Halloween is Murder(13)

O’Flaherty’s eyes seemed to start from his ashen face. “How do you know--?”

“You weren’t aware of the terms of your father’s will,” Barry said. “I’m guessing somewhere along the way he recognized what you were and changed them. But you thought with the old man out of the way, you’d inherit half of everything. It was clearly a crime of opportunity, and you had the motive and the means. Plus, you just confessed.”

O’Flaherty began to stammer and splutter.

Avartaugh sighed. “This is really a shame. You’re a very entertaining young man.”

“I do card tricks too.” Barry glanced warily at the heavies who were now closing in on him from either side.

Avartaugh rose—and Barry saw the real reason his love for Margaret Mary O’Flaherty was impossible: he was maybe five-feet-tall. In his shoes. Tall girls are sensitive about these things.

“Out of curiosity, how did you manage to dispatch Mr. Redfern?” Avartaugh asked. There was something strangely magnetic about his dark, dark eyes. Barry found it hard to look away as Avartaugh came slowly toward him.

“That wasn’t me,” Barry said. “That was my partner, Mr. Cathan.”

Avartaugh stopped in his tracks. “Cathán?” he whispered.

Mike stepped out of the shadows near the curtains. How had he got there without being seen? Had he been there the whole time? He was smiling. A rare sight—and utterly terrifying.

“You heard him,” he said.




Later, Barry couldn’t quite recall what exactly happened in the minutes that followed. He remembered the two heavies had cried out at the sight of Mike—stake in hand—and Barry, though his altar boy days were long behind him, remembered enough Latin to recognize the words “scourge” and “slayer.”

He knew the lights went out. All of them at the same time. He knew someone hit him with a chair—he had the bruises to prove it the next day. He knew at some point he’d used his trusty letter opener because it was smeared with a very dark, almost black substance that looked (and smelled) an awful lot like blood.

Beyond that…it was confused. And confusing.

He had been afraid. He had been pretty sure he was going to die. He had been determined to take some of those blood-suckers with him.

When the lights came on again, he was half-sitting, propped against Mike’s muscular shoulder. Mike was nuzzling his temple and whispering, “Open your eyes, cuisle mo chroidhe.”

“I’m awake. I’m awake!” Barry had protested.

He pushed Mike away, and sat the rest of the way up. They were in Darragh Avartaugh’s study, but there was no sign of Avartaugh or his two henchmen.

Patrick O’Flaherty was crouched in a corner near one of the bookshelves. He was making gibbering noises and chewing the drapery.

They did not call the cops. There was no sign of the night watchman as they drove out the gates. They delivered O’Flaherty into the arms of his alarmed but grateful sister, and Barry told her it was better not to ask questions.

He did not plan on taking that advice himself, but he was going to choose his moment, especially since Mike had reverted back to his normal taciturn self.

As Barry passed the turn-off for the office on Brand Boulevard, he said, “Is this going to turn into a regular occurrence?”

He felt rather than saw Mike look at him.

“It…doesn’t have to be,” Mike said carefully. “If you don’t feel the same.”

“It pays well. I’ll say that much.”

“Oh,” Mike said, in a different tone. “That. I see. Yes. I guess it could pay well.”

“It gives us a little versatility in an already crowded market.”

Mike grunted.

As they drew closer to the turn-off for Barry’s apartment, Barry asked, “What does cuisle mo chroidhe mean?”

“It’s Irish,” Mike said.

“I know it’s Irish. What’s it mean?”

“Vein of my heart.” Mike sounded half-smothered.

Barry’s own heart rose. He smiled. “Romantic.”

Mike cleared his throat.

“You’re not two-thousand-years-old, are you?”

“No. You’re thinking of my great-great-great grandfather.”

Barry relaxed. His smile broadened. “No. Though I’m sure he was a nice old gent. What I was thinking was I’d like to make you my partner, Mike. What do you say to that?”

Mike said softly, “I’m thinking of saying yes, Barry.”