Free The Last Noel by Heather Graham Page A

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.
    â€œNothing,” David said.
    â€œHe’s not crazy, he’s just a drunk,” Jamie said.
    â€œA drunk going crazy,” Frazier told his brother.
    â€œI’m not drunk yet—unfortunately,” Paddy complained.
    â€œClose 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.
    â€œEverybody be nice,” Skyler commanded, rising and picking up her plate. “Frazier, hand me that platter, please.”
    â€œWhat are you doing?” David asked.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œAre 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.
    â€œWho plays the piano?” Quintin asked.
    â€œEveryone in the family,” David replied curtly.
    â€œDo you all sit around the piano and sing Christmas carols?” Scooter demanded, laughing.
    â€œYes,” Skyler informed him icily.
    â€œChristmas 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?
    â€œChristmas 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?
    â€œFrazier can play the piano way better than me,” Jamie went on.
    â€œExcept for my dad,” Frazier said. “Not to mention my mom. She’s the one who usually plays at Christmas.”
    â€œShe loves Christmas,” Jamie supplied.
    â€œChristmas carols, turkey…a warm house,” Scooter said, almost talking to himself.
    â€œSo everyone in the family is a musician,” Quintin said, frowning as he glanced at Scooter.
    â€œComes 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