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  Fiona smiled at the sudden rush of red to Nicholas’s face. His embarrassment at alluding to shared intimacy was refreshing. Most men seemed pleased to announce anything physical, which gave credence to male prowess. Nicholas was so different from the average male. Fiona took pride in their growing friendship, mostly because his reactions appeared genuine and honest. She gave a soft chuckle. “Okay, you don’t have to spell it out for me. I get it.”

  The relief on Nicholas’s face nearly made Fiona laugh aloud. Fiona was glad she hadn’t laughed then when they closed in on Ethel’s home and saw Sergeant Langford’s vehicle and another police car in the yard. A teary-eyed Brigid held a near-catatonic Richard in her arms that confirmed the situation was more dire than anticipated.

  Fiona and Nicholas exited the vehicle and made their way to Brigid’s side.

  Warren said, “Need you to go through what happened one more time.”

  Brigid gave a watery sniff, readjusted her grip on Richard, and sighed wearily. “I’ve already told you the sequence of events three times.” She shook her head. “Are you even interested in doing your job? Do you plan to spend the rest of the night asking the same questions of me?”

  Warren shrugged indifferently. “I need to make sure I got this all straight.” Fiona and Nicholas stepped closer, and Warren glared. “And what’s your reason for being here?”

  Nicholas returned his glare, apparently able to step in where he needed to be, and Fiona wanted to congratulate him for standing his ground with Warren’s bullying. “Friends of the family, as both Brigid and Richard, are obviously in distress and need support. We came to make sure they safely get home.”

  Warren didn’t appear happy with Nicholas’s assertion. “Weren’t you and the deceased, Mrs. Walters, dating?”

  Fiona sucked in a breath. “Ethel’s dead?”

  “I’d say hanging by a rope from a rafter would achieve that end,” Warren said.

  The coldness of the reply brought fresh tears to Brigid and Richard. Fiona prepared herself to reprimand Warren for his insensitivity, but Nicholas beat her to it. “Could you be any more of an ass, Sergeant?” With the tilt of his head, Nicholas indicated the women and the little boy. “Can we at least allow Brigid to take Richard inside? Better yet, can Fiona take them home? I think the matter is emotional enough without having to listen to your cold declarations about someone they love.”

  Warren gave a dismissive snort. “I know where you all live, so I’ll find you when I need you to answer more questions.”

  When the sergeant turned and walked toward the barn, Fiona asked, “Do you believe this is associated with the other murders in town?”

  Not turning around, Warren snarled, “How can it be? Ask Brigid. Nothing was taken. Suggests to me this was someone Ethel knew.” He snorted. “Guess the killer might’a changed his methods.”

  Fiona wanted to place her fist firmly into Warren’s nose. She suppressed the urge. Barely. Fiona wouldn’t give the insolent Sergeant Langford any more reason to disrespect her family and friends.

  Fiona walked to Nicholas, who stood beside her truck. “I should probably take them home.” She stretched out a hand to him. “I thank you for driving me here on short notice. I need to stay with them.”

  “I understand. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  “I do, Nicholas, and I appreciate the offer,” she said. “As soon as we find out any information, we’ll let you know, not that I expect the sergeant to be forthcoming.”

  Brigid, Richard still held tightly, said out the window, “Why don’t you come by for supper. Once I put Richard down to bed, we can discuss this matter.”

  “Aren’t you afraid the topic will spoil your appetite?”

  Fiona hid her surprise at Brigid’s invitation, and responded, “It just may, but I think we need to collaborate on this, as we appear to be the only ones interested in a speedy resolution in catching the perpetrator.” Fiona quickly glanced toward the barn before returning her attention to Nicholas. She smiled at him, realized he had done the same. “Guess we have the same expectations.”

  “That we are the only ones who haven’t all the faith in the world in our esteemed Sergeant Langford?” Nicholas said.

  “Yes,” Fiona said as she climbed behind the wheel. “See, we are reading the same story.” She didn’t bother to hide a smile. “You know, Nicholas, I appreciate you more and more by the moment.”

  Nicholas closed the driver's door. “Then, I consider myself blessed, indeed.”

  “Supper is at seven. We look forward to your opinions.” He gave Fiona a wink, and she shook her head. “Be on your way before I change my mind.”

  “And here I thought I’d sufficiently charmed you.”

  Fiona started the truck and put it in gear. “Watch your step, young man. I have tools at my disposal to swipe the grin and attitude completely from your face.”

  As she turned the truck around and headed down the long driveway, Fiona glanced in her rearview mirror. Nicholas watched their departure with arms crossed over his chest, a wide grin exposed his white teeth. Yes, she wasn’t sure why, but something about Nicholas was beginning to heal her fear all men were of the same ilk—heinous.

  Chapter Nine

  Dinner turned out to be a somber affair. Fiona hadn’t expected it to be otherwise when they’d invited Nicholas to join them. Fiona sat at the head of the table with Margaret and Jo on one side, and Brigid and Nicholas on the other with Richard’s chair wedged between them. Brigid excused herself once she’d finished pushing her food around the plate with her fork, seldom using the utensil to bring it to her mouth. Fiona didn’t blame her as they all had a difficult time eating while Richard would frequently break into tears over his plate. They each tried to get him to lie down, but he insisted on staying with them through the meal.

  “Time for bed, Richard,” Brigid said. She gave up her pretense of eating. She tenderly carried him from the room.

  Hearing Brigid’s footfalls above them, Margaret asked in a near whisper, “Do you think Ethel’s murderer is the same killer as the other women?”

  By voicing the question, Margaret probably suspected otherwise. Nicholas and Fiona glanced toward one another, both shaking their heads.

  Fiona said, “No, honey. Although I could be wrong, I don’t think so.” She covered one of Margaret’s hands with her own and squeezed.

  “Hopefully, Warren is doing all he can to find the creep,” Jo said. “Wish I had faith in him that that will be the case.”

  “Yes, as do I,” Nicholas said. “Too bad, the initial impression of his personality belies the possibility.”

  “We have to do something,” Margaret said. She cast a glance to the ceiling, then an apologetic look toward Nicholas, added in a quieter tone, “Ethel wasn’t my favorite person, but I would see her murderer punished, for Richard’s sake if not for justice alone. No one deserves death at another’s hand.”

  Nicholas cleared his throat and glanced at Fiona. “Maybe you and I could do a little investigating on our own.”

  Fiona nodded. Nicholas was proving to be a wonderful friend and, so far, a positive addition to the family sessions. If Warren didn’t solve the matter, they could give any information learned to someone else in the police department. Fiona wished, not for the first time in the last few years, she could bring her suspicions and suppositions to Ian Donnelly, her old sounding-board on many matters. But he was still in Boston and, if this were his case or his old beat, Ian would have moved heaven and earth to find the murderer.

  “No, you most certainly will not,” Margaret said. Vehemence laced her tone.

  Fiona placed her hand on Margaret’s thigh. “This won’t be a repeat of Boston, honey. Nicholas and I will only see if we can learn something Warren will overlook, whether accidentally or intentionally. Trust me, please.”

  Margaret stared at her for a long moment. She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “I do trust you.
But I certainly hope you two are careful. Not only is a killer out there, but Warren Langford doesn’t strike me as a man to take kindly to interference from people he looks down on.” Margaret shook her head, cast a pleading glance toward her. Fiona understood her wife feared a recurrence of previous situations ending less than pleasantly, worried for the outcome as Fiona aligned herself with another man in the position of trust.

  “Warren doesn’t strike me as someone who takes kindly to anything, no matter who is involved. However, he can’t stop Fiona from showing me the sites for my photography work.” He stared at Margaret for a long, intense moment. “I give you my promise, Margaret, no harm shall come to her when she’s with me, or from me.”

  Fiona noted the slight drop in Margaret’s shoulder’s as a little of the tension released. Fiona wondered if Margaret felt the same sense of ease from trusting Nicholas. Jo, probably unconsciously, showed her relief with a quick squeeze to Margaret’s hand.

  Fiona felt some of her pressure dissolve. She now had a mission to take her mind from her problems, and an opportunity to assist with the resolution of Ethel’s murder, as well as the other women. Despite the modicum of reprieve, Fiona knew she couldn’t avoid her migraines and blackouts much longer. Or avoid telling Margaret.

  Brigid entered the lawyer’s office, the door opened into the vestibule, from behind Nicholas who held Richard’s hand clasped in his own. She considered leaving Richard at home, but the lawyer hadn’t given direction one way or another on the best course of action on the matter, even though the matter concerned him and his future. Her surprise to learn Ethel had written a will, let alone included her in it, was a tremendous surprise, but not nearly as surprising being no one had come to take Richard away from her yet. Granted, only a day passed, which begged the questioning of such speed for the will reading, but some family response should have happened. She suspected that would occur today, which is why she and Richard hadn’t parted company for more than necessary except for sleep and such since she learned of the will reading. And why she included Nicholas for the support of her what she expected to be a broken heart at Richard’s loss.

  A young man, barely out of his teens, sat behind a table converted to a desk. A single pen in a holder, a desk calendar, and a phone were the table’s only adornments. The only other furnishings in the vestibule were four chairs with embroidered flowers, lined in a row in front of the office window, and a thin four-legged wooden stand with a potted philodendron on top, its vines snaking around the legs made of half-inch dowels.

  To the left side of the room was a closed door.

  Stepping to the table-desk, Brigid announced herself. “Hello, I’m Brigid Connor. I have an appointment with Mr. Meloni.”

  “Yes, of course,” the young man said with a nod. Why ‘of course’? Did she fill a preconceived expectation he had? Of course, because his boss had no other appointments scheduled for today? Or, of course, because there would be no others present for the Ethel Walters reading? Had Ethel no other family?

  She spoke as if she did but had once referred to them as the biological past. Brigid assumed an argument might have separated Ethel from her family—due to the dislike of Richard's father—but that at least relatives existed. Nerves are making you distrustful, Brigid chided herself. “I’ll let him know you are here,” the young man said while standing. He moved to the door, knocked once, and returned to his seat. “If you’d like to take a seat, Mr. Meloni will be right with you.”

  She nodded and turned to find Richard settled into a chair, Nicholas stood protectively beside him with a grin lifting one side of his mustached lip. Brigid sat beside Richard, reached for one small hand, and clasped it on her own. She intended to exact as much physical comfort from the child as she could, a little boy she loved as her own. The thought of losing this remarkable child was breaking her heart.

  Brigid barely settled into the chair when the door opened. A rotund, impeccably attired man, dressed to the nines like Nicholas, stepped just past the threshold of the room. His coloring was painfully pale, his mousy brown hair was thin, the fingers on his hand resembled little hors d'oeuvre sausages she would serve at the dinner parties the Grahams used to host, back when she worked as the family’s maid.

  She shuddered at the correlation. That was so long ago. Back when Margaret’s parents were alive, and the house filled with love and laughter. After their deaths, Eldon Graham had decided to try his hand at being the head of a gangster organization, and goodness was eclipsed with the darkness of fear.

  “Ah, thank you for coming,” Mr. Meloni said. He swung an arm behind him. “Please come to my office, Miss Connor. We should be able to conclude rather quickly.” He disappeared back into his office, as Brigid rose, and gave a nervous glance toward Nicholas. At his nod, Brigid followed Mr. Meloni into his office.

  Compared to the outer vestibule, the lawyer’s office was heavily furnished. There were three filing cabinets, a large wooden desk and chair, scenic prints on every wall, a leather couch, and two leather chairs in front of the desk. Mr. Meloni indicated she take one of those chairs.

  Meloni took his seat behind the desk, his chair groaned under his weight. “I’ll make this meeting go as quickly as possible so you can get on with your day.”

  Brigid was puzzled. “Will no one else be joining us? Have you already settled Ethel’s estate?”

  “No, aren’t any others coming. Most of the direction is simple paperwork, except your part in Mrs. Walter’s will.” He gave her a smile, which she assumed supposed to instill confidence or comfort in his presence.

  Forty minutes later, with multiple questions asked and answered, Mr. Meloni escorted an emotionally numb Brigid to the vestibule. Her hands were shaking, and on seeing Richard, tears fell from her eyes as she rushed to him and dropped to her knees in front of his chair. She pulled him into a tight hug, noticed Nicholas give a glance toward the lawyer, and the lawyer nod in return. Brigid rose with Richard in her arms. With a mixture of joy and trepidation, Brigid grinned at Nicholas. “Shall we go home?”

  Nicholas beamed a smile back. He crossed over to Mr. Meloni and shook his hand, shook the hand of the young assistant, and returned to her side. With the gentle hand to the small of her back, Nicholas said, “Lunch at the hotel?” Brigid nodded. “Thank you, gentlemen, and have a good day,” Nicholas said with a slight tip of his hat.

  In the hotel restaurant, his go-to spot he’d said, Nicholas treated them to a wonderful light lunch. They hadn’t spoken about what happened in the lawyer’s office. Brigid assumed Nicholas waited for her to broach the subject. Satiated, and Richard enthusiastically devouring a slice of chocolate cake, Brigid gave her attention to Nicholas, who asked, “Dare I ask what transpired?”

  Brigid realized her hands still trembled. “It appears,” she said with a glance toward Richard, “I am now the legal custodian of one dashing young boy by the name of Richard Walters.” Richard’s focused concentration on his dessert stopped as his gaze swung to her incredulously.

  “Honest?” Richard asked.

  Brigid nodded, “Yes, honest.”

  “That is wonderful news,” Nicholas said. “Are you able to share the extent of what Mr. Meloni read in the will?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’m sure the whole town will know before long, now the will’s been officially read.” Brigid took a drink of her hot tea. “The most important part, of course, is my custody of Richard for now and always. The house is to be sold off, and the small funds she managed to save in her account will be transferred to an account Mr. Meloni set up for Richard.” The entire situation was surreal and frightening for Brigid. She had sole custody of Richard, which was a great thing, but quite the responsibility. Not that she doubted raising him would be done with little trouble. After all, as Cavanaugh clan, their combined efforts did an exceptional job of raising Jo into a strong and determined woman. No doubt, they could all do the same with Richard. The difference now being Richard needed a m
ale influence, and that wasn’t present in their home.

  Brigid dated, but the prospects lacked long-term potential. Most recently, the addition in Pueblo of Warren Langford and Nicholas held possibilities for a future, a family of her own. The problem was Warren intrigued her with his bad-boy attitude but was an ass. Nicholas was good for his attentiveness and handsomeness but with a job that could take him away at any time. Could she count on his return to them after an assignment? Possibly. Neither could ever have her heart. Not like Fionn Cavanaugh. Not like even—

  “Are you all right?” Nicholas asked.

  “What?” Brigid blinked rapidly to dispel the images of the past.

  Richard would need a father eventually, but she had a mourning period for Richard to work with, where no one would think it untoward if Brigid didn’t provide what would be considered a normal and stable home. Warren didn’t strike her as able to provide that kind of home. Richard and Nicholas got along well together, and Nicholas was helpful throughout their recent association. She could do worse, although probably not better, as Nicholas possessed a brilliant career, was easy on the eyes, and would make a great father. Could she look at him as more? Brigid realized she would do whatever she needed to do to give Richard a good life.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Trying to come to terms with today’s changes and how it will affect the future for Richard and me.”

  “I’m here to help if you need me,” Nicholas said.

  Would he feel the same if he knew the turn her thoughts had taken? “I appreciate the offer, Nicholas. Thank you.”

  “You’ve had a stress-filled day. I should take you home.” Nicholas rose, removed Richard from his seat, and extended a hand across the table toward her. She took it, and he tucked it under his arm as he grasped Richard’s hand, and they left the restaurant. “I bet your cousins will be happy for you both.”