Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)

“What did I tell you?” Sid demanded. “I said he'd only last a couple of days before he was round here cadging food again!”


Ryan turned wounded eyes on her. “I'll have you know that I have written all of twenty-five pages this week, day and night, not stopping for food or water, until I was on the brink of collapse.”

“You and your Irish blarney.” Sid chuckled. “I just met Lennie and he told me he had been supplying you with brandy and sandwiches.”

“I didn't say anything about going without brandy,” Ryan went on. “There are some things without which existence is meaningless.”

“I see you've met our new friend, Molly,” Gus said. “I hope you haven't already corrupted her with your wicked ways.”

“Not at all. I have been most well-behaved and gentlemanly, haven't I, Molly?”

“Most,” I said. “And very charming.”

“I'm always charming.” Ryan gave us a beneficent smile. “Even stone-hearted women like Sid and Gus here can't resist me.”

This was true. They pretended to grumble, but they fussed over him as much as I had done. And by the time he left, later that day, I was already a little in love with him myself.





Nineteen

On Sunday morning Gus and Sid informed me that it was their custom to go for coffee and pastries to Fleishman's Bakery on Broadway. It was the only thing to do on Sunday mornings. I think the priest back home in Ballykillin might have disagreed with them, but I was not about to argue. Now that I no longer had the responsibility to see that Bridie and her brother attended mass, I was free as a bird and had no great desire to attend mass myself—even if it was supposed to be a mortal sin.

We set off arm in arm across Washington Square, past the silent university buildings and on to Broadway. Fleishman's was buzzing with activity, full of fashionably dressed people as well as the more eccentrically dressed inhabitants of the Village. There was even a crowd waiting to be served.

“Why aren't all these people in church, where they should be?” Gus demanded. “We can't have New Yorkers getting lax about their religion, or we'll never get a table at Fleishman's again.”

Sid was scanning the depths of the large room. “Wait—there's Lennie in the corner. Let's see if we can squeeze ourselves around their table.”

She forced our way through the crowd. There were three other young men at Lennie's table. One of them was Ryan.

“I’m sure you've got space for three slender females,” Sid said, “especially females who are dying of starvation and might faint if they have to wait in that long line.”

The young men had risen to their feet. “You've never fainted in your life, Sid darling,” Ryan said and kissed her on the cheek.

I felt a great surge of jealousy.

“True, but Gus and Molly have been raised more delicately than I and are capable of a swoon when necessary.” Sid sat on the chair that Lennie had brought across for her.

The other young men were finding seats for Gus and me. “I don't think we've met.” A pale, shy-looking boy dusted off the chair before he offered it to me.

“You haven't met our sweet Molly yet?” Ryan asked. “Then let me do the honors. Molly, these disreputable gentlemen are Lennie, whom I think you already know, Hodder, who professes to be a poet, although none of us has ever been allowed to see his poetry, and Dante, who has just returned from Paris and is making us all wild with jealousy at his descriptions of the salons there. He actually dined with Monet. Imagine that.”

The pale young man gave me a shy smile. “And with a new man called Matisse,” he said. “Ffis paintings are so daring—all those primary colors and distorted shapes. I'm having a go at it myself.”

“Does this mean you've finished the last act of your play, Ryan?” Gus asked, putting her arm around his shoulders as she perched on a chair beside him. “I seem to remember you swore you would not leave your selfimposed exile until it was done.”

“One has to eat occasionally—even geniuses like myself need nourishment,” Ryan said. “But the end is truly in sight. You'll be the first to know when I write those magnificent words,‘The curtain falls to tumultuous applause.’”

“You hope,” Lennie said.

“I'll invite all my friends to the premiere,” Ryan said. “I know enough people to create tumultuous applause.”

How wonderful it felt to be part of this noisy, laughing group. I was half-tempted to abandon my plans to be an investigator and really try my hand at poetry or play writing so that I could truly count as one of them. I noticed heads turned in our direction as we made our exit from the cafe around midday. There were still people milling around, waiting for tables. As I was about to pass through the front door, someone grabbed my arm. I started in alarm and looked up into Daniel's face.

“Molly, thank heavens you're all right.” He was still holding my arm, gripping it fiercely. “I've been trying to locate you.”