Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I stared at the list again. The next day was Sunday. Half of lower Manhattan would be spending it at Coney Island. Maybe I should, too. I didn’t think I’d be able to persuade Mr. Atkinson to take me to Daniel again soon, so I wrote two letters. One was to Daniel himself, one to the lawyer, both asking the same questions: Who had come to visit Daniel? Who had asked after him? I planned to go and ask those same questions of the desk sergeant at The Tombs. I also realized that I should follow up on Daniel’s suggestion and see if I could find out who was really employing Mr. Atkinson. That would mean finding a time to talk with his secretary when her boss wasn’t in the office, or, even more ideally, having a chance to go through his books when neither of them was there.

There was no point in trying this on a Saturday afternoon. A lawyer’s office would probably close early if they worked at all on Saturday afternoons. Half day Saturday had become all the rage, I gathered. I’d just have to wait until Monday. I put my two letters into envelopes, found stamps for them, and went out, hoping to make the last collection of the afternoon, as there was no post on Sundays. As I passed Sid and Gus’s house I felt a pang of guilt. I was just putting off the evil hour when I would have to tell them the truth. I had been making all kinds of excuses for delay. I don’t know why I was so afraid to tell them. After all, they were the least judgmental people I had ever met. They didn’t care two figs for the rules of society. They would probably throw themselves instantly into the role of adoring aunts. But I knew they would somehow think less of me, and I was already ashamed of my own weakness.

Still, it had to be done. They would be hurt if they found out later that I had kept such an enormous secret from them. And God knows I needed support right now. I would do it tonight, as soon as I returned from my errands, as soon as I had thought out the words to say….

As always on Saturday afternoons, the town was in festive mood. Those people who only worked half days on Saturday were out shopping. Two children skipped by me, a few paces ahead of their parents, each clutching an orange. The parents smiled fondly at their excitement. As they came to Sixth Avenue, the husband took his wife’s arm to help her across the road, and I noticed that she was to have another child soon. I hurried past them. It seemed that everywhere I looked, fate was mocking me.

I was just fishing for my key to open my front door on my return home when the door opposite opened and Sid stood there, hands on hips. “And where have you been, you sly creature?” she demanded. For a moment I thought she was serious until I saw the twinkle in her eyes. “Gus and I have been absolutely dying to hear about the demon Arabella’s visit. We waited patiently until we were sure she must have departed, and then we found that you had slipped out without telling us a thing, leaving us in the most horrible suspense. So put that basket inside and then come straight over. That’s an order, by the way, because we have more guests. And you’d have never forgiven yourself if you had missed them.”

“You have other guests? My, but you have had a busy day.” Privately my brain was racing, wondering who could possibly have turned up now, possibly looking for me. After Arabella Norton, all things were possible.

Sid hovered behind me while I put the basket of groceries on my kitchen table, then escorted me across Patchin Place as if I might be about to do a bunk.

Gus met us in the hall. “You’ve found her! Well-done, Sid.”

“I gather you have more guests?” I asked.

“I know. What a thrilling day. Miss Norton, of all people. You could have knocked us down with a feather when she told us her name. Of course we wanted to protect you, in case she had come with evil intent, but she said she bore you no malice and had come asking for your help.”

“Yes, she wants me to find her friend who has vanished,” I said.

“Maybe Sid and I could help you,” Gus said, her face lighting up in that delightfully elfish way. “We seem to know a lot of people in common with Miss Norton, don’t we, Sid?”

“We do seem to,” Sid agreed. “Just give us our assignment, and we’ll be at your beck and call.”

“That would be a godsend,” I said. “I didn’t know where I was going to find the time to fit in Miss Norton.”

“You know we’re always dying to play at investigators and to keep an eye on you when you get yourself involved in dangerous missions,” Gus said. “Come on through and you can give us our briefing.”

“I thought you said you had guests.”

“They’ll want to hear, too,” she said. She leaned close and whispered. “Ryan has brought his new friend to meet us.”

“Is he still in Buddhist monk’s robes?” I paused, as she led me through the house and out to the conservatory.

“No, he is very properly dressed like an English gentleman—or should one say an Irish gentleman?”

“Definitely the latter, if you don’t want a crack on the head with a shillelagh.”

She chuckled. “Look who we found, Ryan, dearest,” she announced, as we came upon two men relaxing in wicker chairs. The glass doors were open onto the garden. A large jug of some kind of punch stood on the wicker table next to a vase of roses. It presented a wonderfully rural scene in the middle of the city.

The two gentlemen rose to their feet.