“I’m sorry. Selfish of me to monopolize you. A stout, please—surprise me with which. And that chicken pot pie thing your chef does so well.”
“Coming right up,” Kieran promised him. She poured and delivered his stout, then headed back behind the bar to help, since it would be some time before his food was up.
She found herself pausing to look at the two musicians. They were scribbling on music paper, apparently working on a song. Their half-full beer glasses and empty plates sat in front of them.
She walked over to pick up the plates. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
They both looked up at her.
“No, thank you,” said the full-bearded one, who she noticed had dark eyes versus his friend’s green ones.
She nodded and stepped away. Something about them seemed odd. And vaguely familiar.
Surely she would have noticed them if they’d been in before.
Maybe she was going overboard looking for anything suspicious.
Besides, bearded men always looked suspicious. Or creepy.
At least they weren’t wearing hoodies.
She put the empty plates in the bin under the bar and went back to work.
Every time someone came in and wanted to talk about Bobby, it seemed the rest of the place wanted to drink a toast to his recovery.
Around three thirty, Kevin came in. He assured her that Bobby was stable and his vital signs were good. A new nurse, Molly, was on duty, and she had been more forthcoming than steely-eyed Nurse Emily.
“Did he open his eyes again?” Kieran asked her brother.
He shook his head. “Maybe he’s waiting for you,” he said, smiling.
“I’m going to stay there tonight,” Kieran said.
“I figured. I’ll be there early in the morning,” he told her.
She said goodbye to Declan and the others, then noted that Mr. Krakowsky was still there and that Jimmy McManus—minus Gary Benton, thank heavens—was at the bar.
Kevin saw her out and safely into a cab.
When she returned to Bobby’s room, an officer she hadn’t met yet was on duty, as well as the new nurse. The officer seemed aware that she was coming and rose to open the door to Bobby’s room for her. She thanked him as she entered.
Danny was in a chair beside the bed, holding one of Bobby’s hands and apparently dozing. He heard her arrival, though, and blinked and yawned, then smiled at her.
“Any news?” she asked.
“No news is good news,” he told her. “They took him out for some scans a bit ago. One of the doctors will be back in soon.”
She nodded and took up a seat across the bed from her brother, taking Bobby’s other hand and squeezing it lightly.
Nothing at first.
Then she was certain she felt a slight squeeze in return.
“Everything okay at the pub?” Danny asked her softly.
“Yes,” she said, then hesitated. She wanted to talk to him openly, wanted to tell him what Simon Krakowsky had told her.
But she didn’t want to have that conversation over the body of a friend who was fighting for his life.
“Yes, everything is fine,” she said. “I guess we should be quiet and let Bobby rest, huh?”
“No, the doctor who came in before they took Bobby out for his scan—Dr. Huang—told me that we should talk all we want, to each other and to Bobby.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he might hear us on some level, and it might help draw him back to consciousness.”
“Oh, well...great.”
She still didn’t want to talk about the pub, though.
“So how was your day?” she asked him. “How was your tour group?”
“Fantastic,” he said. “A bunch of college kids. It always seems so strange to me that people come to New York City to shop or go to Broadway shows, but they never come downtown. They don’t see Trinity and St. Paul’s. They have no clue that the Dutch settled New Amsterdam in 1609 and that the English didn’t take over the colony until 1664. They don’t know that the British held the city during much of the Revolution, or even that it was the capital for a while. They know nothing about Washington being here, about—” Danny stopped abruptly and gave her a wry smile. “Sorry. I just love this city so much.”
Kieran grinned. “I love the city, too, Danny.”
“Of course you do.” He sighed. “I’ll never get rich, of course. Leading tours. But I truly love it, and I hope I get to do it forever.”
“Of course you do. And you know every little nook and cranny of it, too,” she said.
Her own words suddenly disturbed her.
Yes, her brother knew the city. Knew every neighborhood, every street and every alley.
She was immediately furious with herself. Her brother was no killer.
“Our building has been there since 1833,” she reminded him.
He nodded. “Built as office space, a landmark back then at four floors. And a Finnegan opened the first pub there in 1845.”
“We’re remarkable,” she said, smiling.
She felt Bobby squeeze her hand and quickly looked down at him.
His eyes were open, and he was looking at her again. She thought that his lips even twitched into an almost-smile.
He spoke, his words raspy and barely a whisper on the air.
She couldn’t make them out and looked over at Danny, a question in her eyes.