Gray watched a boy of about twelve give a crooked-toothed grin as he stepped out of the rain. He carried
something large and apparently heavy wrapped in newspaper. "Gran sent you a leg of lamb, Miss Concannon. We slaughtered just this morning."
"Oh, that's kind of her." With apparent pleasure Brianna took the grisly package while Gray-writer of bloodthirsty thrillers-felt his stomach churn.
"I have a currant cake here. You'll have a piece, won't you, and take the rest back to her?"
"I will." Dutifully stepping out of his wellies, the boy stripped off his raincoat and cap. Then he spotted Gray. "Good day to you," he said politely.
"Oh, Gray, I didn't hear you come down. This is young Kenny Feeney, grandson of Alice and Peter Feeney from the farm down the road a bit. Kenny, this is Grayson Thane, a guest of mine."
"The Yank," Kenny said as he solemnly shook Gray's hand; "You write books with murders in them, my gran says."
"That's right. Do you like to read?"
"I like books about cars or sports. Maybe you could write a book about football."
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Will you have some cake, Gray?" Brianna asked as she sli
ced. "Or would you rather have a sandwich now?"
He cast a wary eye toward the lump under the newspaper. He imagined it baaing. "No, nothing. Not now."
"Do you live in Kansas City?" Kenny wanted to know. "My brother does. He went to the States three years ago this winter. He plays in a band."
"No, I don't live there, but I've been there. It's a nice town."
"Pat, he says it's better than anywhere. I'm saving me money so I can go over when I'm old enough."
"Will you be leaving us, then, Kenny?" Brianna ran a hand over the boy's carrotty mop.
"When I'm eighteen." He took another happy bite of cake, washed it down with tea. "You can get good work there, and good pay. Maybe I'll play for an American football team. They have one, right there in Kansas City, you know."
"I've heard rumors," Gray said and smiled.
"This is grand cake, Miss Concannon." Kenny polished off his piece.
When he left a bit later, Brianna watched him dart over the fields, the cake bundled under his arm like one of his precious footballs.
"So many of them go," she murmured. "We lose them day after day, year after year. Shaking her head, she closed the kitchen door again. "Well, I'll see to your room now that you're out of it."
"I was going to take a walk. Why don't you come with me?"
"I could take a short one. Just let me-" She smiled apologetically as the phone rang. "Good afternoon, Blackthorn Cottage. Oh, Arlene, how are you?" Brianna held out a hand for Gray's. "That's good to hear. Yes, I'm fine and well. Gray's just here, I'll... oh?" Her brow cocked, then she smiled again. "That would be grand. Of course, you and your husband are more than welcome. September's a lovely time of the year. I'm so pleased you're coming. Yes, I have it. September fifteenth, for five days. Indeed yes, you can make a number of day trips from right here. Shall I send you some information about it? No, it would be my pleasure. And I look forward to it as well. Yes, Gray's here as I said. Just a moment."
He took the phone, but looked at Brianna. "She's coming to Ireland in September?"
"On holiday, she and her husband. It seems I tickled her curiosity. She has news for you."
"Mmm-hmmm. Hey, gorgeous," he said into the receiver. "Going to play tourist in the west counties?" He grinned, nodded when Brianna offered him tea. "No, I think you'll love it. The weather?" He glanced out the window at the steadily falling rain. "Magnificent." He winked at Brianna, sipped his tea. "No, I didn't get your package yet. What's in it?"
Nodding, he murmured to Brianna. "Reviews. On the movie." He paused, listening. "What's the hype? Mmm. Brilliant, I like brilliant. Wait, say that one again. 'From the fertile mind of Grayson Thane,' " he repeated for Bri-
anna's benefit. "Oscar worthy. Two thumbs straight up." He laughed at that. "And the most powerful movie of the year. Not bad, even if it's only May. No, I don't have my tongue in my cheek. It's great. Even better. Early quotes on the new book," he told Brianna.
"But you haven't finished the new book."
"Not that new book. The one that's coming out in July. That's the new book, what I'm working on is the new manuscript. No, just explaining some basic publishing to the landlady."
Pursing his lips, he listened. "Really? I like it."
With an eye on him Brianna went to the stove for her roaster. He was making noises, the occasional comment. Occasionally he'd grin or shake his head.
"It's a good thing I'm not wearing a hat. My head's getting big. Yeah, publicity sent me an endless letter about the plans for the tour. I've agreed to be at their mercy for three weeks. No, you make the decision on that sort of thing. It just takes too long for them to mail stuff. Yeah, you too I'll tell her. Talk to you later."
"The movie's doing well," Brianna said, trying to resist pumping him.
"Twelve million in its first week, which is nothing to sneeze at. And the critics are smiling on it. Apparently they like the upcoming book, too. I'm at the top of my form," he said, reaching into a canister for a cookie. "I've created a story dense in atmosphere with prose as sharp as a honed dagger. With, ah, gut-wrenching twists and dark, biting humor. Not too shabby."
"You should be very proud."
"I wrote it almost a year ago." He shrugged, chewed. "Yeah, it's nice. I have an affection for it that will dim considerably after thirty-one cities in three weeks."
"The tour you were speaking of."
"Right. Talk shows, bookstores, airports, and hotel rooms." With a laugh he popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth. "What a life."
"It suits you well, I'd think."
"Right down to the ground."