“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 a clean mug. “He loves to cook. And he’s a good cook, too.”
“What about when he’s out on the boat?”
“Then Mrs. Smalley takes care of us. She’s a good cook, too.” Liam said a silent prayer that the social worker wouldn’t insist on a conversation with Mrs. Smalley. Though Seamus paid her a small salary to serve as their baby-sitter, she usually didn’t show up. And when she did, she was always drunk. Conor had told her long ago that they didn’t need her help, even though Seamus continued to pay her.
The teakettle screeched and Liam snatched it up from the stove. He’d watched Conor make coffee a hundred times, his brother’s choice of drink when he had to stay up late to study. He grabbed the sugar bowl and scooped a generous measure into the bottom of the cup before filling it with hot water. “Do you want milk?” he asked.
A smile broke across Mrs. Witchell’s face as he handed her the cup. “No, this is fine.” She took a sip and then winced. “It’s very good.” For a long moment she stared at him, then sighed. “I really have to be going. I have another appointment in a half hour. I’m just going to go talk to your father.”
“But he’s not awake,” Liam pleaded.
She stared down at him for a long moment, then sighed. “All right, why don’t I just look in on your father, just to make sure he’s here with you? Then I’ll leave my card and you can have him call me once he wakes up.”
Liam gave her a wide smile, the kind of smile that all the girls at school seemed to like. “All right,” he said. “But you have to promise to be quiet.”
She set her cup down and Liam grabbed her hand, pulling her along to the bedroom. He pushed open the door and allowed her to step inside. The lump on the bed breathed roughly, a perfect mimic by the twins. Liam quickly pulled the social worker back out of the room and shut the door.
“Fine,” she murmured.
By the time Liam showed her out, he could barely contain his relief. He watched her descend the front steps and walk down the block to her car, and as it drove by, he let out a loud whoop. A few seconds later Sean and Brian emerged from the bedroom. “She’s gone!”
Sean grabbed Liam around the waist and gave him a fierce hug. “I knew you could do it. What did she say?”
Liam handed him the card. “She said Da is supposed to call her. Today.” He turned to Brian. “Go get your cards. I want my ten.”
The twins looked at each other, Brian balking at the request. “We made a deal,” Sean admitted.
Liam settled onto the sofa and after Brian and Sean presented him with their treasured collections, he silently flipped through them, weighing the value of the cards he wanted. “Go get me some chocolate milk,” he ordered Sean. “And you have to tell me a story,” he said to Brian.
“No way,” Brian cried.
“You promised. If you don’t tell me a Mighty Quinn story, then I get twenty cards instead of ten.”
“Tell him a story,” Sean ordered.
“You tell him,” Brian countered.
“I’m getting him chocolate milk. And you’re better at stories.”
“Tell me the one about the boy with the silver tongue,” Liam said. “I like that one.”
“This is the story of Riagan Quinn,” Brian began. “Riagan was a foundling-”
“His father was killed in battle,” Liam interjected.
“And his dying mother left him in the forest,” Brian continued grudgingly. “And no one knew his real name, or where he came from. The fairies gave him the name Riagan ’cause it meant ‘little king.’ The forest was wild with wolves, but the fairies watched over him, feeding him drops of dew from their wands.”