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

“Brandy, I think, don’t you, Gus?” Sid rose and went for the decanter.

“Brandy in hot milk. She’ll need to sleep and it won’t be easy.” Gus brought out a saucepan and lit the gas.

“Stop blaming yourself, Molly,” Sid said as she poured a generous amount of brandy into a glass beaker. “You didn’t set out to lure Jacob away from her with your feminine wiles, did you?”

I had to smile at this thought. “No. Of course not.”

“And you didn’t ask Nell to take on anything you knew to be dangerous?”

“No.”

“Then stop blaming yourself.” She took the hot milk off the stove and poured it into the brandy. “I know—I knew Nell Blankenship quite well. She would never have been forced or tricked into doing anything she didn’t want to do. She went looking for this person Katherine because she was intrigued, because she saw it as a challenge. It appealed to her reporter’s instinct. Her choice, Molly, not yours.”

“Now drink up and then get a good night’s sleep,” Gus said. “And if you will take advice from two friends who care for you, you will take this terrible event as a warning. Somebody out there killed Nell Blankenship because of what she discovered. That person is still out there and even more desperate now. So no heroics, Molly. Leave the detective work to the police.”

“That’s what Jacob just said.”

“I knew I liked him,” Gus said, turning to Sid for a confirming nod.

“Has anyone notified her family, I wonder?” The ever efficient Sid rose to her feet.

“Her poor maid should be told, at least,” I said. “Last time I spoke to her, she was sick with worry. Do you think I should call her at this late hour?”

“I’ll do it,” Sid said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “You go to bed. Do you want us to come with you?”

“No, you’ve been more than kind, as usual.” I got to my feet. “One day I must find a way to repay you.”

“Repay us by staying out of trouble and not ending up like Nell in an alleyway,” Gus said. Then she gave me a little push. “Go on with you. To bed before the brandy wears off.”



In spite of the brandy that warmed my whole body, I lay awake long into the night, listening to bare branches scratching against the window, my mind in a turmoil. It didn’t matter that everyone had insisted that Nell was headstrong and impulsive and made her own choices, I was overcome with guilt and remorse. This was the second time that I had let someone else do my dirty work. I had put young Shamey’s life at risk and now I had cost Nell Blankenship her life. If I, instead of she, had found out some vital fact about Katherine’s life or death, then maybe I would have been lying behind a coal bin tonight. I swore to myself that I would never again involve another person in my investigations and that by hook or by crook, I would find out who killed Nell. I couldn’t bear the thought that her death would just be ignored by the New York police.

I sat up in bed and reached for my notebook and pencil. I could hear Paddy’s voice in my head—start with what you know. I knew that Nell had discovered that Katherine worked for Mostel and Klein. She had also uncovered another useful piece of information, one important enough that she wanted to share it with me immediately—a piece of information so important to somebody that it had cost Nell her life.

What else did I know? Her body was found close to Mostel’s factory. I tried to picture Mr. Mostel or Seedy Sam throwing Katherine into the river, or stalking Nell and luring her down an alleyway. Somehow it was hard to believe. I could imagine the despicable Mr. Katz at Lowenstein’s doing a thing like that, but not Seedy Sam, for all his bluster. Then I thought how important money was to Mr. Mostel. If he thought his business was being threatened, he might have paid someone to do away with Katherine. That I could imagine. And who better to get rid of her quietly than one of the Eastmans?

If that was so, there was no way I would ever be able to prove it. I was not foolish enough to go poking around the Walhalla Hall and Chrystie Street again—and I had just promised Jacob that I wouldn’t act stupidly. But I could go back to Mostel’s, I decided. It occurred to me that this strike at Lowenstein’s would give me a perfect excuse to return to Mostel’s, especially if Lowenstein did fire some of us for striking. On the other hand, I reminded myself, I would probably not be able to complete my other commission and find out who was handing over Mostel’s designs to his competitor. Which would mean I wouldn’t get paid.