The Delaney Woman by Jeanette Baker Read Free Book Online

why he’s so clever at the pipes. Get him to play them for you. He’s not at all bashful when it comes to his music.”
    â€œHe isn’t bashful at all.”
    â€œReally, now. I thought he was. How old are you, Kellie, lass?”
    â€œThirty-five,” Kellie replied without thinking. Susan reminded her of her own mother. It never occurred to her to hold anything back.
    â€œThirty-five, you say, a mere babe in arms.” She laughed. “Tell Tom that Heather’s had her supper and she’s nearly asleep. She’ll be home bright and early in the morning.”
    â€œI’ll do that.”
    â€œDon’t be too hard on Tom. He’s been alone now for seven years and isn’t always the best company. What he needs is a good woman to take Claire’s place although he wouldn’t admit it You’ve a lovely, clear voice. Are you married, Kellie?”
    â€œNo,” Kellie stammered.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI’m not sure exactly. It never worked out.”
    â€œI’m sorry, love. It must be hard to be on your own when you’re so young. Well, perhaps you won’t be alone for long,” said Susan. “I won’t keep you any more tonight. Give Tom my message and tell him we’ll be over in the morning. I’ve enjoyed our chat and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Kellie replaced the receiver and leaned weakly against the wall. How could this be? She had no backup strategy, no alternative plan to accommodate goodness. Who was Tom Whelan? Surely not a man involved in a murderous plot. A man who was raising a seven-year-old daughter, a man who walked his dog and wrote poetry and answered to the likes of Susan Whelan couldn’t possibly know anything about murder. And yet Connor had carried his number in his coat pocket. There was a connection somewhere, if only she could sort it out. More than ever she was grateful for her instincts to keep her plans to herself.
    Crawling between the soft, clean sheets, Kellie pulled the comforter over her head. God, she missed Connor and Danny. The evenings were harder than anything. Gillian had buffered her at first but she had her own life. In a way maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to wallow in the security of their friendship. Weeks later the ache was as fresh and raw as if it had happened yesterday. Kellie was unprepared for the magnitude of her pain. The overwhelming feelings of tenderness and delight she’d experienced every time she’d looked at her nephew, the glow that lit her from within whenever she thought of him, the miracle of his gurgling laugh, the softness of his cheeks, was gone from her forever.
    A harsh, primitive sob rose in her throat. She was a coward. She didn’t really want to do this. She wanted her life back, the pleasant easy days when Connor and Danny were alive and they’d lived in Oxford together. She wanted long walks amid falling leaves, bread and cheese by the river, tea and scones in the mornings and the indescribable joy of Danny shrieking with delight when she picked him up from the child care center. That life was over. Now she wanted answers, reasons for such a brutal tragedy. A start would be an explanation for Tom’s phone number in her brother’s suit pocket.
    Pushing away the pain, blanking her mind, had become nearly physical. The grit of her teeth, the wrinkling of her forehead, the cold water on her temples, had become a nightly ritual. Eventually it worked and she came close to relaxing.
    Her feeling was that her presence in Banburren was more than likely an error in judgment, that Connor’s relationship with Tom Whelan, whatever it was, was a misguided shot in the dark. Still, she was here. Maybe, in this peaceful village close to the sea, she would find her answers and begin to heal.
    She must have dreamed it, a sound from her youth, the sweet, aching notes of the uillean pipes, the sigh of the drones, the quick fingers on the