Night Of The Blackbird (28 page)

“I'm just fine. Really. Working is good.”

“I understand. I
will
hold you and comfort you, though, you know.”

“A pub is a different kind of place, Michael. I'm good here. Picking up glasses, scrubbing them will be good.”

“Josh said he talked to you. You know how to reach me. I'll wait to hear from you.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Want to walk me to the door?”

“Sure.”

She came out from behind the bar and allowed him to slip an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the door. There, he paused and kissed her lightly on the lips. She frowned suddenly. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“Now. You can tell me now.”

He paused, looking around the pub.

“I'm not sure…”

“I'll get my coat. We'll step outside.”

She slipped her coat from the hook by the door and stepped out with him. It was warmer than it had been. The walk was clear of ice. Maybe spring really was on the way.

“What is it?”

“I still don't think I should be telling you this now,” he said.

She shook her head. “Why? What is it?”

“Maybe something you already know. But…I ran a check on your friend Danny.”

“What?”

“I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself.”

“A check?”

“I have some sources. Anyway, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was jealous and worried. He seems…a little dangerous. And…well, I wasn't sure if you really knew him.”

“In what way?” she asked.

“Well, he's from Belfast—”

“I know that.”

“But did you know why he grew up with the uncle who brought him here all the time?”

“His parents died.”

“They didn't just die. His father was shot and killed by an off-duty member of a British army unit. He had a baby sister who was shot and killed at the same time. His mother died a year later, in the middle of a rock-throwing war between rival factions.”

Moira stared at him. No, she hadn't known any of those things about Danny. She hadn't known about her own mother and father, and she sure as hell had never known that Danny's past had been so bitter and violent.

“My God,” she breathed.

“Moira, I'm telling you because what happened to him was certainly horrible, but he also…well, my sources say that he has been involved with some really radical groups in Northern Ireland. I just want you to be careful. Keep your distance from him as much as you can.”

“You went out with him all day,” she murmured.

“Well,” he said ruefully, “if I can't be with you, I intend to keep an eye on him.”

She moistened her lips and nodded. The entire day had been strange. And sad. Suddenly she wanted a tea with whiskey and a full night's sleep, so she could have a few hours in which to forget everything.

“Moira, I'm sorry to do or say anything to upset you. I just want you to be careful. The door to the top floor of the house locks, right?”

“Right,” she murmured. She didn't tell Michael that Danny had keys to every lock the Kellys had.

“Your friend could be nothing more than a great guy with a spotty past,” Michael said. “But lock yourself in at night. Protect yourself. You're very precious, especially to me,” he told her.

She nodded again. She tried not to think about the fact that he was doing everything so decently, while she had betrayed him with the very man from whom he wanted to protect her.

“Get back into the pub before I leave,” he said.

She nodded and went in. As she walked to the bar, she wondered if he had noticed that she had been too stunned, tired or simply shell-shocked to offer him so much as another hug good-night.

When she walked behind the bar, she was stunned to see Granny Jon sitting on the bar stool to the left side of Seamus's empty seat. “I came for a nightcap, child. I needed one this evening,” she said, lifting a brandy snifter to Moira. “A blackbird,” she said. “Join me?”

“Of course. Give me a second.”

Moira made herself a drink, then went to stand before her grandmother. They clicked glasses. “To Seamus,” Granny Jon said. Moira was startled by the volume of her voice. Rich and deep. It reached every ear in the pub. “To Seamus. And to all men of peace. And may all who would kill innocent men, women and children for their cause, no matter what it might be, be damned.”

She downed her drink. The pub was silent, watching her.

Then Jeff Dolan cried, “To Seamus and the Irish. To the golden age of learning, and a future of peace.”

“Salute!” someone called.

Glasses throughout the pub were raised.

Granny Jon set her snifter on the bar. “Good night,” she said softly to Moira, and walked around the bar, heading for the stairs.

Patrick came to stand next to his sister. “What was that all about?” he murmured worriedly. “You don't think that this has…unhinged her a little?”

“She's in pain,” Moira replied.

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Do you want to go up? Colleen, Danny and I can close down. You've really been working tonight. It must have been a long day.”

She was ready to demur, determined to stick it out strongly to the end, then she changed her mind. “All right. Thanks, Patrick.”

She turned and left him, following her grandmother's footsteps up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she hesitated, wanting to lock the door then, with her brother and sister still downstairs. They both had keys. Probably not on them. And then again, whom would she be locking the door against? Her brother—or Danny?

She walked down the hallway, passing her room to listen at her grandmother's door. She could hear water running in the bathroom.

She went to her room, washed her face and brushed her teeth by rote and started to climb into bed. Her mind seemed to be running at a million miles an hour. She was exhausted, but she was never going to sleep.

Lie down, just lie down….

She crawled in. Seamus was dead. Her mother knew Jacob Brolin from way back. Danny's entire family had died tragic deaths. She had slept with him. Jeff had told her that something might be going on in the pub. Seamus was dead. He had talked. Granny Jon had come downstairs and made a strange speech….

She jumped out of bed and walked to her grandmother's door. She tapped on it lightly.

“Yes?”

“It's me, Granny, Moira.”

“Come in.”

Granny Jon was awake, lying in her bed, watching a television that had no sound coming from it.

Moira walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. Granny Jon arched a brow, then stretched out her fingers, curling them around Moira's.

“That was quite a toast you gave downstairs,” Moira said.

Granny shrugged. “I may be old, but I like to let my mind be known now and then.”

“Are you worried about something?” Moira asked her. “Something going on?”

“I'm sad. We've lost an old friend. And maybe I am a little worried. There's a lot going on these days.”

Moira stared at her, then changed the subject. “You know, I take it, that Mum was once acquainted with Jacob Brolin?”

Granny Jon nodded. “Naturally.”

“What do you think is going on?”

Granny Jon shook her head. “Just a feeling in these old bones, my girl. And, I suppose, a history filled with a violence I never want to see repeated. It makes me angry, because Ireland is such a wonderful country. Ah, Moira, you've been there. Is there anything like a summer's day in Connemara? The wind blowing over the grass…all of the island. In the North, the Giant's Causeway, those ancient rocks rising like bizarre steps cast down on the earth from heaven above. You can almost believe the legend of Finn MacCool.”

Moira smiled and began musing. “Finn MacCool, warrior, leader of the Fianna, who defended Ireland from foreign invaders. He was strong and had the gift of second sight. He could suck his thumb and gain wisdom by doing so.” She smiled. “I remember that Mom and Dad couldn't get Colleen to stop sucking her thumb when she was a little girl. She would argue with them that sucking her thumb was going to make her smart like Finn MacCool.”

Granny Jon smiled. “Well, now, very good. But it wasn't just Colleen who used Finn as an excuse to suck her thumb. I believe she got the idea from you. I need a trip home. I want to go to Armagh again and see the great cathedral rising out of the land, and the fields rolling and green and so lovely. It's a magical place. I need to see it again.”

“You've been back many times.”

“I know, but I get homesick. I love the States, and I'm proud to be a citizen. But I want to drive around and see the beauties of my youth.”

“We need to plan a trip, then,” Moira said lightly.

“We'll see. Let's get through the next few days, eh?”

Moira nodded. She hugged her grandmother. “I love you very much.”

“I know, Moira. And I love you, too. Dearly. We're all very, very proud of you, you know. And of Patrick, and Colleen, too, of course.”

“May I ask you something?”

“My girl, in life, we can ask anything we like. Getting an answer is an altogether different thing.”

Moira smiled. “Will you tell me the truth about Danny?”

“What truth is that?”

“I never knew before that his father and sister were murdered.”

Granny Jon was silent for a minute. “Where did you hear that?”

“I'd rather not say. Is it true?”

“Yes, they were killed before his eyes.”

“Why didn't anyone ever tell me?”

“Danny never talks about it. I imagine it's a painful subject for him. Even after all these years.”

“But it's important. It's something that could…”

“Could what?”

“Well, it could definitely make someone…”

“Crazy? Is that what you're trying to say?”

“No, no, not crazy. Just…radical.”

“Some people, maybe.” Granny Jon shrugged. “As it happened, he was raised around the world. He puts his feelings into his writing.”

Moira realized that her grandmother was not going to speak ill of Daniel O'Hara. Even so, she had learned what she needed to know. Michael had told the truth.

“Granny Jon…maybe it's not a good time to be making speeches. Even if you're only making a toast to an old friend.”

“I'm an old woman, girl, and I can speak my mind when I choose. That's a gift that comes with age.”

“You're not all that old.”

“Oh, yes, my dear, I am.”

“Seamus was old, but there was no reason we should have lost him.”

“Ah, Moira, you feel his death deeply, I know. We all do.”

“It's more than that,” she murmured.

“You're feeling something in your young bones, eh? Well, then, I promise I'll behave and keep my feelings to myself, if you'll be doing the same.”

“Discretion is my middle name,” Moira promised.

“Give me a kiss, then, and let me get some sleep.”

Moira kissed her grandmother, then rose reluctantly. She was tempted to ask her to move over and let her share the bed.

She walked to the door, wondering why she felt such a strange and deep-seated fear. She decided she wasn't going to frighten her grandmother.

But she wasn't going to leave.

She was going to take a seat right outside her door for the time being.

She opened and closed the door silently and nearly screamed aloud when she almost tripped over something in the hallway. A body, a man. Kneeling, sitting, crouching? It didn't matter. Even as a scream formed in her throat, the man moved. He was instantly up. Before the terrified sound could rip from her lungs, a hand was clamped hard over her mouth.

“S
hh.”

She was shaking in his hold but didn't really need the voice, even in so hushed a monosyllable, to know it was Danny. She had felt him. Been close enough to breathe in his scent.

“Moira, it's me. Dan. Shh.”

She choked back sound but continued to stand there, shaking. Danny. The man she had known so well and never really known at all.

He released her. She forced herself not to run screaming down the hall. “What are you doing here?” she whispered furiously.

“Watching over your grandmother.”

He
was watching over someone?

“Why?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said flatly. “Not exactly. What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“In your grandmother's room?”

“She
is
my grandmother.”

“Right. But what are you doing here
now?
” he asked.

She was unnerved but also determined to stand her ground. “Watching over my grandmother.”

He was silent. In the shadowy hallway, she couldn't begin to read his expression.

“You can go to bed,” he told her. “I intend to stay here awhile.”

Moira bit her lip, wondering if this wasn't like the wolf offering to guard the lamb. They were in her home. Her father and brother were both asleep down the hall. The house was full of people.

He couldn't possibly be planning on doing anything.

So what was he worried about? And what was
she
worried about?

“I intend to stay here. You can go to bed,” she told him.

She felt Danny's eyes in the shadows. He took her hand suddenly. “Fine. That's my place against the wall, there. That's yours.”

He stubbornly sat down. She sat next to him stiffly. They were still close enough to touch. She didn't know whether to be afraid or not.

To just start screaming or not…

“Really, you can go—” she began.

“I'm not moving.”

“Neither am I.”

“Then we'll just have to sit here together, won't we?” he said.

And so they sat.

Time ticked by. At some point she must have fallen asleep. She woke suddenly, with a sense of alarm, not knowing why, or even where she was or what was going on for a moment. Then she knew. Her neck hurt. She had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. And he was suddenly sitting up, alert, tense, listening in the shadows.

Moira straightened without letting out a sound. As tense as he, but she didn't hear a thing.

He leaned very close to her. “Your family is all home for the night?” He mouthed.

She nodded. Then she realized she didn't really know. Patrick, Colleen and Danny had all still been downstairs when she had come up. She had gotten ready for bed and gone straight into her grandmother's room. She really had no clue as to whether they had come up and gone to bed or not.

Danny rose, silent as a wraith. She stood beside him. To her horror, her knee cracked. He paid her no attention but started moving down the hallway to the entry. On bare feet, Moira tiptoed behind him. He came to a sudden halt, turning around, frowning severely and motioning that she should turn back. She glared at him indignantly.

He turned again, tense. Then she saw his body suddenly ease. He turned to her. “It doesn't matter now. They're gone.”

“Who's gone?” she inquired.

“I don't know. I wish I did.”

“I didn't hear anything.”

“You were sleeping.”

“Well, what did you hear?”

“Something…at the main door.”

“Like what?”

“Like…a key in a lock.”

“Oh,” she said. He was lying. Her family had keys to the front door, and he had a key. No one else. She looked at her watch. It was just after five.

“Mum could be getting up soon,” she said, staring at him flatly.

He looked at her, jaw at a slight angle and locked.

“What is suddenly the matter with you?” he asked.

“Nothing is the matter with me,” she said, hoping she didn't sound nervous. “My mother wakes up very early. The household stirs. You can leave now, and I'll be very careful to lock up in your wake.”

“You don't want me in your house?” he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Danny, this was a hard day. You're right. I don't want you up here.”

“All right. It is almost morning. And the threat is gone.”

“What threat? Maybe you're the only threat around here.”

She realized that she was at the head of the hallway and he was in front of her. She was rather like a dachshund trying to pretend it was a Doberman, with her family safely behind her. But she had begun this. She needed to bluff it out.

“I'm a threat?”

“Yes. I think you are.”

She thought he would argue. She was even afraid he would get angry and go after her. This time she was ready to scream before he could come anywhere near her.

But he didn't approach her. He turned and headed for the stairway to the pub, leaving the house without ever looking back.

Moira remained in the hallway, shivering, for long moments.

Had he really heard something?
Was
her grandmother in some kind of danger, just for speaking her mind?

And damn it, was Danny not just a loose cannon but one primed and ready to strike?

She started to walk to her room, then hesitated. She paused at Colleen's door, then quietly twisted the knob.

Her sister was sound asleep.

At the door to the master bedroom, where Patrick slept with his family, she paused longer. To Colleen, she could easily explain her presence. She couldn't sleep. She wondered if Colleen, too, was awake and in need of company. Patrick was sleeping with his wife. If Siobhan awakened, what explanation could she give?
Sorry, Siobhan, excuse me, I was just checking up on my brother.

Still, she had to be sure. She tried the knob, hoping that they hadn't locked the door. Of course, if the door
was
locked, that had to mean Patrick was in bed. Siobhan wouldn't lock the door if her husband wasn't in.

Seconds ticked by. Moira twisted the knob as silently as she could, thanking God that her father kept everything in good working order, all hinges oiled.

She looked in. Stared against the darkness. A night-light burned from the bathroom, but the bed was in shadow. The light was left on for the kids in the adjoining room.

After a moment, however, she could make out the bed. There was only one body in it.

She stood there, feeling icy cold and frozen in place. Then she closed the door quickly, realizing that Siobhan could awaken with her standing there. She walked down the hallway to the kitchen and was about to turn on the light when she heard a key turning in the lock to the door that led to the pub.

She froze against the refrigerator. The pounding of her heart seemed so heavy and hard that she was sure the sound would give her away.

If Danny had returned, she was going to scream. She was going to waken the whole house and tell her father that they had to get Daniel O'Hara out of their home.

But it wasn't Danny. As she watched in silence, her brother entered the house, his shoes off and in his hand. He closed the door very quietly. Locked it. On his stocking feet, he started through the entry to the hallway.

“Took you a while to close up, eh?” Moira said softly from the shadows.

Patrick spun around, pale as a sheet, and stared at her. “Damn it, Moira, what is the matter with you lately? Are you trying to wake the whole house?”

“Where have you been?”

“Are you my newly elected parent?”

“Where have you been?”

“Why don't you talk a little louder so my wife can ask me that question and she and I can have a real fight?”

“Patrick, I asked you—”

Her brother strode to her in the shadows. “Out, Moira, with friends.”

“On the night Seamus died?”

“Yeah, on the night Seamus died. It's kind of an Irish thing, you know? I was with some other friends of Seamus's, as a matter of fact. Now, if you have any more questions, why don't you put them down on paper? I'm going to try to sleep for a few hours.”

He left her standing in the kitchen and started down the hallway. She was both furious, and afraid. She loved her brother.

But where the hell had he been?

Had he come back to the house before, sensed that there was someone there and waited? No, that didn't make any sense. He could have come in at any time and had a reasonable explanation. He lived there.

She was suddenly really tired. And it was after five.

Maybe a few hours' sleep would make things a little better.

She walked to the main door and studied it. She wondered if the top bolt still slid. It hadn't been used since they'd gotten out of high school.

She tried it. It groaned and at first wouldn't budge. Then it slid home. She walked through the house to the door that led to the curving stairway. Once upon a time there had been a chain bolt on it. The chain was missing now. It didn't matter, or shouldn't have mattered. There was an alarm system on the pub.

She turned from the door and walked down the hall. She headed for her own room but didn't go in. She went to Granny Jon's room, slipped in, locked the door and carefully settled next to her grandmother. She put her head down, thinking she still wouldn't be able to sleep.

She'd locked the doors. And still, she had to wonder if she was locking out the danger that might threaten her household or locking herself in with it.

Amazingly, she was so tired that she slept.

She woke to the sound of her mother's panicked voice.

“Eamon! Moira's not in the house!”

She'd slept with her head at the foot of the bed. She bolted up, turned to see her grandmother rising and staring at her with surprise. She offered a rueful smile and leaped up. She was so tired she was dizzy. She raced out the door to the hallway where her mother was standing, tears starting to flood her eyes.

“I'm here, Mum. I'm here.”

“Oh, Moira, dear,” Katy said, taking her into her arms. “I'm so sorry. I was going to awaken you to go with Dad to Flannery's, I didn't mean to pry, and then I saw that you weren't there…and there's just so much going on lately that…”

“I'm here, I was just…I, uh, I just decided to crawl in with Granny Jon.”

Katy pulled away and nodded as if she understood.

“I do want to go with Dad, though. I'll hop in the shower, then be right out.”

When Moira emerged, her father and sister were dressed and waiting.

“Do you want some breakfast, Moira?” Katy asked.

“No, Mum, I'm fine.”

“Have a quick cup of tea.”

She would have refused, but her mother was already pouring it. She looked at her father, her eyes offering an apology for keeping him waiting.

“Is Patrick coming with us?” she asked, taking the tea from her mother and sipping it.

“Patrick is going to stay with his wife and children,” Eamon said. “Whenever you're ready, Moira.”

She gulped the tea, kissed her mother on the cheek and followed her father and sister out the door. Flannery's was only about five blocks away, so they decided to walk.

She and Colleen sat on either side of Eamon as they went through the arrangements. Seamus had already picked out his coffin, they discovered. It was a simple one, but with a carved claddagh on the lid above a large cross. The mortuary attendant told them that it was a stock piece for them, so many of their clientele were Irish. The attendant had spoken with the medical examiner's office, and they expected to be able to pick up the remains that afternoon. The wake could be on Wednesday night, as Eamon wanted, and the funeral could be held Thursday morning. Father Mulligan was already aware of the death and would read the service.

As they walked home, Eamon told them, “There were two things he always said he wanted. He told me he wanted to look down from heaven and see you girls doing ‘Amazing Grace' in the church. And he wanted me to do a eulogy with every word polite and full of flattery, whether I choked on the words or not.”

“We'll sing, don't worry,” Colleen said. Then she hesitated. “But what if…what if we break down, Dad?”

“You won't. But if you did, that would be fine with Seamus.”