“You’re right,” Moira told her sister. “But Siobhan is right, too. It might make me feel better.”
Later on, when Siobhan was helping her arrange cookies on a plate, her sister-in-law looked at her and said, “There’s more bothering you than a conversation you had with a girl at the bar. It’s Danny, isn’t it? His being here is getting to you.”
“No,” Moira lied.
Siobhan shrugged. “I think you’re lying. You’d like to believe he’s come to stay. You don’t want to face the truth. Well, take it from me, the truth is always better than doubt. I’d give my eyeteeth to know the truth now.”
“Patrick adores you,” Moira said, defending her brother.
“I’d like to believe that. I might, if he were with me more. I think he’s even forgotten that he has kids. He keeps talking to Michael about taking the boat out and bringing Andrew McGahey along, so they can all talk about Ireland. Guess what? He hasn’t mentioned bringing me or his kids on this exciting first trip of the season.”
Siobhan walked away.
Finally it was time to get dressed and ready, and then they were on the way to Flannery’s. Molly and Shannon had their chocolates to go into the coffin. Siobhan had wondered whether or not to let Molly see Seamus in his coffin, but the undertaker had done such a fine job that her worries had been laid to rest.
“I still don’t understand, Auntie Mo,” Molly said to Moira when they were standing beside the coffin. “Mommy says it’s like he’s sleeping. Why does he want to sleep in a box?”
“Well, Molly, Seamus is really in heaven, with God. His body is resting in the box, and we’ll bury him, and that way, when we want to say a prayer for him or think about him a lot, we can go to the cemetery, to his grave, maybe bring him a flower.”
“Or a pint,” Danny suggested wryly from behind her.
“Bring him a little something,” Moira continued, “and feel close to him. But Seamus himself, his soul, the real Seamus, is with God.” She picked up her niece. “Here, I’ll lift you, Molly. You can set your chocolates right in his hand. Next to the rosary Auntie Mo just put in.”
Molly put her chocolates in the coffin. Shannon did the same. Even Brian, the doubter, had brought a Snickers bar.
Soon it was time for the doors to open to the public. Eamon Kelly, Katy by his side, still knelt at the coffin. A moment later he rose and took a seat in the first row of pews. The first hour had begun.
Patrick had returned to the pub, to tell any lost mourners the way to Flannery’s, and to let them know they would be welcome at the pub later.
Michael, Josh and Gina arrived, without the twins. Gina whispered to Moira that they’d managed to get a baby-sitter. Josh told Moira that he and Gina would head to the pub with her when it was her turn to go; she told him that Michael was coming with her, and that she would appreciate it if they would stay at the funeral home so they could bring Colleen back for the last shift.
From then on, it was wild. Seamus had never married, but he’d acquired his share of lady friends. The room was so crowded that Moira took to the halls. She heard the keening from within as friends from the old country cried over the loss. When she went back inside, she sat with her father, as people kept coming up. Friends from the bar. Friends with whom Seamus had worked. All shook her hand and told her how wonderful a man Seamus had been. Finally Moira rose again, needing some breathing room. As she walked from the viewing room, she was startled to run into Tom Gambetti.
“I just came to pay my respects,” he told her, as if he was embarrassed to be there.
“That’s very nice of you. Please, go on in.”
“If I’m being too pushy…?”
“No, no, you’re fine. I’ll see you at the pub later—you’re more than welcome, if you’d care to come by.”
He nodded his thanks.
Moira went into the broad windowed hallway that ran along the front of the building. She could see Danny outside on the porch, lighting a cigarette. Many people approached him. He listened, shook hands and apparently accepted condolences on behalf of the family. She narrowed her eyes when one woman, middle-aged, with silver gray hair, approached him carrying a brown parcel. He leaned low, kissing her cheek, apparently thanking her for coming.
When she walked away, the woman no longer had the parcel.
“You doing okay?” Michael came up to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. His hand moved to her nape, and he massaged her neck.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s almost time for us to go back to the pub.”
She saw Danny come back into the funeral parlor. To her surprise, he walked into one of the viewing rooms that wasn’t in use.
“Moira?”
“Oh, yes, we have to go. In just a few minutes. Excuse me, Michael, I’m going to try to find my father.”
She slipped through the crowd, not sure why, but knowing that she didn’t want Michael to know her destination. She walked up to Siobhan and asked her if she’d seen Danny.
“No, not in a while.”
“I think I saw him slip into a room over there. Can you find him while I speak to Dad? Tell him that we need him to…carry something. Heavy.”
Siobhan left. When Danny came out with her, he didn’t have the bundle. Moira avoided them and raced into the room. No bundle, but there was a drapery over a coffin stand. She rushed to it. The brown bundle was there. She felt it. Not a gun. She sighed in relief, realized it was a group of folders.
She could hear people talking just outside the room.
“What did she want?” It was Danny.
“I don’t know, Danny. Moira just said that you were needed,” Siobhan responded.
“Well, where the hell is she?”
“Probably with Eamon, by the coffin.”
They moved off.
On an impulse, Moira grabbed a few of the folders and shoved the bundle back where it had been. She slipped the folders beneath her jacket and hurried out. Michael was in the hallway.
“Moira, everyone is looking for you. You needed something moved?”
“Never mind, the funeral parlor people took care of it. It was a flower arrangement,” she babbled quickly. “Hey, let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to tell your dad we’re leaving?”
“He’ll know. Let’s go, Michael. Now.”
Patrick had taken his own car; Moira and Michael took her father’s. She was silent as they drove. Michael slid a hand over hers. “I love you.”
She smiled at him weakly.
“You’re so distant.”
“This is almost all over.”
“Yes.”
They reached the pub. Things were quiet. The substitute group was setting up, and Patrick was behind the bar, serving the lone man in a business suit who was sitting there. The tables were empty.
“We’re here, Patrick. You can head back. I don’t think Siobhan wants to stay much longer with the kids. I was thinking she could come home with Colleen when she leaves. Josh and Gina will be with her, too. Then you can stay with Mum and Dad until I get back.”
“Sounds good,” Patrick said, rubbing his neck. “Guess I’m on my way back, then.” He paused, looking at his sister. “You all right? Michael is here with you, anyway.”
“I’ll break the bottle over the head of any asshole who comes in here and scares her,” Michael said.
Patrick nodded. “Good deal.” Then he grabbed his coat and was gone.
“Michael, that guy is just drinking beer. Can you step behind the bar for a few minutes? I think I’ll use Danny’s bath to freshen up,” Moira said, seeing her chance.
“Sure.”
He stepped behind the bar, and she hurried into Danny’s room. She tore through the closet, heedless of the mess she made.
Nothing.
He had stopped her when she’d looked under the bed. She crawled beneath it and caught her breath.
There was the gun. She didn’t know a damned thing about firearms, but this
had to be a sniper’s rifle. A really good, high-tech one. There was a scope on it. The gun was taped to the underside of the bed. She crawled out, tears in her eyes. It was time to call the police.
When she stood, she was dizzy, so she sat at the foot of the bed for a minute. She felt the file folders she had stuffed under her black suit jacket poke against her flesh. She pulled them out, tears still stinging her eyes. There were names on the folders. Her brother’s name was on the first. She flipped through it. There were pictures, records. Her vision blurred.
The next one bore the name Michael Anthony McLean. She opened it idly, wiping her eyes. Michael’s picture leaped out at her. Or was it Michael’s picture?
Blurred. It was the tears in her eyes. No…it was Michael. Yes, surely. Dark hair, blue eyes, same face…
“So you know. I was afraid you’d seen the way that whore stared at me the other night in the bar.”
The door was open. Why hadn’t she heard it open? She stared across the room. Michael was standing there. He entered the room and closed the door.
The band started playing just outside, the closed door doing little to muffle the sound.
So you know…the whore…
The picture of Michael. Close…so close…but not Michael.
Denial, disbelief, made her talk desperately. “Michael,” she said, “Danny’s planning on assassinating Jacob Brolin—”
“Yes, of course, good try,” he said coldly. “That was the plan, of course. To get you going on Danny, discover the rifle…who the hell knew that you would find a picture of the real Michael McLean?”
The sudden clarity of the truth that had been around her all along was staggering. It was too horrible to believe. And yet…
God, there it was, staring her in the face!
She stood, her eyes glued to his. She didn’t even think to scream, she was still so stunned, though part of her mind knew it wouldn’t have mattered even if she had screamed; the music was way too loud.
“I don’t understand, Michael,” she murmured, bluffing. “We have to call the police. Danny has a rifle taped under his bed—”
“And you have the dossier right in front of you that proves I’m not who I say I am,” he said coldly. Leaning against the door, he stared at her. His eyes were like chips of blue ice. When he spoke, it wasn’t with the level voice and even accent she had known. His tone was harsh—and his brogue was heavy. “You know, Moira, I had planned to be with you, right from the beginning. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always been so adept at my chosen vocation. I’m good with women. But, though you really won’t believe this, I never lied when I said that I loved you. I’ve been trying to figure if it might be possible to really become Michael McLean—who is, of course, dead, you must realize. Do this one last job, a triumph for freedom, and then live a normal life. Marry you. But you were supposed to help me set up your old friend for a fall, not sleep with him. You did sleep with him, right?”
“Look, Michael, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. Blackbird. You knew something was going on in the pub. An attempt to assassinate Brolin. This was to be the meeting place. And it was. Dan O’Hara was to be the perfect fall guy—arrested for the crime. You were to help with that, though you didn’t know it, and you were moving along in just the right direction. But now…you know. You betrayed me, Moira. You pretended to love me, and you fucked him.”
The horror, the magnitude of what had being going on struck her full force. From the time he had taken the job with her, he had been planning this. No, from before that time. He had found a man with the right look and the right credentials, and he had killed that man, then applied for and won the job in his stead. He had taken the time to court and seduce her. He had studied her family, the pub. He had been so thorough, so careful. And when he hadn’t been with her…
He had been strangling prostitutes.
“I—I love you, Michael,” she lied. He was between her and the door.
He shook his head. “No. We were apart too much. And you didn’t mind. I minded. And I needed company. Actually, you’re a lot like those whores, Moira. You couldn’t keep your mind on me, you lie and cheat, and you’re nosy as hell. I didn’t think I’d have to kill you—I was spending a lot of time on that fantasy where I married you in the family church and was welcomed like a son into the bosom of the family. A pretty fantasy. I should be grateful you cheated. Because Michael McLean is going to have to disappear now. After tomorrow, of course. But…well, I’m going to have to deal with you first. And Danny boy…I’ll have to deal with him later.”
“Michael, my family is going to be home any minute. And…you’re wrong about all this. I love you, we can—”
“Oh, Moira, please! I don’t think you’re stupid, and you know damn well I’m not. You really have complicated matters, but…let’s go.”
“Go? I’m not stupid. Where do you think I’m going with you?”
He started walking toward her. She jumped up, but there was no way out of the room except through the door he was blocking. Still, she was desperate to preserve her life at all costs. She screamed, praying someone would hear her over the band. He reached the bed, and she crossed to the other side. It was hopeless. She tried to race past him, but he caught her viciously by the hair. She screamed again, trying to wrestle away.
That was when she saw his hands.
He wore gloves. And carried a cloth with a strange, sickly-sweet odor.
Fighting wildly, she tried to avoid his hand. She kicked, screamed, bit. The hand, and the cloth, came over her mouth.
She tried not to breathe.
Eventually she had to.
He caught her before she could sink to the floor. He lifted her up and met her eyes with his own, the cold, ice-blue eyes of a killer, before the light began to fade.
Fade out…
The world became black and existed no more.
Moira wasn’t there. Dan was irritated, cursing the fact that she had been looking for him immediately after he received the files. He’d flipped through them all quickly, then focused on the one about Michael. He’d immediately realized that something wasn’t quite right. He had been studying the file when Siobhan called.
He went all over the funeral home looking for Moira. He even waited in front of the ladies’ room. When a gray-haired dowager in a pillbox hat came out, he apologized and headed into the room where Seamus’s remains lay. He checked with her family. She hadn’t told anyone she was leaving, but Eamon told him that she had probably headed to the pub with Michael, as planned.
As soon as Eamon said the words, something clicked in Dan’s mind. He excused himself and left, hurrying to the empty viewing room where he had stashed the files. Heedless of who might be watching him, he dug through the stack.
A few were missing. Moira must have them. He didn’t know why or how he was so sure of that, only that he was.
Suddenly his mind processed what he had seen.
Dropping the files, which scattered all over the floor, he strode through the outer room, deciding that it would probably be just as quick to walk the distance as to try to flag down a cab. But as he walked out, someone called to him, “Hey, heading for the pub?”
It was a young man, brown-haired, hazel-eyed. Maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven.
“Who the hell are you?” Dan demanded.
“Tom Gambetti.”
Dan stared at him blankly, grudging every second that passed.
“I’m a cabdriver. I drove Moira home when she got off her plane.”
“You’re a cabdriver?”
“Yes.”
“Your cab is here?”
“Yeah, right there.”
“Great. I am headed for the pub, and I need you to get me there as quickly as you can.”
When they pulled up in front of the pub, Dan told Tom to wait right there, then strode inside. There was no one at the bar except a man complaining of no service. One of the band members came
up at that point, offering to help him. “Hey, buddy, cool it. I’ll find you a beer. There’s been a death in the family. Bad time, you know.”
Dan ignored the customer and addressed the band members. “Where’s Moira Kelly?” he asked.
“She came in here just a few minutes ago with some man. Took off to freshen up or lie down or something like that. She must be really broken up about that guy’s death. Her friend went to look for her, and when he came out with her, he said she was in really bad shape. Could hardly stand. He was supporting her. Said he was going to take her back to the family, that she was in no condition to hold down the fort.”
Dan’s insides seemed to congeal. He raced to his room, throwing open the door. The spread was askew, nearly on the floor. The closet door was open, clothing everywhere.
Whatever had happened, it had happened quickly. He closed the door. The musician was still behind the bar.
“How long ago did they leave?” he asked tensely.
“A couple minutes ago. Literally. They walked out just before you walked in.”
“Thanks.”
Dan burst out to the street. As he stared up and down the sidewalk, the cabdriver stuck his head out the window. “Hey, if you’re looking for Moira, they just left. Looked like she was sleeping. I waved, but the guy driving wasn’t paying any attention.”
Dan was instantly in the cab. “Turn around. Follow them.”
“Follow them? I don’t know where the hell they were going.”
“They’re only seconds ahead. You can find them.”
“Wait a minute! Who are you and what—”
“Damn it, turn around, follow them. Her life is at stake.”
Tom Gambetti apparently believed him. He spun the cab around and began to take the streets of Boston like a madman.
“Careful, we don’t want a cop on us—not unless we find them first. Hey, there they are. They’re in her father’s car. Turn here.”
“This is a one-way street—”
“Turn anyway.”
Gambetti did. Dan had to admit the guy could drive. They missed a tan Suburban by inches. Moments later they were in traffic, just three cars behind Eamon Kelly’s.
Night of the Blackbird Page 32