back there,’ ventured Patrick, pointing at the barn. ‘In the hay.’
The man passed the boys into the barn, then waited while they indicated the corner. He walked purposefully to where the pitchfork lay and made a display of poking about in the straw. ‘It’s gone now,’ said Sean. The man knelt and moved some straw about, then stood and used the fork to put the straw back in a semblance of order. He turned a smiling, good-humoured face towards the boys. ‘What was it, then? A barn rat?’
Patrick glanced at Sean and gave him an almost imperceptible head shake, warning him to say nothing. ‘Maybe,’ said Patrick. ‘But it was pretty big.’ His voice was strident, and he fought to regain control of himself.
The man turned where he stood, looking down on the earnest little faces. ‘Big you say? Well, if there were chickens or ducks here, which there aren’t, and if it were night, which it isn’t, I’d suspect a weasel or fox. Whatever it was, it’s vanished like yesterday’s promises.’ The man returned the pitchfork to its place on the wall. He looked hard at the boys. ‘Now, lads, which one of you wants to be the first to tell me just what you saw?’
Patrick remained silent, but Sean finally said, ‘It was big and it had teeth.’ His voice still shook, so he sounded convincing.
Instantly the man’s expression changed. In two strides he stood before them, hands upon knees as he lowered his face to the boys’ level. ‘How big?’
Patrick held his hands about two feet apart. ‘Like this.’
The man slowly stood up, rubbing at his whiskery chin. ‘By the saints. It could have been that big old bandit come looking for a kitten dinner,’ he said quietly.
‘What bandit?’ asked Patrick, not understanding why anyone would wish to eat kittens.
The man’s attention returned from his musing. ‘Why, he’s a racoon. An old tyrant of a ’coon who lives in the woods to the east of here. He’s been killing chickens and ducks for a month or so and occasionally chews up cats and dogs.’ Almost to himself, he added, ‘Though if it were himself, mama cat here would have been raising a right royal fuss.’
Sean nodded, and Patrick said, ‘Jack said he lived under a bridge.’
‘He did, did he now? Jack Cole is a fine enough lad, but he’s a foreigner, hailing from North Carolina as he does. Still, grown-ups always have to come up with an answer, even if they’re wrong.’ The boys agreed to that. ‘If the farmers knew where the bandit hid out, they’d have had him out weeks ago.
‘Now, lads, I don’t think Miss Grant will take kindly to the news a bull ’coon’s poking about her barn and menacing her barn cat’s brood. Are we agreed?’
The boys shrugged and said yes. The man rubbed his chin again. ‘Well, we have your word. So there’s an end to it.’ Changing the subject, he said, ‘Now, what are you boys doing in Miss Agatha’s barn?’
‘She said we could play with the kittens.’
‘Well then,’ offered the man, ‘if she did, she did. But they’re tiny ones and like all babies need their rest. Why don’t we go outside and see the new lambs in the meadow.’ He gently but firmly ushered them outside. ‘And who might you boys be?’
The boys offered their names, and the man said, ‘Patrick and Sean? Sure and those are fine Irish names.’
Patrick grinned. ‘Our mother’s Irish. Her name was O’Brien.’
‘O’Brien!’ the man exclaimed. ‘She wouldn’t be an O’Brien from Ballyhack, now would she?’
‘She’s from Glendale,’ observed Sean.
‘Sure, there’s a fair number of O’Briens about and that’s a fact.’ He halted outside the barn. ‘Well, Sean and Patrick, they call me Barney Doyle, which is as it should be, for that’s my name. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He shook hands solemnly with the boys. ‘Now let’s go and look at lambs.’
As they made their way across the backyard, the screen door opened and Agatha Grant looked out. ‘Barney Doyle! Where are you going with those boys?’
‘To show the lads the new lambs, Miss Agatha.’
‘And what about my pump? I need water for dinner.’
‘All fixed and working like new, which, had you turned the faucet, you would have known. I was, this very moment, going to stop off on our way and tell you just that.’
Her expression indicated a limited willingness for belief, but she only nodded. ‘Dinner will be in an hour, so have them back in time to clean up.’
‘Yes, Miss Agatha.’
After she returned inside, Barney said, ‘A fine lady, even if she isn’t Irish. Come now and we can see the lambs.’
As they walked down the path towards the meadow south of the house, a car turned up the drive from the road and headed towards the house. The boys ran ahead and Barney reached up to scratch his head. That there was something in the barn two feet long and with big teeth he doubted, for the barn cat would have been hauling her kittens out if a predator had lurked nearby. But that something had frightened the boys there was no doubt. He offered a short prayer to St Patrick and St Jude that it was only noises and shadows that had frightened the boys and not what he feared, then hurried after the boys.
Two men got out of the car as Agatha watched from her porch. Philip stood beside her, observing the pair. The driver was a tall man, his stride quick and purposeful. His hair was black save for streaks of grey at the temples, combed straight back from a high forehead, but his closecut beard was black. His age was indeterminate: somewhere between thirty and fifty. He wore a white turtleneck and brown corduroy jacket, despite the warm weather, above brown slacks. As he came up the steps, smiling in greeting at Agatha, Philip noted his eyes were so dark as to be close to black.
‘Mark, this is Philip Hastings.’
The man shook hands and said, ‘I’ve read your books, Mr Hastings. I’m something of a fan.’
‘Phil, please.’
‘And this is Gary Thieus,’ said Agatha. Philip extended his hand.
‘Call me Gary,’ offered the man with a wide grin that revealed an improbable amount of teeth. His hair was cut very short, nearly a crew cut, and his ears stuck out and were almost pointed.
Mark said, ‘He’s my assistant and is the best cook around – present company excluded.’
‘Come inside and have a drink. Dinner is cooking and we can all get acquainted.’ Agatha allowed Philip to hold open the door as she led the others inside.
Philip followed last, behind Gary. Blackman’s assistant moved with a loose-gaited walk that suggested a basketball player to Philip, or at least some sort of athletic background.
Jack offered drinks to Mark and Gary, while Agatha removed herself to the kitchen
