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

I tried not to shudder as I imagined standing out in the cold, gutting raw fish until my hands were as raw as the fish themselves. "Thank you for the suggestion," I said. "But I do have an education. I'm hoping for something better."

"Hoping for something better!" Nuala sniffed. "Hark at Miss High and Mighty!" She turned to Fin. "Maybe she's thinking of applying to be mayor of the city? Or a professor at the university? I expect she'll move up to Fifth Avenue next to the Vanderbilts when she leaves us."

Finbar chuckled as he slurped his tea. "Lord, get me out of this place in a hurry," I prayed.

I passed another uneasy night curled awkwardly in the armchair. Bridie insisted on sleeping beside me again, which made it even more cramped. I was wound up like a watch spring and sleep wouldn't come. So many things to plan. I had to find a job, but I also had to find enough facts to save Michael before the federal marshals insisted on having him shipped back to Ireland, or Daniel Sullivan sent him for trial here. The more I considered it, the surer I was that Michael didn't do it. I remembered his face that morning after the murder. He had looked white and shaken when he told me how he had discovered the body. And I still couldn't picture him slitting a throat. An ordinary person, not a trained assassin, would take a knife and plunge it desperately into a body, hoping that the stroke had killed. It took skill and know-how to slit a throat. Someone who was trained to kill then. That's who I was looking for.

I'd start with the boatman and see if he could back up Boyle's alibi, then I'd work from there. It shouldn't be too hard to trace down a fellow Irishman. It seemed everyone knew everyone else in this community. And if his alibi was true, what then?

As I lay there, listening to the snores coming from the next room--hard to tell if they were Nuala's, Finbar's, or Seamus's, although my bet was on Nuala--I went through the whole journey on the Majestic, trying to remember everything I could about O'Malley--who had talked to him, laughed with him, or argued with him. He'd gotten into some heated arguments, but they were only after the men had been drinking and were soon forgotten. The only people with a real bone to pick were myself and Michael. Unless there was someone else who was following O'Malley, biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When I saw Daniel Sullivan again, I'd ask to see the passenger list. It was possible that some other names were linked in some way to the case of the Plumbridge Nine. Of course, Daniel Sullivan would probably have checked that already, but it was worth a try.

I remembered O'Malley teasing Michael well enough. Michael had turned red and walked away. He hadn't said a word back. Did that mean he was keeping his anger bottled up inside? My thoughts moved on to my encounters with O'Malley. In a way I was lucky that the killer had chosen that method to dispatch O'Malley. If it had been poison or any more feminine method, I'd have been locked up in the Tombs by now for sure. Half the ship had seen me slap his face and tell him to stay away from me. I remembered how kind Michael had been, how he'd come up to me that first time with Seamus after the lad had gotten into a fight and ... Wait! I sat up, making Bridie stir and moan in her sleep. That was when he got the blood on his jacket and his handkerchief! Why hadn't I thought of it before? The child's nose had been pouring blood. He had loaned the boy his handkerchief and then shoved it back in his pocket. Obviously he had forgotten to wash it out. I'd go to Daniel Sullivan first thing in the morning. Or maybe I'd do some snooping first and then go to him with an impressive bag full of information that would prove Michael (and me) innocent.

I lay back, closed my eyes, and soon fell into an uneasy sleep.

In the morning when I heard Nuala bustling around, clanking pots and pans, I got up right away. I accepted a cup of tea and a slice of bread, then washed at the sink on the landing, put on my clean blouse, and tidied my hair ready to go out. "I'm off to find a job, then," I said.

She nodded approvingly. "If it's the fish market you're heading for, ask for old Kilty. He's the one that will set you right."