In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

For a moment I thought I had done the wrong thing and that she was about to volunteer to come with me. She put down her pen beside the inkwell, then shook her head and picked it up again. “No, it’s no good. I have to finish these letters whether I want to or not.”


“I should write to my family in Ireland,” I said, “but I just can't do it now. Like you, I just can't seem to get my thoughts in order. Some good fresh air might help.”

“I'd hardly call it good fresh air today,” Belinda said, peering out from the veranda. “In fact it feels thundery to me.”

“It does,” I agreed. “But I'll make sure I'm back before it rains.”

I passed the constable, who gave me a hard stare. “Where are you off to then, miss?” he asked.

It took all my self-control to answer politely, “Just for a stroll around the grounds.”

“I've been thinking about what you said and it’s made me a mite uneasy,” he muttered. “I'll not rest until our detective has had a look at things.”

“You have a detective coming?” Suddenly I felt a whole lot better.

He nodded. “I put in a request when I called about the morgue wagon. So with any luck we should have both of them showing up soon. At least I hope it’s soon. I'm sweating like a pig, pardon my French, standing out here and getting eaten to pieces by mosquitoes.”

“I'm sure the family wouldn't mind if you sat on the veranda,” I said, “or even in the front hall. When you see one of the servants, tell them I said you should have a glass of lemonade.”

“Most thoughtful, miss,” he said. “Watch where you're going now, won't you?”

I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. Did he have his suspicions too? But Belinda was sitting within earshot so I couldn't say more. I started across the lawn and down to the river. It was all I could do not to run or to look back to see if I was being ob-served. I didn't want to take a direct course to the Van Gelders in case anyone was watching me. Once I reached the riverbankI pretended to admire the view. The skiff with Dr. Bimbaum in it was no longer in sight and the riverwas deserted apart from a family of mallards paddling along the shallows, while down toward New York City a paddle steamer was pulling into the dock at Peekskill.

I tried to calm myself down and collect my thoughts, but it wasn't easy. I was beginning to put two and two together and I didn't like the conclusion I was reaching. Barney was the only one who would have known the truth about Margie McAlister, apart from Theresa. And Theresa herself was now dead. Barney was the only one for whom she would have been a threat, which must have meant that he was the one who killed her, unless he had had one of his minions do it for him. Desmond O'Mara had slunk out of the house and not accounted for his presence until the next morning. Did Barney have some sort of terrible hold over him, which made him do evil things at Barney’s bidding?

This is rubbish, I told myself. You really are suffering from female hysterics! I made myself calm down and think things through with logic. But each thought came back to Barney. He was a nice enough fellow, if one ignored the groping hands. But more than one person had told me how ruthless Barney was, how he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. In spite of the perspiration trickling down my back, I shivered. Had he stopped at nothing to get rid of a wife who shut him out of her bedroom and was no longer any use to him?

I began to meander along the bank in what I hoped was aimless fashion. Then, the moment I gained the safety of the trees, I picked up my skirts and made for the path to the Van Gelders. The wretched skirts kept getting caught on brambles and bushes and I wished again for those bloomers. When I got back to New York I'd see about having a pair made for myself. Then I'd be like Sid and Gus and not care a fig what anyone else thought about me!

Thinking of Sid and Gus brought on a powerful wave of home-sickness. It was a feeling I'd never experienced before. I was only too glad to get away from my home in Ireland. But I missed Patchin Place and Sid and Gus and yes, I even missed Seamus and the children. I'd have given anything to be back there with them right now. I wondered how they were doing and whether Shamey and Bridie had wrecked the house and eaten all the food yet. I hoped Shamey had obeyed me and not taken Bridie to swim in the East River again. I hoped Seamus had found a job. I wondered whether Sid and Gus had held any exciting parties in my absence. It was stupid really, as I'd only been gone a little over a week, but I felt as if I'd been away for months. And I longed for the safety of my own little world away from intrigues, murders and Justin Hartley.