The Angel by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online

surprised by the older woman’s intensity. “I’ll look for the angel on the summer solstice, then, I’ll be clever and if I find the angel, I’ll leave it out in the sun—assuming that’s up to me. The Irish might have other ideas.”
    Patsy seemed satisfied and, looking more relaxed,
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    released Keira’s hand and eyed a near-empty tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries.
    Keira smiled. “Help yourself. Would you like to take a look around?”
    “I would, indeed,” Patsy said, lifting a fat strawberry onto a cocktail napkin. “I have every one of your books, you know. Do you think you’ll illustrate my story one day?”
    “I’d love to.”
    “That’d be something. It’s a good story, isn’t it?”
    “It’s a wonderful story.”
    Patsy smiled suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “Irish brothers, an angel and fairies. All the best stories have fairies, don’t you think?”
    “I love stories with fairies.”
    With Keira at her side, Patsy ate her strawberry and moved from artwork to artwork, as if she were in a museum, gasping when she came to Keira’s two paintings.
    “Oh, Keira. My dear Keira. Your paintings are even more incredible in real life.” She paused, clearly overcome by emotion. “This is the Ireland I remember.”
    Whether it was an accurate statement or one colored by time and sentiment, Keira appreciated Patsy’s response. “It means a lot to me that you like my work.”
    When Patsy finished her tour of the drawing room, she took another chocolate-covered strawberry and started for the foyer. “Can I see you back home?” Keira asked. Patsy shook her head. “My parish priest drove me. Father Palermo. Like the city in Sicily. He couldn’t find a parking space, so he’s driving around until I finish up. Did you know that my church is named after Saint Ita?”
    Keira smiled. “The Irish saint in your story.”
    “It’s strange how life works sometimes, isn’t it?”
    They walked outside together. A simple black sedan 50
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    waited at the curb. A handsome, dark-haired man in a priest’s black suit and white clerical collar got out and looked across the car’s shiny roof. “Are you ready, Mrs. McCarthy, or shall I drive around the Common one more time? I don’t want to rush you.”
    “I’m all set. This is the artist I told you about, Father. Keira Sullivan.”
    “Ah. Miss Sullivan. I’ve heard so much about you.”
    Keira couldn’t read his tone, but Patsy added politely,
    “Keira, I’d like you to meet Father Michael Palermo.”
    He tilted his head back slightly, as if appraising her.
    “Mrs. McCarthy tells me you’re collecting stories from twentieth-century Irish immigrants.”
    “That’s right. She’s been very generous with her time.”
    Patsy waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m just an old woman with an ear for a good story.”
    Father Palermo kept his gaze on Keira. “Your mother grew up a couple doors down from Mrs. McCarthy.”
    “Two,” Keira said without elaboration. “A pleasure to meet you, Father.”
    “Likewise.”
    He climbed back in behind the wheel, and Patsy got into the passenger seat and smiled at Keira. “Give my love to Ireland,” she said with a wink.
    After they left, Keira lingered on the sidewalk. The wind had picked up, but after the heat and humidity of recent days, she appreciated the drier conditions that came with the gusts. The puddles that had formed in dips in the sidewalk would be dry by morning.
    “So you’re off to Ireland in search of angels and fairies.”
    Simon Cahill grinned at her as he leaned against the black iron railing to the steps of the Garrison house. “Do you believe in fairies?”
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    “That’s not what’s important in my work.”
    “Ah, I see. That’s a dodge, but whatever. Keira, right?”
    “That’s right—and you’re Simon. Owen’s friend. I didn’t realize you were still here.”
    “I have to pay for my painting.”
    “Your painting?”
    “Your