Night Of The Blackbird (35 page)

“Then answer the lady's question!” Danny roared. The kid might have been frightened of Moira, but he was terrified of Danny.

“What man?” Moira repeated more calmly.

The kid shook his head. “He didn't give me a name. And it was dark…. He talked to me in the haunted house. He was tall, I think. A little taller than me. He…” He looked around at all of them, staring from Josh to Patrick, Danny to Michael. He swallowed hard. “He…he, oh, man, I don't know. He was tall…like all your friends. I think his hair was brown. He was a nice guy. Said he just wanted to pull a prank on a friend. Scare her, whisper a few Irish words. I don't even know what I said. Honest. He made me memorize the words. You gotta understand—he gave me a hundred bucks. I had a fender bender in my dad's car, and my mom covered me, and I've got to pay her back. If my dad found out, he'd have made me quit the football team. You don't know my dad. He'll kill me. Honest, I am so sorry, lady, so sorry. I'll do anything. I'll give you the hundred bucks, just please don't call the police. I swear to God I'll never do anything like it again.”

“Let him go,” Moira told Danny softly.

“Let him go?” Danny asked indignantly.

“We should call the police,” Patrick said firmly.

“I think he's right,” Josh murmured.

“No, just let him go.”

Danny slowly released his hold on the boy. “Remember,” he said softly, “we can come back and get you any time.”

“I swear, I'll give you the money—” the kid began, but Moira was already walking across the street to the car. She had all she needed. She hadn't been threatened by anyone who had been with her.

She thought Michael was behind her at first, but knew before she turned that it was Danny. That aftershave again. “I think an apology would be nice.”

“I'm sorry,” she said stiffly.

“And I'm not so sure that walking away is a good thing.”

“Why?”

“You don't know who paid the kid.”

She stopped and turned. “And you know damn well that there's no way to find out. If I call the cops, they'll drag the kid down to the station, where he'll cry and try to remember more about the man, but he won't be able to. He talked to him in the dark. The kid is scared out of his wits now, and it will only get worse if we do drag him down there. Let's just go. I think I've proved my point. I'm not crazy.”

“I never suggested that you were crazy,” he said softly.

Danny sighed. Michael had caught up to them. Patrick and Josh were still dodging cars. “Hey, Moira, you should really call the cops. Who the hell would want to scare you like that?” Michael said now.

She couldn't tell him that as long as it hadn't been one of them, it didn't really matter.

“Who knows, maybe someone who hates travel shows,” she said lightly. “Please, guys, let's just go home.”

They both stared at her unhappily as the other two caught up.

“Please,” she repeated.

Michael sighed, walking around to open the passenger door so Moira could slide into the car. As he went to the driver's side, she saw, in the rearview mirror, that the others were getting into their car, as well.

As they drove, she felt the anger drain from her. Despite the fact that someone had paid that kid a hundred dollars to frighten her, she was relieved.

It hadn't been one of them.

Exhausted, she leaned back.

“My shoulder is here,” Michael said softly.

“Thanks. I'll take it.”

She was amazed to find herself able to doze against him as he drove. When she awoke, they had reached her father's garage. Michael was prodding her gently, fingers brushing her hair from her face. “We're here.”

She climbed out of the car just as Patrick drove up behind them. When they had been joined on the sidewalk by the others, Moira smoothed her hair and said, “Not a word about any of this to Mom and Dad, you understand?”

“You should have called the police,” Danny said irritably.

“Would you listen to me for once? My father is dealing with enough right now. Not a word. I mean it.”

They'll all stared at her, jaws locked. She felt a sudden surge of wisdom regarding men. None of them liked being told what to do.

She turned and headed toward the pub, the rest of them following her.

The place was a zoo. Word of Seamus's death had been in the paper, and more old friends had turned up to drink to his memory.

Moira wasn't sure what the men behind her decided to do. The minute she came in, she stowed her purse and coat and hopped behind the bar. Seamus's old friends from his days at the shipyards had heard the news and forsaken their local pubs to come here. They talked about the difficulties of their work, of the times Seamus had done something funny, of the times he had stood up for other men when conditions had been bad.

She was serving a Guinness when she heard a man say, “The obituary was really beautiful. Eamon told us you wrote it up. That was nice, Dan. A real tribute to the man.”

She swung around. Danny was behind the bar, filling a tray of wineglasses with Chablis.

“Thanks, Richie.”

“You're a talented man with a pen.”

“It's not difficult to write about a man like Seamus,” Danny said.

“Yeah, the pen is something,” the man named Richie said. “Mightier than the sword. A weapon like no other, so they say.”

“The written word can cut like a knife,” Danny agreed. He picked up the tray. Moira hadn't realized that she was blocking his way out of the bar area until he looked at her and said, “Excuse me.”

“I could have gotten those for you. You didn't have to come back here.”

He said nothing as he walked past her. A few minutes later, her father was behind her. “You're needed on the floor,” he told her softly. She turned and looked at him with surprise.

“For Seamus. The dock fellows have asked for you and Colleen to do ‘Amazing Grace.' And ‘Danny Boy.”'

She nodded, wondering if she was too unnerved to get through the songs. She walked out, met her sister on the floor. Colleen squeezed her hand. They walked up to the band. Jeff made the announcement that the next two songs would be in honor of Seamus and anyone was welcome to join in.

From the time they'd been little, they'd been singing ‘Amazing Grace.' Eamon Kelly had always been proud of his daughters' natural ability to harmonize together. They fell into it instantly now, the pipes adding a mournful tone. They went straight from ‘Amazing Grace' into ‘Danny Boy,' Moira nearly cutting her palms with her nails, her hands clenched so tightly as she sang the words.

They finished to applause and Liam's teary-eyed statement that, “Sure, but old Seamus is looking down now, happy in heaven that he had the love of women such as yourselves.”

Moira smiled stiffly. Colleen had little trails of tears trickling down her cheeks. Moira hugged her sister tightly and slipped behind the bar.

Danny was there again, making a drink.

“What's that?” she asked sharply.

“A blackbird. For the fellow in the corner.”

She looked. Kyle Browne was back. She should bring the drink, take the chance to talk to him, tell him what had happened that day.

“I'll take it to him.”

“No, Moira, I'll be taking this.”

She watched Danny leave the bar, watched as he delivered the drink. She couldn't hear anything over the music and the crowd. She could see, though, that they were talking. Both men were tense.

“Moira, another Guinness this way, darlin', please,” Liam called to her.

She served the drink to Liam, squeezed his hand affectionately and started along the length of the bar, making sure everyone was all right, still trying to keep an eye on Kyle Browne and Danny.

“Miss…hey! You're Moira Kelly, right? Wow, that's smart, you're…Kelly's Pub.”

Moira looked at the young woman who had spoken. She was probably about Moira's age, but she had a slightly haggard appearance, as if she had put in a lot of miles over the years.

“I am Moira Kelly. And welcome to Kelly's. Can I get you anything? Would you like to see a menu?”

“No, this is fine for me. One beer. I have to get home. But I've seen this doorway forever. I grew up in a pub, too. Well, not a pub. A bar. Nothing so nice as this.” She flashed Moira a smile that made her look younger. “I've always wanted to come in here. Tonight I did. There's a good feeling here, not like…not like a few of the places I go.”

Looking at her, Moira suddenly thought she knew why the other woman had such a sad, hardened appearance. She continued speaking, her words seeming to verify Moira's thoughts. “I've been so nervous lately…two girls dead. Those prostitutes. Strangled. It makes a woman nervous to step into a bar.”

“Do they know that the killer has been finding the women in bars?” Moira asked. She felt sorry for her and was glad that she had come in—as long as it wasn't for the purpose of solicitation. This was her father's very reputable place of business.

The woman, with huge dark eyes, circles under them, looked at her as if she had read her mind. “I'm just here for a drink,” she said, sounding a little bit desperate.

“Of course,” Moira said instantly.

The woman lowered her voice. “I think he must be meeting them in bars. In fact…I was at my dad's place the other night, doing some stocking, down below the bar. And I'm not certain…but I thought I saw the girl who was killed in there. With a man. A nice-looking man, and of course, she was a beautiful girl…once. I've been watching the papers. I saw her face…I think.”

“Did you go to the police?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Someone is murdering people,” Moira said very softly. “The police won't—”

“You don't understand. You don't go to the cops from my father's place.” She hesitated. “More drugs go through his bar than come out of Colombia. Someone would kill me for sure if I went anywhere near the police.”

“More people could die—”

“But I'm not certain what I saw. Maybe it wasn't her. And the guy…It was dark. I don't know that I'd recognize him.”

“But—”

“I shouldn't have talked to you, but I'm scared. I shouldn't have come in here. I don't belong in a place like this.”

“You're welcome in here. Come in any time—for a beer.”

“Of course,” the girl said, and laughed.

Then, suddenly, the strangest expression came over her face. She was staring at a point beyond Moira.

Moira turned. The young woman was looking into the antique mirror above the bar that advertised Guinness. Moira stared into the mirror. She couldn't see anything but heads moving and people sitting. There was a watery reflection of the band, Danny picking up empty glasses from the table next to Kyle Browne's, her brother and Michael, in the center of the floor, serving plates of food.

Moira turned to look at the young woman.

She was gone.

Moira swore.

“What's up?” Chrissie came up and asked her, worried.

“There was a girl in here, a frightened girl. I think she was a prostitute, and she said something about maybe having seen one of the murdered girls in her father's bar, but she refused to go to the police…and then she disappeared.”

Chrissie looked at her. “Moira, every prostitute and ‘escort' in the city is probably nervous right now. She probably went home. And if she does know anything, I bet she will wind up speaking to the police sooner or later.”

“She's afraid. Her father has a bar where a lot of drug deals go down.”

“Well, she's gone. There's nothing you can do now.”

“I'm worried about her.”

“Moira, I know you always want to help everyone, but there's nothing you can do, so just forget it. We've got our own problems here, these days.”

Moira was afraid that Chrissie was going to start crying over Seamus again.

“The girl sounds smart enough to watch what she's doing, Moira,” Chrissie said.

“I guess you're right.”

“Don't say anything to your father if you ever want to take ten steps on your own again,” Chrissie warned.

“You're right about that,” Moira murmured. She went behind the bar, got busy and decided that Chrissie was right. There was nothing she could do, and she did have her own problems. Big problems. Kyle Browne was still in the corner. Alone.

Moira decided this was her chance. She quickly put together another blackbird. Before she could take it to the man in the corner, though, she was interrupted.

“Miss Kelly, your song was beautiful.”