“What the devil do you think you're doing here?” A man’s voice, barely more than a whisper. If there was an answer I didn't catch it. “You must be out of your mind,” the voice continued. 'You remember our agreement as well as I do. We're not going back on it now. I paid you well enough!”
I jumped out of bed and went to look out of the window. I waited but there were no more voices and nobody came out of the house. I was confused until I realized that I had probably been listening to one end of a telephone conversation. The telephone was kept in Bamey Flynn’s study and his windows were certainly open. Well, Barney’s questionable dealings were no business of mine. I moved away from the window and pulled up a chair to the desk. I took out my notebook and jotted down what I had seen this morning—the strange woman who had leftflowerson Bertie Morell’s grave. The innkeeper in the village had hinted that he was one for the ladies. Was this one of Bertie’s conquests? And what of the boy? I'd probably have no way of finding out, unless she came back next Sunday and I couldfinda way to engage her in conversation.
The question was whether I would still be here by next Sunday. I would have to make sure I left Adare before the embarrassment of a dressmaker’s arrival and I still hadn't had any opportunity to unmask the spiritualist sisters. Since I had seen how fond they were of their food, it came to me that I could feign an indisposition and search their cottage when they were at lunch, although I had no idea what I was looking for.
Search cottage, I wrote in my notebook.
I looked up to see Desmond O'Mara hurrying across the lawn and disappearing into the undergrowth beside the river in the direction of the cliff path.
Apparently the servants always had Sunday afternoon and evening off, so the meal was cold meats and salad with the remains of the pudding. Most of us were too stuffed full from lunch to eat much anyway. The Misses Sorensen, however, node an appearance and worked their way steadily through everything.
“We are ready for another stance whenever you feel up to it, dear Mrs. Flynn,” Miss Emily said. “In fact our dear Chief Ojuweca came to me in a dream last night and said he might have some good news for you.”
“Good news? Really?” Theresa looked up. “Then let us hold a seance tonight.”
“Not tonight, Theresa,” Bamey said. “I made it clear to you that you are not yet strong enough. If you insist on going ahead with thisridiculousbusiness, then plan your stance for later in the week.”
“But if Miss Emily and Miss Ella are willing and Ojuweca has news for me—” Theresa began.
“Not tonight. I forbid it and that’s final. Now, why don't we re-tire to the parlor and play some cards.”
“Cards, on a Sunday?” Clara asked.
“Clara, it’s only Puritans who don't allow fun on the Sabbath. We Catholics have an understanding with our God. He wants us to enjoy ourselves whenever we please.”
'Your God might, but mine forbids it.” Clara said. “If you're going to play cards, I shall retire to my room.”
Clara retired after the meal,- so did the sisters.
“Do you play whist, Molly?” Bamey asked.
“I'm afraid I never learned card games,” I said.
“Don't tell me they are a bunch of Puritans back in Ireland!” Barney exclaimed.
“No, I'm sure they are not. It was just my family never went in for card games. But I'd be happy to leam.”
'You can watch for a while then, until you get the hang of it.” “That’s no use,” Belinda said, “we need a fourth. What has happened to Mr. Rimes and Mr. O'Mara?”
“Both out,” Bamey said.
“Servants' night out?” Belinda asked sweetly. 'You're so good to them, Bamey.”
“Wicked girl.” Bamey wagged a finger at her. “Never mind, we'll teach Molly as we go along. I'm sure she’s very quick on the uptake.”
I was and we spent an enjoyable evening. Even Theresa seemed livelier and some color had returned to her cheeks. If I stayed long enough, maybe I could restore her to full health, I found myself thinking, and had to remind myself sharply that I wasn't really her cousin and I didn't belong here.
I was awoken by a loud banging noise and the sound of raised voices. Outside was a misty gray dawn. The first doves were cooing in the trees. At the sound of the raised voices, crows started cawing in alarm. I scrambled out of bed and hastily put on my robe before peering out of the window. Three men were standing there, humble folk by the way they were dressed, and they were gesticulating wildly
“On the Senator’s property,” I heard one of them say. “We saw it clearly from the river, but we couldn't put in there because of those rocks.”
“Somebody should go for the constable,” I heard another voice say.
Then I heard doors open on the landing and footsteps running down the stairs. I opened my own door in time to hear Barney’s voice shouting, “What is all this row at six in the morning? What is going on?”
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
Rhys Bowen's books
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- For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)
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