In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“I don't think she was a married lady,” the woman said. “I don't recall noticing a ring on her finger. But there’s always someone to grieve, isn't there—some relative or friend whose heart will be broken. Likely as not there would be a young man. She was a pretty girl, if my memory serves me correctly.”


“Yes, she was. I wonder where she was staying and whether her landlady would like help with packing up her things?”

“As to that, she was staying with Mrs. Brewer, down by the river. She runs a respectable, Christian rooming establishment. You go down past the church and it’s the big redbrick house on the left with a white balcony running all around it. You can't miss it.”

I thanked her and made my way to Mrs. Brewer’s establishment. That good woman was concerned that Miss McAlister had paid two weeks in advance.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked me. “I don't rightly fike to keep what isn't my due. Were you a friend of hers?”

“No, 1 only met her once,” I said. “Did she mention her family at all?”

“I have her home address from our correspondence,” she said. “But she lived alone, she told me that much. She said an aunt had left her a nice little legacy that had enabled her to buy her own little house and not to have to work any more. But I can't say she mentioned any family. No doubt the police will find out those things. I don't like to touch anything in her room until Constable Palmer tells me to. What do you think, miss?”

I dearly wanted to take a look at her room, and was trying to make my brain work quickly enough to come up with a good excuse to do so.

“I can't see any reason why you should not pack up her things, ready to be shipped to her next-of-kin,” I said. “After all, it’s not as if a crime was committed in the room, was it?”

I shouldn't have said that. Her face turned white. “Whatever do you mean? The young lady met with a nasty accident—that was what we heard. You didn't hear to the contrary, did you?”

“No, of course not,” I said rapidly. “She fell from the path. A nasty accident. Would you like some help packing up her things? I know you'll find it a distressing task and it would go quicker with two.”

“Why bless you, my dear. What a sweet, Christian thought.” She gave me such a wonderful smile that I felt guilty about my true motives. “It’s up here, on the left.” She started up the narrow stair. “I gave her the best room with a view of the river like she asked for.”

“She asked for a view of the river?” I said as the woman led the way into a spotless, if Spartan room. The view from the window made up for the room’s lack of adornment, with willows on the bank around a white gazebo and then the magnificent river beyond.

“Why, yes, she did. Requested it specifically in her letter.”

“I can see why she wanted this view,- it’s delightful,” I said.

Mrs. Brewer had opened a dresser drawer, then shut it again hurriedly. “It doesn't seem right for me to go through her things,” she said. “No. I just can't do it.”

“But it would help the constable if you found an address for her next-of-kin, wouldn't it?” I asked. “They'll want to know.”

“I suppose so,” she agreed and gingerly lifted items from the drawers.

There wasn't much. Some good-quality undergarments, neatly folded, a couple of summer dresses and a straw bonnet, some gloves, a novel and a sketch book. In a small brocade jewelry roll there was an enamel brooch in the shape of a bird and a locket on a velvet ribbon. The locket contained one small dark curl. That was about it. Whoever Miss McAlister was, she had left little of herself in that room. No letters from home, no postcards half-written to dear ones, no photographs.

“I hope the police where she lives will be able to trace her relatives,” I said, “because she has no writing paper or address book with her. Did she receive any mail while she was with you?”

Mrs. Brewer thought, then shook her head. “No, I can't say that she did.”

“Are you on the telephone?” I asked.

She looked shocked. “An instrument of the devil,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered if Miss McAlister received any telephone calls while she was staying with you.”

“If she wanted to use a telephone, she'd have had to use the instrument in the police station,” she said. “That’s the only one around here.”

“You know what I've been wondering,” I said, pulling back the lace curtain to stare out of the window, “and that’s, what made her come here? Did she ever tell you why she came here?”

“For her health, that’s what she said.”

“But didn't youfindthat strange?” I asked. “I mean, why would she choose this of all places? The ocean is more bracing and if she wanted arivervacation, I understand there are resorts upstream in the Catskill Mountains.”

“Maybe she wanted peace,” Mrs. Brewer said. “And she wanted a Christian boardinghouse with no rowdiness or drunkenness, not a resort.”

“Did she ever mention whether she had been in this neighbor-hood before?”