Night of the Blackbird

by Heather Graham

  He walked through the office and storeroom to the stairs leading to the home above. At the top, he checked the door. Locked.

  In the bar, he suddenly bolted out the front and ran to the side, taking the stairs two at the time. The outside door to the residence was also firmly locked, although anyone with a real intent to get in and a talent for breaking and entering could jimmy the bolts.

  He went down the stairs, into the pub, to his allotted room.

  He took a hot shower, then slid beneath the sheets and comforter. He flicked on the telly. CNN. The world was in bad shape. Violence flaring in the Middle East. In Eastern Europe, a terrible train wreck, the fault of an antiquated switching system. The weather taking a gruesome toll in South America.

  Then the news reporter, who had just given a grim tale regarding flooding in Venezuela, put a smile on her face and began talking about Saint Patrick’s Day. She showed a cheery scene in Dublin, crowds in New York, then a brief interview with the Belfast politician, hailed worldwide, who was en route to Boston to help celebrate with the Boston Irish.

  The news continued. Dan stared at the picture on the screen but didn’t hear much more.

  It was a very long time before he slept.

  5

  The house seemed quiet when Moira left her bedroom the following morning. She saw that Colleen was just ahead of her, walking down the hall to the kitchen.

  She followed her sister. “Good morning,” she murmured, as they entered the kitchen together. Her mother had evidently been up already; coffee had been brewed in the automatic coffeemaker, and a pot of tea sat on the big kitchen table, as well. Her brother was up, sitting at the table, sipping coffee, reading the newspaper.

  “Top o’ the morning to you,” Colleen returned, eyes rolling as she turned them on Patrick. “And you, brother, dear. You’re looking well-rested for a man who spent half the night playing—”

  “With the band.” Moira interrupted in horror, amazed that Colleen would make any reference to the fact that they’d been outside his door the previous night. She slid into her old chair at the table and cast Colleen a warning glare.

  “Playing with the band,” Colleen repeated. “That’s exactly what I was saying,” she continued, glaring at Moira, eyes wide with innocence and mock indignation.

  Moira felt like hell. She hadn’t fallen asleep until three or four. And then, perhaps out of force of habit, she’d found herself wide awake and unable to pound her pillow into any semblance of comfort when she’d realized she didn’t have to be awake so early this morning. She did have things to do, of course. Michael and Josh had done their work well. Permits to tape the parade and the goings-on in various areas of the city had been procured. But she needed a plan of action, and she needed to pretend that she had been on it from the moment she had hung up after talking to her mother and making the decision to come to Boston.

  Patrick looked at them both, slightly puzzled. “I feel just fine, thanks. Colleen, you look all right, but Moira…hmm. Trust me, you don’t look as bad as you sound. Wouldn’t do, would it? Can’t have bags beneath your eyes that stretch to your chin when you’re on camera, now, can you?”

  “Great. How come Colleen looks all right but I merely look better than you think I feel?” Moira asked him.

  Patrick grinned. “You’ve had this shell-shocked look since you arrived,” he told Moira.

  “Has she?” Pouring coffee, Colleen turned to study Moira.

  “If you’re going to turn that cup-filling ritual into a day long event, perhaps you could let me go first,” Moira said.

  “Give her the coffee—she needs it,” Patrick said.

  Moira glared at her brother. “How come you’re saying that?”

  “I heard you tossing around all night.”

  “Me!” Moira protested. She stared at Colleen, and suddenly she couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter, and Colleen followed suit.

  “What’s the inside joke?” Patrick asked, eyes narrowing as he looked from one of them to the other.

  “Well, we were trying to be discreet…” Colleen began.

  “But honest to God, surely, that old bed frame hasn’t created such a noise since…well, probably since Colleen was conceived,” Moira said.

  Patrick’s heritage was instantly visible as his cheeks flamed a brilliant shade of red.

  “You two are full of it,” Patrick managed to sputter. “How rude. I mean, this is our parents’ house….”

  “Hey, we’re not chastising you,” Colleen said, retrieving the coffeepot from Moira.

  “No, we’re simply happy—”

  “For you both, of course,” Colleen interrupted.

  “That after all your years of marriage,” Moira continued.

  “And at your ripe old age,” Colleen added.

  “You can still get it up, that’s all,” Moira finished.

  Patrick set his cup down, shaking his head, eyes lowered. Then he stared at them both across the table. “Well, all that from the woman who nearly attacked a stranger in the bar last night.”

  “Michael’s not a stranger,” Moira protested.

  “Hey, we’ve never met him before.”

  “I know him very well.”

  “Apparently so. What, you met him after the Christmas holidays? That doesn’t exactly make you eligible for a diamond anniversary band.”

  “Cute,” she told Patrick.

  “Well, she probably only did it because of Danny,” Colleen said, yawning.

  Moira glared at her sister. “Hey, whose side are you on here?”

  Colleen instantly looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

  “You’re not supposed to be taking sides against me to begin with,” Patrick protested.

  “Ah, now, are the girls beating up on you again, Patrick?” their mother asked, sweeping into the kitchen from the hallway. “Shame on you, the both of you. Now, don’t I spend half my life reminding you that—”

  “That we’re all the greatest gifts you ever gave to any one of us,” the three of them said in unison, creating an outbreak of laughter around the table.

  Katy shook her head. “One day you’ll know the truth of it. When the world is against you, when friends have failed you, you always have your family.”

  “Oh, Mum,” Moira said, rising and walking to her brother to give his shoulders a hug—and his arm a pinch. “I adore my big brother. Honestly.”

  “And me, too, of course,” Colleen said.

  “And you, Patrick?” Katy demanded of him firmly.

  “And me?” Patrick asked, grinning at Moira. “Why, my sisters are the light of my life. Though there is that other person. My wife. Oh, and my kids, bless the little demons. My life is just one big radiant ray of light.”

  “Enough of that,” Katy said with a grin. “Moira, move back a bit. Patrick, scooch in your chair. The children are awake—they’ll be out for breakfast any minute now. Let me get the eggs going. Girls, would you give me a hand?”

  “Girls?” Colleen asked.

  “Aye?” Katy asked, puzzled.

  Moira slipped an arm around her mother. “Mum, what she’s saying is that you’re being sexist. Patrick can help out just as well.”

  “After all, you’re cooking for his children.”

  “Well, now, Patrick can’t help out,” Katy said.

  “And why is that?” Colleen asked.

  “Because he’s the most useless human being in a kitchen I’ve ever seen. Granny Jon says that he’s the only person she’s ever met who’s incapable of boiling a pot of water.”

  “He only pretends he can’t cook,” Moira said.

  “To get out of the work,” Colleen explained.

  “Now, the lot of you!” Katy said indignantly.

  “Just kidding, Mum,” Moira said. “I’ll get the bacon.”

  “The bottom batch, please. The lean stuff at the top from McDonnell’s is for the bacon and cabbage we’re having tonight.”

  “Bacon and cabbage,” Moira murm
ured.

  “And colcannon,” Katy said. “And some broccoli and spinach, because they’re good for your father’s heart. Moira Kathleen, I need the oatmeal, as well. Your dad has taken to getting it down plain every morning, for his cholesterol.”

  Moira brought out the requested items from the refrigerator, then got the oatmeal from the cabinet. She looked at her mother. “That’s it. We’ll cook. For the show, we’ll let you take over, and we’ll videotape your preparation of the Saint Patrick’s Day meal.”

  “We’re not having bacon and cabbage for Saint Patrick’s Day, we’ll be having a roast,” Katy said.

  “Mum,” Moira groaned. “I don’t care what we’re really having on Saint Patrick’s Day. Bacon and cabbage is a traditional Irish meal. It will be a terrific segment for the show.”

  “Oh, now, daughter, I’m not good on a camera,” Katy protested.

  “Can we put Patrick in an apron?” Colleen asked hopefully.

  “Not on your life,” Patrick protested.

  “Oh, yeah, great. Let him be traditionally Irish by drinking beer and playing with the band,” Colleen teased.

  “You know, it’s just one of those things,” Patrick said. “I can wear a suit well, which is good for an attorney. I look pretty good in hats. Aprons…I just don’t seem to have the right build.”

  “We won’t film you in an apron,” Moira said. “Since you can’t cook, you can do the dishes when we’re done.”

  “I’ve got an appointment this morning,” Patrick protested.

  “I bet he just thought it up,” Colleen said.

  “Do you really have an appointment?” Katy asked him.

  Before he could answer, there was a tap on the inner door. Moira felt an inexplicable wave of tension instantly tighten her muscles.

  Her mother and sister had turned toward the sound. Only Patrick was looking at her.

  “So, it is Danny,” he said softly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she murmured. “Should I get it?” she asked her mother.

  “No, it’s just Danny, at this hour,” Katy said. “Come in, Dan!” she called.

  “I locked it last night when I came up,” Moira said.

  “Danny has a key, of course,” her mother replied impatiently.

  She heard the key twisting in the lock even as her mother spoke.

  She wondered why it bothered her so much that he had a key. To her home. No, not her home, her parents’ home.

  And he had always been welcome here.

  He walked in, freshly showered and scrubbed, as evidenced by the dampness that remained in his combed hair and gleamed on newly shaven cheeks. He was wearing jeans and a gold knit sweater beneath a casual leather jacket. She had to admit that he looked good. A bit of age had given his natural ease a slightly weathered and dignified look. He wasn’t as handsome a man as Michael, she thought, almost analytically, and only partially defensively. Michael had classic good looks. Pitch dark hair, striking blue eyes and a clean-cut face. Daniel was craggier. His chin a bit squarer, cheeks leaner, features more jagged. He had good eyes, though. A strange shade of hazel that made them amber at times, almost gold at others. He saw her studying him but only smiled, addressing her mother.

  “I could smell Katy Kelly’s coffee way down in my room,” he told her, slipping his arms around her waist affectionately and kissing her cheek.

  “There’s a coffeepot behind the bar,” Moira said rather sharply. Patrick looked at her. She widened her eyes. “How else would we make Irish coffee?”

  “I think we’re all aware that there’s a coffeepot behind the bar,” her brother said.

  “I was merely suggesting—” She began.

  “Ah, but my coffee would never be as good as Katy’s,” Danny interrupted.

  “And you’d not be wanting to have it alone,” Katy said firmly. “You’ve been up here every morning, and now the girls are here, as well. Naturally you want to spend time together.” Katy said the last casually, but sincerely.

  “Of course we want to spend time with him. He’s like another older brother. A nice one,” Colleen teased.

  Patrick groaned audibly.

  “Just like a brother,” Moira said sweetly.

  Danny had poured coffee and taken a seat next to Patrick. “Sibling torture this morning, eh?”

  “Tell me, would you wear an apron so that your sister could humiliate you on national television?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s just a cable show,” Moira murmured.

  “A highly rated cable show,” Patrick said. “Well?”

  For a moment, as Danny stared at her, Moira thought that his face had hardened strangely with anger. “I don’t have a sister,” he said.

  “But you’re just like a nicer older brother,” Patrick reminded him.

  “Oh, right. Well, what does the apron look like?” Danny asked, and the casual conviviality was back in his voice.

  “I’m sure Mum has one with a leprechaun on it somewhere,” Colleen said.

  “No one has to wear an apron!” Moira protested.

  “Right. We’ll cook neatly,” Danny said.

  “I didn’t say anyone but Mum needed to be in the show,” Moira reminded them.

  “That’s right. The long-suffering siblings get to wash dishes offstage,” Patrick said.

  “Hey,” Colleen protested, “I’ve got the kind of face they say can launch a thousand ships.”

  “Naturally you’re invited to cook with us on camera,” Moira told her sister.

  “Thanks. I’ll have to check with my agent.”

  “Colleen Mary!” Katy said indignantly.

  “Just kidding, Mum.”

  “That is a face that could launch a thousand ships—sis,” Danny told Colleen. “Congratulations. I’m seeing it more and more every day now.”

  “Really, Danny?” Colleen asked, her voice a little anxious. For a moment Moira reflected that her sister was really just a nice kid. She was doing exceptionally well, yet she was still amazed that people really thought her looks worthy of attention. She had managed to develop enough confidence to go forward and retain enough humility to remain grounded.

  “Really. And I’ve heard from Patrick and your folks that there’s a budding romance in the west?”

  “Just budding,” Katy said firmly. “So my daughter tells me.”

  “Absolutely just budding,” Colleen said, laughing. “Mum, I’d never get serious without bringing the poor guy home first and making sure he had the stamina for a real relationship.”

  Patrick looked at his sister without the twitch of a smile. “Um, stamina?”

  “He’s a nice guy?” Danny asked. “Nothing else would do for my, uh, baby sister.”

  “The nicest. Hey, you come to California now and then. Maybe you’ll be out there soon. I’d love for you to meet him.”

  “Dan can size him up for you just like that,” Patrick told her.

  “Colleen has a good head on her shoulders. I’m sure he’s a fine fellow,” Danny said. “Now, as to Moira…”

  “Moira and her Michael,” Katy said.

  “He’s great, Mum, and you know it,” Moira said.

  “He does seem decent,” Patrick acknowledged.

  “He’s a hunk,” Colleen said decisively.

  “Beady eyes,” Danny said, shaking his head.

  “Oh, God, that again,” Moira said irritably.

  “Well, I think his eyes are fine,” Katy said thoughtfully, taking the comment entirely literally.

  “Look again—they’re beady,” Danny said, staring at Moira.

  “Fine, I’ll take another really good look at the man, Danny,” Katy said, setting strips of bacon into a huge frying pan with incredible precision, getting more bacon into the pan than Moira would have thought possible. “But really, he’s courteous, and very handsome. And he does adore Moira.”

  “Yes, I guess he does,” Danny said grudgingly.

  “A vote of approval at last?” Moira inquired.


  “I’m withholding final judgment.”

  “And he’s been so effusive with his comments regarding you,” Moira said.

  “Really?” Danny asked.

  “Actually, no. He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

  “Well, I’m just an old family friend. Not a real member of the family who he needs to impress.”

  “But you’ll definitely be on top of the guest list for the wedding,” Moira said over the rim of her coffee cup.

  Her mother gasped. “Moira Kathleen!”

  “No, no, no, Mum,” she said quickly, with a sigh. She had to watch this sparring with Danny in front of her parents. “We’re not planning anything—yet.”

  “I truly wish you every happiness,” Danny said. His eyes were steady on hers; his voice was sincere.

  For some reason, that made her more irritated.

  Maybe she didn’t want him to be happy for her. Yup, that was it. Completely. She wanted him to be sorry he’d blown everything himself.

  “Thanks.” She forced herself to speak casually. “Excuse me for a minute, please. I’ve got to make a phone call and get going on the day. Mum, would you really mind if I taped the preparation of tonight’s meal? If it will really make you uncomfortable…”

  “No, no, it’s all right. I mean, I just don’t want to appear…foolish. You’ll be with me all the time, right?”

  “Of course. And we’ll have Colleen and Siobhan and even the kids, if they’d like. It will be fun. Honestly, Mum.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it,” Colleen assured her.

  Katy nodded again. Moira started to her room to make a call, just as the kids came scampering out of the master bedroom.

  “Auntie Mo!” Brian said.

  “Morning, handsome,” she told her nephew.

  Molly was right behind him. “Auntie Mo, Auntie Mo! Presents!” she said, hurling herself into Moira’s arms.

  “Molly,” Shannon said as she came up behind her sister, very mature at six, “we don’t ask for presents.”

  “It’s all right,” Moira assured them both quickly. “You can ask your aunt but not other people,” she reminded Molly. “But I’m your aunt, and I’ve promised you a present, so it’s okay. I’ve got to make a call, and then I’ll bring the presents out.”