In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)

My heart was racing so fast I thought I might faint. It occurred to me that whoever had done this might still be in the room, waiting for me to return. I backed cautiously until I was within easy reach of the door, my eyes darting nervously from one side of the room to the other. “Get help. Get the steward” was my first coherent thought. I reached for the doorknob, opened the door and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. I ran back to the steward's cubby, but there was no sign of him there either. I was truly terrified now.

I half believed I was suffering from a hallucination. I had read about drugs being slipped into drinks. Somebody had put something in the punch bowl to make me drunk. I forced myself to creep back to my door and peer around it. The figure still lay on the bed. As far as I could see there was nowhere in the cabin to hide, apart from the wardrobe, and that was full of clothes. But I wasn’t going to go looking on my own. Then a hand tapped my shoulder. My heart leaped so wildly Icouldn’t even scream. I turned to see Henry, the familiar night steward standing there.

“Where do you think you are going, miss?” he asked.

I realized, of course, as I turned to face him, that I was no longer wearing Oona Sheehan's wig, but my own hair, which had now been flattened under the powdered wig of Marie Antoinette. I put my hand up to my face, and of course I was still wearing the black mask.

“This is my cabin, Henry,” I said in my deep Oona Sheehan whisper. “Don’t you recognize me?” I pulled off the mask and made some ineffectual pats at my rattaily hair.

“Oh, beg pardon, Miss Sheehan. I got a shock seeing someone creeping up to your cabin door, especially since I’d popped off duty for a couple of minutes when I should have been keeping an eye out here.”

“How long have you been away from your post?” I asked.

“Oh, no more than fifteen minutes or so,” he said. “There was a bit of shindig downstairs in the staff quarters to celebrate last night at sea, and a steward showed up with yet another floral tribute for you. He offered to deliver it for me and said he’d keep an eye on things for a while so that I could pop down and enjoy myself for a few minutes. It was such good fun down there, I might have stayed away a little longer than I planned.”

“Which steward was it?”

“I couldn’t rightly say, miss,” he said. “That blessed flower display was bigger than he was.”

“So you didn’t recognize him?”

“I can’t say I thought much about it, miss. With a ship this size, you don’t know all the crew. I just took in the uniform jacket and those flowers really. Why, is something wrong?”

“Something's very wrong,” I said. “You’d better come inside and take a look.”

I opened the door and stood aside for him to enter first. He gasped when he saw what I was pointing to.

“Oh, my lawks. Is she—?” he stammered.

“Yes, she's dead,” I said. “I came back to find her tucked up in bed.” “Do you know who it is?” he stammered. Beads of sweat were now trickling down his face.

“It's my maid.” As I said these words, I realized of course that I waslying. She wasn’t my maid at all. She was Oona Sheehan's maid. This could become complicated.

“Your maid?” He examined her more closely. “Why so it is. What the deuce is she doing dressed up in that outfit?”

“It could be possible that her killer dressed her in those clothes,” I said, “but I can’t think why.” Then I came up with a more probable answer, and one that sent chills down my spine. “What if she tried on the costume for a lark, and her killer thought she was me?”

“But how could anyone have got into your cabin, that's what I want to know,” Henry said. “I’m always here, on duty—especially late at night when the young men have been drinking and think they are brave enough to pay you a visit.”

“But you weren’t here tonight, Henry. You just said so yourself. Another steward took your place.”

“But only for a few minutes, miss.”

“Long enough to kill somebody,” I said.

He looked at me, horror struck. “But surely you don’t think—”

“That's exactly what I’m thinking. I’m wondering if he really was a steward or if he used the disguise and the flowers to get rid of you and enter this cabin.”

“Oh no, miss. Don’t say that.” Henry put a hand to his mouth. “I’d never live with myself if I thought—”

“You weren’t to know, Henry,” I said. “Try to remember everything you can about him.”

“But I told you. I didn’t really take too much notice.”

“Was he young or old?”

“He had a good head of dark hair, miss. I can tell you that much.” “Tall?”

“Taller than me.”

“And his voice? A young voice or an old voice?”

“Youngish, I’d say. And there was something about it—posher than the average steward.”

“There you are, you’ve already given us something to go on.”

“We should start hunting for him right away,” Henry said.

“He’ll have discarded that steward's uniform long ago. Now he's probably lying safely in his cabin.”

“You mean one of the passengers?” He looked horrified.

“It's possible. Somebody killed Rose. That means either a crew member or a passenger.”