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

They say the Celts are born with a sixth sense. I'd never given much thought to it until now, but gradually I was aware that I had become tense and vigilant. I stopped and turned around. The merry throng swept by me. I turned back and walked on. I could feel the back of my neck prickling. I don't know how I knew, but I did. My sixth sense was telling me that I was being followed.

I swung around again, but I saw nothing to alarm me, nobody I recognized, in that crowded street. And yet the feeling wouldn't go away. I was sure someone was following me. I quickened my pace, but the feeling didn't ease. Someone was keeping pace with me. It would have been easy enough to mingle with that crowd, to duck into stores and behind awnings if I looked around. I tried to remember--was it all lights and business right down to the ladies' hostel? If so, I would be safe. But if there was a length of street with no crowds and no lights, then I would have real trouble. How stupid I had been to send the constable away. Daniel Sullivan knew this city better than

I and he had been concerned about my safety. Not to worry, I thought. The constable said that policemen always patrol the Bowery. I'd find the nearest policeman and ask him to escort me

home. But was that such a good idea? If the man who had murdered O'Malley and Levy didn't know where I lived, was I stupid to show him now? All he'd have to do was wait for a suitable moment. At some stage I would come out of the building alone and unprotected and then he could strike. Somehow I would have to lose him.

I picked up my skirts and ran, dodging in and out of people. Then I ducked into the nearest shop. It was a butcher's, with carcasses hanging in the window and sawdust on the floor. The sight of the blood spatters and the smell of raw meat made me feel hot and clammy again. I held onto the edge of the glass-fronted counter, hoping that fainting wasn't going to become a regular event with me. Until now I had always suspected that young women pretended to faint when convenient. The way the blood was singing in my ears at this moment made me decide that my prior judgment could have been harsh.

"Can I help you, miss?" the man behind the counter asked.

I made a supreme effort and stood up straight. "I'm still trying to make up my mind, thank you," I said. I appeared to be studying the various cuts of meat, while at the same time watching the street out of the corner of my eye.

The butcher was tapping the counter impatiently. "I'll have--one of those, please." I pointed at the smallest sausages down at the far end of the counter.

"One? One sausage?"

"That's what I said. One sausage." I returned his stare defiantly. "Is there any law about only selling sausages in twos?"

"No ma'am," he growled and savagely hacked one sausage from the string before wrapping it in paper for me. "That's two cents."

As I fished in my purse for the money I stiffened. Bully Boyle had just walked past the store without looking in. I put down the money, snatched up the wrapped sausage and hurried to the doorway. I could see the back of Boyle's head. He wasn't in uniform but in a blue suit and smart derby. I moved out into the crowd and followed him. I wasn't going to let him out of my sight. He was moving fast now, looking around him. Was he looking for me? He crossed the street. I crossed too, dodging the streetcars and carriages. Then he went into a dark-fronted

store. It had three golden balls hanging over the door, a universal sign that even I, from a little village across the world, knew to be a pawnbrokers establishment. I moved behind the awning of the fish shop next door and pretended to examine some eels.

A few minutes later he came out again. I muttered, "Not fresh enough" to the angry fishmonger and followed Boyle. This time he crossed back to the original side of the street and went into the Irish Variety Theater we had just passed. I watched him long enough to see him buy a ticket and go inside. Was he really going to spend the evening watching the clog-dancing sisters and listening to the men who were the pride of old Ireland, or was this just a ploy? Had he seen me through the butcher's window, after all? At this very moment he could be sneaking out through a side door of the theater. I waited and watched. Time passed but he didn't reappear.

I knew I should be sensible and go straight home while I had the chance, but I had to know what Bully Boyle had been doing in the pawn shop across the street. I crossed and pushed open the pawn shop door. A bell tinkled and an old man sprang up from behind the counter.

"Hello," I said. "I'm looking to buy something nice for my little sister. It's her twenty-first birthday. I don't have much to spend but I want it to be nice."

He smiled a toothless smile at me. "It just happens I've got some nice stuff come in," he said. "I haven't even had time to price it all, but I'll let you make me a fair offer."

He brought out a velvet-lined tray from behind the counter. It was full of pretty things--brooches, hair clips, pearls, and one thing that particularly caught my eye--a muff chain made of amethyst beads. I had seen that chain before, a few days ago. It had been around the neck of a little German girl waiting to enter Ellis Island.