Free Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 03] by Deadly Affairs Page A

these two little girls out on the street. I promise you, he shall welcome them with open arms.”
    Peter said, “Please call him. The telephone is in the study.” He turned and started to walk down the hall, toward the small study that was just before the parlor. Francesca released the girls, closed the door firmly behind them and Joel so no one could leave, and ran after Peter. “Peter!”
    He halted in the study, handing her the telephone.
    Francesca took it. The study flooded her with memories, and briefly she did not move.
    She looked around the small room, where a desk, itschair, a huge and worn upholstered chair, and the fireplace were the only furnishings. Bragg still had three boxes of books to unpack, she noted. And the last time she had been in that room, he had kissed her, right there, pressing her up against the wall.
    And the next day he had apologized, and told her about Leigh Anne.
    “Miss Cahill?”
    She jerked, and came out of the reverie that was at once painful and heated and sweet. She replaced the phone on its hook. In a low voice she said, “Bragg told you about the murdered woman we found last night?”
    He nodded.
    “Her name is Mary O’Shaunessy, and those are her two little girls.”
    If he was surprised, his blue eyes did not show it.
    “I will convince Bragg to keep them here. It shall only be for a week or so. But I must speak with him in person.”
    Peter did not indicate what he was thinking, and he did not bat an eye.
    “Please, Peter,” Francesca whispered, and the plea was genuine.
    He nodded, and he seemed to flush as he looked away. And then he was walking out of the study and into the front hall, where Dot was piddling on the floor, her sister watching and sucking her pop.
    “We have one more stop to make before headquarters—and our visit to Mike O’Donnell,” Francesca said breathlessly as the cab pulled away from the curb. She was still disbelieving. Dot had peed on Bragg’s floor, not even asking to use the bathing room. Francesca had been horrorstricken. But Peter had not batted an eye, and he had helped her clean up the mess and change the little girl’s drawers.
    Francesca prayed that was not going to happen again.She did not think Bragg would be so calm about another incident. “Driver! Sherry Netherland’s, please!”
    The horse began a brisk trot, behind an electric trolley. Joel faced her. “Why are we goin’ there?”
    Francesca patted his hand, which was wrapped in a rag to ward off the cold. She must buy him gloves, she decided, and the girls did need new clothes. Not to mention a nanny. There was so much to do now that it made her head spin, and then she recalled Biology.
    She had promised to rewrite her essay, the one on mammalian digestive systems, the one she had failed. Oh, dear. Another task that she must add to her agenda.
    She smiled at Joel. “My sister had a one o’clock luncheon there. I must stop by; it is urgent.” She
had
to know what was happening between Hart and Connie.
    “Lady, it’s three or so, ain’t it?”
    “A two-hour luncheon is quite normal. I would even expect them to still be there at half past the hour.”
    Joel blinked, amazed. “How much do you rich folks eat?”
    She laughed then. “Joel, it’s far more social than it is anything else. We go out to dine to meet with a friend, to chat, to enjoy a few hours. The food is truly secondary.”
    He stared at her with disbelief. “Only the rich,” he said, “would treat a good meal like that.”
    She sobered. For he was right. And which employment agency should she use to find a nanny for the girls, and could she hire one on credit? Sleuthing was quite expensive, as cab fares and bribes ate heavily into her allowance. Traveling back and forth to school did not help matters. And then there was the list of items she had promised herself while on the Randall Murder that she would purchase, items that she had quickly come to realize were crucial to investigative work. At the