Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

“Surely you’ve had similar duties in the police department?” I said. “Your men patrol the streets all night, every night.”


“That’s why I became a captain,” he replied with a reluctant grin. “I did my share as a young officer and then I left it to my juniors.”

“Exactly what I’m doing. Leaving it to my juniors.”

Daniel glared at me as I laughed. “Oh, come on, Daniel. You’ll know to wear something warmer tonight. Buy some hot chestnuts or a hot potato and put it in your pocket. That’ll help you keep warm. And take along a flask of brandy.”

“You expect me to go out there again?”

“Somebody has to,” I said. “I’m due at the theater at four and my evenings are going to be occupied by watching over Blanche Lovejoy.”

“What does she want you to do for her?”

“Protect her from a ghost,” I said. “No, don’t laugh. She is mortally afraid, Daniel. She thinks her theater is haunted.”

“And just how do you plan to protect her from a ghost? I don’t see you wearing a large crucifix around your neck—and where is your holy water?”

“The aim is to prove to her that there is no ghost and that she’s imagining things. Either that, or . . .” I broke off.

“Or what?”

“Or someone in the cast is trying to scare Blanche Lovejoy and make sure the production is shut down.”

Daniel reached out his hand and grabbed mine. “Molly, be careful. If someone is resorting to such desperate measures, they may resent your trying to stand in their way. I should think that backstage in a theater is a great place for nasty accidents. Make sure one doesn’t happen to you.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Nobody knows why I am there except Blanche, and she’s going to arrange it so that I have a good reason for being near her at all times. I’m to meet her at four, which doesn’t give us much time to visit the hospital.”

“Oh, about the hospital,” Daniel said. “Would you really mind going on your own today? I don’t think I should risk being around so many sick people, not in my present condition.”

“Daniel, you’ve got the beginnings of an ordinary little cold. But I don’t mind going alone, if you’d like to stay here and rest before this evening’s assignment with Mr. Roth.”

“You’re a heartless slave driver, Molly Murphy,” he said, but in a good-natured way.





ELEVEN

I arrived at the German hospital just as the clock on a nearby church was striking three. That gave me one hour to see my mystery girl and then get back to the theater. I inquired which ward she had been taken to and found her lying, as still and white as the first time I had seen her, in a bed at the far end. For a moment I wondered if she had died, but as I stood beside her those clear blues eyes opened and focused on me. I thought I saw some recognition there.

“Hello.” I gave her my warmest smile. “Do you remember me from yesterday? I was the one who found you in Central Park. How are you feeling today? Recovered from your ordeal?”

She continued to stare at me, but didn’t say a word. Nor did her expression change.

“Have they managed to contact your relatives yet?” I asked.

Again, not a glimmer of anything in her eyes.

I saw a nurse coming down the ward with some medicine on a tray. “Has this young lady spoken at all yet?” I asked.

“Not a word,” the nurse said.

“Do you think she doesn’t understand English?”

“We’ve tried several languages but she just stares blankly.”

“So you obviously haven’t managed to contact her family.”

“Not as far as I know. How are you connected with her?”

“I was the one who found her in a snowbank yesterday.”

“Mercy me. The poor child. Well, maybe she’ll come around soon with loving care and nourishing food.”

She continued on her way. I went to seek out the doctor we had seen yesterday and found him coming out of a ward down the hall. He recognized me right away.

“The young lady. You have seen for yourself, no? She does not respond to anything. Maybe the blow to her head?”

“She did receive a blow to the head then?”

“We had to sedate her before we could examine her properly, and yes, there was a bump on one side of her head, and some bruises and scratches on the same side of her body. But nothing that seemed severe enough to cause such deep amnesia.”

“If she was hit on the head in the park, and presumably knocked out, then how did she manage to walk to the spot where I found her on her own?” I said, speaking more to myself than the doctor. “And why bruises and scratches just on one side of her body?”

“A tricky puzzle,” the doctor said. “I wish I knew the answers.”

“And that was the extent of her injuries?” I asked. “No signs of other—uh—kinds of assault?”

“No sign at all.”

“Well, that’s one piece of good news, isn’t it?” I said. “So, is something being done to locate her next of kin?”