“But his family isn’t. Seems that Uncle Murdoch was a very prolific man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shamus challenged, finding himself protective of the brother he hadn’t seen in close to seventy years.
“It means that your list of Christmas gifts to your nieces and nephews has just tripled from what I can see.”
Shamus’s impatience came bursting through the line. “What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
“Uncle Murdoch had four kids—two sons, two daughters—who had a bunch of kids of their own. It’s like a dynasty, Dad. You’ve got a whole lot of new people to meet.”
“I’ve gotta see this for myself, boy,” Shamus said. Andrew could hear the mounting excitement in his father’s voice. “Hang on, I’ll be right over.”
And then the line went dead, just like that. It was his father’s usual way of dealing with a telephone conversation. When he’d had enough or was finished, he just hung up.
Andrew smiled to himself. It looked like all of a sudden, ten o’clock wasn’t the middle of the night anymore.
Chapter 9
T he persistent buzzing noise finally penetrated the layers of disorientation that had wrapped themselves around her head. The low buzzing sound, coming from her back pocket, went off three times, then stopped only to begin again.
Her ears heard the pulsing noise, but it wasn’t until her brain absorbed it that she realized someone was calling her cell phone.
Forcing open her eyelids—each of which felt as if it had been glued into place and weighed twenty pounds—Charley took in her surroundings.
She wasn’t in her bedroom.
Slowly it came back to her. Because of all that had happened today, she hadn’t been able to fall sleep. But she was a stickler about avoiding any sleep aids to help usher her into a more relaxed state. So rather than pop some over-the-counter medication into her mouth, she had heated up a can of soup in the microwave and sacked out on the sofa, watching reruns of a popular procedural program.
Charley knew most of the episodes well enough to recite large portions of the dialogue verbatim, but there was something comforting about that, like visiting an old friend who could be counted on to come through each and every time they were needed.
Somewhere around 1:00 a.m. she’d fallen asleep.
When she opened her eyes again, there was a bright and all-too-chipper-looking news anchor on her TV making inane small talk with the traffic commentator about a possible trip to Las Vegas next weekend.
Unable to withstand such an onslaught of pure syrup so early in her morning, Charley felt around for the remote control. When she couldn’t locate it, she stumbled off the couch and turned the set off manually.
On her way from the couch to the forty-inch set her cell phone began its buzzing routine for the umpteenth time. With a sigh, she fished it out of her pocket just as it began its third vibration.
“Hello?” she breathed, her voice sounding lower and coated with the remnants of sleep first thing in the morning.
“Charley?” the male voice asked uncertainly on the other end.
“Yeah.” The anchor and the commentator disappeared midword as she jabbed the power button on the side of the set. There was a brief sigh of relief as she dragged her hand through her hair, trying to pull herself and the immediate world around her together.
“Finally. One more go-round and I was going to have you reported as missing.”
It was Declan.
Her new partner.
Temporarily.
It was coming back to her in snatches. Charley tried to focus on the watch on her wrist but her eyes hadn’t fully woken up yet. Because of the program she’d just turned off, she assumed it wasn’t seven o’clock yet. The brigade of frothy, so-called informative morning “news” programs hadn’t begun yet.
“Just how heavy a sleeper are you?” Declan asked.
“Cut me some slack, Cavanaugh,” she complained. “I didn’t fall asleep until after one. What’s so
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shamus challenged, finding himself protective of the brother he hadn’t seen in close to seventy years.
“It means that your list of Christmas gifts to your nieces and nephews has just tripled from what I can see.”
Shamus’s impatience came bursting through the line. “What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
“Uncle Murdoch had four kids—two sons, two daughters—who had a bunch of kids of their own. It’s like a dynasty, Dad. You’ve got a whole lot of new people to meet.”
“I’ve gotta see this for myself, boy,” Shamus said. Andrew could hear the mounting excitement in his father’s voice. “Hang on, I’ll be right over.”
And then the line went dead, just like that. It was his father’s usual way of dealing with a telephone conversation. When he’d had enough or was finished, he just hung up.
Andrew smiled to himself. It looked like all of a sudden, ten o’clock wasn’t the middle of the night anymore.
Chapter 9
T he persistent buzzing noise finally penetrated the layers of disorientation that had wrapped themselves around her head. The low buzzing sound, coming from her back pocket, went off three times, then stopped only to begin again.
Her ears heard the pulsing noise, but it wasn’t until her brain absorbed it that she realized someone was calling her cell phone.
Forcing open her eyelids—each of which felt as if it had been glued into place and weighed twenty pounds—Charley took in her surroundings.
She wasn’t in her bedroom.
Slowly it came back to her. Because of all that had happened today, she hadn’t been able to fall sleep. But she was a stickler about avoiding any sleep aids to help usher her into a more relaxed state. So rather than pop some over-the-counter medication into her mouth, she had heated up a can of soup in the microwave and sacked out on the sofa, watching reruns of a popular procedural program.
Charley knew most of the episodes well enough to recite large portions of the dialogue verbatim, but there was something comforting about that, like visiting an old friend who could be counted on to come through each and every time they were needed.
Somewhere around 1:00 a.m. she’d fallen asleep.
When she opened her eyes again, there was a bright and all-too-chipper-looking news anchor on her TV making inane small talk with the traffic commentator about a possible trip to Las Vegas next weekend.
Unable to withstand such an onslaught of pure syrup so early in her morning, Charley felt around for the remote control. When she couldn’t locate it, she stumbled off the couch and turned the set off manually.
On her way from the couch to the forty-inch set her cell phone began its buzzing routine for the umpteenth time. With a sigh, she fished it out of her pocket just as it began its third vibration.
“Hello?” she breathed, her voice sounding lower and coated with the remnants of sleep first thing in the morning.
“Charley?” the male voice asked uncertainly on the other end.
“Yeah.” The anchor and the commentator disappeared midword as she jabbed the power button on the side of the set. There was a brief sigh of relief as she dragged her hand through her hair, trying to pull herself and the immediate world around her together.
“Finally. One more go-round and I was going to have you reported as missing.”
It was Declan.
Her new partner.
Temporarily.
It was coming back to her in snatches. Charley tried to focus on the watch on her wrist but her eyes hadn’t fully woken up yet. Because of the program she’d just turned off, she assumed it wasn’t seven o’clock yet. The brigade of frothy, so-called informative morning “news” programs hadn’t begun yet.
“Just how heavy a sleeper are you?” Declan asked.
“Cut me some slack, Cavanaugh,” she complained. “I didn’t fall asleep until after one. What’s so
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