Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)

So Sunday was not the day of rest I had contemplated, nor could I look forward to my usual Sunday outing with the children. Nuala announced that she and Finbar would be taking the children to mass and I could come along if I'd a mind to. I hadn't a mind to go anywhere with Nuala. I made myself a sandwich and took the train all the way out to Coney Island. So, it seemed, did the rest of New York City. The car was packed with screaming children, laughing young couples and shouting Italians. By the time I got there, any hope of solitude was dashed. The beach was so full it was hard to see the sand between the people. I wandered around, listening to the screams from the Steeplechase Amusement Park on the boardwalk, where riders on mechanical horses were whisked around a racetrack high in the air, and then beaten with paddles by waiting clowns when they descended again. What strange things people will pay money for.

In the end the temptation of the ocean was too much for me. I knew I shouldn't be spending Paddy's money on things for myself, but it was only ten cents to rent a bathing suit and use the changing facilities. The suit was heavy serge with so many frills that I looked like a giant chicken, but the first feel of the cold Atlantic on my toes made it all worth it. There were ropes extending out into the waves. I held on, just as a precaution. I'd never needed ropes to swim out through the waves at home, but then I hadn't been wearing a hundred-pound monstrosity of a garment. Then I was out at the end of the rope, farther than anyone but the strong male swimmers. I struck out and started to swim. Waves broke over my face and I felt the joy of being propelled forward with strong kicks. I turned on my back and floated, shutting out the whole world but the blue sky and white clouds above me.

“Are you all right, miss?” An arm grabbed me and I turned to see a young man in lifeguard's red and white stripes beside me.

“I'm just fine. Thank you. Floating and looking at the sky.”

“Only you're awfully far out, for a woman.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I can swim as well as you can. I'll race you into shore if you want.” I gave him a challenging smile.

“All right. Ready. Go.”

We both struck out for the shore with powerful strokes. He beat me, but not by much. “You're a grand swimmer,” he said, helping me to my feet among the waves. “If you hadn't been hampered by the swimsuit, it would have been level pegging. Too bad you're not a man. We could use more lifeguards on the beach.”

“As you say, too bad I'm not a man.”

He smiled, looked at me, went to say something, then shrugged his shoulders. “Nice meeting you, then,” he muttered and walked away.

Had he been about to ask me for a date? At any rate, the encounter had made me feel good. There were plenty of young men in the world just waiting to meet me. The swim had felt good too, although the looks of horror I got from the other young ladies when they saw my wet, bedraggled hair almost made me laugh.

I returned home rejuvenated, refreshed and ready to tackle Monday's problems and a houseful of children. I wasn't so confident about tackling Nuala.





Fifteen

On Monday morning I dressed with care in my new business suit and added my boater with its new brown ribbon. This would be an important day for me. By the end of it I might be one step closer to solving Paddy Riley's murder. I would also have to tread very carefully. One of the people I was going to interview today might be desperate enough to kill again.

There was no point in visiting either Angus MacDonald or his wife Elizabeth before ten o'clock. The upper classes were notoriously late risers. So my first call was to Berger and DeBose, importers and exporters of fine foods and wines. Their office was in a tall brick warehouse building along the Hudson River. It was an overcast morning, with the promise of rain later and I had walked instead of taking the elevated. I needed a clear head for my encounters today. I knew I must convey no hint of suspicion in any of my conversations. I must be the innocent newcomer, trying to clear up the odds and ends left by my former partner. I need not even give away that Paddy was dead, if they didn't already know.

I presented my card to a skinny youth who returned to escort me to an inner sanctum where a large, bewiskered man rose to his feet and introduced himself as Mr. DeBose. “Miss Murphy?” The tone was not friendly.

“Mr. DeBose. I am the new junior partner in the firm of P. Riley Associates. My senior partner being indisposed, I am trying to tie up the loose ends in his current cases. I saw your name in our files and came to see if I could be of any assistance.”

“You're too damned late, aren't you?” Mr. DeBose's flabby cheeks puffed out like red balloons. “Tell your confounded senior partner that if he'd been doing his job when I asked him to, he might have caught young Hofmeister before he skipped off to South America with my money.”

“When was this?”

“When was it? Friday a week ago, that's when it was. He went to put the weekly takings in the bank and never came back. We found out from the police that he had passage booked on a liner sailing to Montevideo on Friday night. Of course we only found out he was missing on Monday morning, and by then it was too late, damn him.”

“So he was the one who had been cheating you?”