She waved a hand. “Your coffee is in your office. But it’s probably cold now.” She sat down with a slump and crossed her arms over her chest. It was no secret that she was the head of the club that disliked my wife. Susan and her minions thought my wife was too proud.
I grinned to myself, knowing that the only people I’d ever seen get under the archer’s skin was her family, and her friend, Mari. And me.
“Mr. Kelly.”
I stopped in the lobby.
Maureen O’Connell stood from her seat. “I don’t have an appointment,” she said. “But I need to talk to you.”
I’d never seen the woman so tired. And she had plenty enough reasons to be. She had worked hard all of her life to make ends meet after her husband died at a young age. When her son got into some trouble and fought addiction, dying from a drug deal gone wrong, and her daughter-in-law from a similar fate, her life got even harder. She was left with two children to raise, and she refused help from most of the women who offered it.
Unfounded rumors and gossip never sat well with Maureen. She had said that the nosy women only wanted inside of her house to know what was going on. “When people know you’re down,” she’d said. “They’ll kick you when no one is looking to keep you there.”
Maureen O’Connell reminded me of my wife. She had a backbone and refused to let other people ruffle her easily.
I nodded. “I have time.”
Once we were inside of the office, I motioned for her to take a seat. After sitting across from her, we stared at each other until Susan brought in two coffees. Maureen got up and closed the door after.
“Meddling old bitch,” Maureen muttered. Then she took her seat again but didn’t touch the coffee. I never did either. I had a plant in the corner with a caffeine addiction. “I’m going to get down to the point, Cashel. My grandson is coming home in a day or two. He doesn’t have a name.”
She called the little boy her grandson, even though he wasn’t, not by blood. The little boy was the outcome of his mother paying for drugs with her body. Mad respect for Maureen O’Connell was putting it mildly.
A minute or two passed, and I opened and closed my hands, urging her to continue.
“You’ll give him a name. A name to be proud of.”
“That’s not my place.” I’d heard little rumors here and there that Maureen was sick, but I never asked because she talked when she wanted. Maybe whatever she had was affecting her thinking.
She pulled her sweater forward and took out a piece of paper from the pocket. I sat back in my seat, already knowing what it was before she even slid it toward me. My old man would give something similar to a receipt, a piece of paper with his signature, whenever someone had done him a favor. He’d collect them and save them, writing whoever’s name down as debt paid, once he was in the good with them.
Maureen’s receipt was old and tattered.
“I took him in once and hid him,” she said. “Your father. From the police. I didn’t want thanks for it, but he insisted.”
“Say no more,” I said, watching her carefully. “He’ll have the O’Connell last name?”
“Unless you can think of a better one?” She lifted a sharp brow at me.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to read her motives, but time ticked. I had a meeting. “Ryan,” I said.
“Fine choice.” She nodded and then stood. She walked to the door and then stopped. “Your wife, she’s a good woman, Cashel Fallon Kelly. Be sure to treat her right.”
The door closed behind her, and after I watched her go, I took the slip and opened it up. My old man’s handwriting was scrawled across the threadbare page. It seemed like Maureen had opened and closed it a few times, maybe debating on whether or not to use it when she’d felt she needed it the most.
Opening the drawer to my desk, I took out a pen and wrote debt paid, the date, and then added the name Ryan.
At the precise time I expected Raff, he knocked on my door and then came in at my word. He took a seat across from me, settling in as usual.
“Their shipments are getting bigger,” he said.
I nodded. “Grady wants to be the top distributor, and with the Scarpones backing him, he’s getting