In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“Maybe you'd feel better if you didn't take all those confounded patent medicines and headache powders,” Barney said as he came into the room, followed by Joseph Rimes.

“If I didn't take my medicines I should feel even worse,” Theresa said coldly.

“Did you ever stop to think that the medicines might be negating each other?” Barney asked. “Powders to make you sleep, powders to wake you up, tonics to keep you regular, tonics to stop you going too often.”

“Really Barney, I must protest,” Theresa said sharply. “Such talk at the breakfast table.”

“I've never understood why talk of bodily functions is so taboo in polite society,” Joseph Rimes said, piling his plate with food as he spoke. “Everyone has to do them even Queen Victoria had to visit the smallest room occasionally.”

“Mercy me!” Clara fanned herself. “Mr. Rimes, I must remind you that there are ladies present.”

Joe Rimes laughed.

“You do it deliberately, Joe,” Barney said, also grinning. “You enjoy making other people squirm, don't you?”

“One needs a few simple pleasures,” Joe Rimes said, “and I've had to abandon most of them in the cause of getting you elected to Congress and keeping you there.”

“And I'm most grateful to you, as you know.” Barney sat beside Miss Emily. “And how are you ladies this morning?”

“Well, thank you, Senator. We had a most successful séance last night.”

The grin vanished from Barney’s face. “You went ahead with a séance, after I specifically forbade you to?” he roared.

Theresa stuck out her chin defiantly. “Miss Emily had a message from her spirit guide. He asked me to attend last night and it was a good thing that I did because Brendan came and talked to me.”

“You saw him?” Barney’s voice was still sharp.

“No, but I heard him. His dear, sweet little voice. He told me he was an angel now and I shouldn't grieve.”

“For God’s sake, woman, he was a baby when he died. Not even two years old. He could hardly say two words. How can you possibly believe it was he who was talking to you?”

“But don't you see, he has continued growing as an angel. He’s now seven. A dear little precious seven-year-old angel and he told me he loves me.” Theresa started to cry.

Barney glared at the two sisters, who pretended to be very busy eating toast and jam.

“Well, let’s hope you're now satisfied and this is an end of it,” Barney said to Theresa. “No more séances, do you hear? They're not making you feel better, but worse.”

“Don't send dear Miss Emily and Miss Ella away, I beg of you.” Theresa reached out to grab his hand.

“I am concerned for the health of your mind, Theresa. No good can come of this ridiculous communication with a dead son.”

“Maybe we should pack our things immediately if we are no longer wanted.” Miss Emily rose to her feet. “We are snowed under with invitations from people who want our help. Perhaps it would be wise to move on to a place where we are welcome.”

“Look, now you've upset them.” Again Theresa started to cry into her handkerchief.

“Dammit, woman, I want you to be well again,” Barney shouted.

“I want a normal wife. Is that too much to ask?” He left his food untouched and walked out of the dining room, slamming the door behind him.

The rest of us sat uncomfortably. The Misses Sorensen stood up. “I really think it might be wise for us to leave, Mrs. Flynn. Spirits will not come where there is such hostility to their presence.”

“At least you spoke with Brendan once,” Clara said. “You heard his dear little voice.”

Theresa stretched out her hand imploringly. “Please don't go. Let me reason with him. I'm sure I'll make him understand and appreciate what you've done for us. Please, don't be hasty—just in case my son wants to contact me once again. I couldn't bear it if he tried to contact me and I wasn't there.”

“We only want to do what is right for you, Mrs. Flynn,” Miss Emily said. “But I do sense the most hostile of vibrations coming from your husband. We will never make a believer of him.”

With that they made their exit. I got up too. There was no time to be lost. If those sisters were about to pack up and leave, I had work to do. But before I could leave, Theresa grabbed at my sleeve. “Don't you desert me too, Molly. I need your comforting presence beside me at a time like this. You are becoming my rock, Molly I shall cling to you.”

So naturally I couldn't escape after an appeal like that, could I? Instead, I had to sit listening to Theresa play the piano and then share a book of poems with me all morning. I managed to keep a look of calm composure on my face every time she smiled at me, when I was just itching to rush out to that cottage before those sisters could pack up their things.

Just before lunch I feigned feeling sick again.