Read Online Mercy of St Jude by Wilhelmina Fitzpatrick - Free Book Online Page A

other side of the door.
    Sadie moved to get past Pat, who stepped sideways to stand in her way.
    He folded his arms across his chest. “What the hell do you want?”
    Sadie pushed an envelope at him. “I found this card to Lucinda among my mail.”
    â€œBeen no mail for days. What were you doing, you old biddy, steaming it open?”
    â€œHow dare you?” Sadie stammered. “If my Gerard was here, he’d—”
    â€œIf he was here, I’d knock the face off him.” He jabbed the keys in front of her face. “Now get home out of it.”
    Sadie’s mouth opened and closed several times, then she bolted down the lane.
    Pat went inside and slammed the door. The room had become uncommonly quiet.
    â€œWhat the hell are you gawking at?” he shouted at the crowd, his good spirits gone the way of Mercedes and Sadie. “Aiden, come on, let’s go.”
    â€œHang on, I’m starving. I barely got a chance to eat since yesterday.”
    Pat stood impatiently while Aiden made himself a sandwich and a cup of tea. Twenty minutes later, finally finished, he had to go to the bathroom. Pat waited, his body lodged against the door until Aiden sauntered down the stairs tucking his shirt into his jeans. “Hold on to your drawers, Pat. Can’t be going off half-cocked now, can we?”
    â€œChrist’s sake,” Pat muttered, pushing him out the door and towards the truck.
    Years before, Farley Hann’s house had been the only one on that road, which, back then, was really just a dirt lane up the hill. There would have been little likelihood of meeting another car. As the population increased and more houses were built, Hann’s Hill, as it was called, opened up to join the rest of the town. The Hanns gradually acquired a street full of neighbours, including Lucinda and Dermot. On this Boxing Day night, most of these neighbours were either tucked into their own homes or at the Bryne’s party. There should still have been little chance of running into anyone.
    As Aiden approached the bottom of the hill, a police car moved towards them. Inexperienced with winter driving, Aiden hit the brakes. The truck skidded sideways on the icy road and rammed into the side of the cruiser.
    â€œMother of Jesus,” groaned Pat in the silent aftermath. “You okay?”
    Aiden nodded. He was reaching for the handle when, out of nowhere, the doors flew open and they were each hauled out by a uniformed arm.
    The policeman holding Aiden was unfamiliar to both of them. He sniffed the air. “So this is Patrick Hann. Driving under the influence, are you?”
    The other officer, Bob Turner, shook his head. “You got the wrong one, Maloney. That one’s Aiden, the younger brother.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make sense. He’s not supposed to be driving.”
    Maloney shoved Aiden aside and grabbed Pat, twisting his arm behind his back. Pat cried out in pain. Aiden jumped in and dragged Maloney to the ground. Turner rushed to get him off, but not before Aiden managed to pound his ringed fist into Maloney’s face, leaving a bloody scratch across his cheek.
    Maloney jumped up. “Stupid fucking Newf. Get in the goddamn car.”
    Stunned, neither Pat nor Aiden moved right away.
    â€œNow!” Maloney screamed, his hand on his holster.
    Still shocked but now scared witless as well, they scurried into the back seat.
    The end result was that Aiden ended up with a stint in jail. When he came up for parole, things did not appear promising. Punching a cop was a serious matter. Then Mercedes showed up at the hearing. As a well-respected teacher and community leader, her promise to personally oversee Aiden’s rehabilitation carried considerable weight.
    Anxious to put prison behind him, Aiden, for once, kept his mouth shut.
    Snow drifted down in fat airy flakes to settle softly on the frozen white ground. It would have made for a picture-perfect