In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“Of course I do. But even a saint can only put up with so much. A husband has a right to expect certain—duties—from a wife. She won't let me near her, you know. I'm a normal, healthy, red-blooded man with normal, healthy needs and she keeps her bedroom door locked at night. What’s a fellow to do?”


Again I wasn't quite sure what he was hinting at. I was all too familiar with those so-called needs of red-blooded men, and their apparent lack of ability to control them. But was he suggesting that I might want to take Theresa’s place? I'd heard about Bamey Flynn’s womanizing, but I hadn't thought it might extend to his own cousin. I didn't quite like the way he was looking at me.

“You made your vows in church,” I said, primly. 'Tor better or worse, in sickness or in health.”

“I know.” He sighed again. “I keep hoping. That’s why I'm so glad you're here, dear Molly.”

Again I glanced at him cautiously, not quite sure what he might be hinting at.

“I'll do my best to cheer up Theresa, I promise,” I said hastily.

“I do hope so. You're so young and full of life. Maybe you're just what she needs, not that dreary Cousin Clara of hers who just drags her down, or her sister who reminds her what she might have been.” He glanced around before lowering his voice. T o tell you the truth, I'm afraid her mind is going. Belinda wants her to see one of these new alienist fellows.”

He looked at me for an opinion. Having never heard of alienists and having no idea what they were, I gave a sympathetic nod. “If he’s going to help her …”

“What I'm afraid of is that the fellow might make her relive the details of that day and it might just push her over the edge. I wouldn't want her to wind up in an institution.”

“Oh, I don't think she’s headed that way, Bamey. Her mind seemed quite bright and alert to me.”

His face lit up. “You think so? I do hope you're right. It was a good sign when she mentioned she might want to visit Ireland. Should I plan a trip for us? Do you think it might help?”

“I could try to encourage the idea in her mind while I'm here,” I said. “I wouldn't rush her or make her feel you were forcing anything on her.” It was in my own interests that he didn't try contacting relatives in Ireland while I was still in the house.

“You're wonderful, Molly. I'm so glad you're here.” He drew me into his arms and hugged me. Again I got thefeelingit wasn't entirely a cousinly hug. I moved away from him, laughing uneasily.

“Do you think breakfast is ready yet? I'm starving after all this exercise.”

“It should be soon,” he said. “But I want to show you my pride and joy first. Come on.” He took my hand and held it sofirmlythat it would have been rude to pull mine away. He led me behind die house, past an extensive kitchen garden and small orchard, then he stopped and pointed.

“There. What do you think of that?”

Amid a stand of chestnut trees stood a perfect Irish cottage. It had a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, just like the one I had left at home. A pang of homesickness shot through me. I had diought I'd never want to see Ireland again, but that cottage almost brought tears to my eyes.

“How did that come to be here?” I stammered.

“I built it.” Barney was smiling with satisfaction. “When I took over this property, I built it for my parents. They were simple folk and didn't feel at ease in the grand house. So I built them a cottage like the one they had left. They spent their last days here.”

“Who lives in it now?” I asked. I had seen a lace curtain twitch and fall back as we approached.

“Nobody. It’s our guesthouse. The two spiritualist ladies are staying in it at the moment. They indicated they didn'tfeelcomfortable in the main house. Not to the liking of their spirit friends, I understand.” He threw back his head and laughed. He had a big, powerful laugh to match his build. “What a load of malarky, don't you think, Molly?”

“I saw them last night. They were rather impressive,” I said. “A floating head that talks and blinks its eyes has to be explained, don't you think?”

“Some theatrical trick,” he said. “But Theresa set her heart on having them here. If they can make her believe that Brendan is happy and she'll see him again some day, then they're worth the money.”

“But you don't believe they'll contact your son?” He shook his head. “My son is gone forever. I'll never see him again.”

I was taking in the lie of the land as we spoke, noticing the gravel driveway that passed to the right of the cottage and went on, presumably up to the gatehouse and the gate. I hadn't realized how extensive the property was. Anybody kidnapping a child in broad daylight would have had to walk miles from the boundary and then cross exposed lawn in full view of the house. Carrying the child out of the house and across those lawns again without being seen seemed to me an impossible task.