to my mother’s death.

“I’ll send the poem to your Gmail,” I said. “It was great chatting.”

“Don’t give up on the pirate connection. I expect a full report, matey.”

“Aye aye, captain. And thanks again.”

“Slán agus beannacht leat.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“‘Good-bye and blessings upon you.’” Tempe chuckled. “I hope.”