He thought she was not going to answer the door.

No one responded to his first two knocks. He heard no stirrings from within the house and decided it was possible she wasn’t home. Yet his gut told him the woman was there, ignoring his persistent tapping.

“Mrs. Kelly? Mrs. Kelly, are you there?” He landed three more solid raps against the splintered wooden door and turned to go, disappointed. He would have to try again later.

Behind him, the door creaked open. He turned and saw Annie Kelly for the first time.

She was the most beautiful mess he had ever laid eyes on.

Her silver-gold hair—not silver as in gray, but a beautiful silvery gold—had obviously not been brushed that day, nor possibly the day before. Her face was colorless in the dimly lit room, the cornflower blue eyes stark against the paleness of her skin. She wore a spotted and wrinkled gingham housecoat with all the buttons in the wrong holes.

She looked half dead, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and make everything better.

He couldn’t find his voice. Finally the woman spoke, so softly he had to strain to hear.

“Yes? I’m Mrs. Kelly.”

Again he opened his mouth, and for a moment feared he would never again be able to speak. He desperately cleared his throat and found his elusive voice.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I know you’ve been through a difficult time, and I apologize for dropping by like this.”

She just stood there, her eyes lifeless and dull, obviously waiting for him to state his business and leave. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under her detached gaze.

“Look, I…I really don’t know how to say what I’ve come here to say. Perhaps I should start by telling you who I am.” He attempted a small smile, which faded and disappeared when Annie did not offer one in return.

“My name is Clarence Camden. The Lamont Limelight is my company…my…uh…my newspaper.”

Still no response. He sighed and plowed ahead. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Kelly.”

For the first time since she had opened the door, Annie appeared to hear what he was saying. Her chin lifted slightly, and her eyes widened.

“You’ve seen Jack.” Again he almost missed the whispered statement. “Is he all right?”

“I’ve seen him.” He hesitated. “May I come in, please? This could take a few minutes.”

Turning, she walked away without a word. Since she did not close the door in his face, he followed. Motioning him toward a worn sofa, she perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair across the room. Still she said nothing, only waited in dull silence.

Clarence spoke slowly, uncertain where to start. “I found your husband…uh, well, sleeping…in front of my office three days ago.”

“He was drunk, of course.” A touch of bitterness colored the widow’s voice. “You don’t have to be afraid to say it, Mr. Camden. I know all about my husband’s drinking problem.”

She closed her eyes briefly, with a sad little shake of her head. “Poor Jack. He took this whole thing much harder than I would have expected.”

Suddenly those vivid blue eyes flew open and stared directly into his.