With a Twist

by Martin, Deirdre

  “A mother knows.”

  “Are you listening to this?” Quinn asked his brother.

  Quinn’s mother snorted. “Don’t look to him for backup! He’s just as bad as you!”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Liam asked.

  “You should have a nice girl by your side by now. But do you? No. Mr. Moody Bachelor. Any number of nice girls come in here. I see the way they look at you.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve dated a number of them.”

  “You need a steady.”

  Liam shook his head disbelief. “I don’t want a steady.”

  “Mary Clooney’s daughter just broke up with her boyfriend,” their mother murmured nonchalantly.

  “Brenda?” Quinn snorted. “One-Brow Clooney?”

  “Ma, she’s got a face like a horse!” said Liam. The two brothers looked at each other and broke up laughing.

  “She’s a nice girl,” their mother huffed.

  “She’s not a girl, Mom, just like Quinn and I aren’t boys,” said Liam. “We’re grown men who know what they want when it comes to dating, okay? So just leave it out.”

  Their mother clucked her tongue in wonder. “You two are so alike sometimes it astounds me.”

  This was the last thing Quinn expected to hear, and obviously Liam felt the same way, despite the laugh they’d just shared together. There was a split second of uncomfortable silence, and then Liam went to tend to a customer at the opposite end of the bar.

  Quinn was about to add his two cents to what Liam had just said when there came the sound of an explosion and shattering glass out on the street. For a split second, no one moved. But then, as if on cue, everyone in the pub rushed outside.

  Sweeney’s Hardware Store, another longtime fixture of the neighborhood, was engulfed in flames.

  Quinn pulled out his notebook and began running up the street.

  19

  Everyone was gathered watching Sweeney’s burn, the crackle and hiss of the fire as it licked its way through the store one of the worst sounds in the world. Smoke billowed out onto the street. By now, it wasn’t only the pub goers who crowded the sidewalks; tenants from surrounding buildings had also heard the explosion and were gathered outside.

  “Someone better call Sweeney,” Quinn said. Adrenaline was pounding through him, one of his favorite feelings in the world. PJ, Franco’s . . . the story was getting juicier and juicier. His story.

  His eyes cut to his parents; his mother was crying. Quinn walked over, putting an arm around her soft shoulders. “You okay?”

  “God, what are Declan and Marianne going to do? What are they going to do?”

  Quinn’s father squeezed his wife’s hand. “I’m sure they’ve got insurance, darlin’. They’ll open a new store.”

  Everyone turned simultaneously to look down the street as the wail of the fire trucks grew closer and closer. As soon as the trucks arrived, the fire chief was flying out of his Bronco, barking at the bystanders to get the hell back. Quinn, who knew the chief well, ignored the edict, watching while the firefighters prepared to drag hose into the store.

  “Jesus, O’Brien, you got here fast,” Chief Greenberg said when he finally spotted Quinn.

  “I was four doors down at my folks’ pub.” He paused a moment. “Once the fire’s out, you think you’ll be able to tell what happened right away? Whether someone chucked a Molotov cocktail through the front window or something like that?”

  “Probably.” The chief kept looking back and forth between his men and Quinn. “You know who owns the store?”

  “A guy named Declan Sweeney. He’s lived here forever.”

  “Right, right. The name is familiar. I think he donates to the FDNY Widows and Orphans Fund. Poor bastard.”

  “No shit.” Quinn looked around. He noticed that whenever there was a fire, bystanders were unable to tear themselves away. It was a drama, and like all dramas, they wanted to see how it played out. It was too late at night for the store to be open, thank God. He doubted anyone had been inside.

  The sound of a woman wailing made everyone turn around. The Sweeneys had arrived. Marianne Sweeney was running toward the store, but Chief Greenberg grabbed her and pulled her back. “I need you to step back, ma’am.”

  “That’s our store,” she sobbed.

  “I know that. But you need to step back for now.”

  Greenberg gently handed Marianne Sweeney over to Quinn, who steered her back toward her husband. “C’mon. Let’s do as Chief Greenberg says, okay?” The devastation and shock on Declan Sweeney’s face was painful to see. He was looking through Quinn as if he wasn’t even there.

  “I’ve been here for twenty-five years,” he said dazedly to no one in particular.

  “I know,” said Quinn quietly. It was the only hardware store in the area. If something went wrong in the pub that needed fixing, Sweeney’s was where his parents went. He remembered the Sweeneys giving free nails to Liam and Tommy when they got the crazy idea to build a go-cart when they were ten. They were good people, part of the tight-knit community that was the neighborhood.

  Quinn stood with the devastated couple, watching as the firemen doused the flames. Because the store was fairly small, they were able to put out the fire in a matter of minutes.

  Quinn continued to hang back a moment, watching as the firefighters emerged and went over to talk to Greenberg. He was nodding and then glanced over at the Sweeneys. Quinn felt his pulse pick up as the chief walked over to the distraught couple who’d poured their guts into making their business a success. All ashes now. All gone.

  The chief doffed his helmet. “I’m very sorry about your store.”

  The Sweeneys nodded numbly.

  “Look, I’m not supposed to say anything, but it looks like someone torched the place.”

  Quinn felt that pinch inside that he always got when one of his hunches turned out to be right. The minute he’d seen the fire, he had a good idea of who might have set it.

  “You got any idea who might do something like this?” Quinn asked.

  Declan Sweeney glanced away. “None,” he said in a dead voice.

  He’s lying, Quinn thought. He’d been a reporter for too many years not to be able to read people’s faces. Chief Greenberg explained to the Sweeneys that his comments were totally unofficial. There would be a formal arson investigation conducted by the department, but he’d do his best to keep them unofficially informed of what was going on. The Sweeneys looked like zombies as the crowd slowly dispersed. Quinn pulled the chief aside as he made his way back to his Bronco.

  “You willing to go on record about it being suspicious?”

  “You know I can’t do that, Quinn,” he said with an air of exasperation. “On background I can tell you it was definitely arson, done by someone who’s a pro at this kind of work. It was a firebomb, just big enough to get the job done but not so big that it would damage neighboring buildings.”

  Quinn nodded.

  Part of Quinn’s job was trying to pry info from people on what was possibly the worst day of their lives, and the Sweeneys were no exception. As soon as the fire trucks left and the crowd slowly dispersed, Quinn approached the defeated couple, who seemed unable to tear their eyes from the burned-out shell of their store. He was hopeful that because they knew him, they might be more willing to talk.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney?”

  They turned, and Quinn experienced a brief moment of awkwardness. They’d known him since he was a child, but once he reached adulthood, they’d insisted he call them Declan and Marianne. But he never did; in his mind, they were forever Mrs. and Mrs. Sweeney. They always looked amused when he still addressed them that way. But not tonight. Nothing could amuse them tonight.

  “Hello, Quinn.”

  Quinn squeezed Mr. Sweeney’s shoulder. “Jesus, I’m really sorry about the store.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Sweeney.

  “Look,” Quinn said carefully, “would you mind if I asked you a few questions?
It won’t take long.”

  Mr. Sweeney looked wary. “What kind of questions?”

  “About the fire.”

  “I’m tired,” said Mrs. Sweeney. “I’m just going to wait in the car.”

  Quinn watched her go, her shoulders sunken in defeat, and then turned back to Mr. Sweeney. “Mr. Sweeney—”

  “Declan—”

  “Declan. You know what I do for a living. I’ve been doing some digging into the gentrification that’s going on here, and I’ve got a feeling what happened tonight is somehow connected to what happened to PJ Leary and Franco’s.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Is it?”

  Mr. Sweeney said nothing.

  “It would be very helpful to me if you could tell me anything—anything—about who you think might have torched your store.”

  Mr. Sweeney retained his silence.

  “Anything,” Quinn repeated. “Totally off the record. Nothing that would put you in danger.”

  Mr. Sweeney looked away.

  “Please,” said Quinn. “Did someone threaten you?”

  Mr. Sweeney sighed heavily. “Quinn, look, Marianne and I are very tired. We’ve been through a terrible shock. Our livelihood has been destroyed. Can’t you see that?”

  “Of course I do,” said Quinn. “But the more information you give me, the greater the odds that whoever did this can be brought to justice.” He paused. “Please.”

  Declan Sweeney looked at his burned-out store and then back to Quinn. He turned away for a moment and then looked back. “Quinn, I want to tell you something about your brother Liam.”

  Quinn felt sick to his stomach.

  “I know Liam’s a good man,” Declan continued.

  Quinn’s nausea started to pass.

  “Tell Liam there’s an old saying that while a man can’t choose his family, he can choose his friends. I’ll be going to look after the missus now. Good night.”

  Quinn couldn’t help but notice the feeling of shock continuing to linger in the air as he went back to the Wild Hart following the Sweeneys’ departure. There was no music on in the bar or in the back dining area. It was almost as if his parents thought it would be disrespectful to play light, happy tunes after what had just occurred. Voices were muted and solemn. It seemed like no one wanted to go home yet, like everyone wanted to try to process what had happened all together.

  He didn’t even have to ask his brother for his usual shot. Their eyes met and held for a brief moment before Liam poured Quinn’s Jameson and handed it to him. The door opened, and in strolled Tommy and Whitey Connors. The pub instantly fell silent.

  Quinn watched as his father, who’d been talking quietly to Liam behind the bar, came around to greet the two men.

  “Tommy,” he said with a curt nod. “Whitey.”

  “Charlie,” said Whitey. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a dapper black suit and tie, his gleaming white hair concealed for the most part under his Donegal tweed cap.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” said Quinn’s father politely.

  “I’ve been busy. But tonight I was overcome by an urge for your lovely Kathleen’s beef and Guinness stew.”

  Quinn’s father shook his head mournfully. “I assume you two heard about Sweeney’s?”

  “Yes,” said Whitey. “Terrible. Just terrible.”

  Quinn quickly scanned the bar. No one was looking at Whitey and Tommy except for Liam. Silence crashed around the room except for the polite exchange taking place between his father and Whitey.

  “Might it be possible for us to eat at a table in the back?” asked Whitey. “I’m not much for dining in the bar.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Quinn’s father. He began walking toward the back of the pub. The only patron who looked up as they walked through the bar was the Major. Whitey lifted his Donegal tweed cap to him as he passed. The Major just turned back to his paper. Tommy and Whitey seated, the low murmur of conversation resumed at the bar, shot through now with palpable anxiety. Quinn filed it all away in the back of his mind. He felt awful for the Sweeneys, but from his perspective as a reporter, things just kept getting more and more interesting, and he loved it.

  “His parents hate me,” Natalie lamented as she followed Vivi around Kleinfeld, a bridal shop. This was their second time shopping here, and so far, Vivi hadn’t seen one wedding gown she liked, at least not at a price she thought reasonable.

  “I give up,” Vivi said with a sigh of resignation. “I can’t afford anything here.”

  Put it on a credit card, Natalie thought reflexively and then caught herself. That was the old shopaholic Natalie’s solution to everything: put it on your credit card.

  “There has to be somewhere else we can go that’s cheaper,” said Natalie.

  “I doubt it.” Vivi held open the door for her as the two walked out onto the sidewalk. Vivi’s expression was glum. But suddenly, her face lit up. “I know what I’m going to do.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll wear my grand-mère’s wedding dress. She still has it. It’s very beautiful and simple.”

  “Do that.”

  “Hmm.” Vivi seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then shook her head as if clearing out cobwebs. “I’m sorry, you said something before, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I said, Quinn’s parents hate me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I stumbled badly at dinner.”

  She told Vivi about the comments she made about her and Anthony having to see the priest at Anthony’s church before they were wed, and how upset Quinn’s mother became by the fact both she and Vivi thought it crazy.

  Vivi looked sympathetic. “Americans are much more sensitive about religion than we are. They’re much more—well, religious.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that, and now they hate me—at least his mother does.”

  Vivi linked her arm through Natalie’s. “I doubt that.”

  “No, it’s true. She’ll probably fire me,” Natalie said miserably.

  “Don’t you have an interview in a few days with Sebastian Thompson?”

  Natalie brightened a bit. “Yes.”

  “Well, perhaps you’ll get the job, and it won’t matter if you’re fired.”

  “Maybe.”

  Vivi looked concerned. “Do you really think they’ll fire you?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. They’ll probably just give me the cold shoulder.” Natalie was surprised to find herself getting tearful. “I want them to like me so badly. I want what you have with Anthony: to be welcomed and embraced into a big, loving family.”

  “You will, cherie. You just need to be patient. You told me Quinn’s brother likes you, oui?” Natalie nodded. Thankfully, she and Liam got on well.

  “And his father?”

  “Yes, he seems to like me. His sisters seemed to like me, too. Only his mother was offended.”

  “She’ll get over it,” Vivi reassured her breezily.

  “But what if she doesn’t?”

  Vivi shrugged. “Well, then, she doesn’t. You can’t control it, so you may as well not fret over it.” She paused. “Didn’t Quinn come to your defense when you stumbled?”

  “He tried to. But his mother was having none of it.”

  “How’s it going with you two?” Vivi asked.

  “I think things are going well,” Natalie replied thoughtfully.

  “You think? You’re not sure?”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Natalie said, frustrated. “He’s always dashing off here and there. Work, work, work. He seems to have no set hours. He asked me if I could cope with how unpredictable his job was, and I said yes.”

  “Is that true?”

  “I can make it true, if that’s what I need to do to be with him.”

  “Ah. So you love him.”

  “Yes,” Natalie said softly. It was the first time she’d admitted it out loud.

  “Does he love you?”

  Did he? Much to
her distress, Natalie was unsure. “I think so. He hasn’t said it yet, and neither have I. But apparently, his bringing me to Sunday dinner with his family was significant.”

  “Cherie.” Vivi’s eyes glistened with happy tears. “It’s so wonderful the two of you are finally together! You’re so perfect for each other!” She sighed sadly. “It’s too bad Papa isn’t alive. I think they would have liked each other.”

  “I think so, too.” Talk of their father inevitably brought to mind Natalie’s mother, and what she would think of Quinn. She would disapprove, thinking him too rough around the edges, which of course was Natalie’s first impression, too. Her mother would disapprove of his family as well. Too boisterous, she would say. Too coarse. Natalie knew she should give her a call, but the thought of being hung up on again was unbearable.

  “Do you want to go to lunch?” Natalie asked.

  “Yes! Why don’t you take me to the Wild Hart? Show me where you work.”

  “It’s my day off, Vivi. The last thing I want to do is go in there. Why don’t you and Anthony just come down one night while I’m working? At least then you can see what I’m talking about with the food.”

  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you say. But yes, we’ll come down one night. Let’s just walk along and see if we find a bistro that strikes our fancy.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, Natalie. Just relax and keep being yourself. Once they get to know you and see how much you love their son, all will be well.”

  “Vivi, the eternal optimist,” Natalie said dryly. “I’ll try.”

  20

  Rather than approach Liam at the Hart about Mr. Sweeney’s cryptic comment, Quinn decided he’d visit him at home. He’d never been to his younger brother’s apartment, which struck him as kind of sad. Come to think of it, Liam had never been to his place, either.

  Quinn pushed the buzzer once, waited, and then pushed again. Liam’s voice over the intercom was groggy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Li? It’s Quinn.”

  There was a long pause. “Come on up.”

  After being buzzed in, Quinn looked around the lobby. No elevator. By the time he got up to Liam’s apartment on the third floor, he was slightly winded. Jesus Christ, he was out of shape. Time to cut out the office donuts.