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

The captain looked at me long and hard. “You give us your version right now. It will be easy enough to verify.”


I gave him my particulars. Henry arrived with a white-faced purser in tow. He could only repeat what Wally had told us. The occupant of cabin 231 had received bad news and disembarked at the last minute. As to whether that person was Oona Sheehan, he couldn’t say. Everything was chaos in the last moments before sailing—people complaining about their cabins, wanting to change them, not being able to find them. He did verify that the cabin was booked in the name of Molly Murphy.

The captain turned back to me. “And for what reason are you traveling to Ireland?” he asked.

“I’m Irish, isn’t that obvious? I’ve a family I haven’t seen for some time, and I’ve finally saved up enough to go home to see them.” The nagging voice of conscience reminded me that this wasn’t exactly the truth, but I saw no reason to reveal that I was an investigator on an assignment until I had to do so. That would be opening yet another can of worms.

“And their address would be?”

Holy Mother, I didn’t want him looking up my family, announcing to the whole of county Mayo that I was back in the land, just waiting for that warrant to catch up with me.

“I’m planning on going to Cork to start with, where I’ve been asked to look up the sister of an old friend. After that I expect I’ll probably be in Dublin, meeting with friends and relatives there,” I said rapidly. “I had no firm plans after that.”

The captain was still glaring at me as if he was trying to bore into my mind.

“Look here,” I said at last. I was tired, upset, angry now too. “I can’t think why you are bent on attacking me like this. Anyone would think you were accusing me of being party to this poor girl's death. Why on earth should I want to kill someone's maid, I’d like to know?”

The captain couldn’t answer this one, but Henry leaned toward him. “Maybe she's done in the real Miss Sheehan, Captain, sir,” he hissed in an excited stage whisper. “Maybe she shoved her over the side when no one was looking and decided to take her place, only the maid found out and she had to silence her.”

I looked at him and had to laugh in spite of everything. “You should be writing penny dreadfuls, Henry, really you should. What on earth could I possibly gain from pretending to be Oona Sheehan?”

“Well, for one thing, sleeping in a first-class cabin. Then maybe you planned on impersonating Miss Sheehan when you landed and taking in the local people.”

“Absolute rubbish,” I said. “Anyway, this whole thing can be solved as soon as we dock. You’ll no doubt be sending a cable telegraph communication to Miss Sheehan to tell her what's happened to her maid. Ask her to verify her little scheme with me at the same time.”

I got to my feet. “Look, it's the middle of the night and all this is getting us nowhere. If you want to conduct a proper investigation, you should start with the young man who dressed up as a steward and took Henry's place.”

“What's this?” The captain turned to Henry, who blushed.

“It's as she says, sir. A man I took to be another steward showed up with a big display of flowers for Miss Sheehan. This wasn’t at all unusual. In fact, it has been happening the whole voyage—flowers, chocolates, champagne—aren’t I right, Miss Sheehan—I mean, miss?”

I nodded. “All the time,” I echoed. “Miss Sheehan obviously has lots of admirers. I could well understand that she wanted to be free of them for a while.”

“Go on about the steward,” the captain said.

“Well, he told me he’d cover for me if I wanted to join the party going on in the crew's quarters. You know there's always a bit of a celebration on the last night at sea. I was only gone a few minutes, sir. I meant no harm by it.”

“And you didn’t recognize this man?” the first officer asked sharply.

“No, sir. His face was hidden behind the flowers.”

“We’ve ascertained that he was taller than Henry, younger, and spoke with a more refined accent,” I said. “From which I think we might deduce that he could have been one of the passengers in disguise.”

They all looked at me.

“I suppose I should tell you that I am an investigator by profession,” I said, and instantly wished that I hadn’t. When would I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? It would have been simpler had I remained the simple Irish lass returning home to the bosom of her family. But it was gratifying to see their startled faces, I have to admit.

“Good God,” the captain said. “A female investigator. What is the world coming to? Then is it possible that this murder could have something to do with your profession and nothing at all to do with Miss Sheehan? Are you hot on the trail of some criminal?”

I shook my head, smiling. “First, this changing cabins was a last-minute occurrence. Nobody could have known that I was pretending to be Miss Sheehan, except for her maid—”