Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

review starring the best and brightest of Ireland's stars--straight from their phenomenal success in Dublin and Belfast: Taffy and Rosie, the Shannon twins will clog dance their way into your hearts; Ireland's own darlin' boy, Billy Brady will tickle your fancy with his wicked recitations, and the pride of old Ireland, Edward Monagan, with the golden voice will bring tears to your eyes."

We passed on. I said a silent prayer of thanks they hadn't also sent Taffy and Rosie to entertain us that afternoon. Now we left the main streets and plunged into another maze of smaller streets, but these weren't dark and threatening. They were dark because there was no electric light, but they were full of life and noise. Everywhere there were men with barrows and handcarts, and these handcarts were piled with every sort of merchandise you could imagine--fruit, vegetables, fish, pots, pans, fabric--why, it was better than the Westport fair that we went to once a year when I was a child.

"Is it some kind of market day here?" I asked.

"No, it's like this every day," Seamus answered. "Most new immigrants can't get a job straightaway, especially if they can't speak English. So they go and get themselves a pushcart and they sell things. They start off small and get bigger."

"What about you? Do you have a job or a cart like this?"

"Well, I'm Irish, aren't I? We're the lucky ones. They know we've got good strong muscles and we know how to vote, too."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the power that runs this city is Irish, and if they want to count on our votes to stay in power, then they make sure we're employed and happy. That new subway train I told you about--I'm digging that tunnel. They have plans to dig tunnels all over the city, so I reckon that should keep me nicely employed for quite a while--God willing and the roof don't collapse, like the saying goes here."

We worked our way down the narrow cobbled streets between the pushcarts. It was quite dark by now and I just hoped that what I was treading on was squashed fruit and not something worse. The smell was none too savory, I can tell you that.

The other thing I wasn't used to was the noise

level. Those pushcart men were calling out their wares, mostly in languages I didn't know, but sometimes in broken English, too. People were standing in doorways or out on balconies, yelling across at other people, and children ran squealing, dodging in and out in street games. And to top it all there were barrel organs or hurdy-gurdies stationed on street corners, playing competing tunes. It was lively enough, that was for sure, but overwhelming to newcomers like ourselves. Some dark, ragged children ran up to young Seamus and gave him a push before his father boomed, "Go on, clear off before I belt you one."

Then they dodged away laughing and shouting out in a language that was probably Italian.

"Daddy, I'm tired," Bridie complained, and Seamus hoisted her to his shoulder again. "Not too long now. Hear that foghorn? That's coming from the East River. That's where we're going. Number Twenty-eight Cherry Street--right in the middle of the Irish quarter. The Fourth Ward. Safe and sound."

We turned at last onto a street that was longer and straighter than most we had been through. Not so many pushcarts, either. There was noise spilling out of a saloon and someone started singing "Where the mountains of Morne come down to the sea."

A window above our heads opened and a woman's voice shrieked, "You get in here this minute, Kevin O'Keefe, or you'll get such a walloping, you'll not be able to sit down for a month."

Suddenly I wanted to laugh. I'd come halfway around the world and here I was, back at home!

Seamus came to a halt outside one of the tall brown buildings. "This is home, children. Now we just have to walk up the four flights of stairs and we'll be there." He pushed open the front door and stepped aside with a chivalrous bow. "After you, Miss Molly."

I nodded, thanked him, and stepped inside. The stairway was in pitch darkness and stank as if half the dogs in the world had peed on it. I was only halfway up the first flight when my foot touched something soft and warm. There was a scream and the object beneath my foot wriggled. I think I screamed, too, and only just stopped myself from plunging down the stairs.

"I think I stepped on a baby!" I shouted

into the darkness.

"That will be the Donovans' brat again. She's got so many kids she can't keep track of them. Now there's a new baby and the one above it has learned to crawl, so it's off and away with no one keeping an eye on it."

I reached around in the dark and picked up the squirming, bawling bundle.

"Do they live on this floor?" I made it to the landing.

"Door on the right," Seamus said. He banged on it. It was opened a crack and several pairs of suspicious eyes peeked out.

"Ma, I think it's the health inspector, got Ginny," a child's voice screamed.

I held out the child. "I'm not the health inspector. The little one was lying on the cold stairs in the dark. I stepped on her."

"Ma, Ginny was out on the stairs again. See I told you Freddy wasn't watching her."