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

Daniel shook his head. “I’ll never understand women,” he said. “When I think I’m taking care of you and protecting you, you explode.”


“Then let me explain one thing about women that you should know by now.” I folded my arms as I faced him. “If you want to please your wife, do not tell her you are letting her mother-in-law furnish her house because she has good taste.”

I saw a smile twitch at his lips. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you implied it. How do you think I feel if I have no say over my own life?”

“Point taken,” he said. “But truly it was nothing to get worked up about. I did say it was only until we could make a proper selection. No sense in rushing into things.”

“There’s also no harm in seeing what Wanamaker’s has to offer,” I said. “I don’t have to buy any of the things they bring.”

“I suppose not,” he admitted grudgingly. “I’m sorry. I should not have reacted so strongly. After what happened to you yesterday, I wanted to make sure you were safely settled in your own home as soon as possible. And you will need help, won’t you? You’re not up to taking care of a house and Liam on your own—which is why I invited my mother.”

“Yes, I’ll need help,” I agreed. “But I’m choosing my own bed linen, Daniel Sullivan.”

He laughed and took me in his arms. “I’m glad your fiery nature is back, my darling. You’ve been so subdued since you came back from France. I’ve missed my old Molly.”

And he kissed me, gently at first and then with increasing passion.

“No more, Daniel,” I warned. “You have to handle me carefully. Remember I’m injured.”

“Of course. We’ll save that for later, when we’re back in our own house. I’ve never felt comfortable making love to you in that apartment with Liam in the same room.” He ran a hand over my shoulder. “You get some rest, and I have to go back to work.”

“Again? It’s almost dinnertime.”

“Afraid so. Another briefing with the rail people.”

“They work you too hard, Daniel.”

“I do what has to be done. And if I think that a monster is still at large in this city, someone who feels he can murder at will, then I have to keep working until we stop him.”

“There is one thing, Daniel,” I said as he headed for the door. “I had a thought. What if we weren’t looking for one person, but for several?”

“A gang, you mean?” He shook his head. “This doesn’t have the stamp of gangland killings.”

“I didn’t mean a gang. I was thinking more of a secret society. What if their initiation requires them to kill? That might explain why these murders were so very different.”

Daniel frowned, then shook his head. “A secret society? This is the twentieth century, Molly. And New York City.”

“One of the victims was a student at the university. Students have been known to do such things.”

“He was a victim, not a perpetrator.”

“He was the only one whose death was immediately recognized as a murder. What if he was a member of such a society, but decided he wanted no part of what they were doing?”

Daniel shook his head again. “An interesting theory, but I can’t take it seriously. Obviously we have looked into the backgrounds of the various victims. We have a good idea of his character, his friends, and his family. He was an easygoing, outgoing, likable young man with a bright future ahead of him.” He paused, then added, “Of course, he wasn’t a saint. He liked to go out drinking with his friends. He found it hard to live within his means, as many students do. His father said that he’d gotten into debt, and the father had to give him a severe talking to. But he was not the sort to be involved in anything underhanded.”

“Parents don’t always know what their sons are capable of getting up to,” I pointed out.

“I can have one of my men make discreet inquiries, I suppose,” Daniel said. “But I don’t see how we’re going to flush out a secret society. Besides, I feel in my gut that we’re dealing with one person who is waging some kind of personal vendetta.”

“Against you,” I said.

“I don’t want to believe that, but you may be right. We’re no farther ahead with the cause of the train crash. My superiors want the locomotive driver to be prosecuted. They think this is something to do with a looming union strike. But he swears he is innocent and feels terrible about what happened. He also swears there was a Ninth Avenue disk on the front of his train when he set off.”

“I can attest to that too. So can the other passengers,” I said.

Daniel shook his head. “If only one thing made sense, I’d know where to start,” he said. “But keep coming up with your suggestions. If nothing else, they cause me to reexamine my own theories.”