The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

I need not have worried. Sid sat beside me, as I fed Liam a boiled egg, with a notebook and pencil in her hand. “Now,” she said. “List of what you need. Your clothes. Liam’s clothes and the door key.”


“I can’t ask you to do that,” I said. “Daniel can…”

“Daniel’s involved in a tricky case. We know that,” Sid said. “How much trouble is it to collect a few clothes?”

“But the El won’t be operating, after yesterday’s crash.”

“So I’ll take a cab. More pleasant anyway.”

“But expensive.”

“Don’t be silly.” Sid patted my hand as if I was a child. “Where do I find the key?”

I directed her to my purse. An alarm was sounding inside my head. If someone was watching my apartment building he might be able to follow Sid to this house. Then I told myself I was worrying too much. She’d be in a cab. He wouldn’t be able to follow. And besides, why would he be watching our building? He’d think I was still in the hospital. And if he found out I’d left, he’d think I was in an undisclosed private clinic.

Sid departed. I played with Liam and kept an ear open for Daniel. He didn’t come all morning, but then I’d learned that I could never count on his appearing when he said he would. Sid returned with bags of clothing, and I had just gone upstairs to change my clothes when Daniel arrived.

“She’s just getting dressed,” I heard Sid say. “I’ve been to your apartment to bring clothes for her and Liam.”

“Oh, it was you. Thank God,” he said. “I went to the apartment myself and was told by the caretaker that someone had just been there. You had me worried.”

“Worried that someone might have broken into your apartment?” Sid asked. “You’re not still afraid that the Italian gang is out to destroy you, are you? I thought that matter was all settled.”

“No, nothing like that,” I heard him say as he came up the stairs. “I thought Molly might have been foolish enough to have attempted the journey herself.”

“No, she’s been resting like a good girl,” Sid said. She tapped on my door. “Molly, dear, are you decent? I’ve a young man to see you.”

Daniel came in, saw me sitting at the vanity putting pins into my hair, and nodded with satisfaction. “Well, you’re certainly looking much better,” he said. “Well rested?”

“Perfectly, thank you. And it feels good to be in clean clothes. Did Sid tell you she was kind enough to go and retrieve some of our things?” I wasn’t going to let him know I had overheard the whole conversation and the worry in his voice.

“Yes, she did. Mrs. Heffernan gave me a shock when she said someone had been up to our place. I thought for a moment…” He broke off, then managed a smile as he came across the room to me.

“You thought that the killer had come looking for me?” I had lowered my voice in case Sid or Gus was still within earshot. “Aren’t we reading too much into this, Daniel? Do you have any reason to believe that he was responsible for yesterday’s crash, or that I was a target?”

He sighed and sank onto the small upright chair by the window. “We are none the wiser, as usual. The signalman has been questioned and swears that he saw the disk on the front of the locomotive indicating a Sixth Avenue train, and the engineer swears that the train bore the correct disk, that he put it on himself.”

“He’s right. The train definitely said Ninth Avenue when it came into my station. No question about it. What disk is on the engine now?”

“None,” he said. “That’s the interesting part. There is no disk to be seen. And the locomotive didn’t come off the track.”

“So that adds fuel to your belief that your killer orchestrated this. Somehow he changed the disk while the train was in the station and then removed the disk before there could be any investigation.”

“It does seem that way.”

“And was there any person of note on board that we know of?”

“Persons of note rarely travel in crowded El carriages,” he said.

“And speaking of ‘of note’—no more notes have arrived, I take it?”

“Not as far as I know. But then I wouldn’t expect one.” He held out a large envelope. “I’ve had one of our men write out a list of the various victims for you. This is for your eyes only, remember. Your friends should not be privy to this.” I noticed that he tried to avoid calling Sid and Gus by their nicknames, as if they were too shocking to be spoken out loud. It was another small way of displaying his disapproval of their unacceptable lifestyle.

I opened the clasp on the envelope and took out several sheets of typewritten paper.

“They are in chronological order,” Daniel said.

I was already reading the first sheet. “‘May 10: Dolly Willis. 285 Flushing Avenue, Brooklyn. (Feebleminded woman of sixty-two. Lived with her sister. Pushed into the path of a speeding trolley.)

“‘Note said: “Trolley and Dolly rhyme. A fitting end this time.”’”