Seeing is Believing (Cuttersville #3)(51)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“I’m great, how are you?” “Great” might be putting a bit of a positive spin on it, but that was his story and he was sticking with it.

“Good.” She stood up, and he saw her black lace shirt was covering a very pregnant stomach. “I’m having another baby, which is ridiculous. My son, Alistair, is ten. But this little girl decided she wanted to wait to be born. I guess she didn’t want to share with her brother.”

“Wow, congrats. Both you and Abby having babies at the same time—that’s great. Cousins to play with are cool.” Like him and Shelby, even though there was a gap between their ages.

“That is the upside. Alistair always had Charlotte’s girls to hang with, so now these two have each other.” She smiled. “But you don’t really want to talk about my fertility, do you? I hear you want some details on the original Brady Stritmeyer and good old Rachel.”

“If you have them, yes, that would be awesome.”

“We have the old newspaper articles on microfiche, which is archaic, I know, but this isn’t exactly tech central here. Then if you want to read about Rachel, we have the records from the Lunatic Asylum.”

“That would be fantastic, thanks.”

He followed Bree, whose gait could best be described as a rapid waddle. He’d bet dollars to doughnuts that she was due to give birth in the next thirty minutes. He patted his pocket for his cell phone, ready to dial 911 if necessary.

“So how’s Piper?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

What the f**k?

“Abby told me you two were an item. She’s always been our babysitter, you know. One of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met.”

Brady fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that we’re an item. But yes, she is a sweet girl.”

Unbidden, the image of her riding him, her hair tumbling everywhere, leaped into his head, and he cleared his throat. She was a sweet girl with a very sexy side.

Bree gave him a searching, knowing look. “There are certain things you shouldn’t fight. Do you want me to read your tarot?”

He’d rather have a pelican peck his nuts repeatedly. “No, thanks.”

If memory served, the Murphy sisters had always been a little odd. His recent encounters with Abby and Bree were confirming that. It was time for him to steer the conversation. “So do you know anything about Brady Stritmeyer?”

“Just what I’ve heard from the ghost stories. Here’s our microfiche machine. I pulled the relevant films for you.” Bree ushered him into a nook to the left of the main librarian’s desk. “Just scroll up and down.”

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Bree.” He did appreciate the help, if not the advice.

There was a funny look on her face. “This baby is kicking the stuffing out of me.” She grabbed his hand before he realized what she was doing and placed it on her stomach.

Brady’s first instinct was to yank it away, but he knew how rude that would be. But it felt incredibly bizarre to have his hand on a woman’s pregnant belly, and more than a little awkward. Yet discomfort was replaced by fascination bordering on horror when he felt the baby move. “Holy crap.”

“I know. It’s like a freak show, isn’t it? Not exactly comfortable either.”

“I can imagine.” He really couldn’t, though. The rippling motion beneath his hand continued, and he contemplated feeling his child move inside his wife. It was the first time he had ever actually thought that maybe he might be ready for such an awesome responsibility. A lot of work, yes, but there was something awe-inspiring about what he was feeling, and he could see how having a child could give a certain amount of meaning to an otherwise average life.

“If you need helping searching online job sites, I can help you with that, too.”

“Thanks.” Brady had almost forgotten to remember that he was unemployed. Reality came crashing back down on him. Hell, he couldn’t even take care of himself. There was no hope for being able to have a child. Of course, there was no hope of marriage anytime soon, so why he would think about it was beyond him. Who was stupid enough to agree to be with him for any length of time?

Scowling at the screen as he sat down, Brady suddenly felt resentful. Of his own choices. Of certain people who seemed to think he wasn’t good enough for a certain someone.

He could be good enough.

It was a dead-end thought, so as Bree moved on to other librarian duties, Brady resolutely read the three newspaper articles about the murder of Brady Stritmeyer. He also read a blurb from 1885 that mentioned the original Brady had been promoted to branch manager at the Ohio Savings and Trust Bank. Great. Even his dead namesake had been more successful than him, and the guy had been dead by twenty-five.

Other than that, there was nothing of particular interest or any new information. Brady lived in a boardinghouse. His parents were referred to as esteemed members of Cuttersville society. Rachel’s parents were equally praised and they seemed to have the sympathy of the town post-murder, but they still moved to Marietta for a fresh start.

Rubbing his neck, Brady sat back in his chair. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find, but this wasn’t it. Pulling out his phone, he texted Piper, asking her if the next night was good for dinner. He wanted to see her. He wanted to kiss her, far away from her family, where he could let his tongue linger on hers.

Shutting off the machine, he went in search of Bree.

“No luck, huh?” she asked. “I can tell by the look on your face.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but maybe more details, I guess.”

“If you want, I can search the storage room for the records from the asylum. They all got dumped here when the hospital closed in the sixties. There might be patient records on Rachel.”

“That would be awesome.”

“It might take me a couple of days to dig through the boxes.”

“Sure, no problem. Let me know if you need help. I’m not sure how much digging in boxes you should be doing.” He gestured to her belly.

“Oh, please, I still do yoga every day and have sex with my husband every night.” She laughed. “Not that you need to know that.”

He didn’t. But he couldn’t help but ask, “Every night? Really?” He was more than a little jealous of Ian Carrington, Bree’s husband. Not that he wanted Bree, but he would like sex every night. “I thought marriage killed your sex life.”