The Delaney Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

office.”
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper. “I can give you a phone number.”
    Kellie took the number and looked at it. “Goodbye, Mr. Griffith.”
    Normally she loved autumn. Oxford, teeming with color, was best in autumn. Steam rose from fogged store windows, men and women wore colorful mufflers and drank hot spiced drinks. Delicious soup smells wafted out from restaurant kitchens. It was a season for eating comforting foods and wrapping oneself in wool. She did not love this particular autumn, however. Driving down the lovely, old familiar streets gave Kellie not even a hint pleasure. She wondered if she wouldn’t be better to relocate, begin again somewhere where memories didn’t assault her around every corner.
    Sahid Pushnabi adjusted his turban, bowed and welcomed Kellie effusively. “It has been too long, Miss Delaney. How may I help you?”
    Kellie pulled out the receipt. “My brother left his cleaning. Do you still have it?”
    â€œOf course, Miss Delaney. I have called several times, but there is no answer at his home. I thought, perhaps, he was away on holiday.”
    Kellie swallowed. He hadn’t heard. She thought everyone would have heard. “My brother and nephew were killed in an auto accident two weeks ago.”
    The Indian’s face blanched and his hand flew to his lips. “I am so terribly sorry. Please forgive my rudeness.”
    Kellie shook her head. “How could you know?”
    â€œIf there is anything I can do—”
    â€œThank you. I’ll just pay for the suit.”
    â€œNo, no.” He waved her money aside. “Please. It is little that I do.”
    In the end, she gave in. It was a small amount, really, not enough to argue over.
    It was nearly time for tea before Kellie was home again. She turned on lights, adjusted curtains and lit the fire. It was a large flat, too large for one person, but she preferred living alone rather than sharing with a roommate, a reaction to a childhood where she never had a private moment. She would see about selling Connor’s house, or should she? Someone, she couldn’t remember who, had advised her to wait at least a year before making any permanent decisions.
    She hung Connor’s suit on the door and ripped away the plastic. It was a lovely piece. Expensive clothing had suited him well. She ran her hands over the sleeves of his jacket and heard the rustle of paper. Curious, she pulled out a small crumpled wad lodged in the pocket corner and unfolded it A telephone number was scrawled in the center under the name, a name that was burned in the memory of her brain, Tom Whelan .
    With shaking fingers, Kellie picked up the telephone and dialed the number.
    It rang three times, the long double rings distinctive to Ireland.
    A man answered. “Whelan Bed-and-Breakfast, Tom Whelan here.” His voice was low-pitched, friendly.
    â€œI want to book a room,” Kellie said quickly. “Do you have any available?”
    â€œWhen would you like it?”
    When, when? Of course he would ask when. “Two weeks. I need a room in two weeks.”
    â€œThat would be November. I’m wide-open then. No one in his right mind wants to come to Banburren in November.”
    â€œI do,” said Kellie.
    He had a pleasant laugh.
    â€œWell, then, come away. What did you say your name was?”
    â€œDelaney. Kellie Delaney.”
    â€œMy daughter and I will expect you. You’ll have the house to yourself.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œWill that be all?”
    â€œYes,” Kellie whispered and hung up the phone.
    Thomas Whelan of Banburren . Thomas Whelan of Banburren . She said the name over and over. An idea began to form in her mind. The more she thought it through, the more credible it became.
    Kellie wasn’t a fool nor was she an idealist. Too much had been heaped on her in the course of a single day. She would sleep