With a Twist

by Martin, Deirdre

  “A tramp?” Quinn looked amused. “Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re French. Anything less than perfection when it comes to clothing, and you’re one step away from the gutter.”

  Natalie slapped his shoulder playfully. “Not true.”

  “Is true.” Quinn looked at her with concern. “You cold? You’re shivering a little. You can wear my tramp jacket if you want.”

  Natalie gave him a warning look but then broke into a smile. “Yes, please.”

  Quinn wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, putting his arm around her for good measure. “You hate that sandwich, don’t you? Go on. You can admit it.”

  “It’s horrible.”

  Quinn laughed. “You once told me you liked fish. Tuna is a fish.”

  “I like fish when it’s not drowning in mayonnaise.”

  “Jesus, you’re a pill.” He held up the remainder of his own sandwich with his free hand. “Wanna switch?”

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  “As mademoiselle wishes.”

  He lifted a strand of her hair, kissed it. “I’m really sorry I haven’t been around the past few days. I’ve been running my ass off on this story I’m working on.”

  “Oh, the one you haven’t told me about?”

  “If I tell you, do you promise you won’t breathe a word about it to anyone?”

  “Who would I tell?”

  “Vivi?”

  “I promise you, I won’t tell a soul.”

  He proceeded to tell her about his investigations into Shields Brothers Construction and their ties to the Irish mob. He was more animated than she’d ever heard him before. But by the time he was done, she was deeply uneasy.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. “Aren’t you in danger, pursuing this story?”

  Quinn looked mystified. “Danger?”

  “Can’t they hurt you? Come after you if they learn you’re poking around?”

  “I suppose. But I can’t think about that.”

  “Well, I can.” She stroked his cheek. “Please be careful.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t dismiss me!”

  “Fine, I’ll be careful.” He kissed her mouth softly. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me, too.” She hesitated a moment, then took his face in her hands and began kissing him. Quinn responded instantly, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing embrace. Natalie was thrilled that he wasn’t shy about expressing affection in public. In France, that was one way couples displayed to the world the strength of the relationship. Another was arguing.

  She wondered if he could sense her giddiness, the sheer pleasure shooting through her as he took the lead, his mouth conquering hers roughly. It was intoxicating. Magical.

  And then his phone rang.

  Natalie broke their embrace with a glare. “You don’t have to answer it. You’re eating lunch and relaxing. Whoever is on the other end can leave a message, non?”

  “It’ll only take a second,” Quinn promised. Natalie pushed back against the bench, folding her arms across her chest crossly like a petulant child. You chose this, she reminded herself.

  “It’s not work, it’s Liam,” Quinn whispered, looking worried.

  Merde, had something happened to someone in the family? Worried now herself, Natalie put a comforting hand on his leg, avidly watching his face as she listened to his side of the conversation.

  “What’s up? . . . He’s dead?! . . . When?! . . . She must be out of her mind with grief . . . When’s the service? . . . Yeah, I can make it, no problem . . . Natalie and I will both be there. You, too.”

  “What’s happened?” Natalie asked nervously as soon as Quinn shoved his cell back in his pocket.

  Quinn looked sad. “Rudy the parrot is dead. Mrs. Colgan found him at the bottom of his cage this morning, stiff as a board. There’s going to be a memorial service at the Wild Hart tomorrow morning.”

  Natalie stared at him in disbelief. “A memorial service. For a parrot.”

  “Yeah,” said Quinn, looking mildly offended. “Mrs. Colgan is a regular, Natalie. And so is Rudy. It’s only right people pay their respects.”

  Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re joking, yes? You’re making this up.”

  “I am not making it up,” said Quinn, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Look, if you don’t want to go, I can represent the both of us.”

  He was crazy. They were all crazy. She should have stayed in Bensonhurst. So what if there was nothing to do? The people there might have an obsession with putting religious statues on their front lawns, but at least they didn’t hold memorial services in pubs for dead parrots.

  “Stop looking so shocked. I guarantee you that when you go to work tomorrow night and Rudy isn’t there, you’re going to be really sad. Haven’t you grown just a tiny bit fond of him?”

  “No!”

  “My parents are going,” Quinn continued slyly. “It’d definitely earn you brownie points with my mother if you were there.”

  “You’re all mad,” Natalie muttered.

  “Hell yeah. We’re Irish.” He put his arm around her again. “C’mon. Say you’ll go.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll go. Should I wear black?” she asked dryly.

  “I’m going to wear my best black suit.”

  “You are not!” It couldn’t be so. The man couldn’t even dress decently for work yet he’d don a black suit for a deceased parrot?

  “No, I’m not,” Quinn admitted. “I was just teasing you. Wear whatever you want.” He pointed to the tuna sandwich on the bench on the other side of her. “If you don’t want that, I’ll eat it.”

  “By all means.”

  “A memorial for a parrot,” Natalie murmured incredulously. “And I’m going. God help me.”

  The minute she and Quinn parted after lunch, Natalie phoned Vivi, who insisted that before anything else, Natalie tell her how her interview went with Sebastian Thompson. Vivi didn’t sound surprised.

  “I was worried that might happen,” Vivi admitted. “He has a reputation, and the kitchen is one of the only places left in the civilized world where men feel free to be pigs.”

  Natalie then told Vivi about the memorial service for the parrot she was attending tomorrow.

  Vivi laughed with delight. “How wonderful!”

  “You are such a hypocrite, Vivi!” Natalie snorted. “You would never allow a parrot to be at Vivi’s night after night! You’d be too afraid the board of health would shut you down, and rightfully so.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s such a lovely gesture.”

  “I’m only going because Quinn’s parents are going to be there. Quinn says it might help with his mother.”

  “I want a full report, cherie,” said Vivi.

  “Oh, you’ll get one, believe me.”

  Quinn was the last to arrive for the service. It was all Natalie could do to keep from gasping aloud when he strolled through the door in a black suit and tie. “So what do you think?” he whispered, coming to stand beside her. “Not bad for a rental.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  She’d already—insanely—paid her condolences to Mrs. Colgan, who was sobbing so loudly she was barely coherent. Most of the regulars were there—The Mouth, PJ, Quinn’s parents—all of them looking a little teary save for Liam, who was glad the bird was gone. The Major, unable to attend, had sent a giant floral arrangement, as had Quinn’s two sisters. These people are all crazy, thought Natalie. Insane.

  “Flowers for a parrot,” Liam muttered under his breath as he came to stand on the other side of Natalie. “Jesus Christ.”

  She’d noticed when she’d entered that Quinn’s mother initially looked shocked to see her. But soon after, she seemed to be looking at Natalie with begrudging respect. Quinn had been right: coming to the memorial was softening his mother’s attitude toward her a bit. Now, if she could only find a time machine and undo what she’d said at Sunday dinner, everything would be perfect.

&nbs
p; PJ cleared his throat. “I think it would be appropriate if everyone here said a word or two about Rudy.”

  Liam shot a glance at the Mouth. “Note PJ said a word or two.”

  “Who wants to start?” PJ asked. His face had healed nicely, but it still made Natalie uneasy when she looked at it, especially after what Quinn had told her yesterday.

  There was a second of uncomfortable silence before Mr. O’Brien stepped forward. “Rudy was a lovely bird, a lovely bird. We’ll miss him very much.”

  “I won’t,” Liam muttered. Natalie gave him a discreet jab in the ribs with her elbow.

  “I agree with my husband,” said Mrs. O’Brien, squeezing Mrs. Colgan’s hand. “He was lovely. I’m going to write out a Mass card for him as soon as I’m done here.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Colgan choked out.

  Mrs. O’Brien disappeared into the kitchen to start preparing for lunch, while Mr. O’Brien stayed. PJ glanced around at the small band still gathered. “Natalie? Perhaps you’d like to say something?”

  “Yeah, go ahead, Natalie,” Quinn said with a smirk.

  She shot him a dirty look. “All I can say is, au revoir, Rudy. The Wild Hart just won’t be the same without you.”

  “Natalie’s right,” PJ added. “Who else is going to shout out, ‘You fat whore’? Who else is going to squawk, ‘There’s nothing but crap on TV’?”

  The Mouth shook his head sadly. “Too true. Too true.” He took a step forward. “I’d like to say a few words.”

  “A few words,” Liam reminded him.

  “ ’Twill never be another bird like Rudy. Proud, with an enviable plumage, he was friendly to all who came here.”

  “Oh my effin’ God,” Liam murmured in disbelief to Natalie. “He’s lost his mind.”

  “Did he ever have one?” Natalie whispered, genuinely curious.

  “Many is the time I was feeling low, and the mere sight of our Rudy perched on Mary Colgan’s shoulder perked me right up.”

  “He never nipped you,” Mrs. Colgan agreed, sniffling. “You two loved each other.”

  “That’s right.”

  The Mouth opened his arms wide. “Fly, fly, proud fellow! Fly home to your maker!”

  “Do you know that if I had a cyanide pill in my pocket, I’d bite down on it right now?” Liam whispered to Natalie. He leaned over to Quinn. “You are writing this up for the Sent, aren’t you?”

  “That asshole Clement would probably love it,” Quinn grumbled.

  “Boys!” Mr. O’Brien hissed indignantly. “Some respect!” Quinn and Liam both looked down, shamefaced. They were like two little boys stifling laughs in school after being reprimanded by their teacher.

  “Liam?” asked PJ.

  Liam lifted his head, biting his lower lip to suppress laughter. “Yeah?”

  “I think you should say a few words about our fine feathered friend, and then I’ll finish up after Quinn has said his piece as well.”

  “Shit,” Quinn whispered.

  “It’s your own fault,” said Natalie.

  Liam dug his hands deep into the back pockets of his jeans. “Um . . . I remember when Mrs. C and Rudy started coming here, right after Mr. C died.” Everyone nodded solemnly. “My family knew right off the bat that Rudy was special. So we’ll miss him. I, especially, will miss giving him the occasional sip of Cuervo.”

  “He loved that,” Mrs. Colgan said, her bottom lip quivering.

  “Over to Quinn,” said Liam. Natalie noticed they refused to look at one another, probably for fear of bursting into laughter.

  “I’m better when it comes to writing words than speaking them,” Quinn said, “but I believe in keeping things simple on both scores. So I’ll just say: Rudy was a great bird. Irreplaceable. He will truly be missed.”

  “That’s all you could come up with?” Liam whispered. “Wimp.”

  “Lovely sentiments, lovely sentiments,” said PJ. “And now, if I may, I have a few words of my own to add.

  “There’s an old Irish blessing, ‘May the light of heaven shine on your grave.’ Each of us here knows how appropriate a blessing that is, for Rudy himself was a giver of light. He might not have been one of our species, true, and there were a few times he bit me hard and made my finger bleed and ate all the peanuts down at our end of the bar, but he was family. I know that we will keep him in our hearts, and as a way to ensure we do, I’ve created a memorial to him.”

  “If this goes on much longer I’m going to lose it,” Liam told Natalie under his breath. She looked at Quinn. He was back to staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

  PJ walked over to his battered shoulder bag and pulled out an eight-by-ten color photo of Rudy perched on Mrs. Colgan’s shoulder at the bar. Across the bottom of the picture he’d written, “Rudy, We Hardly Knew Ye.” With a solemn face, he passed the picture to Mr. O’Brien. “Please, put this up behind the bar in honor of our good friend who has passed, so we can gaze upon his countenance each time we’re here.”

  “Of course, of course,” Mr. O’Brien assured him.

  “Anyone else want to say anything?” PJ asked. “Mary?”

  “I have a request, too,” Mrs. Colgan said quietly.

  “Okay,” Mr. O’Brien said uncertainly.

  The widow Colgan reached down into the shopping bag at her feet and took out a small wooden urn, which she placed on the bar. “Can we put Rudy behind the bar? It would mean so much to me and to him, too. He loved it here.”

  “Just let me check with the missus,” said Mr. O’Brien.

  “Thank you.” She tucked her crumpled hankie into the sleeve of her blouse. “Well, I guess I’ll go home now. See you all later at six.”

  PJ offered her his arm. “I’ll see you home.”

  “Me as well,” said the Mouth.

  As soon as the three of them departed, Liam turned to his father. “You’re not really gonna put that stuff behind the bar, are you?”

  “Ah, why not? It’ll do no harm.” He glanced toward the back of the pub. “I best be gettin’ in the kitchen.” He squeezed Natalie’s arm. “See you tonight.”

  Natalie was warmed by his affection. “Of course.”

  Mr. O’Brien disappeared.

  “Good omen that he squeezed your arm,” Quinn said to Natalie. He loosened his tie. “Thank Christ that’s over.”

  “No shit,” said Liam. “What’s with the suit?”

  “A little joke between me and Natalie.”

  “Feel free to keep it to yourselves. I have to hit the basement and check out inventory. Catch you both later.”

  Alone, Natalie smoothed Quinn’s tie. “You should wear suits more often,” she murmured. “You look very handsome.”

  “I’ll wear one when the Mouth’s gerbil dies. How about that?”

  “Always the sarcasm with you. Let me guess: you don’t have time to have breakfast with me.”

  “Nope. Meeting at the newspaper. I doubt we lowly reporters will be included, but Clement wants everyone there anyway.”

  Natalie hid her frustration. “So when will I see you again?”

  “I’ll probably come in tonight with the guys.” He kissed her. “Walk with me?”

  “Actually,” Natalie said as an idea slowly began forming in her head, “I want to talk to your mother about something.”

  “Good luck,” said Quinn.

  But Natalie wasn’t so sure she’d need it.

  22

  “Mrs. O’Brien? ”

  At the sound of Natalie’s voice, Quinn’s mother looked up in surprise from where she stood making the dough for her famous Irish soda bread. She’d been chatting away animatedly with Megan, the daytime waitress, but as soon as she heard Natalie, she adopted a more professional demeanor than usual.

  “Excuse me,” she said to Megan. She approached Natalie, where she stood right by the swinging doors of the kitchen. “Yes? How can I help you, Natalie?”

  “I’m so sorry about what I said the other day
at dinner. I didn’t mean to offend you. Honestly. Quinn never told me you adhered to your faith so strongly. Had I known, I never would have said anything that would be an affront to you.”

  She wished she hadn’t listened to Quinn, with his “Just let it go for now” advice. He’d been wrong, and her faux pas had been haunting Natalie all week. She didn’t want Quinn’s mother thinking she didn’t care about offending her, because she did. Deeply.

  Quinn’s mother looked appreciative. “Apology accepted,” she said quietly, reaching out to squeeze Natalie’s hand.

  Natalie heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’ve hated the tension between us since it happened. I’ve come to feel so close to your family, and it pained me very much to feel estranged from you.” She blinked tears away.

  “Now, now, don’t cry. Water under the bridge, as they say.”

  “I was wondering: you were so gracious, inviting me for a meal at your home. May I invite you for a meal at mine? I would love for you to meet my family—well, it’s only my sister and future brother-in-law really, but still, they are the only family I have here.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s face lit up. “Now that would be lovely, having a meal and meeting your family. And you know what? You could make that coq au vin you’re always going on about. I’ve never had it.”

  Natalie forced a smile. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  Merde, merde, merde. She had no idea how to make coq au vin. She had no idea how to make anything, for that matter. The idea to invite the O’Briens over to her—Bernard’s—apartment was impulsive, but she was desperate to smooth things over, and fast. She figured that she’d just have Vivi make dinner.

  “Shall we make it Sunday afternoon?” Natalie asked. “That seemed to work very well for everyone in your family.”

  “Only if it works for you,” Mrs. O’Brien replied, suddenly solicitous.

  “Oh yes, it works very well, and I believe it works for my sister and her fiancé as well.” For a split second, it occurred to Natalie that perhaps having Vivi and Anthony there was a stupid idea. They were the ones, after all, who were the main offenders in the meeting with the priest before marriage debate.