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

“Molly! What in heaven's name? I thought you were dead. I can’t believe it.”


I hugged him. He was all skin and bone. I could feel his backbone through the coarse shirt with arrows on it. His skin was as gray and pasty as uncooked dough, and there were great sunken circles around his eyes. It almost broke my heart to look at him.

“That's enough of that.” The guard roughly pushed us apart. “Sit down, Murphy. You too, miss.”

“What are you doing here?” Joseph was looking at me with excited anticipation. “Have you come to get me out? Did they hear my appeal?”

“I don’t know anything about your appeal, Joseph,” I said. “I only know that I had to visit you while I was in Ireland, to give you my love and Liam's love... “

His face lit up. “Liam? You’ve seen him?” “Briefly,” I said. “He's well and wishes you well.” “And Malachy?”

“I haven’t seen him yet, but I gather he's being well looked after.”

“He's a grand little chap.” A big smile spread across his face as if he could see Malachy standing beside me. “Got a temper on him like me.”

“And me,” I said. “I’ve brought you some of your favorite foods, Joseph.”

“Really?” He peered into the basket and a frown crossed his face. I thought for one awful moment that he was going to say he didn’t like soda bread, but instead he said, “I never knew you could bake plum cake, Molly.”

“When could we ever afford the ingredients?” I demanded. “It was soda bread or nothing, wasn’t it? And lucky if there was a mutton bone to stew.”

“What did you bring me, the leftovers?” Joseph asked. He attempted to grasp a jagged piece of soda bread with his handcuffed hands.

“Those guards at the gate went through everything,” I said. “They thought I might be smuggling you a file or a knife.”

Joseph laughed. “A lot of good they would do in this hellhole. What would I do, cut my way out through the brick walls?”

The warder shifted from one foot to the other, making the keys jangle. A thought struck me. “There's plenty for all,” I said, holding up the basket to him. “If you’d like a bite for yourself, Officer. I’m known for my light hand at baking.”

“I won’t say no,” the warder said, and took a big piece of plum cake, stuffing it into his mouth.

I wondered how much of the ten minutes had gone by now. Surely it must have taken all of ten minutes to examine my letter, then the basket, and then to have Joseph fetched. If I was going to act, it had to be now. I put my hand into my purse and drew out my handkerchief. “My, but it's clammy in here, isn’t it?” I said. “Oppressive. I feel as if I might faint.”

“Out of the way, Murphy. Let the young lady sit down,” the guard said, his mouth still full of plum cake.

Joseph stood aside, and the officer assisted me to sit on the nearest chair.

“You’d better sit down too, Murphy.” Joseph sat.

“I don’t know what came over me,” I twittered in best feminine fashion. “It must be the shock of seeing my little brother like this. I never was of strong constitution. Always did have a weak heart, didn’t I, Joe.”

Again I glanced at him to make sure he didn’t contradict me. But instead he nodded. “Yes, she was always the delicate one of the family,” he agreed. “It's good of you to come and put yourself through this, Molly.”

I had taken out the bottle. “I’ll be right as rain in a minute,” I said. “Just a whiff of my smelling salts.” I opened it, shook out drops onto the handkerchief as I had been instructed, and then, without warning, jumped up and thrust it into Shaw's face. His mouth was still full of cake. He spluttered. I caught an elbow in the side that almost winded me. Joe was on his feet instantly, butting his head into the man's stomach to knock him back against the wall, while I tried valiantly to keep that handkerchief over his face. He fought for a moment or two then he collapsed onto the floor.

“Quick” I hissed to Joseph, who was standing like a statue, staring down at the warder in horror. “I don’t know how long we’ve got. Quick.”

I was down on my knees wrestling with the clip that held the guards keys to his belt. “We need his keys.”

“What's the point?” Joe said. “I’ll never get out. There's only the one door.”

“Which will be blown out, if all goes according to plan,” I said. “Which of the keys opens those handcuffs?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said, looking at the great bunch. “A small one, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I snapped, my nerves stretched to breaking point. I tried one, then another, then another.