Marge asked, nervously shredding a cocktail napkin.
“None. I’m their new best friend. Don’t forget, I’m the one who’s getting them home to see Mama.”
If this doesn’t work, I’m the one who gets blamed for suggesting it, Sterling thought with a pang of guilt.
The ring of the phone made everyone jump.
Charlie grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”
“Mr. Santoli?”
“Yes.”
“This is Rich Meyers. You’ll be glad to hear that a certain charter plane has just taken off, with Brothers Stanislas and Casper on board.”
Charlie’s relieved smile told Marge and Sterling what they needed to know.
“They should be landing in Wallonia in eight hours. The police there are waiting to arrest them. Our agents on board will shed their clerical robes and ride back home as soon as the plane refuels.”
Charlie felt as though a two-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I imagine you’ll want to be taking further statements from me.”
“Next week. Enjoy your holiday. I know you’ll cooperate with us.” Meyers paused. “Don’t worry too much, Mr. Santoli. I think you know what I mean.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said quietly.
Sterling stood up. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “You’re going to be fine, Charlie. You’re a good man. And now I must leave you.”
“ Sterling, how can we ever thank you?” Marge asked.
“Don’t even think about thanking me. Just use your time on earth wisely. Believe me, it goes very quickly.”
Marge and Charlie entwined their hands. “We’ll never forget you,” Marge whispered.
“Never,” Charlie echoed fervently.
“We’ll meet again. I’m very sure of that,” Sterling said as he disappeared.
“How much longer? This robe is making me itch,” Eddie hissed, and was rewarded by an elbow in the ribs from Junior.
Junior fished a pad from his pocket and wrote, “Vow of silence. Shut up. Almost there.”
At that moment the voice of the flight attendant came over the loudspeaker. “We are due to land at Monastery Airport in twenty minutes…” The usual instructions followed.
Eddie was twitching with excitement and beside himself with joy. Mama Heddy-Anna! I’m coming, Mama! he thought.
Junior didn’t know the exact moment when the sinking feeling started. He looked out the window and narrowed his eyes. It was cloudy and, as the plane began to descend, light snow drifted against the windows.
He craned his neck and narrowed his eyes then spotted the monastery and the landing strip next to it. It’s okay, he thought. For a minute I had a feeling that Santoli mighta skunked us.
Then the voice of the flight attendant came on again. “We have just been advised that due to extremely icy conditions, we will be unable to land at Monastery airport. Instead we will be landing at Wallonia City airport thirty miles away.”
Junior and Eddie looked at each other. Eddie pushed back the hood of his robe. “Whaddaya think?”
SHUT UP, Junior scribbled furiously.
“You will be bussed immediately to St. Stephen’s Monastery,” the flight attendant chirped happily. “We do regret this inconvenience, but your safety is our first concern.”
“How do we go through customs?” Eddie was trying unsuccessfully to whisper. “Are the passports okay if they really look at them under a special light or something?”
SHUT UP, Junior scrawled. Maybe it’s okay, he thought. Maybe it’s on the level. He looked around, searching out the faces of his fellow passengers. Most of them were deep in their prayer books.
THE PASSPORTS ARE OKAY, he wrote. IT’S YOUR BIG MOUTH I’M WORRYING ABOUT.
Eddie leaned over him to look out the window. “We’re over the mountain. Look! There’s the village. Look! I bet I can pick out Mama’s house.”
His voice was rising. To cover the sound, Junior began to cough violently. Immediately the hostess was at his side offering water.
I need a drink, he thought wildly. If we get back to Long Island, I’ll tear Charlie Santoli apart limb from limb.
The plane landed, taxiing to a halt a good distance from the terminal. What Junior and Eddie saw out on the tarmac rendered them both more speechless than any vow of silence could ever have accomplished.
In the midst of dozens of uniformed Wallonian policemen, a lone figure was jumping up and down and waving vigorously.
Mama Heddy-Anna.
Junior shook his head. “She don’t look like she’s dying to me.”
Eddie’s face was puzzled. “She looks so healthy. I can’t believe it.”
“We took this trip for nuthin’, and now we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives in jail.”
The door of the plane opened and four policemen raced down the aisle. Junior and Eddie were encouraged to get out of their seats and put their hands behind their backs. As they were led away, their fellow passengers began removing roman collars and nun’s veils, and burst into spontaneous applause.
At the foot of the stairs, they were enveloped in one of Mama Heddy-Anna’s bear hugs.
“The nice policemen came for me. They said you were coming home as a surprise. I know you’re in trouble, but good news! Papa was just made head trustee at the prison where you’ll be staying from now on.” She beamed, “All three of my boys together, nice and safe, where I can visit every week.”
“Mama,” Eddie sobbed as he laid his head on her shoulder. “I been so worried about you the whole time I was gone. How do you feel?”
Heddy-Anna patted him. “Never better.”
Junior thought of the estate on Long Island, the limo, the money, the power, and Jewel, whom he knew would have a new boyfriend in two weeks. As Eddie’s shoulders shook with emotion, all Junior could think was, How could I have been so stupid?
On Christmas Eve morning, Billy and Nor were lingering over the breakfast neither one of them had any interest in touching. The distracting reality that it was both Christmas Eve and Marissa’s eighth birthday hung over them, a dense, oppressive blanket of pain.
The sudden steady ring of the doorbell startled both of them. Billy ran to answer it.
A beaming Marshall Frank Smith boomed, “Grab only what you need. You’re booked on the 12:40 flight to New York, and if you want to catch it, you haven’t got a minute to spare.”
On Christmas Eve, Nor’s Place usually enjoyed a pleasant flow of lunch customers. Some were last-minute shoppers, stopping for a quick bite. Others, more organized, came in for a quiet lunch before the religious and family celebrations began.
Today this place feels downright eerie, Dennis thought, as he surveyed the room from behind the bar. He shook his head. At least Nor had agreed that it was pointless to stay open on Christmas Day.
“I guess you’re right, Dennis,” she had admitted. “Only ten reservations! Those people would be better off at a place with a little life in it.”
We’re pretty much at the end of the line here, Dennis thought, as he was handed an order for a single beer.
Just then the bar phone rang. He picked it up.
“Dennis!” It was Nor’s voice, buoyant and energetic. “We’re at the airport, on our way home. We’re in the clear. The Badgett brothers are gone, locked up for good,” she exulted. “Get a birthday cake for Marissa for tonight, and phone our usual Christmas people. Tell them Nor’s Place will be open for Christmas dinner
