“Shh.”
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.”
When they returned, the household was up. Siobhan was putting coats on the kids. “We’re going down to pick out some flowers for Seamus. Brian thinks that we should choose a very special wreath for him.”
Shannon walked to Moira, who bent down and hugged her. “Molly thinks that we should put a few chocolates in the box with Seamus, so he can look down from his place with Jesus and think of us and remember that we loved him. Do you think it would be okay for us to put a few chocolates in with him?”
“I think it would be lovely,” Moira said, squeezing her niece.
“Brian says they’ll melt and get yucky,” Molly said, coming up.
Moira looked at Brian, who looked very mature and serious in his winter coat. “Brian, I don’t think that it will matter too much. I had a friend who buried a few cigars with her dad. Since it’s your granddad who has the final say in everything, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be okay to bury Seamus with a few chocolates. I think it will make you feel good. That’s what matters.”
Siobhan gave her a grateful smile, taking the little girls by the hands. “We’re off.”
“Where’s Patrick?” Moira asked.
“Still in the shower. He can catch up with us—if he chooses to,” Siobhan said briefly.
“Hey, I’ll come with you,” Moira said. Siobhan frowned at her but made no protest. When they had gotten down to the street, her sister-in-law stared at her. “Were you just trying to get out of the house without your father swearing that you might need an armed escort?”
“No,” Moira protested. But Siobhan was still staring at her. “All right, maybe. But not really on purpose...okay, I guess it was Freudian or something. I’ll really come to the flower shop. Then I do have a few errands.”
As they walked, Siobhan allowed the kids to move a few feet ahead. “It’s got to be hard for you right now. Even before this accident with Seamus, your dad was all worried about the murders. Frankly, I don’t see the danger. Not that I’m saying anyone deserves to be murdered, but if there is a new serial killer out there, he’s targeting prostitutes.”
“I know. And I’m sure Dad knows. Have you tried to leave the house alone at night?”
“Yeah, the night you came in. I was only going to a dinner my folks were giving. Your father drove me. My parents aren’t a mile from here. But don’t feel bad—it’s not just your father. My father drove me back.”
“I guess we should be thankful we have them,” Moira said.
“Yes, I know. Something like this happening to Seamus makes you realize how delicate life can be.”
“It does,” Moira murmured.
Siobhan was watching her curiously. “Have you met Andrew McGahey?”
“Yes. Just yesterday.”
“And...?”
“And what?”
Siobhan shrugged. “I find him...smarmy.”
“Smarmy?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Really?”
“Oh, he gave us a tape about the kids in Ireland...but he’s rich himself, grew up in the Hamptons, and I haven’t heard about any of his own contributions. He’s been in Ireland often enough. But I haven’t figured out what he does for a living, except spend his parents’ money.”
“I really didn’t see him long enough to make a judgment,” Moira said.
Siobhan shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong. But I think smarmy fits him perfectly. I don’t know, maybe if I actually see him do something I’ll change my mind. So far, it seems he’s at his most passionate when he talks about fishing. He likes Patrick’s boat.”
“I agree about one thing—we’ll have to see what the man does,” Moira murmured. Siobhan’s words disturbed her. Siobhan and Patrick were definitely having their differences. She loved her sister-in-law, and she was very sorry to see it.
And she was mistrusting her brother herself.
“Maybe we’re just getting older and more like our dads than we want to be—paranoid about everything,” Moira murmured.
They reached the flower shop. Siobhan was a great mother, keeping patiently sane and quiet while the children all explained just what they wanted for Seamus. Moira picked out a bouquet for the funeral. Seamus was the kind of fellow who would want donations to a good charity given in his memory rather than too many flowers. But they were his family, as her father had said, and some flowers were necessary.
When they finished, Moira glanced at her watch. Nearly noon.
“Where are you off to?” Siobhan asked.
“I—” She hesitated briefly. The police station, because I don’t trust people living in our own home.
She couldn’t say that. And she sure as hell didn’t mean to implicate her brother in anything. She just wanted to voice her concerns.
“I have a few things to check on for the show,” she lied.
“Well, I’m glad I got you out of the house without a lot of grief,” Siobhan said. “I won’t be back for a while myself. There’s a subway station right up the street. I’m going to take the kids to see my folks.”
“Great. Tell them hello and best wishes for me,” Moira said.
“Will do.”
They parted and went in opposite directions. As Moira walked, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. She was going to the police with rumors they’d already heard about. And what was she going to tell them? That Seamus might have had a few things to tell them, but Seamus was dead? She loved her brother, but he couldn’t really be doing anything wrong. She simply couldn’t believe it. Then there was the fact that they had a guest staying with them who had real cause to be a gun-toting radical...
She wasn’t at all sure. And ridiculously, she found herself looking over her shoulder as she approached the station. What did she think? That there were eyes following her everywhere?
She saw a man outside the station, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. When he saw her, he tossed the cigarette away and walked toward her. He was in a very basic suit and overcoat this time. It was Kyle Browne. He made his way to her as she approached the door.
“You probably don’t want to go in there,” he told her.
“Why?”
“I think we should walk, maybe get some coffee, talk. But you don’t want to be seen in the police station.”
She hesitated, then stepped around him. “I think I should go in.”
“Suit yourself.”
She kept walking; he didn’t stop her. She got all the way to the door, and he still made no move to stop her. She turned and headed toward him.
“I’m not sure what good this does. As if people don’t know you’re a cop.”
“I’m not exactly a cop.”
“What exactly are you, then?”
“Different agency,” he said. He let out an impatient sound. “This is an international situation, surely you realize that.”
“Are you FBI?” she inquired.
He was already moving ahead of her. “You go into that station,” he told her, “and the name badges you’ll read will be O’Leary, Shaunnessy, O’Casey, and maybe you’ll find a Lorenzo, a Giovanni or an Astrella. Sure, the local cops are on guard duty.”
“I had wanted to see somebody about Seamus,” she murmured.
“The autopsy report just came in. Broken neck. Kowalski died of a heart attack. Just like the cops read it at the scene.”
“So it was...natural?”
“If you want to call a broken neck natural.”
“I’m telling you, my father—”
“Your father is probably pure as the driven snow,” Kyle said impatiently.
“Then what—”
“There’s a coffee shop right up here. Let’s slip in.”
They did so. The place was narrow, with tables stretching far back. Kyle headed for the farthest corner. They sat and ordered two coffees from a disinterested waitress.
He didn’t talk again until their coffee had been served. “So, what do you know?” he demanded.
“I’m sure I know a lot less than you do. I wanted to go in and talk to someone to make sure that what happened to Seamus really was an accident.”
“Why? What was Seamus doing?”
“Doing? Nothing. But he was talking.”
“Saying?”
“That there were whispers in the pub. Rumors about a conspiracy or something. A plan to attack Brolin when he was in the city. And apparently the code word was supposed to be blackbird. You ordered a blackbird.”
“I thought I’d see what feathers rustled when the word came up.”
“It is a drink and also the name of the house band.”
“Yes, of course. And not a bad code name. Innocent enough. All you have to do is use it in conversation and see what response you get. So who’s in on it?”
“You’re acting as if I know.”
“You must know something. Your brother has been involved in a lot of anti-Union politics lately.”
“He wants to educate orphans. That’s hardly anti anything,” she murmured protectively. “And actually, isn’t the whole thing absurd? Any nut could pull out a gun at a parade—”
“But any nut would have to get close enough. And I’m assuming the trigger man doesn’t want to get the death penalty.”
“There is no death penalty in Massachusetts—”
“There can still be a death penalty for a federal crime,” Kyle said impatiently. “But I’m assuming our man wants to get away with murder.”
“Get away with murder as in make it appear like an accident? Like someone breaking his neck falling downstairs?”
Kyle shrugged.
“Then why would you need a ‘piece’?”
“A piece? Who was talking about a piece?”
“I... I don’t know. It was just something I overheard.”
“You’ve got to think. Who?”
“I don’t know. It was outside the pub. People whispering. I never saw their faces. They were in shadow.”
“Think. What about the voices?”
“Just whispers.”
“Come on, now, you must have recognized something.”
“I didn’t.”
“Did they see you?”
“I... Yes, I guess so. I think one of them brushed past me, pushing me down on the ice.”
“And you didn’t see anything, think anything, feel anything, hear anything more?”
“Yeah—I felt pain when I landed on the ice.”
“Then what?”
“Then a friend was picking me up.”
“A friend? What friend?”
“Dan O’Hara.”
“And you saw him come out from the pub to help you?”
“No, I...” She’d had no idea where Danny had come from that night.
Browne kept studying her. “You know, your friend has a shady past.”
“I know that...”
“You know his father was shot and killed?”
“Are you after my brother or Danny? Or someone else in the pub?”
“Your band man deserves a lot of watching, as well.”
“Well, that’s what you’ve been doing, right? Watching.”
“Miss Kelly, you don’t seem to understand. You may be in personal danger. It’s important that you come to me with anything you learn, anything at all.”
Kyle was staring at the door. She felt at a disadvantage; she couldn’t see what he did. She twisted. Two uniformed officers had come into the coffee shop. As she turned to face Kyle, he lifted a hand as if waving to them.
She lowered her head, feeling her stomach turn. There was too much that she hadn’t known about Danny.
And she’d slept with him. Fallen into her pattern of physical and mental familiarity and longing.
“You’ve got to protect yourself,” Kyle said. “Stay near those you know from other walks of life. Your partner, your New York lover.”
“What about my family?” she asked dully.
“Your family will be occupied with the death of your friend.”
“They are, but...the pub is open. After the wake tomorrow night, it will be crawling with people.”
“I’ll be there. You’ll be safe.”
“The way Seamus was safe?”
“Look, this is all you have to do. Keep your mouth shut. Pretend you don’t know a damned thing. For God’s sake, don’t snoop. Keep out of it completely. But if you hear anything, anything at all, come to me. Don’t let people see you looking for the police. You’d be waving a red flag, just like a matador teasing a bull.”
“What do you suggest I do? Lock myself in my room?”
“Live your life normally. Keep out of it. And tell me everything.”
“I’ve told you what I know.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I haven’t?”
“You didn’t mention the fact that it was your brother who last saw Seamus alive.”
“He walked him home. Seamus went inside alone.”
“So he says.”
“How did you know that?”
“It’s my job to know. I’m good at my job. Now, go about your normal life. And keep your mouth shut, unless you’re talking to me.”
“I’m supposed to be filming in the area.”
“Don’t film in or around the pub right now.”
He rose, finished with her. “Want me to walk you back?”
“No, thanks, it’s broad daylight, I’m not far, and I’ve got a few errands to run.”
They exited the shop together. Kyle lifted a hand to the cops at the front. They waved in turn.
Kyle watched her as she started down the street. She walked to the first corner, then turned, not sure where she was going. She didn’t really have errands; she just wasn’t ready to go home. She felt dull and afraid, sick at heart.
Then she knew. No matter how tough Kyle Browne might be, Seamus had died. And though it certainly appeared to be an accident, that didn’t make it so.
She ducked into a drugstore and pretended to read cold remedy boxes. She purchased one, looking around all the while. Her next stop was a shoe shop, then a clothing store. She bought a blouse, watching all the while.
Finally, she headed in the direction she had determined to go.
* * *
“Where’s Moira?” Dan asked Eamon, who was behind the bar checking his inventory again. Dan had thought she was safe enough that morning, at Flannery’s with her father and sister.
“She went out with Siobhan and the kids.”
“Where’d they go?”
“Buying flowers. Of course,” Eamon said with a frown, “that was some time ago. Then I think Siobhan was taking the kids to spend some time with her folks.”
“You think Moira went with her?”
“Maybe.”
“You know, maybe I’ll call them and find out,” Dan said.
Moira wasn’t with her sister-in-law.
“Do you need her?” Eamon asked.
“No, not really. I just wanted to see if I could give her a hand.”
Eamon shook his head. “Well, she might be with that fellow of hers.”
“True,” Dan said, feeling something knot in his stomach. “What do you think of him, Eamon?”
“Good-looking fellow.”
“Yeah.”
“Very bright.”
“Yeah.”
“Seems willing to bend over backward for her.”
“Yeah.”
“And...”
“And?”
“He’s an American. Doesn’t fly in and fly out every time he gets her heart going.”
“Eamon, you know I love her. But I wasn’t settled in my heart and mind.”
“Ah, well, that’s life, eh?”
“You think I’ve lost her?”
“Well, now, you know, she’s a fine daughter, but she’s not quite shared her feelings with me. Looks like a good thing for her, though. The fellow is part of her business. Works for her, with her. Dotes on her. Takes her places. Like they say, what’s not to like?”
“Yeah, Eamon, I guess you’re right,” Dan said, turning away. He needed to get out.
“Danny?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s still something in her eyes when she looks at you. Something sparks when I see you arguing with one another.”
“Thanks, Eamon.”
Dan walked out the door.
* * *
Moira took a circuitous route to the T station to catch the subway. Once there, she bought her ticket, wondering if she had become completely paranoid. She tried very hard to survey the crowd around her, but it was impossible. She had seldom seen the subway system this busy during the day.
When she emerged from the subway, she was certain that she hadn’t been followed. She hurried along with brisk steps.
When she reached the hotel, she slipped into the ladies’ room and waited a few minutes, then found a house phone. She was afraid she might have difficulty getting through to Jacob Brolin’s room, but the operator connected her right away, and she was answered by a deep, very businesslike male voice with a rich brogue.
“My name is Moira Kelly,” she told the man. “Mr. Brolin said that I might stop by today.”
The man asked her to wait just a minute, then asked if she was in the hotel and if she could come right up. Brolin had an appointment with city officials soon, but he would love to see her.
Moira headed for the elevator.
* * *
He sat in a chair in the lobby, watching her. She didn’t see him, of course, because he kept his newspaper high, blocking his face.
When she was gone, he let the newspaper fall.
It was perfect. Everything was going according to plan.
* * *
One of the huge men who had been with Brolin downstairs at the restaurant opened the door to the suite. “Hello, Miss Kelly, welcome. Mr. Brolin will see you in the den. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
“Oh, no, thank you.”
“Nonsense, you must have some tea,” Brolin called from the doorway to the room. “A meeting of the Irish, from the old country and the new, we must have tea.”
Moira smiled and shrugged. “I guess I’ll have tea.”
She approached Brolin, smiling and offering a hand. He took her hand, then kissed both her cheeks. “Actually, I’m a coffee man myself, but everyone seems to want the Irish to drink tea. Wherever I go, they serve tea in my honor.”
“We can have coffee,” Moira said politely.
“Which do you prefer?”
“Either. I’ve had a bit of coffee already today.”
“So have I. We’ll stick with the tea.”
He ushered her into the den, indicating a comfortable armchair. “So, now, shall we discuss what you’d like me to do on your show?”
“I’d like you to say and do whatever you want,” Moira told him. “What I do is a travel show about the wonders of America, sometimes big events—which I think we can consider Saint Patrick’s Day in Boston to be—and sometimes small events, like a quilting bee in Nebraska. I love to do shows on what makes us special in America, which includes all our different ethnic backgrounds. Of course, Irish emigration to America has been huge over the years. The Irish have certainly put their stamp on this country.” She paused as the large man came in with the tea.
“Thank you, Peter,” Brolin said.
“Yes, sir, my pleasure.”
Peter left them.
Moira leaned forward. “Actually, Mr. Brolin, I didn’t come to see you about the show.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow, offering her a deep smile. “I never met your father, but I know many people who have. By all accounts, he’s a truly fine man. I never had an affair with your mother, if that’s what you’ve come to discover.”
Moira stared at him for a moment. “Oh, no! I didn’t come to quiz you about my mother, Mr. Brolin.”
“Ah. Well, that wasn’t much of a fine moment for a politician, eh? Offering information where none was requested.”
“Mr. Brolin—”
“If you’ll be good enough to call me Jacob, I’d be delighted to call you Moira.”
Moira nodded, taking a breath. “Jacob, I want you to know you’re in danger.”
A slight smile curled his lips. “I’ve been in danger, you know, from the day I was born.”
He wasn’t being patronizing. He was reminding her gently that he knew his business and his life very well. He saw the distress on her face and knew that she was genuinely concerned. “Strange, but peace is a dangerous way to some. But I’m grateful, truly grateful, that you would come here to say this to me.”
“Mr. Brolin—Jacob—I’m afraid that something may be going on in my father’s pub. There’s a rumor going about that it was to be...a meeting place, I guess, for people arranging to assassinate you while you were here in Boston.”
He set down his tea and leaned forward, hands together, listening intently. “What have you heard?”
“I can tell you what I’ve pieced together—which I’m afraid seems totally vague. We have a house band, a very good band, which plays Irish music. Pop, as well, but a lot of Irish music. They’re called Blackbird. We also have a drink called a blackbird. My dad invented it years ago, though I hadn’t heard an order for that drink in a very long time. Apparently, the word was to be used between people when they came into the bar to connect with other people. If someone made a mistake in looking for a contact, it could be easily solved, since the word also signified the drink and the band. My father had a very good friend who died the night before last. He fell down a flight of steps, trying to help the man who lived beneath him, or so the police assume, since they found both men dead.”
“I’m assuming autopsies were done?”
“Yes,” Moira said, a little frustrated. “And Mr. Kowalski, the man living downstairs, died of a heart attack. Seamus died of a broken neck.”
Brolin was silent.
“But you see, Seamus had been muttering about hearing strange whisperings in the bar, about the name blackbird the night before he died.”
“I see.”
“I really believe that someone, and I’m afraid it might be someone I know, might be part of a plot to kill you. And it isn’t just me. There’s a government man who has been coming into the pub, watching people.”
“A government man, you say.”
She nodded. “I’ve spoken with him.”
“And what has he told you?”
“To be careful, really careful. To stay around friends who aren’t Irish.”
“Ah, that’s difficult, when your father owns the pub.”
“Yes.”
“So this man told you to be careful, and you came straight to me?”
“I thought you had to be told. Of course, I don’t really know anything solid at all, it’s just that...that I felt you had to be warned. Maybe you shouldn’t ride in the parade.”
Brolin’s smile deepened. “There may be many people walking around Boston right now who would like to kill me.”
“I know.”
He leaned back in the sofa, still watching her with a half smile.
“You’re a very brave young woman.”
“Not at all.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes, but everyone knows that I want to interview you for the show.”
“True.”
He leaned forward again. “Moira, I agree with what the government man told you. You must be very careful. Stay close to good friends and family, preferably in groups. And keep quiet about your suspicions regarding the death of your father’s friend. And...” He hesitated, but only for a moment. “We’d had word about the rumors. Actually, there are several possible danger zones in the city. Comes with the territory. We Irish like to be dramatic. What more noticeable than an Irishman killed on Saint Patrick’s Day? I’m afraid that the situation is prime for people who still believe that terrorism is the only way. Naturally we’ve looked into many rumors regarding trouble here. We’re watching your father’s pub, as well, and though a man such as myself is always vulnerable, I have some strong support behind me. We have computer technology to trace people and the friendship of the government to help us. This is a free country, and no one can make your dad’s place into an inquisition chamber. Again, I thank you sincerely for coming to me. Now, I want you to pretend that you know nothing, and watch out for your personal safety. You must behave as if everything is completely normal. Go about your business, but be wary. Most important, watch out for yourself. For me, will you take care to do that?”
She nodded, not really feeling assured, just colder. Brolin had heard that there might be a conspiracy.
Stemming from Kelly’s.
“When is your father’s friend’s funeral?”
“Thursday morning.”
“What time?”
“The church service is at nine. We’ll be at the graveyard around ten.”
“Ah. The parade starts at eleven,” Brolin mused. “Will it work for you if I give you that interview you want right after the parade? I believe that I get off the float at about one in the afternoon.”
“I would love the interview whenever you have time to give it.”
“You’re frowning, Moira. You’re afraid that I’m not going to live long enough on Saint Patrick’s Day to spend time with you.”
“Oh, no! You’ve got to live.”
“I will,” he promised her. “I will.” He rose. “Come, we’re going to give you an escort downstairs and pretend that all we’ve talked about is the interview. We’ll do it at Kelly’s. As soon as I’m free from official duty, I’ll come to the pub.”
“It will be crowded to the gills,” she said worriedly.
“And I’ll be delighted to be the center of attention in an authentic Irish-American pub,” he told her. “Trust me, we will survive it. And we’ll drink to Ireland, and to America.”
Moira rose to join him. He reached for her hand.
The tall blond man was just outside in the parlor area of the suite, glasses low on his nose as he read from a file folder.
“Peter, we’re going to escort Miss Kelly down,” Brolin said.
“With pleasure,” Peter assured him, setting aside his file and rising.
As he did so, Moira noted that his tailored suit covered a shoulder holster and gun. Brolin was certainly being protected, but she wondered if any amount of strength and firepower could stop someone who was really intent on murder, especially if—as she feared—they were willing to die to achieve it.
Peter opened the door for them, stepping into the hallway first. Brolin spoke casually about the weather. Strange, it had been so cold, so much snow that winter, ice on the walks, and now, suddenly, the days were warming, almost as if the heavens were bringing spring a few days early, just for Saint Patrick’s Day.
“We’re expecting a high in the sixties tomorrow,” Brolin said as they stepped into the elevator and pushed the button.
“That will be nice,” Moira replied casually. “It was a rough winter. Even in Manhattan, we had snow piled on the sidewalks.”
They reached the lobby and walked together into the center. Brolin made a point of kissing her cheeks.
“It will be wonderful to chat on camera with such a lovely young lady,” he said, his voice carrying to the registration desk and beyond. “I look forward to it. I have a few old tales I can tell on camera for you. And a few new ones, too, of course.”
“Thank you so much for your time, and thank you so much for agreeing to the interview,” Moira responded.
She thanked Peter and said goodbye, then headed for the large main doors. She knew without looking that they stood in the lobby and watched her until she was headed down the street.
As she went down the steps to catch the T to the pub, she was deep in thought regarding her conversation with Brolin. So they knew. There were several possible danger zones, but Kelly’s Pub was one of them, and they had known.
There was nothing for her to do. Everyone was warned. The Irish were watching; the American government and the police were watching. She had done all she could. Now all she had to do was watch out for herself.
And pray that her brother wasn’t a terrorist.
And Danny...
She had to go about normally. Work, stay with groups of people, act as if she knew nothing, suspected nothing.
The wake was tomorrow night; the pub would be very busy. It would be busy tonight, as well. She had to help her father; that would be normal.
Tonight...tomorrow night.
Saint Patrick’s Day.
She remained deep in thought.
And never noticed the man following her down into the bowels of the T station.