“I was teasing you,” he said in a low voice. “I never expect you to feed me.”

I lifted off the bowl and shoved the pie at him. I’d already laid a fork on the plate in preparation. “You know Miss Townsend,” I declared.

Daniel took the plate and lifted the fork. “Yes.”

I was surprised. Daniel usually answered my direct questions with evasions, rarely the stark truth.

“In Paris?” I guessed, remembering Cynthia saying Miss Townsend had studied with a French lady artist there.

“Yes.”

Again, a straight answer. I waited while Daniel shoved a chunk of pie into his mouth and chewed.

“Were you courting her?”

Daniel gulped down pie, coughing in amazement. “No.”

“An important question, you will agree. I will ask another—was it to do with your police business?”

Daniel broke off a second hunk of pie. “Yes.”

So many acknowledgments in one afternoon. An unusual thing for Daniel.

“How was Ireland?” I asked abruptly.

Daniel chewed and swallowed before he answered. “Cold. Rainy. Gray and gloomy.”

“More police business?”

“Business that is finished.” He eyed the pie as though debating whether to continue eating it, then gave in and attacked it with the fork.

“I believe the day has come,” I said.

Daniel had just taken another large mouthful. He chewed noisily, eyeing me with a frown. “What day?” he asked when he could.

“You have stated many times that one day, you will tell me all your secrets. I believe that day is at hand.”

Daniel’s cheeky twinkle vanished, and he regarded me with the quietness he took on when he faced dire situations. “Not yet.”

I had not thought he would answer. “Will you at least tell me about Miss Townsend?”

Another hesitation and then a shake of his head. A reluctant one. “I can’t. Too soon.”

This did not please me either. “I see.”

Daniel reached the fork to the last bite. “This pie is delicious, Kat. I thank you for it. Haven’t had anything this fine in a while.”

“Flattery.” I watched him scoop up the crust sopping with gravy and bits of meat and shove it into his mouth.

He watched me watch him chew, swallow, and put the fork back into his mouth to savor the last of its juices.

“Truth.” The fork clattered to the plate.

I wasn’t certain I liked him looking at me in all seriousness. The cocky assuredness was easier to bear.

“I came with another purpose,” he said, dipping a hand into his pocket. “My brother . . . Errol . . . wishes to meet with you again. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, I meet with Grace. I’m not certain I will have time for brothers.”

“I told him that. He wanted to give you this.” Daniel withdrew a piece of card, folded in half. “It is a photo, which includes the nurse and two of the children he is worried about.”