In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“You know what I think,” I said carefully. “I don't think it was his idea at all. I think someone was paying him, someone who had a grudge against the Flynns.”


He was staring at me now, straight in the eye. “He never said a thing about that.” He paused to consider. “Well, he wouldn't, would he? Anyone who knew who was behind it could wind up dead.” He glanced around. “Look, I have work to do. You're doing justfineon the bicycle. Off you go then.”

I set off up the driveway with quite a bit of wobbling to begin with, and also a lot to think about. If anyone had a grudge against the Flynns, it had to be Adam himself. His father had been cheated out of his livelihood. His mother lived in poverty. It only took a few minutes by boat to cross the riverand I had seen how well he handled a boat.

The gatekeeper swung open the gate for me. “Go careful then, miss,” he said. “Watch out for traffic on the road. Too many automobiles these days.”

I smiled as I set off in the direction of the nearest village, away from West Point and the Van Gelders. The road was empty, with no sign of traffic of any kind, apart from a dog who trotted along, minding his own business. I had no idea how far it was but I assumed I would come to a hamlet of some sort before too long. At first it was a steep uphill climb as the road skirted the mountain above the Flynns' property I had to dismount and push until I came to the crest. I was sweaty, red-faced and out of breath when I came to the top and I stood for a while, wishing I had brought water with me. Then I mounted again and started the long descent. It was delightful, feeling the cool breeze in my face and watching the trees flashing by me. I was about halfway down when I realized something rather vital—I didn't know how to stop. On the flat it was merely a question of not pedaling. Now I was not pedaling and going ever faster.

My straw hat flew off. Pins came out of my hair. By now I was definitely frightened and not at all sure how this could end safely, unless I met an uphill slope soon. Buildings appeared before me— the hamlet I had been seeking. If I shouted for help, maybe someone would rush to my aid, but I have always hated to look foolish. I'd choose disaster over embarrassment any day I hurtled past the first homes. I was halfway down what passed for a main street when the disaster occurred. A young woman came out of the general store and started to cross the street. I shouted, but too late. She looked up to see me bearing down on her. I swerved to my right to avoid her. She dodged to her left to avoid me. The bicycle skidded and I struck her as I went flying.





Eighteen

The breath was knocked out of me as I hit the dirt road. For a moment I lay there, tangled up in my bicycle, too shocked to move. Then I remembered the young woman I had struck and tried to extricate myself from the machine. By this time the noise of our collision had reached the nearest houses. Large hands lifted the bicycle from me and helped me to sit up.

“Are you all right, miss? Easy now. Careful. Don't try to take it too fast.”

Beside me the young woman had already scrambled to her feet and was brushing herself off. “Are you all right?”she asked me.

“More to the point, are you?” I stood up, somewhat shakily. “I am most terribly sorry. It was my first time on a bicycle and I couldn't stop the wretched thing.”

“I always knew those contraptions were a bad idea,” the local man who had helped me up grunted. “God expected humans to walk on their own two feet, not go racing through the countryside, mowing down innocent folk.”

I examined my victim for signs of damage. She appeared to have come through the ordeal with no cuts or scrapes that I could see. But there was an ugly streak across the pale silk of her dress. “Oh no. I have ruined your lovely dress. There is oil on your skirt. How will we be able to clean it?”

“Please don't upset yourself.” The young woman gave me an encouraging smile. “We have both survived with no broken limbs. Let us count ourselves lucky.”

“Bring the young ladies inside, Homer,” a woman instructed. “They'd probably like a nice cool glass of lemonade and a chance to rest.”

We were led into the nearest building while the bicycle was wheeled behind us. I was grateful to sit in the cool darkness and it took me a moment to realize we were in a saloon. The young woman had obviously realized the same thing, because she looked at me and smiled. She had a delightful smile with dimples in her cheeks.

“I never thought when I set out for a walk today that I would wind up in a saloon,” she whispered.

“It may be the only time in our lives that we are actually invited inside,” I whispered back.

“With pure intentions anyway.”

We shared a laugh. I examined the delicate fabric of her skirt. It was a fine silk, pale blue.

“Maybe they can find us some soap and warm water so that we can try to remove the worst of the damage to your skirt.”