Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. But he could have come by when I wasn’t here. I’ve been over at my sister’s house a lot this week. She’s laid up with a confinement—her tenth child, can you believe? I thank the Lord over and over that he let me stop at three.”


We nodded in womanly understanding. I rose to my feet. “Well, thank you for the iced tea, Mrs. O’Shea. Most welcome in this hot weather. And if I could go up to Captain Sullivan’s apartment?”

“Of course. I’ll find you the spare key. I’m just on my way out again, so if I’m not here when you’re done, put it in the jar on the hall table.”

“I will. Thank you again.”

I took the key and climbed the stairs. It was an odd feeling, letting myself into Daniel’s apartment. It was a long time since I had been here—a year maybe, but memories flooded back. How much had happened in a year. I stood taking in the unique smell of the place, that combination of pipe tobacco mixed with furniture polish and maybe a hint of grilled chops or steak. A completely manly smell to complement the room. Dark, polished furniture, shelves of books, an easy chair by the fireplace, pipes lined up in a rack on the mantel shelf. It was easy to see that these were bachelor’s quarters, with no woman’s touch to brighten or soften the tone. I ran my hand fondly over the back of his armchair. I had sat here once and he had perched on the arm beside me and…“Stop this at once and get on with things,” I said, pushing such thoughts from my mind.

I began with the big oak desk in the window. I felt strange going through Daniel’s personal papers and had to remind myself that less friendly eyes than mine had perused them before me. A bundle of letters from his mother, tied with red ribbon, bills all paid on time, nothing useful or incriminating. The living room turned up nothing, so I went on to the bedroom that opened from it. It felt even stranger to be standing in Daniel’s bedroom, looking at the neat, burgundy silk eiderdown on his massive mahogany bed. I walked past it and started with the bedside cabinet. When I opened the top drawer I uncovered a snapshot wrapped in a silk handkerchief. I took it out and felt the tears springing to my eyes. It was the picture that Paddy Riley had taken of Daniel and me, strolling in Central Park last summer. How relaxed and content we looked together, with my arm slipped through Daniel’s and an absurdly proud smile on my face. What a lot had happened to us since then. I slipped it into my purse, just in case more policemen came to pry.

I searched some more and was gratified to note that there was no portrait of Arabella in evidence, which just shows you of what base thoughts we women are capable. I was going through his chest of drawers, noting how neatly he kept everything folded, in contrast to myself who was messy by nature, when I sensed, rather than saw, a movement behind me. I spun around, but nobody was there.

Too much imagination, I thought, but I felt as tense as a coiled watch spring. I was conscious of being alone in the big house, of being trapped upstairs in a back room with no way out. Cautiously I closed the drawer and turned around. Then I made my way back to the bedroom door. Again, with that sixth sense for danger, I felt a presence behind me. I spun around and this time I was sure that something had moved in the darkened bathroom beyond.

It crossed my mind that I might have surprised a burglar, helping himself to Daniel’s things when he was away. Then I reasoned that Mrs. O’Shea was hardly likely to have admitted a burglar. Daniel’s windows were shut and the only way in was through the front door and up two flights of stairs. Whoever or whatever it was, I wasn’t stupid enough to go and investigate. If someone was in there, I’d try to pretend I hadn’t noticed and simply leave. Afterward, I could keep watch to see who emerged.

All would have been fine, except that I glanced back once more just as I was leaving the bedroom. This time I saw him in the mirror. He was standing behind the bathroom door, a huge dark shape with one arm raised and holding some kind of weapon.





FIVE




I turned and fled, blundering in my haste against the washstand that stood beside the door. Unfortunately my foot caught against one of the legs of the washstand. It teetered and fell, the china jug breaking as it crashed onto the floor, sloshing water over my feet and legs. I lost my balance and stumbled forward, expecting to feel that blow to the back of my head at any moment. When hands grabbed me, I attempted to struggle to my feet.

“You’ll not get away with this, you know!” I shouted. “Mrs. O’Shea is downstairs. I’ll scream and she’ll come running up here and her big sons with her.”

“It’s all right, miss. Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you,” said a very deep voice. “Don’t be scared. Here, I’ll help you up.” And I was deposited on my feet.

I turned to look at my attacker.

“You were waiting behind the door to clobber me. I saw you in the mirror,” I said.