The Last Noel (8 page)

“I
said, no more,” Scooter muttered irritably.

“What?” Paddy demanded, waving the whiskey bottle in the air. “No more? This is the best, I tell ye, my good man.”

“I said enough,” Scooter said.

David was afraid that the man was really losing his temper. Although Scooter liked to talk big, Quintin was definitely the boss of the two. But Quintin was in control of himself, while Scooter was like a loose cannon.

“Scooter,” he said.

The man looked at him in surprise, perhaps because David had spoken to him by name. “What?”

“He…uh…it's Alzheimer's.”

Scooter frowned; then his eyes widened. “You mean the old fart's going senile.”

“Yeah.”

“What?” Paddy demanded indignantly. But it had been his ploy all along. A good ploy? David didn't know. But all of them were acting, and Paddy's act was as good as any other. He lowered his head for a moment.

“Nothing,” David said.

“He's not crazy, he's just a drunk,” Jamie said.

“A drunk going crazy,” Frazier told his brother.

“I'm not drunk yet—unfortunately,” Paddy complained.

“Close enough,” David said, though he didn't really think Paddy was close at all. After years of pickling his brain, the old man could hold a prodigious amount of liquor.

“Everybody be nice,” Skyler commanded, rising and picking up her plate. “Frazier, hand me that platter, please.”

“What are you doing?” David asked.

“The dishes, obviously,” she said.

Do the dishes matter when we all might be dead soon?
David wondered.

He didn't ask the question aloud. As he rose to help clear the table, Quintin returned to the kitchen, along with the newest arrival.

The guy still looked a little green, but he offered what looked like a genuine smile. “I'm a little late. Mind if I grab something?”

Skyler turned to him with a smile. “Of course not. What would you like?”

That was Skyler through and through, David thought: making sure a crook didn't go hungry. They couldn't even get rid of rats at the pub in the normal way; they had to go out and buy the humane traps, then set the rodents free out in the country. Even when the rats were bigger than the alley cats that continually hung out looking for scraps.

“Are you feeling better?” Skyler asked the newcomer.

He shrugged. “I feel hungry. I think the smells coming from the kitchen gave me strength.”

Just what they needed: to give the guy strength. “Sit. I'll get you a plate,” David said. What else was there to do? At least this one was polite.

“Who plays the piano?” Quintin asked.

“Everyone in the family,” David replied curtly.

“Do you all sit around the piano and sing Christmas carols?” Scooter demanded, laughing.

“Yes,” Skyler informed him icily.

“Christmas carols, huh?” Quintin said thoughtfully. “That might be…interesting. It's not like we want to watch the news.”

Ice trickled along David's spine. They didn't want to watch the news. Why not? What were the men afraid he and his family would learn about them if they were to watch the news? Or would anyone even know anything yet, with the storm at full fury?

“Christmas carols sound great,” Craig said. He looked at Jamie. “Is the piano your favorite instrument now? Or is that guitar I saw in the living room yours?”

Jamie shrugged. “The guitar's mine, but I like them both.”

Now?
David thought. The man had said “now.” As if he knew Jamie. But that was impossible…wasn't it?

“Frazier can play the piano way better than me,” Jamie went on.

“Except for my dad,” Frazier said. “Not to mention my mom. She's the one who usually plays at Christmas.”

“She loves Christmas,” Jamie supplied.

“Christmas carols, turkey…a warm house,” Scooter said, almost talking to himself.

“So everyone in the family is a musician,” Quintin said, frowning as he glanced at Scooter.

“Comes from owning the pub,” David explained. “We didn't have a lot of money when we took it over from Skyler's parents. We couldn't afford to hire a band, so we made our own music.” He looked at his wife and smiled, suddenly remembering the years gone by. Lean times, hard times, but they'd made do. Skyler had heard the old Irish songs all her life, and her light, melodic voice more than did them justice. His sons had grown up liking harder, Celtic-tinged rock. Frazier's favorite band was Black 47, and he often headed down to New York to hear them.

Suddenly David realized that Quintin was studying him with something like envy. “I wanted to play the guitar,” the man said, sounding natural for the first time all night. “I sucked. Took after my mother, who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.”

“What about your father?”

Quintin shrugged. “Never knew him—never even knew who he was.”

“I could teach you a few chords,” Jamie volunteered.

“Yeah? Well, we'll see,” Quintin said, reverting to form.

“Let's hear some carols,” Scooter said.

“Music,” Paddy said. “'Tis an Irish tradition, that it is. Along with a good whiskey. Drinking fine whiskey, now there's a talent that can be learned quick.”

“We're going to sing Christmas carols, Uncle Paddy,” Frazier said.

“You all go ahead,” Skyler told them. “I'll finish up the dishes.”

“We'll all stay together,” Quintin said firmly.

“Fine. Then let me finish the dishes,” she insisted.

“What difference do the dishes make?” Quintin asked softly, something ominous in his tone.

But Skyler spun around. “I was under the impression that you wanted a turkey tomorrow. If you want a turkey tomorrow, I have to clean up in here tonight. That's how you run a good business. You keep up.”

David was stunned at the way she was standing up to Quintin. Skyler was an enigma. She always had been. She hated controversy, and most of the time she was the sweetest human being in the world, but every so often…When it came to the right way to do things, she could definitely stick to her guns.

“Fine. Everyone, up and help out,” Quintin said.

Scooter wanted Christmas, David thought, and Quintin wanted turkey, which meant that, at least for now, they had time….

David maneuvered to stand next to his wife at the sink. As she rinsed the dishes and he set them into the dishwasher, he had a moment to whisper to her. “I
will
do something,” he swore.

“No.”

“Skyler…”

“Don't make them angry.”

“Skyler…”

“They plan to kill us before they leave. I know that. But wait, please. It's only Christmas Eve, and it's still snowing. We have time.”

“Time for what?”

“I don't know. But…it's Christmas.”

Right, Christmas, with its tidings of comfort and joy. Only a few hours ago he had been irritable because Paddy was there, because Frazier had brought home a girl, because Jamie was holed up in his room, because they couldn't get the tree to stand straight. Now…he just wanted them all to be alive to celebrate New Year's Eve.

She stared at him with clear, level eyes. She was praying for a miracle, he realized. And who was he to deny her? Hell, he wasn't in any hurry to die.

“Help may be out there,” she whispered, and left it at that. They both knew that Kat was still…somewhere.

“Sure,” he said, and began to hum “Silent Night” to take his mind off the situation.

The next thing he knew, something hard was sticking into his back. It took him only a second to realize that it was the cold nose of Quintin's gun.

“Quit whispering,” Quintin said coldly.

David turned around despite the gun and stared at Quintin. “What the hell do you think we could be saying that's such a big deal?” he demanded.

Quintin thought that over, then shrugged. “Are you done in here yet?” he asked Skyler.

“Just let me wipe the table and start the dishwasher,” she said. “While we still have power.”

“You have a generator. I saw it.” Scooter pointed from across the room.

“Yes, we have a generator. And enough gas to keep us going for about twelve hours,” David told him.

“I'd hate to waste gas doing the dishes,” Skyler said. “We'll probably need it to cook with tomorrow.”

“Time to head out to the living room. Everyone. All together,” Quintin said, still holding the gun.

Brenda made a little noise, not so much a sob as an involuntary sigh.

“Don't cry,” Quintin said. “I bet you can be plenty tough when you need to.”

Frazier, pulling Brenda close, stared at him.

Quintin grinned. He had the power. He knew it, and he liked it. So far, he was just playing with them, but if he went after Frazier's girl…what would his son do? What would
he
do?

Together, they went out to the living room. Frazier, silent, his eyes on the invaders, sat at one end of the sofa, holding Brenda against him. Her eyes were wide, luminous with unshed tears. Jamie perched on a chair nearby, staying close to his brother. Skyler took the piano bench. Craig sat at the other end of the sofa, keeping his distance from his cohorts, who chose the armchairs near the fireplace. The better to keep an eye on the captives, David thought, or because Craig wasn't really one of them? He remembered Quintin's accusation that Craig was a cop, and he wondered.

“There are no ornaments on this tree,” Scooter complained.

“We hadn't gotten to it yet,” David said.

“You have ornaments, though. Right?” Scooter wanted to know.

“Of course we have ornaments,” David said wearily.

“Where are they?” Scooter asked.

“In the attic. We hadn't brought them down yet,” David explained.

Scooter looked at Quintin. “We need ornaments.”

Quintin glowered with aggravation. “All right. Scooter, you take Dad up there and he can get the ornaments.”

“They're heavy boxes,” David said. “And there are a lot of them. I'll need help.”

“You—go with your father,” Quintin said, pointing at Jamie.

“Sure,” Jamie said, but he hesitated.

“What now?” Quintin demanded.

“Frazier and Dad always bring down the boxes. My si—my mother and I pick out which ornaments go on the tree first. It's tradition,” Jamie said stubbornly.

“You people and your friggin' traditions! Fine. You—” Quintin said, pointing at Frazier. “Go with your father.”

Brenda clung harder to Frazier, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Brenda,” Skyler coaxingly said, walking over to her. “Come over to the piano with me. We'll find some sheet music, okay?”

Brenda nodded, tried to smile and got up to join Skyler.

“I think the ornaments can wait for just a minute,” Quintin said suddenly. “I want to hear something on the piano.”

They all went still. David was suddenly aware of the ferocity of the wind outside the safety of the house.

Where was his daughter? Had she gone for help? Was she lying dead in the snow somewhere?

No. Kat was smart. She would know that she couldn't make it for help in this weather. Know that she would have to stay hidden, that eventually she would have to listen as they shot down her family.

Don't think that way,
he told himself.
Believe.

Believe in what? God? Miracles? One of his mother's sayings suddenly came back to him.
God helps those who help themselves.
And he
would
help himself and his family, by God. When the time was right.

Whenever the hell that was.

“Someone play the friggin' piano,” Quintin snapped.

Skyler sat down, taking Brenda's hand and inviting the girl to sit next to her on the bench. She trailed her fingers over the keys, and David knew she was thinking about what to play.

She started singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” and David thought again that this was beyond bizarre, his family and the men who would probably kill them sitting around the piano on Christmas Eve.

To David's amazement, Jamie walked over to the piano and started singing, too. Then Frazier joined in, followed by Brenda, and David realized that somewhere along the way he'd started singing himself.

And so had Scooter.