The Last Noel (16 page)

“Who else do you know in there?” Quintin demanded.

“No one,” Craig said.

“Never met her folks?”

“Why would I have met them?” Craig asked impatiently.

“She never brought you home?”

“We had a few classes together. We didn't date,” Kat said, staring straight at Quintin.

“We need to go back in,” Craig said. “I'm worried about what Scooter might do if her parents start freaking.”

“Fine. But remember this. I'm not interested in women and true love. If you cause trouble, I'll kill you. If you try to stand up for this broad, Craig, I'll kill you. Got it?”

How he longed to put his fist through Quintin's face.

“I haven't caused any trouble,” Kat said.

“Oh, yeah?” Quintin squinted, assessing her long and hard. “No trouble? What do you call trying to escape last night?” He stared at her assessingly for a long time, then at Craig, and finally at the sky.

“Quintin,” Craig said, trying not to let the edge of fear snaking through him show in the tone of his voice. “Quintin, what are you doing? Come on. Don't rile everyone up by making them think…by making them worry about something that isn't even happening. Let's go back in. Before Scooter does something stupid.”

“Please?” Kat said.

“Right,” Quintin said at last. “It's Christmas Day. Time to make the turkey, huh?”

“My mother will make a great breakfast first,” Kat said. She was losing it. Craig could hear it in her voice. “If we get in there now!”

“You don't call the shots, little girl. But…” Quintin paused, let the silence draw out menacingly, then smiled. “By all means, let's go in.” He swept out an arm, and she walked into the house first, followed by Craig.

And then by Quintin.

S
kyler thought it was amazing she hadn't burned the bacon into charcoal or ruined the French toast. She had never felt such terror. Blood, bone, muscle…her entire system was flooded with it, and she was shaking so badly she could barely stand. But she had to keep moving.

That monster had taken her daughter.

She was afraid David would explode. Frazier looked like a powder key ready to blow. Even Jamie looked as if he was going to go through the roof.

Only Paddy was managing to remain calm. “David, pour the coffee and bring me a cup, will ye? Me legs botherin' me more than a mite.”

David tried. He poured the coffee. But, glancing his way, Skyler was afraid that one of the cups was going to shatter in his hands.

“Skyler, lass, that smells good enough to tempt the fairies, so it does,” Paddy said. “Now, turkey, turkey is a fine meal. But I'm as happy meself with the likes of your French toast, though why they call it
French
toast makes no sense to me, no sense at all.”

“I have no idea, Uncle Paddy,” Skyler replied, wondering how on earth he could sound so calm and what he was up to.

“Who knows and who cares?” Frazier said, his eyes on his father.

Skyler was afraid that the glances being exchanged between father and son indicated that they were ready to attempt another go against Scooter. She had to find a way to stop them before they invited disaster.

Scooter was perched on one of the stools at the counter, his gun out, the safety off. She knew David and Frazier were both willing to die for Kat, but she didn't want that to happen, and if they moved now, it almost certainly would.

And then Kat, out there with Quintin, would certainly die, as well.

What about Craig?
she wondered. Were his cohorts planning on killing him, too, when they didn't need him anymore?

But just when she thought hope was gone, Kat came striding into the kitchen, Craig and Quintin behind her.

“Smells good in here,” Quintin said pleasantly, as if he weren't still holding a gun.

She couldn't quite manage a thanks, not at that moment. “It's the bacon and coffee, I imagine.”

“I'll take a coffee,” Quintin said.

“I'll get it,” Craig offered quickly. As he poured, he smiled at Skyler.

“What the hell?” Quintin growled. “You said you never met her before.”

“And I haven't. Can't a man smile at a pretty woman? What the hell is your problem, Quintin?” Craig demanded.

“Have
you
ever met him before?” Quintin said to David.

“Where the hell would I have met him?”

“You?” Quintin spun around to stare at Frazier, who shook his head.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Craig said to Quintin. “I went to the same college as Kat. We had a few classes together.” He turned to the others. “Now Quintin here thinks I'm conspiring with you. That I managed to wreck the car in front of your house.” He turned back to Quintin and eyed the other man challengingly. “Damned difficult, since
I was knocked out
when it happened,” he said, glaring.

“You went to college with Kat?” Skyler said, ignoring the last part of his speech.

“Yes,” he said, then, eager to change the subject to something less fraught with pitfalls, asked, “Hey, is that French toast?”

“It is, and if you want to get that serving platter, the first batch is ready to go,” Skyler said.

“Forget that,” Quintin said as Craig reached for the platter. “Where's my damn coffee?”

“Hell, you distracted me,” Craig told him.

“I'll get the coffee,” Brenda chirped, rising and picking up the cup Craig had left on the counter.

“You!” Quintin said suddenly, pointing at her. “Did you ever see this guy before?”

Brenda handed him the coffee, which he took with his left hand, his right still brandishing the gun.

“I told you, I'm pre-med,” Brenda said. “Not Crime 101.”

Quintin enjoyed that. He actually laughed.

French toast, bacon, coffee, juice, butter and syrup all went on the table. Skyler didn't sit but instead started making another batch of French toast.

Every once in a while, she froze briefly as it hit her again that they were actually sitting and eating at her table—horrible men, men who were probably killers—and she was serving them while they sat calmly beside her children.

It was unbearable.

But it had to be borne.

“So when are you putting the turkey on?” Quintin asked.

She hesitated, then turned to face him. “Soon, so I can make sure it's fully cooked before the generator starts to run out of gas. Actually, we should probably start trying to conserve a little now, so we can be sure of having light and heat tonight.”

“We could turn off more lights, turn down the heat,” Frazier said.

“No,” Quintin said.

And there it was. Unspoken but clear.

Quintin didn't care if they lost power later. He wouldn't be here.

And they wouldn't need it.

Uncle Paddy suddenly spoke up, breaking the chilly silence that had settled over the room after Quintin's comment. “It's Christmas. Let's open the gifts.”

“Yeah, let's open the gifts,” Scooter said. “No, wait. Why should I care about presents? It's not like I'm getting any.”

“I told you, we always have extra gifts,” Skyler said.

“What? A fruitcake?” Scooter demanded sulkily.

Skyler actually laughed, shaking her head. “No,
nice
gifts.”

“Don't you have to be good all year for Santa to bring gifts?” Quintin asked. “I think Scooter has been really naughty, don't you?”

Is he actually making a joke?
Skyler wondered.

“Ignore him. I love getting presents,” Scooter said.

“So where are these gifts?” Quintin asked.

“Normally, they'd already be under the tree,” Skyler said.

“But this isn't ‘normally,' is it?” Quintin said meaningfully.

“Most of them are in my room.”

“And our rooms,” Frazier said.

“We can all go upstairs, then,” Skyler said.

“No. Scooter, you're in the kitchen with Mom,” Quintin said. “Blondie, you stay here, too, and help with the clean-up.”

“I can help in the kitchen, too,” Kat said.

“Not you,” Quintin told her.

“But—”

“Not you.”

“Where am I this time, Quintin?” Craig asked.

“With me.”

“You still don't trust me,” Craig said.

“Smart guy for a college dropout,” Quintin said. “Let's go.”

As they left the kitchen, Brenda started bringing plates over to the sink. “Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. O'Boyle,” she said politely. “It was delicious.”

Skyler almost broke out in laughter at the insanity of the situation, but she managed not to. “Thank you, Brenda. I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“Yup, that was great,” Scooter said and he was smiling at her, almost like a kid.

A kid with a gun pointed right at her.

“Thanks,” she answered, feeling she had to say something or risk his mood turning ugly.

“Are you going to get the turkey ready?” he asked excitedly.

“As soon as this is all picked up,” she said.

With Brenda helping her, the work went quickly. While Brenda was getting out the special Christmas dishes with the trumpeting angels on them, Skyler realized she couldn't stuff anything more into the garbage bag.

She tied it shut, then started for the basement door without thinking. She caught herself quickly, hesitated, then said, “Scooter?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it all right if I dump the garbage in the basement?”

He frowned. “Quintin'll be mad if I—”

“All I have to do is open the door and toss it down, just so it's out of the way and won't stink up the kitchen.”

He looked at Brenda, who was getting out more dishes, her back to him. “Yeah, sure go ahead.”

Skyler nodded and walked across to the pantry, then past the servants' stairway. She could hear voices from upstairs.

“It's just a big box,” Jamie was saying. “Honest, it's not dangerous.”

“All right, all right,” Quintin growled.

“If you want Scooter to open those extra gifts my wife was talking about, you're going to have to let me open that closet door,” David said.

Shaking her head, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, Skyler pulled open the basement door and almost screamed aloud, stunned to see two faces looking up at her. As it was, it felt as if her heart came to a dead halt in her chest.

Help had arrived.

Sheila Polanski and a young man she hadn't seen before. He had to be the deputy Sheila had brought with her the night before. They were standing at the bottom of the stairs; they had clearly been listening to what was going on upstairs.

Sheila brought her fingers to her lips, and Skyler knew. They were waiting. Waiting for the right time.

“Hey, what's taking you so long?” Scooter asked accusingly.

“I'm not taking so long,” she protested, looking in his direction and tossing the garbage bag down the stairs. She didn't dare look, but she was sure the two deputies were quick enough to dodge it.

She was trembling so hard that she was afraid Scooter would notice. She didn't dare look at him. Instead, she headed straight for the refrigerator and opened the door.

She nearly jumped when she felt Scooter right behind her, and she turned, gulping.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he demanded.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she told him.

“Sorry,” he said, and grinned, then glanced over at Brenda, who had turned, wide-eyed. “She's getting out the turkey,” he said happily.

“Right. Where do these little plates go, Mrs. O'Boyle?”

“You can leave them on the counter until we set up for dinner,” Skyler said.

“Where's the stuffing?” Scooter asked, looking deeper into the refrigerator.

“I make it separately.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't put it in the turkey. Bread crumbs suck up moisture, and I want the turkey moist.”

“Good thinking,” he said approvingly, beaming at her.

She glanced past him toward the pantry. The door to the basement was ajar, and Sheila was visible just behind it. Scooter's back was to the door, thank God, but Quintin…

Quintin was upstairs, with her family. And a gun.

She dropped the turkey, and Scooter stooped to pick it up. She took advantage of the second when his attention was distracted to shake her head vigorously. She could hear the group coming back down the stairs and knew the time wasn't right. The right time would be when they were all together. When both men were preoccupied and could be taken at once.

Scooter handed her the turkey and looked around, as if he thought he should have seen something, but hadn't.

“What's going on?” he asked suspiciously.

Just then the door to the kitchen opened and the rest of the family trailed back in, Quintin last, his gun in his hand.

“Presents are under the tree,” Jamie said.

“And I found you the best present ever,” Kat said, going over to embrace her mother.

“The cops are here,” Skyler whispered while they were hugging.

“No way.
I
got her the best present,” Jamie said.

“Any present from my children is always the best present,” Skyler said, and she turned to hug him, too.

Frazier laughed. “Hey, maybe
I
got her the best present.”

Looking across the room then, Skyler saw Scooter's expression. It was deeply sad, and she read in his eyes that he intended to kill them all. Or at least that Quintin did and Scooter wasn't going to stop him.

But not until they'd had turkey.

 

“I'm not sure how brilliant this is,” Sheila whispered, shivering as she hovered close to Tim in the basement.

“Hey, we're in, aren't we?” Tim said.

“Yeah, we're in, but…we're still in the same situation. How the hell are we going to get in position to take out both men at once without one of them shooting one of the O'Boyles?”

“Patience,” he said.