by Patti Larsen
But Crew didn’t seem worried. “I’m more concerned about you,” he said. “The doc said it’s pneumonia but no lasting harm?” More guilt as he stroked my forearm like that action could heal me with such a simple touch. Well, I was feeling better, so maybe he was that powerful.
“Fee.” Crew cleared his throat before leaning in and kissing my forehead. “We can talk about this when you’re better. But I’m not so sure I want to keep my job.”
He said what? “Are you going back to the FBI?” Such misery, Fee. Way to whine and everything.
But Crew shook his head, a frown pulling his dark brows together, that firm grip on me not relenting. “Olivia’s on her way out,” he said. “And without her I won’t be far behind. But I’ve grown attached to a few things about Reading.” His wink was soft, without anger or regret. “And there’s always the Fleming Investigation agency. I hear the boss is hiring.”
Oh my god. Dad. Poaching my sorta boyfriend?
Seriously.
I should have told him over my dead body. Except I’d almost died, so the joke didn’t have the same sort of humor to it that might be required. Besides, it was hard to argue with Crew Turner when he was kissing me.
***
Chapter Forty Two
It wasn’t until Crew was long gone after a lovely interlude of lips and hugging and more apologizing—enough to last me until the next time, I guess—that I realized I’d failed to mention my underwater discovery. But before I could text him to come back, my phone rang in my hand, the vibration and sound making me jump and squeal a squeak of hoarse surprise. I answered it instantly, by habit. And held my breath in my tight and weighted chest as a woman’s voice spoke in an Irish accent.
“Fiona.” She almost breathed my name into my ear, sounding so sad I shivered and teared up from that single word. “Dear God in Heaven, is it really you at last?” I had trouble making out her words at times, her thick accent garbling what I heard, though I was able to piece it together enough I knew exactly who was speaking on the other end of the line. “I’ve waited ever so long for you to reach out to me, lass.”
“Siobhan,” I whispered back. I didn’t know her, only had guesses and suppositions and scraps of maybes to go on. But as she sobbed once from the other side of the Atlantic, I felt my entire heart go out to her as if she were a loved one I’d missed desperately for years.
“Dear Fiona,” she finally said after pulling herself together, “forgive me for being a daft old woman. For letting this go on so very long without talking to you myself. Malcolm,” she choked on his name before rushing on, “Malcolm said you’d be in touch when the time was right. But I never believed John would tell you about me or let you call yourself.”
I inhaled slowly, forcing air into my sore lungs, feeling even more feverish despite the fact I was on the mend. This had nothing to do with pneumonia and everything to do with the mix of fear and anticipation that fought a pitched battle inside me. “Siobhan,” I said, coughed softly to clear my throat. “I don’t know anything. I need you to tell me what’s going on.” Another cough escaped me, without my consent. “Please, what happened? Who are you?”
She didn’t speak for a long moment, the quiet sound of crying telling me she struggled with her own inner demons. “My sweet,” she said then, exhaling audibly into the phone, “this isn’t a conversation to have anything but face-to-face.”
She wasn’t going to leave me hanging, was she? “But—”
“It’s been over thirty years since I set foot in Reading,” she said, voice firm now, the sound of movement in the background as she clearly rose from wherever it was she sat. “I’ve been hiding at home, Fiona, back here in Ireland. But the truth has to come out. And if Malcolm is right, if you’re the girl he thinks you are, we’ll uncover what needs to be told together.”
I wanted to argue but I honestly didn’t have the strength. “When are you coming?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll do my best. But it may take some time to put my affairs in order.”
That sounded kind of permanent. “Siobhan,” I said, “are you okay?”
She paused, laughed softly, breathy and quiet. “My darling dear,” she said, “I will be. I’ll see you soon.” And hung up.
I hit end on my cell, dropping it to my chest, forcing myself to relax after a bout of coughing took my breath away and left me drained. I stared at the ceiling for a long moment before turning on my WiFi and doing a search for her name. Came up empty—no cases, no anything. Over thirty years ago, huh? There were records in the library that might give me information.
Then again, I’d waited this long. And did I want to hear anything about what she had to say from anyone but her? Well, the point was moot at the moment. I was bedridden at least the next little while. But my curiosity was winning at last and with my trust in my father renewed, I vowed to find out what I could before the mysterious woman who felt like an old friend landed in my life. Likely with the power to shake everything I knew to the core.
Considering how often the snow globe of my life was shaken the last few years? Yeah, I was ready.
Sure I was. One thing was certain, though, I was done stepping back and worrying about what people thought. I cared about my town, about the folks in it. The Pattersons, Blackstone, my friends, my family, the council issues? Time to step up and see if I could really make a difference.
I dragged my laptop toward me, glaring at the screen and the blinking cursor, the blank page with my byline written beneath it. And started typing.
***
Reading Reflections by Fiona Fleming
Welcome to Reading, Vermont, the cutest town in America.
That’s us, right? Who we’ve been branded to be, thanks to the hard work—may I say tireless effort—of our mayor, Olivia Walker. Adorable, quaint, picturesque, the kind of place everyone in the world wants to not only visit but call home because we’re just so lovely.
Right?
I’m as proud of our town as the next resident. Proud of what we’re building, what we’ve already accomplished. With the right leadership, who knows where our ambitions and natural talents can take us?
The right leadership. Progressive, attentive to detail. Supported by well-educated and intuitive law enforcement with our safety and progress in mind. We’re all in this together, after all, from the baristas at Sammy’s Coffee to the chambermaids at the White Valley Lodge to the owners and operators of our most viable and successful businesses. We are responsible, as a town, all of us.
Division serves no one. Allowing division to come between us creates chaos and brings us all down. The choices we make now, either in the passion of the moment or the cold calculation of logic will decide our future as a whole.
So, tell me, Reading residents. Are we falling back into who we used to be? Or are we moving on?
***
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Find Book Eight of the
Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries at
www.pattilarsen.com
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Author’s Note
Thank you for your patience in waiting for the release of Anchors Away and Murder. I don’t often take time for myself, but the last few months of rest and rejuvenation have been a blessing and I’m grateful for the chance to fill myself up again so I can dive back into the work I love so much.
I adore how Fiona has been dribbling information to me the last few books, namely the bigger picture details that are dictating how her overarching story is developing along with the murders she solves. For instance, I had no idea starting out she’d be working with her father in his P.I. firm, nor that Peggy Munroe would peek out of the shadows at Fee seven books in. All the connections and evolution of meaning are so exciting to me—I can’t wait for y
ou to read what she has in store.
Change and progress are a good thing, right?
Happy reading in Reading,
Patti
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About the Author
Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I’m doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I’ve tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), am an enthusiastic member of an all-girl improv troupe (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible) and I get to teach and perform with an amazing group of women I adore. I’ve even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.
Now with multiple series in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you’ve heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my multitude of pets.
I love-love-love hearing from you! You can reach me (and I promise I’ll message back) at [email protected]. And if you’re eager for your next dose of Patti Larsen books (usually about one release a month) come join my mailing list! All the best up and coming, giveaways, contests and, of course, my observations on the world (aren’t you just dying to know what I think about everything?) all in one place: http://smarturl.it/PattiLarsenEmail.
Last—but not least!—I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your happiness is my happiness. And I’d love to hear just what you thought. A review where you found this book would mean the world to me—reviews feed writers more than you will ever know. So, loved it (or not so much), your honest review would make my day. Thank you!
