Tears were beginning to burn my eyes when I felt a hand softly brush against my hair.
Behind me, Ben muttered an exclamation, disbelief rampant in his voice, “Jeezus H. Christ…”
Then a soft, weak, Celtic lilt drifted into my ears. “ Caorthann… I knew you would come for me… I knew you would…”
Sunday, December 24
4:58 P.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 38
“Aye, do we really have to talk about this right now?” my wife asked.
I shrugged. “I know, I know… But it’s only two weeks away, Felicity.”
“So I’ll worry about it then,” she replied and then thrust a card and ink pen at me. “Here, sign this.”
I took the proffered items but simply held them in my hand and gave her a quick nod. “Look, I’m no more excited about it than you are, but you’ve been subpoenaed to testify at the trial. So have I.”
“It doesn’t matter, then,” she replied. “Annalise isn’t Miranda anymore. Miranda is gone. She can’t hurt me.”
“That’s true,” I told her. “But Annalise tried to kill you too, so you really need to be prepared for this when you walk into that courtroom.”
“I will be.”
I sighed. “She’s already in Saint Louis, you know. Constance told me that they moved her here the middle of last week.”
“Aye, I know, but it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t want to think about it. We can talk it over this next week,” she replied. “Now, sign that card please.”
I let out a heavy sigh and then shook my head. “Okay, but next week for sure. So who is this one for?”
“Constance,” she replied. “You already signed Ben’s.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I said with a nod then laid the card on her desk and scrawled my name beneath hers.
“Just remember,” she instructed. “Constance is getting the Irish wool scarf, and Ben the bottle of Black Bush.”
“Okay…so, I remember buying the scarf for Constance when we were in Ireland, but didn’t we get Ben a piece of dirt?” I replied.
“Not dirt,” she told me. “A bit of the auld sod.”
“Okay, sod…dirt…whatever.”
“I’ll forgive you for that since I love you,” she gibed. “Anyway, that’s in there too. But he needs to learn about good whisky, so I picked up a bottle of Black Bush.”
“He already knows about good whisky,” I told her. “He drinks Scotch.”
“Scotch is okay, but Irish whisky is better,” she replied.
I tossed the pen on the desk then handed her the card.
She opened it and gave my signature a quick glance. “Your handwriting is as bad as a doctor’s,” she admonished.
“Yeah, you’ve told me. So I take it you already wrapped their gifts?”
“Of course. You didn’t think I would let you do it, did you?”
“I’m not that bad at wrapping stuff.”
My wife cocked one of her patented incredulous stares in my direction and muttered, “ Cac capaill.”
“Okay, so they aren’t as perfect as you make them,” I replied, waving my index finger in the air. “With all the creases, and symmetrical lines, and ribbons and bows and… Well, you know…”
“Aye,” she nodded. “The way they’re supposed to look then.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed, holding up my hands. “I surrender.”
“You will as soon as I change into what I’m wearing this evening,” she quipped.
“Really?”
“Aye. Actually, it’s more a matter of what I’ll be wearing under what I’m wearing this evening.”
“So I sense an unwrapping theme here,” I replied.
“Exactly.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “I’m definitely, very, extremely good with that.”
“I thought you might be. But you’ll have to wait until we get home.” Felicity finished stuffing the card into an envelope and laid it aside on her desk then suddenly exclaimed, “ Damnu! ”
“What’s wrong?”
“I was supposed to pick up the black and white puddings from the butcher for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
I glanced at my watch. “How late were they staying open today?”
“Five,” she replied.
“Ouch, too late. I guess we’ll have to do without.”
She shot me another one of her looks. “Excuse me? I don’t think so. You don’t muck about with an O’Brien family tradition.” She grabbed the phone and stabbed out a number. A moment later she said, “Aye, John? It’s Felicity O’Brien. Yes… Yes, I know, I just now remembered. Really? You’re a doll. Thank you so much. I’ll be there in five minutes then. Bye.” She dropped the phone back onto the cradle and smiled. “He’s still there closing up. Since we’re just around the corner he said he’d wait for me.”
“Tell you what,” I said, gesturing at her petite figure. “You still have that wrapping to do. I’ll run over and pick them up. That way I won’t be tempted to peek.”
“Aye, good idea,” she replied.
I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and started out the door of her basement office.
“Oh, and let the dogs in before you go,” she called after me. “And, there’s an extra bottle of Bushmill’s on the counter in the kitchen. Take that with and give it to John as a thank you.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” I returned then started up the stairs.
Once I hit the main floor I looked back down the stairs to make sure she wasn’t on her way up for any reason and then closed the door. I actually had an ulterior motive for making the run to the butcher shop for her. I needed to call Ben while she wasn’t around so that I could check on the status of her gift. It was supposed to have been delivered to his house earlier today, but I’d yet to hear from him, so I was starting to worry just a bit.
I snagged my phone from my belt and flipped it open as I walked through the living room. With a quick stab of my thumb, I hit the speed dial for Ben’s number and put the cell up against my ear.
I skirted around the dining room table and into the kitchen as it started to ring. I had made it only a few steps into the room when I noticed that the back door was hanging wide open. I started toward it just as Ben answered his phone.
“Merry freakin’ ho, ho, ho, Kemosabe…” My friend’s voice flowed into my ear with a jovial laugh.
I never got the chance to respond. A weight suddenly slammed into me from behind, hurling me forward into the island. As I pitched against it, my head bumped directly into a vase Felicity had put there to dry, and it toppled over. Almost in slow motion, the ceramic vessel rolled across the butcher-block island and off the side, hitting the floor with a loud crash.
I pushed back and started to twist, but the weight was on me again, and this time it was literally on my back. An arm hooked around my throat and I was starting to choke. I pushed back again, and as I came upright I began to teeter backwards from the extra bulk. From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of metal and brought my hand up out of reflex just as the knife was coming down.
I struggled to lunge forward and slammed into the island once again. My cell phone popped from my hand and skittered halfway across the surface, coming to rest well out of my reach against a cookbook at the other end. At the same moment, the weight on my back shifted and let out a bloodcurdling and patently female scream. The
