I had been itching to get going for three long weeks. I never was good at waiting. I had always been the one who stayed up on Christmas Eve to peek in my stocking the moment my mother had hung it at the foot of my bed, even though I knew it wasn't likely to contain much more than a sugar mouse and an orange wrapped in silver paper. I had found the waiting for this assignment particularly trying, forseveral reasons. First, because the city was engulfed in a most unpleasant heat wave and arisingtyphoid epidemic, making a mansion on the Hudson River sound most appealing. And second, because I wanted to put enough distance between myself and Jacob. I had received a most polite letter from him, apologizingforacting hastily and askingfora chance to make thingsrightbetween us. I sent an equally polite reply, indicating that I'd be out of the city for a while with plenty of opportunity to think over what I wanted for my future and whether it might include Jacob Singer.
Oh, and then there was the little matter of the Hudson Dusters. I had heard rumors that a certain notorious gang member, whom I had caused to be arrested for pickpocketing, had been inquiring about me.
I hadfoundthis out when I returned to Mr. Giacomini’s store to buy groceries afewdays later. When he saw me, he shook his head.
“That man was here again,” he muttered in a voice so low that I could barely catch the words, “asking about you.” He looked around the store as if a spy might have been lurking in a dark corner. “Of course I tell him I have no idea who you are. I never saw you be-fore in my life.”
Thank you, Mr. Giacomini. I'm grateful, but I'm sure you're worryingfornothing.”
He shook his head violently. “No, you don't understand, Signorina. He’s a bad man. His kind make the Black Hand look like *cats.”
“The Black Hand?” I had never heard the term before.
Again he glanced around the store before whispering, “Italian gangsters. They collect protection money from businesses. If you don't pay up, something bad happens—business onfire, legs broken, child kidnapped, wife killed. Very bad. But this man, he’s also a gangster. So please, Signorina, for your own sake, do your shopping somewhere far away from here, okay?”
I could tell that his concern was as much for himself and his business as ft wasformy safety, so I smiled and thanked him, even though it went against my principles to be scared off in this fashion. But it was another good reason to be out of the city.
The days seemed to drag on while Daniel wrote letters to Ireland and Ifinallyreceived my invitation from dear Cousin Barney Flynn. During that time I tried to lie low, did my shopping, as instructed, over on the East Side, where at least I knew another gang held sway, and read about the Flynn baby kidnapping in back issues of The New York Times. I didn't learn much that I didn't already know. The paper, like the police, had decided that Albert Morell acted alone. But in one paper I saw a photograph of Annie Lomax. She had round cheeks and a fine plait of dark hair over her shoulder—not at all like the skinny wretch who had sat at my kitchen table.
When the day finally came that I could pack my clothes and head for the station, I could hardly wait for the arrival of the cab. I was finally about to fly away from my responsibilities for unemployed Seamus and his two wild children, away from the male complications in my life, and toward earning an honest penny again.
Of course I have to admit I was just a little anxious about what lay ahead of me. I'd been told often enough by my mother and folks at home in Ballykillin that I had the cheek of the devil and ideas above my station. I was about to put both to the test. I had to pose as Molly Gaffney, from Limerick, cousin of Senator Flynn. Fortunately for me, it turned out that the Senator did have a second cousin Molly, of about the right age, among the hundred and something relatives still living in the old country. It was a relief that I could answer to my own name. There was arisk, however, given the Senator’s generosity toward his many Irish relatives, that someone would show up on the doorstep who knew the real Molly and I would be unmasked. Hopefully this time I wouldn't find myself in any personal danger when I explained my assignment—unless the Sorensen Sisters set their spirits on me!
Then, on that hot June afternoon, I was finally on my way. No-body had come to the depot to see me off.
“Youll understand if I don't accompany you to the train station, won't you?” Daniel had said when he came to deliverfinalinstructions the night before. “One never knows who might be traveling by train and it wouldn't do for us to be seen together.”
I assumed this meant that he didn't want word to reach the ears of Arabella Norton, who lived out in Westchester County and thus might have friends traveling from this very station.
“Thus speaks the brave and fearless Daniel Sullivan who assures me his fiancee grows tired of him,” I said, giving him my most withering stare.
He smiled. That wasn't what I meant at all. It was your upcoming assignment that concerned me. If you are supposed to be the cousin newly arrived from Ireland, then there would be no reason why you should be accompanied by a New York policeman, especially one who is known to the Flynns and their neighbors.”
“Oh,” I said, and was annoyed at myself that I had exposed femi-nine weakness. “You're absolutelyright, of course,” I addedforgood measure.
“You'll be allright, won't you?” Daniel asked. “Able to manage your own luggage and all that?”
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
Rhys Bowen's books
- Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
- Bless the Bride (Molly Murphy, #10)
- City of Darkness and Light (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #13)
- Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)
- For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)
- Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy, #11)
- In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)
- In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)