Finnie notched her chin. “Don’t let yer coffee grow cold, lass.” Then she put her hand over Agnes’s, the soft, parchmentlike skin of her palm always a comfort. “Or yer heart. If it’s love you want, then we’ll find it for you.”
“I don’t expect anything like what we’ve managed to find for our grandchildren. Just a bit of the…magic. You know…the feeling? The roller coaster. The thrill.”
“There’s always Max Hewitt,” Finnie said brightly. “He’s keen on you, you know.”
“I know, and he’s a nice man, but…” Agnes closed her eyes. “You can’t manufacture magic, and he’s not…” Intoxicating. “I’ve always had a weakness for a man with a little spice and sizzle.”
“Agnes. We’re closer to ninety than nineteen. Leave the spice and sizzle for Pru.” She turned and looked into the crowd, then reached into her pocketbook to glance at her cell phone. “Where are those two, anyway? I hope that lad didn’t have a wee bit too much sizzle, if you know what I mean.”
“Is magic only for young people?” Agnes mused, stirring her coffee, watching the man who had yet another mother laughing. Although this time there was a father, too. So maybe he was just as charming as Santa as he was by text.
Finnie smiled. “We had our magic, lass. ’Tis a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”
“Really? Then why live? I mean, does romance fade right along with good knees and a strong bladder? It’s an age thing? That’s just so sad and—” She scowled as two men approached the next table and stared at the dogs. Gala barked, but Pyggie didn’t move.
“Mind if we take this table?” one asked.
Yes, she did. “It’s dirty.” Agnes looked up at him and was met by an intimidating narrow-eyed stare.
“That’s fine,” the other man, a huge, beefy fellow with a beard, said. “We just need this seat.”
And so did she. “There’s a table over there by the Chinese food,” she said. “Much more room and no dogs.”
“I like dogs,” the staring guy said, flipping her bag off the back of the chair and handing it to her. “Here you go, ma’am.”
And down he went, with the house-size guy directly in front of Agnes, completely blocking her view. In fact, the two of them sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, creating a veritable wall between Agnes and Aldo.
“Now I can’t see him,” she mouthed, frustrated as she shifted her seat to try to see through the space between the men’s heads and shoulders.
“You’re not missing anything,” Finnie said.
“Except the very reason we’re here.”
Finnie tipped her head and pinned her blue gaze on Agnes. “What is the real reason we’re here, dear friend? What are you searching for? Last year, ’twas the dog you’d seen in your dreams of heaven.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” she whispered.
“And now it’s the elusive man.” Finnie pressed her hands together. “Is it the holidays that bring this out in you, Agnes? You spend so much time and money trying to look young and feel…somethin’. When you’re surrounded by a beautiful family that gives you everythin’. Why are you searchin’ so hard for happiness when, as we Irish say, you’ve got contentment knockin’ at yer door?”
She had no answer for that, turning from Finnie’s sincere gaze to try to see Aldo. But Big Guy leaned closer to Hard Eyes and blocked her view.
“I don’t love that plan,” Big Guy said. “It’s not like we can walk right up to Santa and offer a bribe.”
Wait, did he say Santa? And…bribe? Agnes glanced at Finnie, whose wide eyes showed she’d heard the same thing.
“But if he takes it,” Big Guy said, “then what an FBI win we would have.”
Agnes felt her jaw drop as she shared a shocked look with Finnie.
“I told you,” Finnie mouthed.
Agnes shook her head to quiet her friend, inching closer.
“He has to take a break,” Big Guy said. “I’m telling you, Sammy. That’s when we go in for the kill.”
The kill? Were they going to bribe him or kill him? Or kill him if he didn’t take a bribe?
Sammy took out his phone and tapped the screen, and Finnie leaned around his other shoulder to see if she could read it, every bit as curious as Agnes was.
“I got his schedule here. Tony slipped it to me.”
Finnie looked skyward—like just because someone named Tony was involved, that was proof positive they were dealing with mobsters. Of course, the mention of the FBI didn’t exactly give Agnes a good feeling.
“His shift is done in fifteen minutes,” Sammy said. “And he’s not allowed to walk around in that costume, so he’ll go right over there to the men’s room and change. I say we get him in there, because then there shouldn’t be any kids around.”
Get him? Agnes bit her lip. What would they do to him with no kids around?
“You got the ghost?” Sammy asked.
Big Guy patted his jacket pocket, which bulged. “Oh yeah. And I’ll put this sucker right under his nose and make him an offer even Aldo Fiore can’t refuse.”
Agnes and Finnie hissed in a breath at exactly the same time, making Gala jump and bark.
“Oh, did I bump her?” Big Guy said, turning in his chair to look at them. “Really sorry.”
“No, no, ’tis fine,” Finnie assured him in a reed-thin voice. “We’re fine. No problem.”
The man nodded and turned, while Sammy still studied his phone. “Did you see this?” he asked, angling the screen toward Big Guy. “Aldo’s boys are busy.”
Agnes inched closer, squinting at the screen, but seeing only the glare from the lights.
“Oh hell. That’s a corpse. They found the damn corpse. We gotta get to Aldo, Sammy. This is a crime.”
Agnes put her hand over her mouth, sharing a look with Finnie.
“We gotta step in here,” Sammy said. “It’s time for an FBI victory for a change. I’m sick of Fiore being so stinkin’ elusive.”
The two men both pushed up at the same time, their chairs noisily scraping the tile and waking Pyggie.
“Gosh, I’m sorry, little doggie.” Big Guy leaned over, and his jacket—the one with the bulging pocket—opened when he leaned over to pet Pyggie. He wore a black T-shirt with a simple insignia on the pocket.
FBI.
Agnes just stared at him, holding her smile until they walked away in the direction of the men’s room.
“Agnes!” All the color had drained from Finnie’s face. “Do you believe me now?”
“I guess I do.” She fell back in her chair. “How could I have been such a terrible judge of character?”
“Just be happy we found out the FBI is after him before you got involved with him.”
Agnes nodded. “Is ‘ghost’ a slang term for a gun?”
“Of course it is!”
“Are you sure?” Agnes scowled, zipping through her memory. “I’ve never heard that.”
“Neither have I, but did you see how his pocket was…” She made a bulging gesture with her hands. “And corpse is slang for a corpse, and crime means crime! Agnes, sweet Saint Patrick, you’ve dodged a bullet.”