About That Man Read Online Free PDF

“What do you know about this uncle? He and Tommy’s mother can’t have been close. He didn’t come for the funeral.”
    â€œHe’s a cop in D.C. Beyond that, I don’t know much. Frances was fairly stingy with what she considers to be confidential information. She just wanted me to prepare you.”
    â€œIs he married?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œThen why would he be any better suited to care for Tommy than I am?”
    â€œIt isn’t a matter of ‘better.’ It’s a question of family. He and Tommy are related.”
    Daisy wanted to argue that a loving stranger might be better for Tommy than a bad relative, but until she met this man and knew the whole story, she had no cause to stand in judgment of him. Anna-Louise was likely to tell her she didn’t have the right even then. Judgment was God’s business.
    And so it was, Daisy thought. But just in case He had other things on His mind besides Tommy Flanagan, she intended to look this uncle over very carefully before she relinquished Tommy to his care.

3
    D riving into Trinity Harbor, Walker shuddered. It was exactly the way his boss had described it. Quaint. Picturesque. Charming. Slightly faded, like a fancy dress left hanging in the closet too long, but with a hint of past glories. Lawns were well-tended. There were churches every few blocks, some of them clearly quite old. And every now and again there was a glimpse of the Potomac, shimmering in the bright sunlight.
    He hated places like this. Give him a little grit and grime any day. Give him bustling sidewalks and clogged highways. Give him skyscrapers and run-down neighborhoods. He knew the rules of survival in a city like D.C. He liked the anonymity. He didn’t know beans about getting along in a town where everybody knew your name and your business.
    He followed the directions Frances Jackson had given him, drove on through the town of Trinity Harbor, then past open farmland just sprouting green, through the county seat in Montross until he came to what looked more like a remodeled school building than a government agency. The discreet sign on the front door proved otherwise. Westmoreland County Social Services, the sign stated in neat letters.
    Once he’d turned off the engine, he sat perfectly still, unsure whether he could go through with this. It wasn’t just the thought of having Beth’s death confirmed in black and white in the form of a death certificate. It was all the rest—his nephew, the expectations, and the regrets that he hadn’t found his sister before any of this had happened.
    Because of all that, Walker had taken his own sweet time leaving home this morning. He’d stopped by the station, had a chat with Andy, looked through some paperwork, then, finally, when he could delay no longer, he’d hit the road. He’d managed to delay his arrival till midafternoon—much later, no doubt, than the imperious Mrs. Jackson had been expecting him. He braced himself for her displeasure along with everything else, took a deep breath and headed for the door.
    Inside, he discovered that Frances Jackson was nothing at all like some of the social workers he’d come across in D.C., dedicated, but wearied by their caseloads. Nor did she fit the image he’d conjured up on the phone—a starchy woman, mid-fifties with a perpetually down-turned mouth. No, indeed, Frances Jackson was nothing like that.
    Sixty if she was a day, she had unrepentantly white hair, round cheeks and rounder hips, and eyes that twinkled behind rimless glasses. She reminded him of picture book illustrations of Mrs. Claus. He smiled despite himself, felt himself finally beginning to relax. He could get around a woman like this. He’d be out of here and back to D.C. in no time. Alone.
    â€œYou’re late,” she said briskly, but without censure. “Let’s go.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the