Page 6 of Beneath the Quiet

I nod. “I know, and I’ll get to them, but for now, I’m taking it easy, settling in and going on walks. The sea air does me good.”

“It does that to many people, yes.” He taps his fingers on the armrests and then picks up a pen. Grateful, I take the hint and rise from my seat.

“Oh, by the way.” He frowns at me. “What did Murdoch have to say this time?”

I sigh. “He wasn’t home when I dropped by.”

His moustache draws down in an unhappy line. “Hmm.”

I raise my eyes at him and point at the door. “I’ll just get on with it, Sir.”

He looks down and I open the door, relieved to be dismissed, then scurry out. I head to my desk at the far end corner of the office, wondering if I’ll get used to the informality that seems to be the norm at my new job, but for now, I think the only choice I have is to go with it.

An hour later, I’m finishing up writing my report when I’m interrupted by our receptionist calling out my name.

“DS Gallagher, you have a visitor, dear.”

I quickly save my work and close the laptop as I get up from my seat. I offer Franny a crooked smile. We usually share our first cup of coffee in the morning with each other, and she’s the person I feel the most comfortable with.

Probably because she’s in her sixties, around the same age as Nellie, my foster mother. She’s a very capable knitter, and she always brings one of her colourful knitting projects with her to work, giving us something to chat about even though Hell will freeze over before I pick up a pair of knitting needles myself.

“Who is it?”

Franny leans towards me and takes off her glasses, resting them on top of her latest project in her lap. Her brown eyes are big and earnest. “Roisín McCarthy, our baker.” She tilts her head in the direction of the visiting room, her ash-blonde hair sweeping her shoulders, and keeps her voice low. “Mighty temper, that one, but her baked goods are slices of heaven on this green Earth. It looks like she’s got something for you.”

I grin at her. “I already know her cinnamon buns pretty well. They’re the reason I spend so much time on the treadmill.”

She nods sagely, clearly understanding.

I head through the doors to the waiting room. Our village baker seems to be lost in thought as she stands at the far corner and looks at the flyers and papers scattered on the board. I wish I could pull off the shortish, wavy black bob like she does, but I know myself well enough, and the short length would annoy me after half a day.

“Ms McCarthy?”

She turns around and beams at me. “Roisín, please.” Her straight nose and cheeks are tinged pink from the chill in the air, the rest of her skin a beautiful fair shade.

“Roisín. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, definitely.” She picks up a basket and practically pushes it into my chest, leaving me no choice but to hang on to it for dear life. Her bluebell eyes crinkle at the corners in much the same way as her grandmother’s, putting me at ease almost instantly. “My way of saying ‘thank you’ for helping my nan this morning. Well, and the other times, too.”

“Oh, I didn’t really do anything.”

She waves her hand at me. “You did, and you do. She appreciates the time as well as the company. That’s a direct quote, by the way.” Roisin’s smile widens. “And I also wanted to give you a little something extra for your breakfasts the rest of the week.”

The delicious scent of cinnamon and sugar in my arms makes my mouth water. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have…”

“I’m just glad to see Nan happy,” she interrupts and takes a step closer to me. “Besides, your company today meant that she had to postpone trying her matchmaking skills on me again.”

At her distinct shudder, I can’t hold back a very unladylike snort.

“So, you see,” Roisín carries on, “my gratitude is for myself as well. And since I can’t do anything else fancy but bake, this is the only thing I came up with.” She pats the basket. “Hope you enjoy them.”

“Thank you, Roisín, but this is too much.”

She tilts her head, lips pursed in thought. “Not used to village life yet, eh?”

“Not really, no,” I admit.

“Well, it took me a while to get used to it again when I first moved back here a year ago. You’ll get there.” She points at the basket. “You can bring it back to the bakery next time you need the best coffee the village has to offer.”