Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)

“I work—used to work for a private detective. He was killed—I'm certain he was murdered by your friend Leon.”


Before Ryan could say anything, I opened my purse and produced the postcard, now pasted together. “I went to the boardinghouse where he had been staying and I found this in his wastebasket. He was going to send it to you, but obviously changed his mind.”

Ryan examined the postcard and the smile faded. “Oh, God,” he said quietly.

“Do you know what he means?”

Ryan sighed. “He took it rather hard when I left him— they usually do. He told me he'd do something to make me notice him. Then he launched into this grand plan to do something spectacular at the exposition. He tried to persuade me to be his partner in crime. I laughed, I'm afraid. Leon always had big ideas, but I thought he was all talk. He was melodramatic to the point of being boring.”

“He's in Buffalo,” I said. “He left his lodgings and asked the landlady for a railway timetable. He looked up trains to Buffalo.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” It was the first time I'd heard an Irish expression escape from his lips.

“What do you think he was planning to do?” I asked.

“I really don't know. He lived in a fantasy world, actually, and talked a lot of nonsense.” He pushed back his hair in a gesture of futility. “Lucky he wasn't here today, wasn't it? The President toured the exposition and then went out to the new power plant at Niagara Falls. Leon was all for assassinating heads of state.”

“We should go to the police,” I said.

“It might be the wisest thing.” He leaned back against the peeling paint of the wall. “This would happen when I have my opening night tomorrow.”

A thought struck me. “You don't think he might try to disrupt your opening night?”

Ryan looked startled. “Now that's a thought. Punish me by bombing my theater? Yes, I suppose that could be why he's here.”

“Then we must go to the police right away.”

“The problem is, what can they do? Do you know how many people are in this town? Leon could be wearing a disguise, have registered in a hotel under a false name— there is no way they'll find him if he doesn't want to be found.”

“But we must stop him, Ryan. He killed my employer. He tried to kill me.”

“Tried to kill you? When?” Ryan gave me a startled look.

“A few nights ago. He broke into the house and came at me with a knife.”

“Act Two, beginners on stage in two minutes,” came the call down the hallway. Ryan moved toward the door. “I have to go back. The second act is starting.” He took my arm again. “Come on. We'll go looking for him tomorrow,” he said as he led me back to our seats. “If he knows I'm in town, it's just possible that he will be tailing me. We'll lure him to us and make him see reason.”

I watched the second act feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Ryan was not involved in the plot himself. He was going to make everything all right.

“Where are you staying tonight?” he whispered as the curtain fell. I told him I hadn't found a hotel room yet. He shook his head.‘There's no point in trying to find a bed in the city. Every hotel and boardinghouse is chockablock full. Half my crew are slumming in the green room. You'd better join them.”

So I spent the night in the theater green room, lying on old cloths that smelled of paint. Again safety in numbers, I told myself, even though I had nothing to fear.

In the morning I waited impatiently while Ryan went through last-minute instructions in the theater, then talked to a bevy of news reporters waiting for him outside. It was past noon by the time we joined the human tide heading toward the main gates of the exposition. Then we had to wait in the hot sun as the line inched forward toward the turnstiles. Ryan paid for both of us, the turnstile swung and we were through.

I had been concentrating so hard on my task that I hadn't given much thought to the exposition itself. But as we passed through the entrance gates and crossed a beautiful lake by means of a triumphal causeway, I caught my first glimpse of that majestic tower rising at the end of a wide boulevard. It was like a tower from a fairy tale, and I let out a gasp.

“If you think it's impressive in the daytime, you should see it at night,” Ryan said, smiling at my excited face. “That whole tower is one mass of electric lights. And a great beam at the top of it. You can see it shining out for miles away.”