In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“I'm quite confused.” I attempted girlish laughter. “I thought I had left my fan in here.”


“I will ask the maids if they found a fan when they straightened the room.” He ushered me from it in the most gracious but firm manner. “I'm afraid breakfast will not be served for another hour, but I can have the maid bring a tray to your room.”

“Oh no, thank you. I wouldn't want to put her to extra trouble,” I said.

“It’s her job, Miss Gaffney. All the occupants of this house are awoken with a tray of tea or coffee at their bedside.”

“It’s a lovely morning,” I said. “I think I'll go out for a walk on the grounds. Do a little exploring.”

“Very well, miss,” Soames said. “May I suggest you stay away from the cliff path. It is very narrow and leads to a long drop.”

“Thank you, Soames. I'll be careful,” I said.

“I'll send one of the maids to fetch your wrap, Miss Gaffney. The early morning air has a chill to it.”

“Nonsense.” I laughed. “I'm used to the Irish mist. We grow up hardy.”

“Very well, miss. I'll wish you a pleasant stroll then. Breakfast is served at eight-thirty.”

As he spoke, he escorted me to the front door. “I'll be watching for your return, to open the door for you,” he said. “The front door is usually kept locked.”

I stepped out into the fresh morning air. There was dew on the grass that soaked into my light summer shoes immediately but I was so glad to be out and free for a few moments that I didn't care. I crossed the lawn and stood looking down at the riveras it sped between rocks. The rowboat was still tied to the little jetty belowme. I made a mental note that a kidnapper could have come this way, but would have been in full view of the houseforthe whole time. It took skill to land a boat here, as I had seen. And anyone leaving the house would have had to get past a vigilant Soames!

On either side of this central lawn area the terrain rose to wilderness and a rocky shoreline. I was intrigued by the butler’s warning about the cliff path. Where did the path lead? Did it mean that there was a way into the estate without coming along the road and through die main gate?

I turned to my left, leaving the smooth lawn for a shrubbery, and soon picked up a path between tall rhododendron bushes. As I followed it, the path grew narrower and I had to hold my skirts close to me to prevent their getting snagged on bushes. I realized that I was glancing around nervously, which wasn't like me at all. The tension I had felt since I stepped ashore at Adare would not go away. Then it came to me that Brendan Flynn had been buried alive somewhere on these grounds. At this very moment I might be walking over his grave. Not a comforting thought. I found my-self glancing down at my feet as I walked. I had sensed a brooding presence about this place—more than just tragedy lingering in the air. I had been warned more than once to be careful here. But this feeling was enough.

There was a sudden movement and a squirrel dashed across the path ahead of me, making me give an involuntary gasp. Then I felt truly ashamed of myself. Some private investigator I was turning out to be, if I jumped every time I met a squirrel. I was reading too much into servants' natural caution when speaking about their masters. Brendan’s little body might be buried somewhere around here, but he was long gone. I didn't believe in spirits, did I?

At that moment I stepped around a large oak tree and a giant figure loomed up before me. I opened my mouth to scream but only a small squeak came out as he grabbed me by the wrists.

“Hey, steady on,” he said, in a very human voice. “Don't scream. I won't hurt you.”

I looked up into the face of a young man, rather good-looking in an insipid sort of way. He had fair hair, blue eyes and a some-what weak chin. Although he was dressed in casual country attire with open shirt and breeches, I could see that he was a gentleman.

“I'm from next door,” he said, and I realized he looked almost as shaken as I felt. “I was just coming to see Mrs. Flynn on an errand from my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, I'm Roland Van Gelder. We live next door. Are you staying with the Senator?”

“Oh,” I said, flushing and feeling foolish. “Mr. Van Gelder. I'm Senator Flynn’s cousin, Molly Gaffney Visiting from Ireland. I was just out for an early morning stroll. I wasn't expecting to meet anybody. You alarmed me.”

“I'm sure I must have,” he said. “I was equally alarmed when you floated around that tree at me. Especially since my mother has been babbling on about séances.”

We looked at each other and laughed.

“Not exactly the intrepid white hunters, either of us, are we?” Roland said.

“You're right,” I said. “It’s all this talk about ghosts.”

Instinctively we both glanced down at our feet.

“To tell you the truth,” Roland said, “I don't much fancy coming over here, not since—well, you know.”