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

“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person,” Mrs. Boone said. “I have no nephews. I was an orphan. So I suggest you run off and go to find your true aunt.”


“But you are my true aunt,” he said. “I wasn’t sure until I saw you, but now I’m absolutely certain I’ve got it right. Your eyes, you see. The way they slant down at the sides and something about the way you carry your head. It reminds me of my dear departed mother and of my Uncle Tommy.”

“Uncle Tommy?” She was still standing in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips and frowning.

“Tommy Burke,” he said. “You are Mary Ann Burke, are you not?”





Twenty-nine


Mrs. Boone glared at me. “What have you been telling him, you foolish girl?”

“Me? I told him nothing, except I was staying with a

crotchety old lady who was a friend of the family. I had no idea, not the least idea.”

Even as I spoke I realized why I had seen something I deemed to be masculine in her features. It was the strong resemblance to Tommy Burke.

“What do you mean, you hadn’t the least idea,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said scornfully. “Why else are you here when you were sent by my uncle on a mission to find this woman, Miss Molly Murphy?”

I must have reacted at the mention of my real name because he laughed. “Did you think for a moment I bought that Delaney nonsense? I knew who you were the first time we met—on the deck of the Majestic when you were wearing that ridiculous Oona Sheehan wig. Oh yes, I heard all about the stupid idea to trade cabins as well. Oona was dining with my uncle and shared her little plan with him.”

“So why didn’t you let me know you knew the truth?” I demanded angrily. “Why let me go on making a fool of myself?”

“Isn’t that simple to answer? So you would lead me to her—save me the trouble of seeking her out for myself. I’ve always been a lazy fellow at heart. And a selfish one too, so I’m told. Not willing to share my uncle's fortune with a previously unknown aunt anyway.”

I had been observing him closely as he spoke, and I’m afraid that I was realizing many hard truths—things I should have known and recognized before and didn’t. He had been the executioner at the fancy dress ball, and what's more, he had been warning me what he planned to do to me. “I am your executioner,” he had said. Only he killed Rose by mistake. We had got it all wrong, Inspector Harris and I. The murderer hadn’t been out to get Miss Sheehan: I had been his target all along. The easiest course of action for him would have been to prevent me from ever reaching Ireland. I looked at his affable face and knew I had to tread very carefully. I couldn’t tell what Mrs. Boone was thinking. She certainly didn’t appear to be worried.

“I gave up that name and that identity long ago,” she said, “when Terrence died. When Terrence was murdered by the English, I made a vow that I’d devote the rest of my life to the republican cause. So you can go back to America, young man, and tell your family that Mary Ann Burke does not exist.”

He actually laughed. “Quite right. Well spoken. That's exactly what I’ll tell them. How easy you’ve made it for me.”

He reached into an inside pocket of his overcoat and produced a pistol with one fluid movement. Before either of us could react, he had jammed the gun into my side.

“Into the kitchen, both of you. And you, Mary Ann, shut the door. Is there anyone else in the house?”

“Father Flannigan is in his study, and the Parish Council is expected in half an hour,” Mrs. Boone said.

“Too late to be any use to either of you,” he said. “By the time they get here, you’ll both be dead.”

“May I ask why you have developed such a hatred for an aunt you’ve never even known?” Mrs. Boone asked. She still seemed calm and in control of herself, but then she didn’t have the barrel of a gun pressed into her ribs.

“Oh, I don’t hate you, dear Auntie,” he said. “It's just that my uncle has a large fortune and he was planning to settle the bulk of it on you, if he could find you.”

“My family has certainly taken its time to come and reclaim me,”she said dryly. “Where were they when I was in the orphanage? When I was in service?”

“Tommy Burke only found out about your existence when his mother was dying and spoke of you in her final rambling.” I managed to make the words come out, even though I was finding it hard to breathe evenly. “Before that he had no idea that a baby sister had been left behind when they went to America. He wanted to make amends immediately. That's why he sent me to find you.”

“Unfortunately your search came to naught,” Fitzpatrick said, giving the gun an extra little jab into my side. “Two women found shot to death in a rectory. And I on the boat to England from where I shall return home. My uncle need never know that I have been in Ireland or ever met you.”