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

The minute I came out of the theater into the bright sunlight of a crisp September morning I realized what I had done. Going back to Ireland? Was I quite mad? For all I knew there was still a warrant out for my arrest in that country. I should go right back into that theater and tell Mr. Burke to find someone else. Then I thought of the nice fat fee, of the chance to travel home to Ireland in a cabin on a luxury liner, to stay at good hotels, to see Dublin at last. And I reasoned that Justin Hartley, the man who would love to see me arrested, was not even in Ireland at the moment, but touring the western states of America. Besides, Molly Murphy is a common enough name. I should be quite safe.

I left the Sixth Avenue el at Greenwich Avenue Station and hurried toward Patchin Place to tell Sid and Gus my news. It was a lovely fall day, the first hint that the heat and humidity of summer was finally breaking. It had been a long, hot summer this year, a terrible season for all the diseases that heat and overcrowding bring with them. But today was just splendid. The leaves on the trees were showing just a hint of yellow in them. The breeze from the Hudson was fresh. Jefferson Market was in the process of shutting down for the day, but I went inside and, on impulse, bought a big bunch of crysanthamums and some bright red apples.

Thus armed, I knocked on the door of Number Nine and waited with a smile on my face, but nobody appeared. Absurdly disappointed,I turned away only to find myself staring straight into the face of Daniel Sullivan.

“What a charming picture you make,” he said. “Those flowers almost match the copper color of your hair. If I were a painter I’d whip out a brush and canvas and paint you as you stand there. Venus with the bounty of the harvest.”

“Anyone can tell you are Irish. You’re full of blarney,” I said, eyeing him stonily. “What do you want? Come back to check if I’ve made more undesirable friends since yesterday?”

“No, I came back to apologize,” he said. “You are right. I have no claim on you and no right to judge the company you keep. I am also mindful of the debt that I owe you—you put your own safety at risk to find the truth behind my betrayal and arrest.”

He paused.

“Apology accepted,” I said coldly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to put these flowers in water.”

He stepped between me and my front door. “I realize that the very qualities I admire in you make you different from other women, Molly. Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“You insulted my dearest friends,” I said. “You have apologized for judging me but not for insulting them.”

His face flushed. “Oh, come now, Molly. You do have to admit that—”

“That what?”

“That O’Hare man is quite outside the pale.”

“On the contrary, he is welcome at the most fashionable salons in the city. That party last night had as many Astors and Vanderbilts in attendance as it did theater folk. And they all seemed to know Ryan. Oh, I agree he is outlandish in his dress and his behavior, but I find him enchanting and never boring.”

“So you went to the party last night,” Daniel said.

“I did. And I had a marvelous time.”

“I see. And this Mr. Burke who wanted to meet you?”

“A powerful theatrical impresario. You go to the theater. You must have heard of him.”

“I might have.”

“He wanted me to star in his next play—Salome and the Seven Veils.”

I watched Daniel's face, then burst out laughing. “I’m just pulling your leg,” I said. “He wanted to hire my detective services, if you must know.”

“He did? What, a divorce case?”

“You know I’m not allowed to discuss confidential business, Daniel,” I said. “Oh well, I suppose you had better come in, before I drop these apples.”

I let him open the front door for me and preceded him inside. “You can put the kettle on while I find a jar to put these flowers in,” I called over my shoulder.

“So you’ll be out working on a case,” he said. “I won’t be seeing much of you.”

“You’ll be seeing nothing of me for a while. The assignment is in Ireland.”

“Ireland?” He stared at me in horror. “Are you mad? I thought you said you could never go back home again because of what you had done. I thought there was a price on your head.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” I said.

“Molly, this is absurd. How many risks do you think you can take in your life before the odds are against you?” He was yelling now.