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

“Very well.” I frowned. “You’re very touchy tonight.”


“I suppose I am. It has to do with the frustration I’m feeling. Being part of this case is only reminding me what I’ve been missing out on all this time. Cases I could have helped solve. And all the current trouble with the gangs. I’m one of the few cops who could do something about that. I think we may be in for a gang war, from what I hear. I know there was a big Italian gang funeral only the other day in the city. Black-plumed horses, bands, and the show. Makes me wonder who dared to bump off a gang member. And I can do nothing.” He slammed his fists together.

“You can help solve this particular case,” I said. “I’d certainly value your skills because I’m stumped.”

He nodded. “It’s one devil of a puzzle, isn’t it? I can’t believe that Halsted committed those crimes, but then I know that not many people own a brand-new automobile like that, especially not in a small town like New Haven. And if he’s really in the clear, then where the devil is he?”

“I wish I knew,” I said.

“I’ll try and get my hands on an automobile,” he said. “I hope I still have a few remaining well-connected friends. We should see for ourselves where the vehicle went off the road and see if anyone encountered Halsted after the crash. Although I’m sure the police will already have carried out a thorough investigation.”

“Which police department would that be?” I asked.

“Depends exactly where it happened. If it was in the Bronx then it’s officially part of New York City jurisdiction. If it was farther out from the city then it would be the local police of whatever town was closest, and the investigation is not likely to have been as thorough. I’ll ask a few questions. Someone in the department will know.” He turned to me. “Are you free to come with me some day this week?”

“Tomorrow would be best because the show opens on Tuesday. After that I don’t know how much time I’ll have to spend at the theater. And we must finish up our investigation on Mr. Roth, and I’d like to be around when Dr. Birnbaum treats the poor mute girl.”

“You’ve taken on too much again, haven’t you?”

I smiled. “Better than sitting at home twiddling my thumbs. At least if I’m going to be able to pay the bills.”

“It’s not right,” Daniel said. “I should be providing for you. I want to, Molly. I’m waiting for the day when—”

I put my hand up to touch his cheek. “Until that day it’s you we’ve got to worry about. I want you back on the job, Daniel. I want you to feel happy again. I want my old Daniel back—cocky, arrogant, and fun.”

“Oh, Molly, I know what I want.” He looked at me and suddenly we were in each other’s arms and he was kissing me passionately. It was lucky we had the compartment to ourselves. Who knows where that particular exercise might have led if a rap on the compartment door hadn’t made us break apart guiltily. “I need to see your tickets, sir,” said the ticket collector, looking distinctly embarrassed. “I’m sorry to be disturbing you and the young lady.”

Daniel smiled. “Sorry. We got a little carried away.”

“I quite understand, sir.” The ticket collector grinned knowingly. “I was young myself once. Now I’m the father of seven. Make the most of it while you can, sir.”

With that he shut the door again. We sat with Daniel’s arm around me all the way back into New York. When I got back home to Patchin Place I found Mrs. Tucker sitting on Mary’s bed with the girl asleep in her arms like a small child. She put her fingers to her lips as I poked my head around the door.

“She looks so peaceful,” I whispered.

“Now she does,” Mrs. Tucker exclaimed. “You should have seen her earlier.”

“What happened?”

“I was downstairs, doing some knitting, and suddenly I hears this unearthly noise,” she said in a low voice, smoothing the girl’s hair as she spoke. “I rushed upstairs and the poor thing is out of bed, rushing from room to room with this look of pure terror on her face, shrieking like a banshee.”

“Oh, no. What did you do?”

“It took me a while to quiet her down. I held her tightly in my arms, just like I’d hold my own children when they woke up with nightmares and suddenly she starts to sob. She cried and she cried and I kept telling her it was all right now. Then I gave her some of my soup, mixed her a dose of the sedative, and she went straight back to sleep.” She shook her head. “Poor little thing. She was scared out of her wits.”

“That’s exactly right,” I said. “She has been scared out of her wits. We have an alienist coming to see her.”

“An alienist? What in tarnation is that?”

“He’s a doctor of the mind,” I said.

“Never heard of such a thing. How can you treat the mind?”