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so much. I’ll definitely buy her for my mum.”
    â€œI’ll wrap her very carefully for you.”
    â€œThanks so much.”
    As Moira waited, she realized that she would be spending the next week listening to “Danny Boy.” Might as well get used to it now.
    â€œAre you sure there’s nothing wrong, dear?”
    â€œNot at all. In fact, I’d like both of those little stuffed leprechauns, please. They’ll make cute little gifts for my nieces. Then I need something for a boy.”
    â€œI have a small, hand-held video game just in. Banshees against fairies, with the leprechauns being the chance factor, some of them good, some of them bad.”
    â€œSounds perfect,” Moira said. “Thank you so much.”
    Tomorrow she was going home. And suddenly, here in this shop, anticipation mingled with her dread.
    Â 
    Kelly’s Pub was already in full nightly swing when Dan O’Hara emerged from the back room of the tavern, the guest quarters, where he had been staying. The pub band, Blackbird, was already playing a mixture of old and new Irish music with a bit of American pop thrown in here and there. He knew all the members from way back.
    It was the first time he had come into the pub during opening hours, and he was ready for the greeting he knew he would receive.
    â€œAnd there he is!” Eamon Kelly called from behind the bar. “The best and brightest of you lot of reprobates, Mr. Daniel O’Hara.”
    â€œHey, Danny, how are you?” asked old Seamus.
    â€œDanny boy, you’re back in town!” Liam McConnahy said.
    The lineup at the bar was made up of Eamon’s longtime friends, some old country, some born and bred in the USA. He recognized Sal Costanza, an old school chum who had grown up in the Italian sector along the North Shore. Eamon Kelly had created his own little Gaelic empire here, but he was a good-hearted, friendly fellow, with a keen interest in everyone around him and—usually—a nose for a decent character in any man. But now Dan didn’t like what was happening here. He would have done anything in his power to keep Kelly’s Pub and the Kellys themselves out of what was happening. But things had been set in motion; he had no choice. Whatever was going down had been given the code name Blackbird, and that could only refer to Kelly’s Pub.
    Hell, a Kelly could be involved.
    â€œBack in town,” Dan said easily, embracing both old Seamus and Liam, then shaking hands with the others as each man spoke a quick greeting.
    â€œSo,” Seamus said, his thick, snow-white brows rising over cloudy blue eyes, “have you been hanging around back in the old country or gallivantin’ around the States?”
    â€œA bit of both,” Dan said.
    â€œYou’ve been in Ireland recently?” Liam asked. He had the same cap of white hair as Seamus, except that his was thinning now.
    â€œThat I have,” Dan said.
    â€œThe Republic—or the North?” Seamus asked, a slight frown denoting his worry.
    â€œA bit of both,” Dan said. “Eamon, how about a round for my old friends at the bar? It’s good to see them again. Sal, how’s it going in the pasta business in Little Italy? I’ve been hankering for a taste of your mom’s lasagna. No one makes it as good as she does.”
    Sal answered, and Dan kept smiling, nodding in reply to the thanks he received for the round of drinks. But as he engaged in the banter at the bar, he looked around the room. Though the band was in action at one end, the scene remained fairly quiet. An attractive young couple, with either his or her parents, were having dinner at a center table. A group just off from work—probably from the IBM offices or the bank around the corner—huddled around a couple of tables near the band, winding down from their nine-to-five workday. Patrick Kelly was in. Eamon’s son, tall, with a head full of dark