For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)

“They had a lunch appointment and had to make a hasty departure,” Jacob said. “I am escorting Molly home.”


“Ah,” Nell said. Her gaze passed from Jacob to me and back again. “Well, much as I would like to stay and pass the time of day with you, I also must hurry. I’m due at my parents’ home for lunch—my weekly penance and lecture session. Please excuse me.” She rushed to jump on an already moving electric trolley. “I’ll try to send you news about where your heiress worked as soon as possible,” she called as she swung herself aboard with agility. “I’ll start on it tomorrow!”

“Do not take any foolish risks, remember!” Jacob shouted as the trolley bore her away.

“Fiddle faddle,” she shouted back, laughing.

I looked at Jacob. “Now I feel guilty. I hope she won’t think badly of me.”

“Why should she think badly of you?”

“Because I was dallying with her young man.”

“Her young man? Nell and I are friends, nothing more.”

“But I thought—I saw the way she treated you with such familiarity.”

“She may well want a more intimate relationship,” Jacob said, “but not I. I admire Nell. I think she is the most courageous woman I have ever met. But I would not choose such a woman for my wife. Sometimes she frightens me with the intensity of her dedication and fire.”

Why did I feel absurdly happy at this statement?

“I see you are smiling,” Jacob said. “Could it be that you’ve just heard some good news?”

“I can’t think what you are talking about, Mr. Singer.” I tossed back my hair and set off at a lively trot.

“Jacob,” he said, keeping pace with me.





Sixteen





Knowing that a young man was interested in me certainly added spice to my life. And such a fascinating young man too. We had talked all the way home, touching on every subject under the sun. Daniel and I had been comfortable with each other, but we had never really discussed deep matters. Jacob and I thrashed out religion and royalty and socialism and communism and even birth control. I was amazed that I could talk about such things with a man. I had pretty much taken life for granted until I left Ireland. I knew that conditions were unfair and that the Irish were treated poorly in their own country, but I had considered those who fought for change to be rabble-rousers and hotheads, spoiling for a fight. In Jacob I saw someone who cared passionately and believed he could make a difference in the world. When he told me some of the things he had done as a member of the Bund in Russia, I was amazed. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen at the time, but he had risked his life almost daily.

After we parted, I went to my room and stood at the window, watching him walk away. “Now that is truly a fine fellow,” I said out loud. He wouldn’t forget to mention that he was engaged to another girl or lack the courage to break off an engagement to a girl he didn’t love. Thinking of Daniel reminded me that I had to write a note to him, purely professional, of course. I took out pen, ink, and blotter and started to write. I asked him for any details of Katherine’s death that he could find—the point at which she was taken from the river, estimate of how long she had been in the water, where she might have entered, description of what she was wearing, any dressmaker’s labels on the clothes to indicate where they were made, any jewelry, any sign of foul play—bruises, wounds, etc. I almost signed it, “Yours, Molly,” until I remembered that I was not his and most probably would never be his. But the thought was no longer as painful. In fact I felt a great lifting of the spirit, as if I had awakened after a long hibernation.

I sent the message to the Mulberry Street police station with Shamey and waited for a reply, knowing it might not be until Monday, if Daniel had his weekend free. The moment I thought about Daniel’s weekends, scenes flashed through my mind—Daniel and me strolling by the lake in Central Park, eating ice cream at a soda fountain, Daniel kissing me under the leafy boughs of the Ramble in the park. I knew then that I wouldn’t get over him so easily, however diverting the fascinating Mr. Singer might be.

As it happened, Daniel didn’t have the weekend off. That evening a note was delivered by a uniformed constable.



I’m writing this at work, so forgive the terse tone of this message.