by Maggie Finn
‘You know what I think, Queenie?’ he said, ‘I think this is a failure of communication. I don’t think Mr. Schwartz understands the trouble he’s in.’
Queenie nodded.
‘I’d agree with you there, Guard.’
‘I think it’s the language barrier,’ said Noah. ‘I don’t think Mr. Schwartz can understand our thick Irish brogue. What we need is an interpreter.’
He reset his cap on his head. ‘So if you’ll excuse me, Sir, I will go and fetch another American who can ask you a few questions on my behalf. I’m sure Kate O’Riordan will be glad to hear why you have been stealing books for your girlfriend Ginny.’
Schwartz’s mouth dropped open. ‘Kate? Oh no, no…’ he began, but Noah slid the van door closed and turned to Queenie.
‘We’ll let him stew for a while, but d’you mind giving me a hand finding Kate? Molly said the bar’s packed and I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
Noah glanced over at the patrol car and Queenie’s green eyes twinkled. ‘That hurry wouldn’t have anything to do with that love line I saw on your palm, now would it?’
‘Just hurry, okay?’
Molly was right: it was hard to even open the door of Connor’s, so many people were inside. Shimmying into the press of bodies, Noah stood on tiptoes; Kate was behind the bar, but there was no hope of getting her attention from this distance.
‘Leave this to me,’ said Queenie. Pulling up her skirts, she jumped onto a chair and, in a clear voice cried:
‘Ladies and gents! Bishop Ray would like me to inform you that the church service will begin in five minutes! If you are not able to attend, see me and I will pass on your apologies.’
There was a shocked hush, then suddenly everyone started grabbing their coats and making for the door. Shouting ‘fire’ wouldn’t have had such an immediate effect. Noah stood aside, letting the crowds thin, then crossed to the bar and explained the situation to Kate.
‘David Schwartz? My David?’ she said incredulously. ‘He’s back?’
‘Back to buy up large chunks of land, it seems. I suspect that’s why he broke into the castle, to look at Sir Charles’ accounts and see if Ross could force a sale. The same with Danny’s computer; he was hoping for insider information he could use as leverage.’
Kate’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, let’s see what sort of leverage we can use on him,’ she said, pulling off her apron and putting it on the bar.
‘Leverage?’ said Noah warily.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t hurt him,’ said Kate with a wintry smile. ‘But I can’t imagine the executive board of Ross Oil will take too kindly to an employee being arrested. And I’m sure Danny Brennan’s connections at The New York Globe will be only too happy to spread the word. If there’s one thing David Schwartz fears more than anything it’s losing his high-flying position. I should think all that will be enough to make him talk.’
Noah looked across at Connor who held up both hands. ‘I know better than to get in the way when she has that look on her face.’
Kate strode out of the bar, with Noah, Connor and Queenie following in her wake. Noah caught up with Kate just as she reached the panel van.
‘Now Kate, I don’t want you to…’ he began, then trailed off as he heard barking. Exchanging a look with Queenie, he quickly slid open the van door – then jumped back as the dog leapt out snarling. Just the dog, no David.
‘Caesar!’ snapped Queenie, holding out her hand. ‘Here.’
The mongrel growled angrily but complied, trotting over, dropping the object he had clamped in his jaws at her feet. It was a single yellow sock. Noah checked: the van was empty.
‘Looks like David was more scared of Kate than he was of those teeth,’ said Connor.
‘He’s smarter than I remember,’ said Kate.
Queenie was kneeling down talking to the dog.
‘Where did he go, Caesar?’ she said, looking into his eyes. ‘Show us.’
The dog immediately began sniffing the sock, then the ground. With a ‘yip’ he ran off across the square, stopping on the far side by a rectangle of tarmac almost clear of snow, tire tracks heading out of the square towards the coast road. Now Noah could see footprints leading across from the van, the one bare foot clear in the snow.
‘He’ll be heading for the airport,’ said Kate. ‘I’d guess he was going back to the States anyway.’
‘Tonight?’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Surely he’ll miss the last flight now.’
Kate shook her head. ‘He’ll be using the Ross Oil jet. If you call the airport, I’ll bet they’ll tell you it’s fuelled up and waiting on the runway.’
Noah nodded, thinking it through. Technically he could call the airport control tower and have the airplane grounded on police business, but it would entail an awful lot of red tape, not to mention getting the permission of his superiors who might not be terribly happy being bothered on Christmas Eve. Plus David Schwartz wasn’t exactly Pablo Escobar, he was some sneaky oil exec who’d been caught peeking through some windows. Yes, they had recovered the stolen goods, but Noah wasn’t at all sure any of it would be admissible in court, given the unconventional way they had come by the evidence. Still, Noah wasn’t about to let David get away with it. And besides, he had other business at the airport.
‘Connor,’ he said quickly. ‘Can you go down and take charge of the stewards along the procession route? Raff’s a good man, but I’m worried that when the service is over, we’re going to get a surge.’
‘No problem,’ said Connor, immediately grasping the situation. ‘Ryan can look after things up here. Looks like Queenie’s emptied the bar anyway.’
‘I’ll get the Hares to help out, too,’ said Queenie.
‘And I’ll have a word with Father Dec,’ said Kate, ‘Get him to let them out slowly.’ She squeezed Noah’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got this. But drive safe, okay? There’s talk of more snow.’
Noah nodded his thanks and ran towards the car.
‘Hey Guard,’ called Queenie, just as he was getting inside. The traveler was pointing to her raised palm. ‘Best hurry. What’s written isn’t guaranteed. Not even love.’
Chapter Eighteen
The airport was practically deserted. Eliza dropped her case and looked up at the departures board. ‘Delayed’, ‘Delayed’, ‘Cancelled’. From what she could see, only one flight had actually left in the past hour. Turning towards the windows, it was easy to see why. White flakes as big as saucers were falling from an inky black sky. Looking out of the terminal, it was like they were trapped inside a giant snow globe.
No surprise, then, that the concourse was virtually empty. Anyone with any sense had given up and gone home. Only the very stubborn and those with nowhere else to go were sticking it out, huddled here and there in makeshift encampments on the benches or outside shuttered food concessions. At least Eliza’s flight was only ‘delayed’, with the monitors optimistically promising ‘boarding in 30 minutes’, so Eliza dragged the case down towards her gate, trying not to notice the man dressed in a pilot’s uniform moving towards the exit.
Eliza had once seen a film featuring a gang of impossibly cute kids who became trapped in a snowbound airport; it had looked fun. The echoing reality, however, was vaguely unsettling and the forced jollity of the elves and reindeer decorations only made it worse. Eliza moved to the side as a man with a broom swept his way slowly up the polished floor.
‘Excuse me,’ she asked him, ‘Is there somewhere I can get a cup of coffee?’
The janitor stopped.
‘Coffee,’ he said, testing the word in his mouth, as if he was trying to translate. ‘Oh. You mean a cuppa tea?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’
‘No darling, they shut the café about an hour ago. You weren’t missing much, the tea’s terrible anyway.’
Eliza nodded. It kind of fit the mood. She thanked him and moved on.
‘Although you could try the bar,’ called the janitor afte
r her. ‘That’s still open. Obviously.’
Obviously. This was Ireland. The bars never really closed, not even for a wintry apocalypse like this. Eliza followed the signs pointing to ‘O’Brien’s’. It wasn’t exactly a pub, more of a standard airport unit with plastic moldings and catalog chairs that had been re-purposed as a bar. It was indeed open, but as empty as the rest of the terminal. The thought hit Eliza that maybe they always closed up the airport on Christmas Eve. After all, only crazy people flew anywhere on the day before Christmas. It cost three times as much and who wanted to risk getting onboard with a pilot who’d had a few egg nogs? Anyone sane would be gathered at home with their loved ones, furiously wrapping presents or – it was Ireland, after all – in the pub singing Christmas songs.
Eliza dragged her suitcase up to the bar, looking up and down. There was only one other customer: a man sitting at the bar, dressed in a Santa costume, slumped forward, his arm protectively around a beer.
Eliza moved to the other end of the bar and slid up onto a stool.
‘So… what can I get you?’
‘Oh, just a diet soda,’ she began, but when she looked up it wasn’t a bartender who had spoken. It was the man dressed as Santa. He was looking at her expectantly.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said what do you want?’ he repeated.
Eliza looked behind the counter. ‘Isn’t the barman around?’
The man in the Santa costume shook his head, making a soft jingling sound. ‘Brendan clocked off twenty minutes ago. So what can I get you?’
‘He’s left you in charge of the bar?’ asked Eliza in surprise.
There was another jingle from the man.
‘Not as such. In fact he’s a suspicious soul, is Brendan. He actually locked the till and turned off the pumps – can you believe that? And on Christmas Eve too.’
Eliza thought she could see Brendan’s point, but she was too polite to say so. The Santa guy raised his glass and took a sip of his beer, wiping the foam from his beard.
‘So anyway, what can I get you? For Christmas I mean.’ He gestured towards his red suit. ‘Not long until the big day, after all. What would you like me to bring you?’
Eliza wasn’t at all sure this particular Santa was up to delivering himself back home, let alone millions of Barbies and Hot Wheels toys. She looked at her watch. ‘Isn’t it already Christmas Day in Australia?’
Santa waved a vague hand. ‘Oh, it’s fine. I can manipulate time. Have to, really, otherwise I’d never get around like I do. So no worries, as they say down under.’
He was slurring his words now. ‘Under’ came out as ‘unner’.
‘So why are you here?’ asked Eliza. ‘I mean, shouldn’t you be on your sleigh?’
‘Lost it,’ he said with a hiccup. ‘This storm, you see. Terrible vizzi… visa… visibility. But Rudolph will find me eventually. He’s a good lad.’
Then he stopped, closed one eye and peered at her.
‘Hey, you’re not on the naughty list, are you?’
Eliza gave a laugh. ‘I don’t think so. Maybe according to one guy.’
Noah. She suddenly realized with a spark of anger that his name suited him perfectly. Stubborn, single-minded, convinced of his own righteousness. And prepared to ignore the wishes of his family in order to serve what he saw as the greater good. Although the Noah from the bible had been right, hadn’t he?
Eliza looked up at the departures monitor again. Boarding time ten minutes now. Well, she would soon be home and Noah Moyes wouldn’t be her problem any more. She wished that thought made her feel better.
‘Well, if you really can give me anything for Christmas,’ she said to the old man. ‘I’ll take a brand new life.’
Santa chuckled and waggled his fingers in the air like a stage magician.
‘Done,’ he said.
Eliza laughed. ‘You mean it’s happened? My wish is granted?’
‘Well you’re here, aren’t you?’ said Santa. ‘Unless I’m mistaken you’re an American girl and this is a long way from home.’
Eliza shook her head.
‘This is just a vacation – a holiday. Which is almost over.’ She pointed to the planes out on the snowy runway. ‘I’m going back ASAP.’
‘Are you now?’
‘Next flight to the States. I’ll be having Christmas on the beach.’
Santa squeezed one eye shut and looked at her.
‘Can I come witch’er?’
Eliza giggled.
‘No! You have work to do.’
‘Ach, but it’s a stressful time of year for me,’ said Santa, ‘I could sure do with one of these here vacations.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’
Up on the TV above the bar, a silent Coca-Cola ad was showing a cartoon Santa and some polar bears delivering carbonated drinks to beaming children. The man in the red suit followed her gaze.
‘You know why Santa keeps going?’ he asked thoughtfully. ‘You ever wonder why I’m such a big hit at Christmas?’
Eliza shrugged. ‘Goodwill to all men?’
‘Ah, that’s not me. That’s the big guy upstairs – can’t take any credit for that. And d’ya know, people do have good hearts. Hard to believe when you’re watching the TV news some nights, but as a rule, ordinary folks are nice. And at Christmas, their cups runneth over.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Eliza, ‘But that doesn’t answer your question about why people still believe in Santa.’
The man leant forward, his sleeves sliding along the bar and for a moment, Eliza was worried he’d fall off his stool.
‘People love Santa because he’s thoughtful,’ he said, stabbing the counter with one finger to emphasize his point. ‘Because getting a gift proves that someone somewhere has thought about them – that’s what people like.’
Eliza supposed the old man was right, actually. To give someone a good gift, to find them something they might like, you had to know them and care about them enough to make the effort.
‘But you want to know the real secret of Santa Claus?’ asked the man. ‘The reason people keep believing in me? It’s because I’m the only person who ever asks.’
Eliza frowned. ‘Asks what?’
‘What. Do. You. Want?’ said the man, his stubby finger tapping on the counter. ‘Think about it. In adult life, when has anyone ever turned to you and said, “what do you really want?” Never! And isn’t that a terrible shame, Eliza?’
She narrowed her eyes, thinking back through their conversation. Had she told him her name? Was it a guess? Or had he read it on her luggage tags? She began to feel slightly uncomfortable and glanced up at the departures monitor. Her flight was listed as ‘boarding’ now, but she stayed in her seat.
‘So what do I want?’ she asked. ‘Apart from the new life.’
The man in the red smiled.
‘Oh, I think you know.’
‘A powder blue Corvette with white leather seats?’
Santa’s hat jangled again. ‘Nope. Well, yes – good choice, but that’s not your heart’s desire.’
‘A pair of pearl earrings?’
This one was true. She had dropped hints about them to Nic all last fall. He had bought her a food processor.
‘Well, when I was a girl I always wanted a…’
‘Flight attendant Barbie, I know,’ interrupted Santa. Eliza’s eyes grew wide.
‘In the blue uniform with the white trim,’ he added. Eliza gaped at him, the hairs prickling all up and down her arms. She looked at the old man more closely. Could he really be…? No, that was ridiculous. A Barbie doll was a good guess for any little girl. And the flight attendant part? Well, they were in an airport weren’t they?
‘But I’m not talking about the coffee machines and the flat screen TVs, Eliza,’ the man continued, ‘I’m talking about what you really want.’
He laid a hand flat against his heart. ‘In here, darling. What do you really want above all else?’
And suddenly Eliza knew.
‘I want to go home,’ she said.
Santa smiled, showing a gap where one of his canines should be. He turned on his stool and made a grand gesture towards the windows, where snow was falling like tennis balls.
‘Then go, Eliza,’ he said. ‘Go.’
Chapter Nineteen
The snow was really coming down hard now, so thick the sky was a white blur, like a soft quilt floating from the heavens. It had started just outside Kilkeedy, big fluffy flakes dropping like the cotton wool balls Noah’s ma had kept in a jar in the bathroom. There had been a time when Noah had loved that kind of snow. He remembered rushing out into the street, head tilted back, trying to catch them on his outstretched tongue, Ma standing in the doorway, smiling indulgently. But that was back when you could scuttle back inside and dry your wet socks by the fire. Out here on a lonely country road, hedges and creaking snow-laden branches pressing in on either side, it made Noah feel nervous, hemmed in. And it made him cautious, which was worse as every part of him was desperate to get to the airport, to stop that plane. To stop Eliza.
Sure, he wanted to get a hold of David Schwartz too – Noah was still a guard and he was fiercely protective of his beat and the people under his watch. No one could come into Kiln County and ransack the homes of it’s citizens, not while Noah had something to say about it. But Eliza was his priority. Which was in itself a measure of the head-spinning effect Eliza had on him. Only a few weeks ago, the idea of putting anything ahead of police business would have been unthinkable. Being a guard was what defined him: it was what he was, it was his entire life. But now? The idea of losing this woman, of Eliza flying back to America without him telling her exactly how he felt, Noah just couldn’t bear it. And yet, the moment he tried to gun the engine, to sprint towards her, he could feel his tires begin to slip and spin, the back axel fishtailing towards the snow-filled ditches on either side of the road. It was as if some impish deity was trying to keep him back, like that gleeful prankster Cupid Eliza had mentioned.