Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Carole Williams (best chinese ebook reader txt) 📖

Not wanting to remain on the island for longer than necessary she packed, paid her bill and took a taxi to the catch the ferry back to Grenada where she booked into a luxury American hotel near to St. Georges and the famous Grande Anse beach.  The lovely young black woman on the reception desk helped her to find out what time the next flight took off to New York and having purchased her ticket over the phone, Delia settled into a double room overlooking the beach with well-maintained air conditioning, a king-size bed and a marble tiled bathroom.  She had two days to wait so took the opportunity to swim in the glittering ocean and relax on the golden sands on a comfortable sun lounger, complete with parasol, to shield her from the boiling rays from the sun.  Cruise ships docked and their tenders disgorged swathes of tourists onto the shore.  Many of them settled on loungers near to Delia and she spent an amusing few hours listening to their varied languages and watching the beach sellers move among them trying to sell their wares.  She had taken a book down to the beach so if any of them came near her she buried herself in it so all but the most persistent took the hint and left her alone.

Then it was time to leave Grenada and she wasn’t sorry.  It was so noisy, especially at night when everyone seemed to be out partying, every dog in the neighbourhood barked until they were hoarse, and drivers seemed to want to leave their hand permanently on their car horns …, and then there were the tree frogs.  Koo-keeee.  Koo-keeee.  It drove Delia crazy.  They never let up all night.  She pined for the soft sound of rustling trees and hooting owls at Canleigh.  But she couldn’t go back yet.  She wasn’t ready.  She hadn’t a real plan in place.  No, New York it was and she would see if she could track down this mysterious half-brother.

Feeling extravagant, thanks to Granny’s legacy, she took a suite at the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan.  Granny had stayed at the top-notch hotel once and enthused about it to Delia on a number of occasions so to the Waldorf Astoria Delia went, eager to keep up any connection with her beloved Granny, however small and remote.  She settled into the suite with a fabulous view of New York, went to bed early, and by dawn was wide-awake and eager to get cracking.  She soaked for a long while in the bath, deliberating on her next move in her quest to find Peter Percival.  Feeling more relaxed in her opulent surroundings than she had been for weeks and too excited to eat breakfast, she poured a cup of black coffee, sat down on the well-upholstered sofa in her lounge, and commenced the search for a private detective to track down this person, who would now be twenty-three years old.

Flicking through the telephone book she was amazed at how many private detectives were available for hire.  Eventually she settled on one who seemed to work alone.  His advertisement was plain, simple and to the point, unlike the bigger firms who made a meal out of all the services they provided.  Her call was answered on the fifth ring.  Just right, she smiled.  Not too eager to indicate he was desperate for work and not too drawn out to frustrate potential clients.  She liked the sound of the young man who confirmed his name was Paul O’Connor.  She explained quickly what she wanted and they arranged to meet later that day.

“My office is on 59th street, not far from the entrance to Central Park,” he told her.

“Oh, great,” replied Delia.  “I’ll have a walk there before I visit you.”

“Is this your first visit to New York,” he asked, intrigued to hear his new client’s posh British accent.  He was keen to meet her and find out exactly how he could help her.

“Yes.  It is.  I can’t say I enjoy cities … not my cup of tea I’m afraid … I’m a country girl at heart and I dearly want to see some proper trees.”  A painful yearning for sight of the beautiful old oaks, sycamores, and beech trees at Canleigh washed over her.

“Well, please don’t go into Central Park on your own.  It’s really not safe, not even in daylight.”

“Oh, right,” she said, noticing the headlines on the newspaper on the coffee table in front of her advising its readers that two murders had taken place in the park the day before.  It made her long even more for the security and safety of Canleigh.  Even though it had only been a few weeks, it felt like years ago that she had driven recklessly out of the gates to escape the rejection she had suffered from her father, Richard and Philip.  Her time in London was a bit of a blur, no doubt because she was in total shock at how her life had changed so dramatically in such a short time and all the alcohol she had consumed.  The Caribbean hadn’t turned out to be as wonderful as people made out but yet again, she was thrown off balance by the news of her mother’s premature death and now it seemed, New York wasn’t going to be much of an improvement.  The sooner she got back to Canleigh the better, although exactly how and when, she still wasn’t sure.

After lunch and dressed casually and comfortably in jeans and a white cotton top, Delia took a yellow cab to Paul O’Connor’s office, arriving five minutes before the appointed time.  It wasn’t plush.  Just a room in a block of other rooms with his name and title on a brass plate on the door.  ‘Paul O’Connor.  Private Investigator,’