I saw movement outside and hoped it was Vinnie. Another woman screamed as one of the masked men yanked off her necklace. Just then two men dressed like restaurant captains appeared in the entry with guns. “Drop your weapons,” they shouted at the robbers. The men with the rifles threw their weapons on the floor, while the two with pistols stood motionless on either side of the archway.

“Here we go,” Hawk said. He stepped through the archway and put his gun against the neck of the closest gunman. I darted back out to the Great Hall and into the kitchen. The kitchen staff was busy preparing plates when I entered. I put my finger to my lips and waved my gun at them. They froze. I pushed through the door to the dining room just as Vinnie kicked in the French doors and entered, his Glock drawn. The guests were silent with terror. Hawk had moved with his man along the side of the wall, facing the table and the windows and with a clear view of the archway. “Everyone drop their guns or we shoot. Your choice,” I said. The guards were holding their guns on the masked men as well.

Alvarez was trembling. He looked baffled.

“Spenser? What in the world is this?”

For a moment, the air was tight and nothing happened. And then everything happened at once.

One of the restaurant captains raised his pistol and pointed it at Carmen. Vinnie turned and shot him in the chest. The captain crumpled to the floor in front of Alvarez. The man I had pegged as a plant reached under the tablecloth. I saw the glitter of the candlelight on his gun as he trained it on Carmen.

“Carmen!” Slide appeared in the archway and let out a piercing scream.

Before I could shoot, Carmen grabbed a knife from the table and flicked it at the seated assassin. It struck his chest and sent him toppling backward.

The other captain lowered into a crouch and fired at Slide. Hawk pushed his prisoner into the gunman on the other side of the archway, grabbed Slide and yanked him to the floor. Hawk pulled Slide toward him and covered him with his body.

Vinnie shot the second captain in the face, then swung his weapon toward the two gunmen heaped at the right of the archway.

Alvarez reached for the gun dropped by the first captain. I put my foot on the gun and my .44 against his forehead.

“I’ll say this for you, Juan,” I said. “You throw a hell of a party.”

In a moment the room was swarming with state police and guys in flak jackets with automatic weapons. Healy walked through the kitchen.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” I said.

“We came in as soon as we heard the scream,” he said. “It sounded like you.” He looked around.

“Good thing we got here before you shot everybody. Nice to have some witnesses survive, in case we want to bring someone to trial.”

Slide had scrambled over to Carmen, who held him in a tight hug. Hawk stood as Healy and I approached.

In a single move, Healy palmed Hawk’s gun from the floor. His voice was low and even when he spoke.

“You hit anyone with this?” he said to Hawk.

Hawk shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

Healy continued to look at Hawk, but his next question was for me.

“I assume you’ve got a permit for your piece?”

“You know I do,” I said. “Do you want to see it.”

“No,” Healy said. He scratched at his chin.

“Kind of foolish of you, Spenser,” he said, “to let this man walk into a situation like this without a weapon.” He handed me Hawk’s gun. I dropped it in my pocket. “I’m going to have to put that in my report.”

He nodded at Hawk. Hawk nodded back. Healy turned and walked away.

We surveyed the room. The surviving gunmen were being handcuffed, and stretchers were being brought in for the less fortunate. The guests were being questioned, and the bags of loot were being examined and inventoried. A female trooper was speaking with Carmen and Slide, who continued to cling to each other. Healy and a group of men in suits and FBI flak jackets were gathered around a handcuffed Alvarez, who was staring at the chandelier above the table.

Vinnie had vanished.

I SNUCK OUT OF BED at five a.m. Christmas morning, careful not to disturb Susan or Pearl. Susan stirred, briefly, and Pearl’s eyes opened. “Shhhhh,” I whispered to her as I got up. She followed.

It was dark out. Pearl and I walked once around the block, while the oven heated to 300 degrees. The air was crisp, and the day promised to be clear and sunny. “Fa la la la,” I said to Pearl. She stopped to sniff something irresistible by a tree trunk before I was able to lure her back inside for her special Christmas breakfast of scrambled egg and cheese.

I opened the refrigerator and removed the turkey, the duck, and the chicken, which if all went according to plan would be transformed into turducken.

Susan and Hawk and I would be joined by Carmen and Slide. We had invited Vinnie but he had declined. I looked at the birds, whose appearance on the counter struck me as somewhat forlorn. I had never made this dish before, but I would persevere. The kitchen clock read five-forty-five. Dinner was at two p.m. The turducken should go into the oven at nine a.m. I had one Christmas Day visit to make, and the timing was tight. I said to Pearl, “Why don’t you make yourself useful? I’ll take the turkey, you take the duck.” She yawned and went to the sofa for her post-breakfast nap.

I got out the metal skewers and the big roasting pan. I made the herb mixture of butter, garlic, sage, and thyme. Then I spread the mixture between the skin and the turkey breast meat, and repeated this with the duck and the chicken.

I made two different stuffings, the turkey getting a mixture of cornbread, pork sausage, chopped onion, celery, olive oil, kosher salt, and fresh ground pepper.

The duck stuffing was made up of fresh and dried cranberries, orange peel, and French bread cubes. The chicken got more of the cornbread stuffing. I skewered the back of the duck closed and the back of the chicken. Then I brought the sides of the duck up to cover the chicken and skewered it closed and repeated it with the turkey. I felt vaguely as if I were on ER.

I turned the turducken over so the breast side was up and removed all the skewers except the one holding the turkey together.

I checked the clock. Seven-thirty. Susan had set her alarm for eight-thirty and had promised to put the monster in the oven at nine. I took a quick shower, shaved, put on some jeans and a heavy sweater and my parka.

I got in my car and drove to St. Bart’s. Father Ahearn was scheduled to say a ten a.m. Mass. Inside the church, I caught sight of him near the altar.

He saw me and smiled. “Merry Christmas, Spenser,” he said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

“Merry Christmas, Father. Thank you for helping Jackie Alvarez and Street Business.”

He nodded and led me to the side of the altar, where we couldn’t be seen from the pews.

“So you have heard.”

“Yes, Father. It sounds like a perfect solution. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Spenser.” He smiled. “The archdiocese of Boston, and this parish in particular, have a strong reputation in the area of social justice, and a close relationship with the city of Boston. The city is happy to have us take over the work of Street Business, and we are blessed to do so. And we pray for Mr. Alvarez’s swift recovery. When he is healthy, there will be a place for him in our ministry.” His eyes twinkled. “Who knows,” he said. “We may yet have many buildings to manage in that neighborhood.”