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

“Heavens above,” he said, “You move in pretty exalted circles.”


I decided not to contradict him. Things might progress more smoothly for me if he thought I had exalted friends.

There was a tap at the door and a very harried-looking first officer came in.

“Sorry to disturb you, Inspector, but we’re being besieged by angry passengers demanding to know when they can go ashore. We’ve told them that they are being held up for medical reasons, but we can’t hold them indefinitely. Also, the captain is worried about falling too far behind schedule. What do I tell them, sir?”

Inspector Harris got to his feet. “We had better continue this discussion ashore later, Miss Murphy.” He turned to the first officer. “Do you have the passengers assembled in their respective lounges as I asked you? Good. In which case I’ll need passenger lists, and I’ll have my boys do a quick search of those cabins occupied by men.”

“You need a list of cabins occupied by single men?” the first officer asked.

“Married men have been known to stray occasionally,” the inspector said dryly. He turned to me. “You’d better accompany me to the maid's quarters. Maybe you’ll be able to identify anything belonging to Miss Sheehan or anything that shouldn’t have been there.”

“Shouldn’t have been there?”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time a maid filched stuff from her employer.”

“Oh, I’m sure Rose was most loyal,” I said, glancing back at the bed. The body had been covered again in a sheet now. I tiptoed past as the inspector escorted me out of the cabin.

We made our way down several flights of stairs, each steeper and more Spartan than the previous one, and were shown to a cabin even less inviting than my own. Great pipes ran across the ceiling. It was smelly and airless. It had obviously been shared by four girls, with two top bunks and two bottom. At a request from the inspector, someone was dispatched to bring back the three other girls.

Someone must have broken the news to them, or they’d picked it up on the grapevine, because they shuffled in looking terrified—all young Irish maids like Rose. They pointed to her bunk and to the drawer containing her belongings but they were too terrified to answer questions in more than a whisper. No, Rose had no gentlemen callers on board, as far as they knew. No man ever came to the cabin. No, Rose never disclosed that the woman she was serving was not really her mistress. She did mention something once about “wouldn’t they all be surprised?” and she told some juicy stories about Miss Sheehan's men, but that was it. When asked to name these men, however, they shook their heads blankly. They’d hardly had much time for talk and had spent their days waiting on their own mistresses, up in first class.

Inspector Harris turned back the covers on Rose's bunk, then opened her drawer. I felt a new wave of pity when I saw those few possessions—well-darned stockings,- gray-looking underclothing; a clean, well-starched blouse,- a single lace handkerchief,- her missal with a ribbon bookmarker in it. Her second uniform was hanging in thewardrobe. Not much to show for a life. And certainly no sign of Miss Sheehan's jewel case. Then, among the bags piled on top of the wardrobe, I saw something I recognized. My own valise.

“That's mine,” I called, pointing at it, and it was brought down. “I wondered what could have happened to it when it had vanished from my cabin.”

“You see what I was saying about filching things?” Inspector Harris smirked again.

“I don’t think Rose would have any interest in my few possessions, not when Miss Sheehan had so many lovely things.” “Then what was the bag doing in here?”

I shook my head. “That I can’t tell you. Possibly Miss Sheehan had instructed her to remove it from my cabin and keep it hidden. I’ve no idea why.”

The inspector had moved the other pieces of luggage aside and brought down my bag. When I opened it, all of my possessions were there intact and on top of them was a note addressed to me. I opened it, conscious of Inspector Harris's eyes on me.

“ ‘Dear Miss Murphy. Thank you for carrying out your assignment so splendidly. Owing to an emergency, I am not able to collect my luggage immediately. Would you please have Rose pack up my things and keep them with your own luggage until you receive instructions from me.’“

It was signed Oona Sheehan.

I handed the letter to the inspector. “Now at least you can verify what I’ve told you. Miss Sheehan planned this. I didn’t push her off the ship or dispose of her in any other way. Neither did I harm Rose.”

He examined the note, nodded, then handed it back to me.