Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I’m not a Devaney.”
“You are. On paper. In our world. In Ireland. You can’t be a Killeen and a Devaney. And Lorcan made the choice for you,” she whispered then added louder. “I’m busy. I promised Mrs. Byrne quick work.”
“Why did Mrs. Byrne move to New York? She’s an Irish lady.”
“Her husband had worked for the Devaneys since he was a teen. He was one of the best counterfeiters in Ireland, maybe all of Europe. Their son died the night Lorcan was born. Her husband saw it as a sign and swore he’d work for Lorcan once he was in business, so they packed their things and moved to New York with Lorcan ten years ago.”
“But her husband is dead. She could return to Ireland.”
“Her husband is buried here. She didn’t want his body to travel the Atlantic, and she wants to stay near his grave so she’s stuck here.”
I admired a love that deep. I’d never encountered it. Mum didn’t believe in love, nor did Imogen, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to believe in it.
Talulla sighed. “What do you want from me?”
I moved closer. “I told you, my sister is missing. I need to find her. But I can’t ask around without word getting back to Lorcan. Like you said, I’m a Devaney. People watch me.”
Talulla shook her head. “If I start asking questions about a Killeen, word will reach Lorcan too. I usually mind my own business. If I don’t, he’ll put two and two together.”
I bit my lip. She was probably right.
“Lorcan is your best bet to find your sister … if he wants you to find her.”
“What do you mean?”
Talulla shrugged. “Your sister is a Killeen. If she came here, Lorcan must have known.”
“You think he’s involved?”
“Oh, I don’t allow my thoughts to meander like that.”
“But would people know if Lorcan had been with my sister?” The thought that Lorcan might have been in the physical sense with Imogen made me feel sick. I saw firsthand what he was capable of. Maybe this was all part of a sick game.
“That would have made the rounds, I suppose. If you really want to know the gossip on the streets, you’ll have to ask Mrs. Byrne.”
“I doubt she’ll help me. She didn’t seem to like me.”
“Of course not. You didn’t give her reason to yet.”
“What can I do?”
Talulla watched me for a while before sighing. “Ok. I’ll help you. It’ll come back to bite me in the arse, I know it. Mrs. Byrne isn’t a good cook. She always has lunch at the Plough, just down the street, but its owner died and now the food’s horrendous. His son can’t cook to save his life. She’s been complaining to me about it. If you can cook, bring her a good old Irish stew. She prefers it with lamb. And a fresh loaf of soda bread. That might change the tide for you.”
I could cook. At home, I usually ventured for more exotic dishes: Indian, Thai or Turkish, but Mum and Imogen often asked for more traditional fare, so I knew I could cook a very good stew.
“Thank you.”
Talulla turned her attention back to the fur coat.
“Are you in danger? Because of the money?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay before they have to get nasty.”
That didn’t really reassure me, but I took my cue and left. I asked Seamus to take me to a grocer that had Irish staples and then returned home. I wanted to get started with the stew. It tasted better the next day, and I wanted to pay Mrs. Byrne a visit tomorrow. I was on pins and needles to make progress.
“Lorcan will be home soon.”
I nodded as I chopped carrots, parsnips, and potatoes. “You can leave. I’m busy cooking.”
Seamus hesitated but then a message popped up on his phone and his expression told me it was Maeve. “All right. I’ll let Lorcan know you’re alone.”
I rolled my eyes then tossed big chunks of lamb neck into the hot oil to sear it on all sides. I’d bought a big pot because I’d assumed Lorcan’s kitchen wasn’t equipped with appropriate cookware, and I’d been right. I doubted Lorcan had ever used his kitchen except to warm Flahavan’s microwavable quick oats that I found in his cupboard.
I’d just put the soda bread into the oven when the door to the apartment swung open and Lorcan stepped in, dressed in cargo pants, a wife beater and his chunky boots. The bulge in his pockets told me he was heavily armed. He stopped in the doorway, dark eyebrows climbing his forehead.
“What a sight. My wife cooking her hard-working husband a warm meal.”
He closed the door and crossed the living area toward the kitchen. He came up right behind me, his hips pressing against my butt, and watched over my shoulder as I stirred the stew.