In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“Well, sir. And you?” Roland rose to his feet as we approached. “Ladies,” he bowed to us, “you all look simply stunning this morning. Far too ravishing for church, I must say. You must have set the poor old priest’s heart aflutter.”


“Mr. Van Gelder!” Clara said in a shocked voice. “I must protest. You may not belong to our religion but I will not let you insult it. Our priests are pure and holy men, especially Father Conway at St. Agnes.”

“Who is eighty if he’s a day,” Roland said, smiling in the direction of Belinda and myself. “I was wondering if you'd care to come out riding later today, Miss Butler?”

“Will your houseguests be accompanying us?” she asked.

“Captain Cathers may well be persuaded to. I think I mentioned that poor old Hartley doesn'tridemuch any more. Lack of balance, you know.”

“Are they planning to stay with you much longer?” I tried not to sound too interested. “Captain Cathers spoke of wanting to go West.”

“I think that is their plan,” Roland said. He looked up at me. “And I must say you've made an impression upon Mr. Hartley. He spoke about you after you left the other evening and he says he plans to look you up when you return to Ireland.”

“Did you hear that, Molly?” Qara asked. “Such a handsome gentleman too.”

“He'll have to wait a long time for Molly’s return,” Theresa said, “because I have no intention of letting her go. In fact I made up my mind last night that she will come to Washington with us where I can introduce her to all the most eligible bachelors in the land. And we were going to summon the dressmaker, weren't we? Qara, I believe I asked you to do so—have you done it yet?”

“I'm afraid it slipped my mind, Theresa,” Qara said, giving me a sideways glance. “I've been so worried about your health.”

“My health is getting stronger by the minute, I can feel it. What do you think, Bamey—should we ask Miss Emily and Miss Edith for another seance tonight?”

“Absolutely no,” Bamey said. 'You are in no fit state for more shocks to your system. Let’s get you back on your feetfirstand then think about stances.”

“How are Miss Emily and Miss Ella faring?” I asked. “I hope they arefinallyrecovering from their ordeal.”

“How sweet of you to worry for their health, Molly,” Theresa said. “But it’s good news. They have already paid me a visit this morning and will join us for Sunday lunch. Will you also join us, Mr. Van Gelder? Cook always puts on a really fine spread on Sundays.”

“I would be honored, Mrs. Flynn.” Roland’s eyes didn't leave Belinda. “And after lunch maybe Miss Butler will satisfy my whim to go out riding.”

Belinda crossed the veranda, trailing her gloves across the furniture. “I suppose riding would be slightly less boring than playing croquet with Clara,” she said. “All right, Roland. But only if Barney lets me ride his new thoroughbred.”

“I don't know, Belinda. He’s very willful,” Barney said.

“My dear brother-in-law, you know I can handle any horse in creation,” Belinda said. “And if I don't ride the thoroughbred, I'm not going.”

“Very well, only go carefully,” Bamey said.

“Don't worry. If Roland rides that old nag again, the pace isn't going to be exactly fast.”

I saw a spasm of annoyance cross Roland’s face. “Yes, I know what you mean. We're thinking of buying a replacement, but we— we haven't had time, what with all these summer visitors.”

Lunch was everything that Theresa had promised. A huge joint of roast beef, surrounded by roast potatoes, sweet potatoes, baby carrots, beans, and peas, followed by a light concoction of whipped cream and fresh raspberries. Replete with food, we retired to our rooms, except for Belinda, who departed with Roland. I lay on my bed, watching the lace curtains stir idly in the summer breeze, listening to shouts from the river as pleasure craft passed. I found my thoughts drifting back to the strange encounter in the churchyard this morning. Surely Bertie Morell had been portrayed as a ladies' man, hadn't he? He had been walking out with Annie Lomax. There had been no mention of a wife and child. So who was the woman who came regularly to put flowers on his grave? I surmised she must be a regular visitor because the flowers she had removed were not yet quite dead—no more than a few days old. Would a sister be so loyal, or an old family friend? I didn't think so and resolved to delve deeper into Mr. Morell’s family background.

Then a drowsiness overcame me and I must have drifted off to sleep because I woke with a start to hear voices below my window.