the front steps, but suddenly she returned to the door, this time pounding on the weathered wood with her fist. “I know you’re in there,” she shouted. “Mr. Quinn, if you don’t let me in, I’m going to have to involve the police. Your three youngest sons didn’t show up at school today. They’re truant again.”
Why they had to interfere, Liam didn’t understand. He and his brothers were doing just fine. Conor was seventeen now and he had a part-time job that helped pay the bills. And Dylan and Brendan watched over things at home while their father was gone, picking up odd jobs when they could to add to the family treasury. And the twins, Sean and Brian, did chores around the house.
They managed pretty well as long as they stayed out of trouble. He cursed inwardly. Maybe skipping school that day hadn’t been the smartest move, but sometimes the twins could be so persuasive. Besides, they rarely invited him along on their adventures, so he’d been flattered by the invitation.
Liam turned his attention back to the porch. He knew the real reason why they’d asked him today. He served as a good excuse. If they got caught by Conor, Sean and Brian would convince Liam to lie about how he’d had a stomachache or a headache and his twin brothers had been generous enough to stay home with him.
“She’ll call the cops,” Sean muttered. “They’ll bust down the door and take us all away.”
“All right, I’ll do it,” Liam said. “But you’ll owe me.”
“Anything,” Sean said.
“My choice of your baseball cards—and yours,” he said, turning to Brian. “Any ten I want. No dibs or saves.”
“No way!” Brian protested.
“Give him what he wants,” Sean insisted. “He’ll get rid of her. She’ll believe him. People always like Liam.”
Though it was a backhanded compliment, Liam relished it anyway. People did seem to trust him and he did have a knack for disarming most adults. Wasn’t that why the twins always took him along when they planned to pinch candy from the corner store? If they got caught, Liam could always charm the store owner into letting them off the hook.
“Six cards,” Brian said. “Three from each of us.”
“Any ten that I want,” Liam said. “And you have to help me study for all my math tests and my spelling tests for a month. And you have to do whatever I say for the rest of the day.” He knew he was pushing it, but Liam so rarely had any power in the Quinn household.
“No way,” Brian said.
“Deal,” Sean countered.
Brian gave his twin a shove. “Who made you the boss?” A moment later he was pinned on the dusty parlor rug, Sean’s knee pressed into the small of his back. “All right, all right. Deal.”
“You guys go into Da’s room,” Liam said. “Close the curtains and crawl under the covers and pretend you’re him. I might have to prove he’s here. And don’t make any snoring noises. Make it look good.”
“Just get her out of here before Conor and Dylan and Brendan get home. They’ll kill us if they know we let her in.”
“You just do your job,” Liam said, walking to the door. “And I’ll do mine.”
When the twins got to the back of the house, Liam waited a few seconds then pulled the door open a crack. He tried to appear frightened. “What to you want? I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t go away.”
The lady stared down at him with a stern expression. “I’m Mrs. Witchell from County Social Services. I’d like to see your father, Mr. Seamus Quinn.”
“He’s sleeping,” Liam said. “And he said I’m not supposed to let any strangers in.”
“What are you doing home from school?”
“I’m sick. I have a fever.”
“You can let me in,” she said, showing him her identification. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to help.”
Liam shut the door, then grabbed his coat from the pile near the radiator. He slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind him. “I’m not supposed to let anyone inside. But I guess I can talk to you out here.” He sat on the top step, then patted the spot beside him. Mrs. Witchell smiled weakly at his invitation before she sat. “Why do you want to talk to my da?”
“Some of the neighbors are concerned. They say you boys are here on your own. That they haven’t seen your father since before Thanksgiving.”
“No,” Liam said. “My dad is here. He has a job where he works at night so he sleeps during the day.”
“That’s not what they tell me,” she said. “They say he’s off fishing.”
He shrugged. “Then they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“I really need to talk to your dad.”
Liam tried to summon some tears, and when one dribbled down his cheek, he said, “He’ll be mad at me if I let you in. And if you wake him up, he’ll be madder still. Can’t he just call you on the phone? I’ll tell him to call as soon as he wakes up.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be good enough.”
Liam paused. He had to play this very carefully. He had a sense that Mrs. Witchell wasn’t easily charmed. But he could also tell that her determination was wavering. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I suppose you could wait inside until he wakes up. Then I wouldn’t be in trouble.”
“That would be all right,” she said.
Liam stood. It was a risky move, letting her in the house. But he had to make her believe that he wasn’t hiding anything. He held the door open for her and she nodded, clearly impressed with his manners. When they got inside, Liam helped her off with her coat, then showed her into the front parlor. Luckily, Conor and Dylan had cleaned the house last night. Though the furniture was tattered and stained, the room looked tidy.
“I’ll just get you coffee,” Liam said. He hurried to the back of the house and put the teakettle on, then tiptoed to his father’s room. In the darkness he could make out a huge lump beneath the bedcovers. “Stay in bed,” he whispered. “She’s in the house.”
Brian bolted upright. “You let her in? Jaysus, I knew we couldn’t trust you to do this. What’s she doing?”
“I’m making her coffee,” Liam said.
“Aw, hell.”
“Just pretend you’re Da. I’ll get her out as fast as I can.” Liam softly shut the door behind him, then turned to find Mrs. Witchell watching him from the end of the hallway. Liam cleared his throat. “He’s not awake yet. I’ll just get your coffee.”
She followed him into the kitchen and Liam watched as she carefully examined the room. Like the parlor, the kitchen was a bit shabby but still neat. “Who does the cooking?”
“Oh, my da,” Liam said, dumping a good measure of instant coffee into
