Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel Read Online Free

we don’t really know diddly-squat.”
    “So where we start?”
    “We?”
    “Yeah,” Hawk said. “Fair to say I’m a little curious about this Street Business. If it’s legit, seem a shame for it to be shut down.”
    “And if it’s not legit?”
    “Like to shut it down personally,” Hawk said.
    I signaled our waitress for the check. I wasn’t in a rush. But I wanted to admire her legs one more time before we left. It would be a long time until spring.
    “Okay,” I said. “Perhaps it’s the moment for some quiet contemplation. Let’s go to church.”

T HREE BLOCKS NORTH of the harbor stood St. Bartholomew the Apostle Catholic Church, known locally as St. Bart’s. We walked briskly from the car. The wind off the water was icy.
    Outside St. Bart’s gray granite walls in the ugly small yard was a Christmas crèche depicting the birth of Christ, with Mary and Joseph and the three Wise Men in attendance. When we entered we could hear the sweet, high-pitched boys’ choir rehearsing Handel’s Messiah in the back of the church. A burly, youngish man in a black suit and Roman collar approached us. He smiled. “May I help you?”
    “I’m a private investigator. My name is Spenser. And this is Hawk,” I said.
    Hawk nodded at the priest.
    “May we have five minutes of your time?” I said.
    “Of course. I’m Father Ahearn. Please, follow me.” He led us to a small office off the sacristy, then waved his arm in the direction of two guest chairs before sitting down behind a weathered wood desk.
    “We were wondering if you know anything about the house on Curtis Street owned by a man named Alvarez. It’s used for a place called Street Business.”
    “I know the property,” Father Ahearn said, “but I can’t say I know much about Street Business.” He poured us each coffee from a carafe on a side table and passed around a plate of Christmas cookies. They looked homemade, stars and trees covered with red and green sprinkles. I took one of each.
    “We understand that somebody out there would prefer that Street Business be gone,” I said.
    Father Ahearn smiled slightly. “Well, I might fall into that category,” he said.
    I nodded in what I hoped was an encouraging manner. Rule Number 17 of Effective Investigating: Keep them talking.
    “I mean no disrespect to Street Business, and I mean them no harm, you understand. It’s just that we have been looking to expand our ministry, and are looking for space to build low-income housing and a new elementary school.”
    “And Street Business stands in the way of your plans?”
    Father Ahearn shook his head. “No, not exactly. We had looked into purchasing several of the houses on that block of Curtis Street, including the Street Business building. There aren’t many options for expansion in the neighborhood. That location would suit our purposes nicely, and the buildings are in such a dilapidated condition that we thought the owners might be interested in selling. They appear to be sparsely and infrequently occupied. And, frankly, given the condition of the houses, we thought they might be available at an attractive price. We started by trying to approach the owners directly without intermediaries, feeling that often this is the best way to get things done. Right away we realized it was going to be difficult to find out exactly who the real owners were.”
    “And how did you proceed?” I said.
    He sighed. “Alas, when we tracked down the various owners, none of them appeared interested in selling. The properties each have different owners, various realty trusts and so forth, but according to our lawyers they are all ultimately owned in one fashion or another by a single family, named Alvarez.” Father Ahearn stopped and sipped his coffee. Hawk sat straight and motionless in the chair beside me.
    “So why not go straight to Alvarez?” I said.
    The priest shrugged. “We’ve decided to look elsewhere. There are other locations in Boston that will be