Night Of The Blackbird (24 page)

“What?”

“There's your man. Brolin. He just walked in with what looks like a group of four prizefighters. Don't spin around too obviously.”

Despite her mother's words, Moira spun around instantly.

“I said not to be so obvious,” Katy protested.

“Sorry.” Moira picked up her juice and sipped it, trying to appear casual. “Mum, I should do this, right?”

“You've had a TV show some time now. How have you approached those other celebrities?”

“Until recently, Josh called. Lately it's been Michael's job. And usually we focus on little bits and pieces of Americana, with far more average—though wonderful—people.”

“You're not afraid?”

“I'm just not sure how to approach him.”

Katy set down her glasses and napkin and rose. “Excuse me, then.”

“Mum,” Moira began. But her mother was already walking to the table. Moira noticed that, as harmless as her mother appeared, the men with Brolin immediately rose.

Moira rose instantly to follow her mother, ready to fiercely protect her should the need arise.

“Excuse me,” Katy said very politely. “Jacob, it's Kathleen Kelly. Do you remember me?”

Brolin rose with a huge smile. He was a big man. Not just tall, but big. Iron gray hair, deep blue eyes. A face filled with character. Wrinkled like a bloodhound's, yet somehow still very pleasant.

“Kathleen!” he said, and, stepping past his bodyguards, he took her mother's hands.

“Then you do remember me?”

“Of course, how could I forget?”

Moira stood stone still a few feet behind her mother.

“I knew you were here, of course. I'd meant to stop by Kelly's—after Saint Patrick's Day.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'd heard you'd married Eamon Kelly and moved to the States. Kelly's is known in the homeland, Katy. My, you haven't changed a bit.”

“Ah, well, that's kind, but it's been over thirty years.”

“I still say you haven't changed a bit.”

“Jacob, come now. We both look a great deal more…tired,” Katy said, and laughed. Moira stood dumbfounded. Was her mother flirting? No, not really, but…

“Katy, did you come here to find me?” Brolin asked.

She shook her head. “I was just having breakfast with my daughter. I'd love you to meet her. In fact, she's been meaning to call you.”

“Oh?” Brolin looked past Katy and saw Moira standing there. He smiled broadly for Moira. “Why, she's just like you, Katy.” He strode past his bodyguards, taking Moira's hands and giving her a kiss on both cheeks. “Now, lass, why were you going to call me?”

“I, uh, I'd love to have a few words with you on tape for an American travel show, Mr. Brolin,” she said. “We're trying to show the magic of Saint Patrick's Day in America. Actually, a lot of it is focused on the old saying that everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick's Day.” She paused, wondering if she was babbling. She had been taken by such surprise. Did her father know Brolin, too? If he did, wouldn't he have mentioned it when Seamus and Liam had been talking about the man with such awe?

Brolin looked to one of the big men at his side. “We can fit something in somewhere, can't we? We will. Call the hotel room tomorrow and we'll set you up. Will you and your mum join us?”

“I'm afraid we can't, we have to get back,” Katy said. “But indeed, Jacob, we'd be more than thrilled to have you as our guest when your obligations are finished here.”

“How are things at Kelly's Pub?” Brolin asked.

“Busy. You know a pub on Saint Patrick's Day,” Katy said.

He nodded. Moira was surprised to realize that he was studying her. “Well, now, that's fine. And yes, I'd love to visit you and Eamon and your family.”

“Then we'll be seeing you, Jacob.” She smiled at his guards. “Please excuse the interruption.”

Jacob Brolin kissed Katy's cheek, and Katy took Moira's arm. “Time to leave, I think,” she murmured, starting out of the dining room.

“Don't forget to call, Moira,” Brolin called.

Moira stopped to turn back. “Thank you.”

“Come along now,” her mother said. “In all these years, you've surely learned how to make a proper exit.”

“I didn't finish breakfast.”

“I'll make you eggs Benedict. This is our exit.”

“Mum! Our exit is going to be rather embarrassing if I don't pay the check!”

“Oh. Oh, of course,” Katy said, then stood by the table as Moira summoned the waiter and left the money.

Out on the street, Moira looked at her mother. “I—I had no idea you knew him.”

“I don't really know him. We met, many years ago.”

“Was he…was he…?”

“Was he what?”

“I don't know. Like a great love in your life long ago or something?”

Katy shook her head impatiently. “You're mocking me, daughter.”

“No, Mum—”

“The younger generation always thinks they're the first to discover sex and passion, but it's been going on for centuries, Moira.” She started down the street toward the subway station.

“Mum, I was about to tell you that I was impressed—”

“Well, don't be.”

“Mum, he's a very important man.”

“He's a man like any other. He just knows both sides of the problem.”

“But how did you meet him? I thought we were from Dublin? And you've never been involved in politics.”

Katy looked at her with sheer exasperation. “You're from Boston, you live in New York, and you've traveled all over. And you know something about the American Civil War. Fathers fought sons, brothers were against one another, families were divided.”

“Yes, but they were fighting for a cause, for something that had more to do with what they believed than where they were born—”

“Trust me, the fellow fighting for his plantation, his income, cared where he was born, and believe me on this—every man has a cause. Life is what it is. Catholics have married Protestants. People move. People living in the tiniest town in Limerick might be politically active, while a man living in Belfast might wear blinders and walk to and from work daily, not really caring who's in power, just so long as he can take his vacation in Spain. Moira, do you know why we came to the States?”

“Dad wanted a pub in America. The economy wasn't great at home, and he'd read about America all his life. It was a dream and a new beginning.”

“All that's true. But we married, and moved, after a cousin on my father's side was killed. She should have known what she was in for—she was active in a violent group. She inflicted her share of violence and received it in return. That's what your father couldn't bear. A life in which children were taught to hate. She was a kid when she was killed, Moira. Twenty-one. I wanted revenge, but your father had the kind of courage to say no and walk away. And he's lived with that kind of courage every day of his life, teaching you all that a man's color, race or religion doesn't matter, just the mettle of the man. Brolin, too, learned that kind of commitment. He wasn't always lily white, but he learned his lessons the hard way. I've watched his career from afar. He's one of the few people in power to realize that hate can be taught, that it's passed on from generation to generation. He knows that even if you can't erase decades—or centuries—of bloodshed, oppression and, on both sides, cold-blooded murder, you can work hard to create a new world where men and women talk instead of shoot.”

Moira stood openmouthed, staring at her mother, stunned.

Katy went up the subway stairs and started down the street. Moira followed her. “Mum, where are you going?”

“Walking. I—I want to go see your brother's boat.”

Moira followed her. “Mum?”

“What?” Katy snapped.

“Um, if you really want to see Patrick's boat, we have to cross the street and go that way,” Moira said.

Katy spun and stared at her, smiled, then laughed out loud. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Moira walked up and hugged her mother. “I always loved you for breakfast every morning, for harping at us to get out of bed for school, for being there with tea and whiskey when we had colds. I loved you for down pillows and fluffy comforters, and for being the world's greatest mum. And I never doubted that you were smart, but I never knew how very wise you were, and just how incredibly wonderful. Forgive me for not seeing all that you were.”

Katy pulled away from her, patting her cheek. “There are tough choices in life, daughter, always, for everyone.”

“Tell me more about Brolin,” Moira said. “How did you meet him?”

Her mother hesitated, then said, “My cousin died. She had been living in Northern Ireland, and I met him at the funeral. It's not a time I like to remember. Come on, let's get going. I want to see that boat. It's March now, we'll be able to get out in it soon enough. Sometimes I wish we'd moved to Florida. I do love the water. And Patrick has been out checking that boat over so many times this year. He's getting restless, I think. He does love the ocean. And I'm glad. It keeps him coming in to Boston.”

They had reached the dock leading to Patrick's boat. One thing she'd always known about her mother: she could out-move a power walker. Moira was almost breathless.

“The gate is locked,” Katy said with dismay.

“I doubt it. The people around here are fairly casual.” Moira pushed the gate open. “See…it should be locked, but it never is.”

They walked down the dock. A sharp wind blew in. March was always an unpredictable month.

“Ah, there she is,” Katy murmured.

The boat was called
Siobhan.
She was beautiful and sleek, freshly painted, with sails and a motor. Patrick had only had her pulled out of dry dock a few weeks back, anticipating the coming of good weather.

Moira saw that, beneath the tarp Patrick had over the helm, there were a number of boxes. “I guess he's been out here, stocking her up,” Moira murmured.

“Well, of course he's been out here. It's where he said he was going. Why did you say that?”

“Oh, I don't know. I think Siobhan has been worried about him a few times. He's getting involved with that group supporting orphans. At least, that's what he's been saying.”

Katy spun on her. “If that's what he's been saying, that's what is. When you love someone, you trust him.”

“Of course,” Moira murmured.

“You're talking about your brother, Moira.”

“Hey, don't worry, I love my brother. I just hate to see any trouble between him and Siobhan.”

“They'll weather this. They're lucky. They were young when they met. But they really love each other. Sometimes, it isn't easy to trust someone. But when you make it through, well, then you know your heart has been in the right place.”

“Mum, don't worry. I always defend Patrick. I haven't wanted to deck him in almost ten years now.”

Her mother smiled but stared at her very seriously. “Let your brother manage his affairs. You've got to worry about your own situation now, don't you? What do you feel, Moira? Thinking isn't a bad thing, but what you feel is usually much more important.”

Moira hesitated, staring at her mother. “Mum, I don't know what I feel. Do I spend my life waiting for an exciting, combustible, perhaps even dangerous wild card, or trust in someone who's right here, with all the right virtues? There's a lot to be said for compatibility. If I had any sense, I'd certainly go for dependable, just as…”

“Just as I did?” Katy suggested, then she shook her head, smiling. “You've got it all wrong. Your father was the wild card, the one with the real beliefs, the dreams, the one taking me away from everything I had known and loved. He said that we were going to get to America or be damned. Choices are never easy. And never clear-cut. To this day, I admire other men, but I love your father. He was my gamble, and I played against the odds. I played by instinct, and I played by heart.” She turned and started walking along the dock. “Let's get on home now, eh? Your business associates have probably been calling all morning.”

Katy started off again at her usual brisk pace. Moira followed.

Strange morning indeed. She'd gotten what she'd set out for.

And a great deal more.

M
oira was surprised to see how late it had gotten when they returned to the house. Colleen was finishing cleaning in the kitchen, but a squeal from the family room assured them that the house was not empty.

Katy Kelly arched a brow to Colleen.

“Gina is in there with Granny Jon, Siobhan and all the kids,” Colleen explained. “Molly and Shannon are fascinated. They think Siobhan should have twins so they can play with babies all the time.”

“Oh, dear, all Siobhan needs is twins!” Katy said, heading into the family room.

“Where's everyone else?” Moira asked.

“Dad's already downstairs setting up. He says that Mondays are usually slow, but since it's almost Saint Patrick's Day…” She shrugged.

“Patrick?”

“Who knows? He's off.”

“Danny? Josh? I'm assuming Josh was here, if he's left Gina for the day.”

“Yes, Josh is downstairs with Dad, helping out. And Michael and Danny are out—together.”

“What?” Moira said incredulously. She felt a chill on the inside as a sheen of sweat broke out on the outside. “Danny and Michael left here together?”

Colleen glanced at her sharply. “You took off this morning without leaving any hint of your filming schedule. Josh reminded Michael that you'd been going to do a musical overlay or something, showing the doors of some of Boston's finest pubs. Those not quite as fine as Kelly's, of course, but worthy of note. Danny mentioned that he knew every pub in the city, from the most elite to the down and dirty. Anyway, they went out together—in Dad's car, as a matter of fact—to scout out pub doors. What's the matter? You look as white as a ghost.”

Moira shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, a bit too quickly. “Nothing at all. I just can't see the two of them getting along.”

Colleen narrowed her eyes, setting down the dish towel she'd been using and walking over to Moira. “You never told Michael that once upon a time you had a fling with the old family friend, huh?”

“Colleen…”

“You didn't, did you?”

“It didn't matter. We both know there have been other people in our lives,” Moira said. “We never felt it necessary to give names, dates and license numbers.”

Colleen laughed softly. “Well, no, not if he dated some girl in L.A. or Ohio. But you brought him home when Danny was staying here.”

“I didn't think that it mattered. I really didn't.”

“But now they're out together and you never told him and…Oh!” Colleen exclaimed, staring at her very closely.

“Oh, what?”

“That's where you were last night.”

“What?”

“You were with Danny.”

“Colleen, will you shut up!”

“As long as you don't lie to me.”

“How do you know I wasn't in my room?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I went to find out if you wanted to make tea or talk or something. Oh, my God.”

“Colleen, stop, please.”

“I thought you were really in love with Michael. Then again, I didn't think you'd ever really be out of love with Danny. You can be so stubborn…. Of course, Danny does come and go, and Michael really is one wicked hunk, but…You have to make up your own mind, of course. Though if it were me…well, to be honest, sex is so important in a relationship—”

Moira could hear footsteps coming from the family room. She clapped her hand over her sister's mouth. “Please…”

Colleen tugged free of Moira's hold. She looked toward the family room. “Whoever it was turned back. Do guys talk, do you think? Oh, Lord, Moira, do you think they're out together talking about you? What do men say, do you think?” She broke off, wincing. “Lord, what am I saying? Sorry, you must be really miserable. I know you. You'd never just…I mean, there had to be a reason. I love you, and this must be so difficult. Don't worry, they're not going to come to blows. If I know Danny, he won't say a word to Michael. Honestly. It's going to be all right. I'll make tea. According to Granny Jon, that solves everything. Maybe you need some whiskey in yours. That can be arranged.”

“No,” Moira said. “I'm going down to the pub. Cover for me with Mum and Granny Jon and Gina, please?”

“Sure, sure, I'll say you needed to talk to Josh.” Her sister sensed her misery, caught her by the shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Honest to God, it will be all right.”

“It's not all right. Michael is really good and decent and trusts me—”

“And maybe now, if you decide he's the right man, it will be without hesitation. Moira, you didn't turn into the town slut.” Colleen stared at Moira, shaking her head. “Hey, kid, no one's going to do anything worse to you than you're doing to yourself.” She sighed. “You met Michael right after the Christmas holidays, right?”

Moira nodded.

“And knowing you, you saw him a zillion times before anything happened.”

“No, we went out about twelve times in January, then at the beginning of February—”

“Okay, I'm not really that detail oriented, at least not right this minute,” Colleen said. “And when is the last time you really went out in the last…however many years it was since you last hooked up with Danny?”

Moira shook her head.

“No one?” Colleen gasped.

“I went out.”

“But you went that long without…without sleeping with anyone? Boy, and I just thought that you were really discreet. Moira, don't go beating yourself up over this. Trust me, by the standards these days, you're practically a nun. Please, don't be so upset.”

“I'm not upset, I'm confused. I really do love Michael. And I guess that I've always loved Danny. But I should have…refrained.”

“He didn't exactly drag you down into the cellar, huh? Were you drinking?”

“No. But I really need a drink now.”

“Yeah, maybe you do. Hey, big sis, I'm here, okay?” Colleen hugged her tightly once again. “Any time, any circumstances. I'm here.”

“Thanks. I'm going downstairs for that whiskey.”

Moira kissed her sister quickly on the cheek and escaped. As she closed the door to the spiral stairway, she could hear Gina asking for her and Colleen making an excuse.

Her father and Josh were at one end of the bar. Her father was calling out names, while Josh went through open liquor boxes on the floor, trying to supply the right bottles for the empty spaces in the wells.

“Hey, there,” Josh called.

“Welcome, daughter.”

“Hey, Dad. Josh. Hey, Josh, how long have—have the guys been gone? Are we going to tape the pubs today?”

“They were going to call the crew from the road,” Josh said. “They really don't need either of us for this. Of course, it isn't Dan's job at all, but he seemed to want to help. And he does know the pubs of Boston.”

“Oh, yes, that he does,” Moira muttered, striding behind the bar to the Irish whiskey. She poured herself a shot while both her father and Josh stared at her. She smiled sheepishly at her father. “Bad night. I didn't get any sleep.”

“I was afraid you were going to tell me that a couple of hours alone with your mother had made you crazy,” Eamon said.

“Dad!”

“You were the one running for the whiskey, girl, not me.”

“Mum and I had—” She paused, remembering the way Jacob Brolin had instantly remembered her mother after thirty years. “Mum and I had a lovely time out together.”

“Good. Your mother is a wonderful woman, and you should appreciate that.”

“I do. I told you, no sleep,” she said.

“Gina and the twins okay?” Josh asked.

“Yep. The other kids are entertaining them,” she said. She swallowed her whiskey in a single gulp. It burned like a son of a gun. Just what she needed. Almost like a slap in the face. Guilt was now, beyond a doubt, settling down hard on her.

She heard a noise from the rear of the bar and looked back. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe Danny was in his room.

But it wasn't Danny. It was Jeff Dolan. He was setting up the instruments and doing sound checks.

“Hey, Jeff,” she said. “Need any help?”

She left the bar area quickly, aware that her father and Josh were studying her way too closely—and they both knew her too well.

“Sure, Moira,” Jeff said, “though I'm almost done here. I was going to get something to eat, walk around awhile, before we had to get started tonight. It's going to be a long one, for a Monday. Well, for me. We don't usually play on Mondays, you know. Plug in that amp for me, please?”

“Sure.” She did as bidden.

Jeff gave her a long sideways glance, brown eyes curious. “You all right?”

“Of course.”

“I saw you talking to that guy the other night.”

“That guy?”

“Drinking the blackbird, sitting in the corner.” He grinned. “In fact, I heard you. I would have come up and applauded but…is he a cop?”

“He gave that impression.”

“Yeah? Well, you told him. I'm surprised the guy didn't come right up to the stage and frisk me.”

“I thought your record was as white as snow these days?”

“I'm whiter than snow,” Jeff said, reaching down to straighten a few wires. “But there's no way to clean up your record.”

“Jeff,” she said very softly, “is something going on here?”

“No,” he replied, too quickly.

“You're lying.”

“No, I'm not. Really. Hey, why aren't you working?”

“The guys are off taping pub doors.”

“Ah.”

“Jeff—”

“You want to get a sandwich with me?” he asked.

“We can go upstairs and I can dig something up for you. Of course, the kitchen staff should be here by now, too.”

“No, do you want to go out and get something with me?” he persisted.

“I—sure. Of course,” she said. He was going to talk to her. But not here. “I'll just go up for my purse.”

“Your dad pays us decently. I can buy you a pop and a sandwich.”

“Okay, great.”

They walked toward the bar. “Dad, Josh, I'll be right back. Jeff wants to get a grinder.”

Eamon, looking up from his stock list, frowned. “Jeff, you're always welcome to any food in the place.”

“Thanks, Eamon. I had a hankering for one of those grinders at Zeno's, down the street.”

“And I'm really in a mood for a gourmet coffee,” Moira added. “I promise, we'll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Eamon said. “Josh here is proving to be an excellent pub keeper.”

“Keeping at it, just in case the film thing ever fizzles,” Josh told her. But Josh knew her well, and he was watching her suspiciously.

As they started out the door, she heard her father swear as he slammed his head against the bottom of the bar, trying to rise quickly. “Moira!”

“What is it, Dad?”

“You stay with Jeff.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Dad, it's broad daylight.”

“They just had it on the news. They've found another dead girl.”

“He's telling the truth,” Josh said, handing her father a bottle of tequila.

“Another prostitute?” she asked.

“An Irish girl,” her father said.

“Dad, I'm American, not Irish. And Jeff is going to pimp for me so I can become a prostitute, okay?”

“Moira Kathleen!”

“Dad, I'm sorry. It's horrible, really horrible. But please, you don't have to worry. I won't go off with any strange men. I'll stick to Jeff like glue.”

“If I'd known, I'd not have been so fast to let your mother and you off alone this morning,” Eamon said.

“Dad, I swear, I'll be careful.”

“Did you want a sandwich, Josh?” her father asked. “Maybe you should be going with them.”

“Eamon, I ate too much breakfast a very short while ago,” Josh said. “And I'm helping you here, right? I worry about your wayward daughter, too, but I have to admit, she usually uses good sense. Well, sometimes.”

“Eamon, I'll guard her with my life, I swear it,” Jeff said patiently.

Eamon nodded. “Well, on with you, then. But come back quickly.”

“Sure thing, Eamon,” Jeff said.

They walked outside. “It really is terrible,” Moira murmured.

“The dead girls?”

She nodded. “I didn't see the news, though. Did you?”