The Last Noel & Secret Surrogate, page 7
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.
The house was warm, everyone was full after dinner, the music was good, and this felt ridiculously like a warm family scene.
When Skyler finished the first song, she went into “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” From there, she sang about the little drummer boy, letting Jamie take the lead. Uncle Paddy backed him up with his fine Irish tenor.
When the song ended, Craig clapped, Scooter followed suit, and even Quintin smiled.
“We should get the ornaments now,” Scooter said eagerly. “And she should keep playing,” he announced, pointing at Skyler.
“All right,” Quintin said.
Skyler immediately started playing a rousing rendition of “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
* * *
Tears were streaming unnoticed down Kat’s face as she sat on the second-floor landing, listening, paying attention to every word, every nuance of tone.
She knew she couldn’t leave. She wouldn’t make it even a quarter-mile, much less the distance she would need to go. She had to wait for the weather to subside. The problem was, that was when the killers would be ready to leave, too, and before they did...
She was also afraid to leave. Afraid something terrible would happen if she did.
She was her family’s only hope for survival, and she didn’t know what to do, so she listened to the music and let her mind wander, hoping her subconscious would provide an answer while the rest of her mind was distracted.
Christmas carols were a family staple at the holidays. They could argue among themselves until they were ready to tear each other’s hair out, but the fighting stopped when it was time to gather around the piano.
She felt a surge of fury. Those monsters were gathered around her piano in her home, threatening her family as her mother played the piano.
She was still in her parka, afraid to get caught without it, though she had unzipped it because the house was warm.
Warm and cozy, smelling deliciously of dinner and the bayberry candles her mother had set out. It always amazed her. They came here so infrequently and stayed so briefly, but this place had become a true holiday home for them. In a matter of hours they always managed to get their act together, despite all the bickering.
She felt a lump in her throat, a rolling in her stomach. Craig Devon—the tall, blond, muscular Mr. Gorgeous she had once loved—was down there with her family. The family he knew so much about because she had told him so much about them, while he’d told her nothing about himself.
Because, despite his boy-next-door looks, he was nothing but a criminal.
How had he gone from being a man filled with promise to what he was now? As she stared down at him, her nausea threatened to spill over. She remembered reading about a rash of heists conducted by thieves who hit small jewelry and antique shops throughout the Northeast, mainly in rural areas and mostly at night. And Hudson’s, she thought now, was so close to this house. Police had warned that the thieves might be armed and very dangerous. One article had said police were searching for the killer or killers of a night watchman at a bank, who had been found dead near one of the jewelry stores, although they felt it was an unrelated incident. But what if it had been related after all?
If these men had killed before, they would certainly be willing to kill again.
If...
Maybe they hadn’t killed the night watchman.
Right. There was a heist, and there was a dead man, but some passing maniac had done it.
That had been in New Hampshire. Live free or die. Apparently they had taken the state motto to heart.
She shifted slightly, gritting her teeth, and tried hard to remember any other details. As she moved, she felt her worthless phone in her pocket. She pulled it out, thinking that it couldn’t hurt to see if she could get a signal.
She swore silently at the no-signal message, then stared in disbelief when the phone flickered for a moment and went dead. As she stared at the traitorous cell, she heard the music stop and people start talking about going up to the attic.
She scrambled to her feet, knowing that, whatever she was going to do, she had to move fast.
* * *
“Ready?” Scooter asked David.
“Sure,” David said. “Frazier, let’s go get those boxes down.”
“Wait a minute,” Quintin said. “What else is up in that attic?”
Skyler stopped playing and turned to answer him. “We don’t have a gun up there, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” she said flatly.
Quintin actually grinned, shaking his head. “Bleeding-heart liberal, huh? Guns don’t kill, buddy. People kill,” he said.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that,” David told him.
“You don’t hunt, I take it?” Quintin said.
“No, I don’t hunt.”
Quintin shrugged, as if David were only half a man.
“Some men don’t need to hunt,” Skyler said, staring at Quintin. “They don’t need guns.”
Quintin laughed. “Well, right now, I’ve got the gun, and that makes me the man to watch, doesn’t it?”
“Skyler...” David said soothingly.
“I’ve got the gun, and if I want ’em, I’ve got the cute little blonde, your wife and your sons,” Quintin said to David. “And that makes me feel very important.”
“Let’s get the ornaments, Frazier,” David said tightly.
“Scooter, watch them,” Quintin warned.
“Quit acting like I’m a damn idiot,” Scooter snapped.
“You’re not an idiot, you’re like a fucking little kid, wanting to decorate the Christmas tree,” Quintin retorted.
“Hey!” Craig spoke up. “Cut it out, you two. Quintin, the tree and the music are nice.”
“Why the hell not have Christmas?” Scooter demanded.
Quintin narrowed his eyes. “Fine, let’s have Christmas.” He turned to David. “Just don’t do anything stupid up there and make me shoot your wife. Or even Blondie over there.”
Brenda gasped.
“Oh, shut up,” Quintin commanded.
“It’s all right,” Skyler said, putting her arm around the girl as they sat on the bench.
“I’m just going to get the ornaments,” David said. “That’s all.”
Scooter had his gun out, and he used it to gesture toward the stairs. “I’ll be right behind you guys,” he said. His tone was pleasant and yet somehow disturbing.
David headed for the stairs, walking heavily. If Kat was still in the house, listening, watching, she needed to be warned.
Don’t do anything foolish, Kat, he prayed silently. You have to live.
He heard his son behind him, and Scooter behind Frazier. When they reached the upstairs hall, he pulled down the ladder to the attic and started up.
“No tricks,” Scooter warned.
“No tricks,” he promised wearily.
He couldn’t think of a trick that could save them. Not now. Not when Quintin was holding a gun on the rest of his family.
A thought raced through his mind. What if they could disarm Scooter? At least Frazier might have a chance to live.
And he would know his life had been at the cost of his family and the woman he loved.
“Don’t get too close to your father, kid. Let him hand you the boxes,” Scooter said.
“I have to stand at least on the second rung to reach,” Frazier told him.
“Yeah, yeah, all right. Hurry up,” Scooter said nervously.
So Scooter was the nervous type, David thought. Maybe if they learned more about the three men, it could be useful.
He grabbed one of the ornament boxes and turned to hand it to Frazier. His son’s eyes met his, and David realized that for once, his son was looking to him for a lead.
He offered a smile and tried to fill it with the assurance that they would get out of this somehow.
Frazier nodded, and David found himself mentally listing his sons’ strengths. Jamie was young and thin, but tall, strong and perceptive. Frazier was always at odds with him, but he was strong, bright and a creative thinker. They might not have any options right now, he thought, but the time might come, if they could just stay alive until then.
Stay alive—and pray their captors would make a mistake.
There were three of them now, including Craig, the injured one. But was he as much of a danger as the others? Hard to tell. Just how injured was he, anyway? He would bear further watching. He was with the criminals, but there was definite tension there. Maybe that was the answer: playing them against each other.
“Should Frazier take that one on down?” David asked.
“What do you mean? You planning something?” Scooter asked suspiciously.
