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

I wasn't sure whether the ladies of the Bible Society would welcome a Catholic like myself and was even less sure that I wanted to be in a place where they didn't stand any nonsense, but it would do for now. I retrieved my bundle and started to walk down Broadway. It was all hustle and bustle and any other time I would have enjoyed watching the fine carriages and the trams going up and down. But now my feet hurt and I just wanted to get settled somewhere where I could relax for a while.

There was something happening across the street. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk and there were several fancy carriages and automobiles lined up outside a building I now saw was a pretty little church, tucked in between the massive squares of brick and stone. Being curious by nature, I went over to look. A wedding party had just come out and was standing on the steps. The bride was wearing the most stunning white hat, trimmed with egret plumes and a cunning little veil. The groom was handsome in military uniform. The rest of the party was composed of two adorable little bridesmaids in white fur capes, elegant ladies, draped in furs and distinguished-looking gentlemen in top hats, with impressive gold chains dangling from their waistcoats.

I stood daydreaming for a moment, putting myself in the place of that bride. Strangely enough, the groom bore a remarkable resemblance to Daniel Sullivan.

I heard someone say, "It's an honor,

Mrs. Vanderbilt," and someone else call out, "Hold still, please, if you would, ladies and gentlemen." There was a flash and the smell of sulphur. Then I noticed the photographer.

I ran up to him. "Mr. Levy?"

He didn't look up. "Just a minute, my dear. Stand back, please." There was a click and a flash. The air filled with acrid smoke. As it cleared, he looked up, smiling with satisfaction. "That will be a very good shot. Got the whole group of them together. I've no doubt the

Weekly Illustrated will pay good money for that one. Now, what was it you wanted?"

"You were taking photographs on Ellis Island the other day."

His eyes twinkled. "I know you. You had the adorable little girl who wouldn't smile for the mayor." He had a slightly foreign accent, but his English sounded cultured. He looked cultured, too--dark suit, high white collar, polished shoes. I guessed that this was a man who had been somebody back in his own country.

"Right. That was me. You have a good memory." "Listen, my dear. In my line of work you have to have a memory like a filing cabinet. So what can I do for you? Wait, don't tell me. I know. You'd like one of the photos I took as a souvenir. Am I right?"

"I'd love to see it," I said. "I can't afford to buy photographs at the moment. But I wondered if you also took a group shot of the mayor's party?"

"Yes, I did. And he hasn't paid me for it yet, either."

"Do you think I could see that one, too? It's possible that a distant cousin of mine is now working for the mayor. I'm sure I recognized him." I winced as the lie came out. Lying was becoming so easy for me. If I was hit by one of those electric trams before I got to confession, it would be straight to hell, for sure.

"Come to my studio, by all means. I should be back there by the time it gets dark. Do you know where to find me?"

"I went there earlier today. I'll come back around five, then, shall I?"

He reached out, took my hand, made as if to bring it to his lips, then thought better and patted it. "I shall look forward to it, my dear."

I found the women's hostel soon after. It was in an austere brownstone building positioned on a corner to catch the wind from the harbor in two directions. The lady in reception looked me up and down for a good minute before deciding that they might have a bed for me. "You don't have employment yet?" she demanded.

"I only arrived this week. It's impossible to look for a job before I have a place to stay," I said. "I stayed a couple of nights with friends but it was too crowded and I had nowhere to wash

properly."

She nodded as if this was the right answer. "Very well. We charge a dollar a week, which includes your breakfast and evening meal. You are expected to be present for our communal evening meal at six o'clock sharp. You are expected to attend morning prayers before breakfast--six thirty sharp, with breakfast at seven. You are not permitted to loaf around the hostel during the day. You are expected to be out looking for work. The hostel is locked for the night at nine o'clock. No gentlemen callers are allowed. Is this all clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." I nodded in what I considered a suitably humble way.

"Very well. I'll have you shown to your room. I hope you'll be happy with us, Miss Murphy."