“If she had, I can assure you they weren’t left in this cabin for my use,” I said. “Or if they are here, they are very well hidden. She must have taken them with her, or put them in the ship's safe, or even given them to Rose for safekeeping.”
“I’ll be taking a look at Rose's cabin in a moment,” the inspector said, “and my sergeant can check on whether Miss Sheehan left anything in the ship's safe. In either case, Rose would have known where the jewels were, correct? So the intruder comes in, tries to get the truth out of Rose, wants to frighten her by shoving her face into a pillow, and goes too far. Kills her accidentally, then covers up his crime and flees.”
“You think it was as simple as that, do you?” I asked.
“It usually is. Most crimes I’ve handled are bungled attempts of some sort or another.” He chewed on the end of his pencil. “You obviously have other thoughts on the matter.come on, now. Out with it.”
“It struck me that the intended target was Miss Sheehan herself. Rose was dressed up in the other costume I had hired.”
“Yes, that was strange, wasn’t it? Was she dressed that way when you left her? Was she hoping to sneak into the ball?”
I shook my head. “No. I actually suggested she come to the ball with me, but she was horrified at the thought. I expect she probably put on the costume for a lark when nobody was looking. So my thought was that someone took the chance to be alone with Miss Sheehan and killed Rose by mistake.”
“And why would someone want to kill Miss Sheehan, in your opinion?”
“Unrequited love? She had plenty of admirers, some of whom bordered on the fanatic. Maybe she spurned one of them and it was too much for him. You know—if I can’t have her then nobody can.”
“I see.” He cocked his head again, studying me. “These admirers you talk about—did she mention any of them by name?”
“No, but she said she was growing tired of being pestered by them, and when I encountered a couple myself, I could see why.”
An eyebrow raised, almost imperceptibly. “You said you were instructed to stay in your cabin throughout the voyage, did you not? So where did you encounter these admirers?”
“I didn’t say I was told not to leave my cabin. I was advised keep to it for most of the journey by feigning sickness. But when I tried a turn about the deck, I saw instantly what Miss Sheehan had to go through. I was accosted almost immediately by love-sick young men.”
“Any names you can give me?”
I frowned, recreating the times I had been on deck. “One of them had a very silly name—Artie something. Rotweiler? Something Germanic sounding. Fortwrangler, that was it, Artie Fortwrangler,- but he seemed like a harmless sort of boy.”
“Fortwrangler,” the inspector said slowly as he wrote it down. “Did he make threats?”
“Oh no. Exactly the opposite. He professed undying love. He was like a love-sick puppy dog.”
“And who else?”
“There was a good-looking young man, spoke with an American accent but he was obviously of Irish heritage. Black Irish, you know. Now what was he called? Fitzwilliam, maybe? No, I think it was Fitzpatrick.
But he didn’t act the love-sick oaf like the other one. He was polite. He just said he was sorry to hear I was indisposed and expressed the hope that we’d meet again in Ireland.”
Inspector Harris nodded. “And then?”
“He went on his way.”
“Anyone else?”
I shook my head. “After that, if I left the cabin at all, I went out early, when fashionable young men are still asleep and there was nobody—except there was an older man who followed me at a distance sometimes. Tweed overcoat. Mustaches rather like your own. But he never approached me. It could have been that we both took our morning constitutional at the same time.”
“And that's it? Any young men try to come to the cabin?”
“All the time, but the stewards kept them out. There was someone called Teddy and someone called Bertie, who constantly sent me flowers. Teddy sent big displays like that one and gushing love notes. Bertie sent a dozen red roses every day. And there were others who sent me flowers, champagne, chocolates.”
“Do you have any of these notes?”
“I threw most of them away, I’m afraid, after I had a good laugh-but one or two may still be lying around or in the wastebasket.”
“Wastepaper basket, Jonesy,” the inspector said. He stretched out his legs, leaned back on the chaise, and studied me. “So tell me a little about yourself, Miss Murphy. It's not too often that a second-class passenger gets approached by a famous actress with the offer to trade cabins with her. You knew Miss Sheehan, did you, or was this a random selection on her part?”
“I had met her recently at a theatrical party. I gather she found out that I would be traveling on the same ship.”
“Exactly why were you making this voyage?”
I wasn’t sure how truthful to be and decided to play it safe. “Apart from visiting friends and relatives at home in Ireland, you mean? I’d been asked to look up the sister of a friend in New York.”
“You’re not married, I take it.”
In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)
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