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

“No, I haven’t asked that question. I was told that she hadn’t been assaulted in that way.”


“Then I would suggest that finding out would be a next step. It would mean we were dealing with a girl who had recently run away and not fallen into the hands of a pimp or a madam.”

“But what about the terrible trauma?” I asked. “The one that has robbed her of her speech?”

“Until she regains her speech and tells us, we have no way of knowing. From what you tell me I suggest that someone was deliberately trying to get rid of her. You say she suffered a blow to the head. Perhaps someone intended to knock her out and leave her to freeze in the park. By the time her body was found he could be far away with an alibi.”

“How terrible.” I shuddered, reliving the cold of that snow against my own bare skin.

“People do terrible things every day,” she said. “Some of the sights I have witnessed seem beyond belief. Mothers who kill their innocent little children, men who beat their wives, men who kill for a bottle of liquor or a new coat. Life, I am afraid, is very cheap in New York City.”

“But you will do what you can, won’t you?” I asked. “You’ll go through the reports of missing girls. You’ll ask around at headquarters. I’ve given you the description.”

“Yes, I’ll do what I can,” she said with a weary smile. “But you have to realize that you can only do so much. She is not your sister. You have no obligation here. You can’t solve all the troubles of the world.”

“I’d like to give it a darned good try,” I replied, making her smile.

After I left her, I decided that my next visit should be to Ryan O’Hare. He had rooms at the Hotel Lafayette, near Washington Square, and at this relatively early hour was likely to still be at home. I was told at the front desk that Mr. O’Hare was indeed in residence and tapped cautiously on his door. I say cautiously because one was never quite sure whom one might find in Ryan’s rooms. He had, shall we say, an extensive and diverse circle of friends. But this time my knock was answered by a very sleepy “Come in.”

I opened his door and found the room still in darkness, the heavy drapes drawn.

“If that’s you, Jacques, be an angel and put the coffee on the table,” a voice muttered from the gloom.

“Ryan, it’s Molly,” I said. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you but it is after eleven.”

“Molly?” The voice sounded instantly wide awake. “What a lovely surprise. Open the curtains, my angel, so that I may feast upon your beauty.”

“Enough of your blarney, O’Hare.” I laughed as I went over to the window and pulled back the drapes. Ryan was now sitting up in a very regal-looking four-poster. His long dark hair was tousled, he was wearing a frilled night shirt, and he looked remarkably attractive. He patted the red silk eiderdown beside him. “Come and sit and talk to me. I have been positively starved of your company of late.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, positioning myself beside him on the bed. “I’ve suddenly become very busy.”

“It’s that brute of a man of yours, isn’t it?” Ryan said. “He has forbidden you to see me. I could tell from the way he looked at me that he disapproved. I’m so sensitive that way.”

“Well, he doesn’t approve,” I said, “but no man is ever going to tell me how to select my friends.”

“How bold of you, Molly, especially when that policeman is so forceful, so domineering.”

“Can you see me being dominated?” I chuckled.

“So did you come here for something special or just because you were pining for me as much as I was pining for you?”

“Actually, Ryan, I came for juicy gossip,” I said.

His eyes lit up. “Juicy gossip. How divine. Now if that lazybones Jacques would only bring my breakfast we could both have coffee and my happiness would be complete.”

“My big news,” I said, “is that I have taken a job in the theater. I’m to appear in Blanche Lovejoy’s new play.”

“At the Casino? My darling girl, how did you manage that?”

“Let’s just say I have a little secret assignment from Miss Lovejoy.”

“Anything to do with the ghost?”

“You’ve heard then?”

“My dear, the whole theater world is abuzz. Everyone is so thrilled that Blanche is finally being haunted.”

“Is she much disliked then?”

“Not disliked, but she has been known to play the grande dame a little too often, and she never forgives those who have insulted her.”

“So she does have enemies?”

“My darling, we all have enemies. Anyone who is successful has enemies.”