I shook my head. “We had no money for newspapers, so I doubt that any news short of a French invasion would have reached County Mayo.”
“It was about five years ago now,” Daniel said. He paused, raising his glass to me. 'Your very good health, Molly. Here’s to success in all your ventures.” We clinked glasses.
“Go on,” I said, because any hint of intimacy was unnerving.
“Barney Flynn was running for the United States Senate for the first time. In the middle of his campaign his infant son was kidnapped.”
“How terrible,” I exclaimed. The poor man. Was the child ever returned?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. It was most tragic. The ransom note announced that the child had been buried in a secret hiding place, somewhere on the Flynns'estate.”
I gasped. “Buried alive?”
He nodded. “In a special chamber with a vent to provide oxygen. Barney Flynn gave instructions to hand over the money, no questions asked. Anything to get his son back. But he made the mistake of alerting the police. An overzealous policeman shot the kidnapper as he came to retrieve the ransom money.”
“So they never found the hiding place of the child?”
“Never. They searched exhaustively with dogs, all over the es-tate, but the child was never found. The estate is huge, of course. Hundreds of acres of woodland and rocky mountainside.”
There was only one kidnapper then? He had no accomplice?”
“The police investigated thoroughly and no second kidnapper came to light, although it was suggested that the child’s nurse might have been in on the plot. It was the Flynns' chauffeur, you see. And the child’s nurse had been walking out with him.”
“But she didn't know anything of where the child might have been buried?”
“She denied all knowledge of the entire scheme.”
“How awful, Daniel. How very tragic for the Senator and his wife.”
“Very.” Daniel sighed. “Senator Flynn has thrown himself into his political work with extra vigor, but his poor wife has never re-ally recovered from the shock.”
“Did they have any more children?”
“A little girl, a year or so later, but the mother still grieves her lost son. She has recently turned to the Sorensen Sisters and has invited them to the house this summer, so that she can communicate with little Brendan.”
“Ah.” I looked at him over my champagne glass. “And you would like me to be there, as an observer.”
“It’s a perfect opportunity. I couldn't do it myself, as I am known to the Misses Sorensen, and to the Flynns. Splendid. Here comes the soup.”
We broke off while we worked our way through a creamy oyster stew, then a salad, then a dish of smoked fish.
“Now how am I to pass as the Senator’s cousin?” I asked in the pause before the main course was brought. “Surely he knows his own cousins?”
“Luckily for us,” Daniel said, “the Senator comes from a very large Irish family. He was born over here, of course. His parents came over in the famine with nothing. Barney grew up in the worst slums of New York. Truly a self-made man. His fortune started when he hired a barge, sailed it up the coast to Maine and returned with it full of ice. He also played Tammany politics to perfection— going from ward boss to state Senate. And with Tammany’s help he cornered the ice trade in the city.
“Now of course he’s a millionaire. He married money, which didn't hurt either. But he has a reputation of being generous to any of his relatives who arrive from the old country.”
“Yes, but surely such a shrewd man would do a little checking if I landed on his doorstep and claimed to be his long-lost cousin?”
“Of course he would, which is why your visit will be preceded with letters of introduction. I'll provide you with a complete family background and history. You must do your homework so that you don't make a slip. I have no doubt you can pull it off.” Daniel toyed with his fork as a roast chicken was brought to the table and dismembered in front of us. It was accompanied by tiny new pota-toes, pearl onions and peas. A generous portion was placed in front of me.
“Holy Mother. This is a feast,” I exclaimed, before I remembered that I should be playing the successful lady detective for Daniel—used to the good life. “And as a matter of interest, who will be paying my fee if I agree to accept the assignment?”
“The city, of course—just as the police pay for any undercover work.”
“And you will be providing a retainer, if I take on the case?”
“Naturally. Fifty dollars up front, the rest when you return. A bonus if you succeed in exposing the sisters.”
“It does sound very tempting.” My mind went to that empty larder and next month’s rent bill.
Then be tempted for once. It’s not often that I can tempt you these days.”
His eyes met mine as he paused with a forkful of chicken just below his lips.
This is a strictly business dinner, remember,” I said.
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
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