Night of the Blackbird

by Heather Graham

  “He has beady eyes.”

  “He’s a bona fide decent man.”

  “I disagree. Besides, is that what you want to settle for? Decent?”

  “You told me I should have married Josh.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  She rose suddenly and stepped behind the desk to shimmy out of her panty hose. Then she sat in the chair. His fingers were gentle as he studied the gash on her knee. “And you didn’t even feel this?”

  “I felt like an icicle from head to toe, how was I going to feel anything else? And what is that you’re about to put on me? Don’t you dare—”

  “Peroxide. It won’t hurt.”

  It didn’t. The peroxide bubbled and nothing more. He wiped at the wound with a square of cotton. She watched his hands and his lowered head. Great hands. Danny always had great hands. Long fingers, clipped nails.

  Strong hands. He had always been able to open the most stubborn jar known to man.

  “And what’s that?” she demanded cautiously.

  “Neosporin. It won’t hurt you, and since when do you act like such a big baby?”

  “Since I’m so tired and aggravated. What were you doing outside?”

  “I told you, I was saying goodbye to some friends. My turn—what were you really doing out there?”

  “Running after Seamus. Danny, damn it, what’s going on around here?”

  “Nothing, most certainly nothing.” He placed a Band-Aid on her knee. “Not if I have any say in it,” he murmured.

  She caught his chin, lifting his eyes to hers. “What are you going on about?”

  “Nothing, Moira. All I’m saying is that I’d die before I’d let anything happen to anyone in your family.”

  “Why should anything happen to anyone in my family?”

  He let out an aggravated sigh. “I was just speaking hypothetically, Moira, all right?”

  She stood abruptly. He wasn’t going to say anything more to her. “I’m going up to bed. Thanks for the first aid.”

  “Hey!”

  She started and looked toward the doorway to the bar. Patrick was standing there, staring at her and Danny, who remained on the floor as she stood.

  “It’s getting to her head, eh, the television thing? She’s got you on your knees before her,” Patrick observed.

  “He was giving me first aid,” Moira said.

  “I’ve heard she likes her men on their knees,” Danny quipped in return.

  “Careful there, I’m her older brother, remember?”

  “And where have you been?” she demanded.

  Patrick arched a brow. “The guy from that charity thing was here tonight. I was just walking down the street with him, pointing out how close his hotel was to the pub. Why? You know, I have a wife now, to give me a third degree. What’s the matter?”

  “I wanted somebody to walk Seamus home.”

  “He lives a few blocks away.”

  “He’d had a few too many,” she said.

  “I was gone, you were gone—even her precious Michael was nowhere to be found,” Danny said. “And then, poor lass, trying to be an escort herself, she went sliding right across the ice.”

  “Where was precious Michael?” Patrick asked.

  “Precious Michael—” she began, then sighed with aggravation. “Michael doesn’t work here.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “It’s our pub.”

  “Right. I’ll try not to let you down next time. Good thing you didn’t skin your ass, huh, Moira?” Patrick said.

  “Cute, big brother, real cute.”

  “That could have been interesting,” Danny murmured.

  “Go to hell, both of you,” she said sweetly.

  She turned and went upstairs.

  She could feel Danny watching her as she went.

  It was late night. Very late.

  Or early morning, depending on one’s point of view.

  At that time of night—or morning—he went by a different name. He had identification to match many names.

  The art of subterfuge, of course, was always to hide in plain sight. The eyes didn’t always believe what they saw because the mind went by what it was told. Glasses could change a man, a change of hairstyle or color, facial hair, no facial hair. For the most part, people went along their day-by-day routines noting very little.

  He had always felt sorry for the kids he knew as faces on milk cartons. Few people, pouring a drop into their coffee or drowning their cereal, ever looked twice at those little faces. And that was how they were in life, too.

  It worked well for him.

  He should have been keeping a low profile. They were in the waiting period now. Nothing to do but wait and see how events progressed.

  Wait…

  Days were easy enough. Nights were hard.

  Restlessly, he walked the streets. He picked a different bar for a nightcap. A place in a not-so-great section of town where the hours went by unnoticed and the drinks were watered but cheap. He’d really had no plans other than a drink, but there was something about the girl at the end of the bar. She had long hair, thick, with a reddish tinge.

  Dye.

  No matter. The bar was dark and dingy.

  Her skirt was very short; her stockings had a snag. Her boots, displayed nicely by legs wound around her bar stool, were stilettos. Sweet love, you should just wear a sign around your neck that says prostitute, he thought with some amusement. But there was a forlorn quality about her face. From a distance, she was even pretty. A little girl lost, gone the wrong way. And now here she was in this life, no way out….

  She looked up and noticed him watching her. He offered a smile. “Hi.”

  She smiled back, perking up, surveying the cut of his clothing. He had dressed down for tonight. Still, for this place, he was well attired.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  Her smile broadened, and she slid off her stool, hurrying to take the one next to his. “Lovely,” she said. He frowned, noting an accent in the one word. “I’m Cary. How do you do, and thank you very much. And you are…?”

  “Richard. Richard Jordan,” he lied.

  “English?” she said with a frown, trying to place his accent. “I should really know, I suppose.”

  “Australian,” he said. “But I’ve been around.”

  “It’s a glorious accent, really.”

  “And yours.”

  She made a face. “I can’t seem to leave County Cork behind.”

  “And do you want to?”

  “Oh, yes. Things back home are so fucked up.”

  “It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Not if you had me mum and da,” she told him. “Him going off all the time, fighting a silly war, cheatin’ on her. Her taken’ in boarders. That’s what she called her men. When I told her that no matter what I did, I’d call a spade a spade, she hit me and threw me out of the house. I don’t give a damn about the old country, except that…” She paused, looking at him ruefully. “Sorry, this isn’t what you expected. I’m a little tired. There are masses of Americans in town who think they’re Irish. So many assholes!”

  “Ah, I see,” he murmured.

  “Cold?” she asked him.

  “Eh?”

  “You have gloves on—inside.”

  “Um. It’s a bit chilly.”

  “I can warm you up, you know,” she told him. Then shrugged. “I told you, I call a spade a spade myself. I was about all in. Too many assholes. But you’re…different. I mean, I’m not offering a freebie or anything, I am a working girl. But with you…I’d throw in a few extras at no charge.”

  There was that look about her. Innocence turned to dime trash. Optimism ground down by weariness. She had attracted him, angered him and aroused him. She was trash. Gutter trash.

  But he was restless. In a mood to roll in the dirt.

  “Fine. Get your coat while I pay for the drinks.”

  On Sunday morning, the first and foremost event
in the Kelly household was church. Moira, on the phone with Michael, told him he certainly wasn’t obliged to go.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” he assured her. “I’m very carefully working my way into your father’s heart, you know.”

  “Well, I admit, an appearance at Mass always sets well with him.”

  “What happened to you last night?” he asked her. “Did the Sunday thing kick in after midnight?”

  “What happened to me? Where did you go? You left without saying goodbye.”

  She heard a soft sigh. “I’m embarrassed to tell you.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I forgot to collect a check. The people walked out. My indignation kicked in, and I went out after them.”

  “People walked out on a check? At my dad’s place?”

  “I must be a very bad waiter.”

  “No, you’re a wonderful waiter, I’m sure. Most of the people who come in are regulars, but it is a public establishment. You simply lucked out and got the bad eggs.”

  “Ah, there you go. Loyal to the core. No wonder I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Anyway, I never found the people, so I slipped back in and paid the check myself so I wouldn’t have to tell anyone. Then I looked for you, to say goodbye, but you weren’t around, so I went back to the hotel. I waited up, though.”

  “I’m sorry. Things happened, and I…”

  “This family bit isn’t easy, is it?”

  “Michael, truly…”

  “Hey, I understand. Saint Patrick’s day will come. And go. I’ll meet you at the church.”

  “You can come here—”

  “You’ve got enough people there to keep track of. I’ll go with Josh and his wife and the twins. We’ll meet you there.”

  There was definitely confusion, getting out of the Kelly household. In a thousand years, Moira knew, she would never be the kind of mother Katy Kelly managed to be. Despite the confusion, breakfast had to be served early enough to make sure all food would be consumed an hour before communion. Siobhan got the girls into the tub, sending Patrick to pound on Moira’s bathroom door, telling her that he had to take a shower, too.

  “Hey, I just got in here!” she shouted at her brother.

  “Just wash all body parts once—soaking is only necessary for laundry.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like you know anything about laundry.”

  “Moira, how dirty can you be?”

  “Go shout at Colleen to get out of her bathroom.”

  “I think she fell asleep in there. And aren’t you supposed to be helping Mum or something?”

  “You can help Mum, too, you chauvinist.”

  “I’m not a chauvinist. I give credit where credit is due. You’re a wiz with toast, Moira Kelly, that you are.”

  “Go use Mum’s and Dad’s bathroom.”

  “Brian is in there. He’s a big lad now, you know. He doesn’t hop into the tub with the girls.”

  “Then next time you can drag your butt out of bed faster than your kids, Patrick.”

  “You could have been done by now, little sister, if you weren’t so intent on fighting with me.”

  “Quit tormenting me. Go downstairs and kick Danny out of the guest bathroom.”

  “How rude. You want me to torment a guest?”

  “Danny’s no guest.”

  “Besides, he’s a guy, and he probably took a normal shower.”

  Her brother disappeared, much to her delight. When she emerged, she discovered that Siobhan had finished with her shower and the kids’ bath; the girls were outfitted beautifully in velvet dresses. They were at the table, helping their grandmother by smothering toast with enough butter for a dozen batches of cookies. “Whoa there, let me give you a hand,” Moira suggested, sitting with the girls.

  “Thanks,” Siobhan said softly. She was in the process of flipping bacon. When her sister-in-law turned, Moira saw that she seemed even paler than she had the day before. Circles rimmed her beautiful eyes.

  “Just a bit, that’s all we need,” Moira told Shannon.

  “I have it right, Auntie Mo,” Shannon said gravely. “It’s Molly. She likes to eat butter just plain, you know.”

  “Well, Molly, today we’re going to have a little toast with our butter,” Moira said. Her niece giggled and looked at her adoringly. She patted the little head of angel soft hair. “Today we’re going to be really good, Ok? I have a special treat in store for you later. Your mum looks a little tired, so be really, really good for me, okay?”

  Molly nodded gravely. “Toast with the butter.”

  “Right.” Moira walked to Siobhan at the stove. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” Siobhan said, too quickly.

  “You need a break. You and Patrick need to get out without the kids.”

  “Patrick is always out without the kids. Our kids, at any rate,” she murmured. She quickly flashed a glance Moira’s way. “You know, he’s busy.”

  “So are you.”

  “A different busy, I guess. He’s the breadwinner and all that. I’m not being disloyal. I love your brother.”

  “So do I, but that doesn’t mean he might not need a good kick in the butt. I needed him last night, and he was nowhere to be found.”

  “Oh, really?” Siobhan murmured, staring at the bacon she flipped. “What was wrong?”

  “I thought Seamus needed someone to walk him home. Naturally I couldn’t find any of the guys.”

  “Men!” Colleen announced, sweeping into the kitchen and making the announcement as if she’d been in on the entire conversation. “That’s the way it goes.” She looked around to see if her mother was anywhere in the vicinity. “They’re like leeches when they want something, especially sex. Need them, and only the good Lord knows where they’ve gotten to.”

  “Now, darlin’, that’s not true a’tall,” Danny said, making an appearance from the den. He had apparently been upstairs for some time, Moira thought, and wondered why that made her uneasy. “I’m here, right here. And I can cook. Siobhan Kelly, you take a seat. I’ll finish this up.”

  “Where’s Mum?” Moira asked as Danny ushered Siobhan into a chair.

  “Finally taking a shower,” Danny said. “Colleen, me fine beauty, take a seat.”

  “Thanks, I’ll sit and watch you, too—closely,” Moira said.

  “Ach, there she goes, the star in motion. Moira, take care of the bacon there while I whip up the eggs.”

  She had a fork in her hands before she knew it, and Danny got busy with the eggs. Colleen didn’t sit; she started bringing out juice, coffee and tea.

  Moira flipped the bacon onto a plate covered with paper towels to absorb the grease, watching Danny. He could cook, and he was efficient. He looked damned good in the jacket and trousers he had donned for church, and he was freshly shaven, his scent far too appealing.

  “Where’s lover boy?” he asked.

  “Meeting us at church.”

  “Ah, he’s a good Catholic boy, is he? Or is he just making more Brownie points with your father?”

  “Naturally he’s a good Catholic boy,” she said sweetly. “And of course you know, if we’re married, being the daughter I am, we’ll be married in the family church in Boston, so it’s good that he gets to attend a mass there now.”

  “If,” Danny said.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t say when, you said if. There must be some doubt in your mind.”

  “Not a lick,” she told him sweetly.

  “Oh, thank the Lord. It’s all under control,” Katy said, sweeping in from the hallway. “Danny, you are a doll.”

  “Danny? Siobhan was doing it all,” Moira said.

  “No, actually, Danny was in here before. He just had to make a phone call,” Siobhan said.

  “A phone call? In the middle of making bacon? How important it must have been,” Moira muttered.

  “All my phone calls are important,” Danny informed her. “Eggs are on, and the
oatmeal for Eamon is just about right. Katy Kelly, you have a seat. I’ll serve.”

  Eamon came out from the long hallway, wishing everyone a good morning. Molly ran over to him with a piece of toast. “Granda! I made it just for you.”

  “Oh, Molly dear, Granda can’t have that toast. He’ll be in the hospital with a coronary for sure,” Katy protested.

  “Katy, I’ll not really eat it,” Eamon assured his wife. “Molly Kelly, you bring me that toast. It will be extra special delicious.”

  Patrick arrived from downstairs, Granny Jon walked in, and the family sat. Eamon said grace, but before the amen he paused and looked around the table. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me have me family all here. Thank you for this squabbling tribe of ruffians who still do their old dad proud by coming home for Saint Patrick’s Day, and thank you, too, for old friends who are like kin, and giving us Danny here for this happy occasion, as well.”

  “Amen to that, and let’s eat,” Patrick said.

  “Patrick, your father was praying,” Katy moaned.

  “Aye, and bless the Irish, and let’s eat!” Patrick said.

  “I wasn’t quite finished,” Eamon said sternly. “I was about to bless the Lord for gracing me with a daughter-in-law like Siobhan, beautiful inside and out, a lady who has given me three of the greatest gifts a man could ever hope for, Brian, Shannon and Molly, who helps to make the world’s most incredible toast.”

  “Here, here,” Moira said, staring at her brother. “To Siobhan—and the kids, of course.”

  Molly giggled. Granny Jon glanced at the old silver watch pendant she always wore. “To Siobhan. And Patrick’s right—let’s eat. We’ll be closing in on communion if we’re not careful.”

  “The very last toast,” Danny announced, lifting his coffee cup. “To Eamon Kelly, his lovely wife Kathleen, and to the bacon and toast.”

  “Ah, there we go. Now, let’s wolf this down and get going,” Patrick said.

  “Busy day?” Siobhan asked him sweetly.

  He looked at his wife. “Church,” he replied, just as sweetly.

  “Mass waits for no man,” Danny murmured.

  Michael, Josh and his family were already at the church. Since it was her family’s church, Moira greeted Michael instantly and affectionately but discreetly, despite the fact that she had sat in the back of the family car between Siobhan and Danny on the way to Mass and had been dying to throw herself at Michael the moment she stepped into the cathedral. She was able to be more openly enthusiastic with Gina, Josh’s wife, hugging her friend and admiring the twins, who seemed to grow by leaps and bounds every week. She instantly picked up one of the twins to hold during the service. The babies were angelic little boys who already looked like Josh. She held Gregory, the older of the two, who lay in her arms sweetly sleeping.