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

She insisted I have breakfast in bed. I sat up, eating my boiled egg and looking out of the window at the deserted street. Doing nothing did not come easily to me, especially when there were so many questions to be answered. I was itching to find out whether anyone could have had a motive to kill Mabel’s parents, and how easy it would have been to gain access to their house. But I told myself I could wait until the bodies were exhumed and an autopsy was performed. If it was confirmed that they died as a result of the fire, then there was no more to be done. It could never be proved that Mabel started that fire deliberately and then got out.

I lay back in bed and thought about the dream that had been troubling me. The dark, confined space. The drip of water. The strange rumbling. And the awful feeling of doom. Were they taking me back to that train crash, when I was trapped in the car, or did they mean something more? In the dream, I definitely felt trapped. I knew I had to escape before something terrible happened. In Ireland we’d take such a dream as a warning, a portent of something bad about to happen. At home we believed very strongly in psychic powers and the sixth sense. I’d often thought that I had it myself, until it let me down and didn’t warn me of the worst thing that had happened in my life. But Gus would say that the symbols in my dream represented deep-seated fears from my own life. The fear of being trapped? Of no escape? I shook my head. But I didn’t feel trapped. I loved my life and my husband and child. Was the dream maybe a flashback to a time when I had been trapped somewhere? I tried to go over my many adventures as a detective. Yes, there were times I had been in danger, but they no longer haunted me. I’d have to ask Gus and see what she could tell me.

I lay back and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come and my head throbbed. So I got up and held a hot washcloth to my temples. I actually felt better when I was up and moving around, so I dressed and went downstairs to find Bridie and Liam rolling a ball to each other down the length of the hallway. “Ba!” Liam said excitedly. “Ba!”

It seems he was learning new words almost every day now, and I beamed at him with pride.

“Yes, it’s a ball, isn’t it? You like playing with Bridie, don’t you?”

“Ba!” Liam said again, impatient for her to roll the ball back to him.

How nice it would be to be a child again, I thought. Not a care in the world except playing, eating, and sleeping. Then I remembered that Mabel was little more than a child, and she carried a terrible burden around with her. I wondered if she would ever be free of it.

Mrs. Sullivan looked up from the kitchen, her hands and apron white with flour. “I thought I’d make a stew and dumplings today. It was always one of Daniel’s favorites.” Then a frown crossed her face. “But what are you doing out of bed? Daniel said you were supposed to rest and do nothing until you recovered from the accident.”

“I feel better when I’m up than when I was lying down,” I said. “Can I help?”

“No, you cannot. You go through to the parlor and put your feet up. All that rushing around and excitement yesterday was clearly too much for you. Fires and murder, indeed. I never let my husband bring his work home with him. If he ever tried to mention a case he was working on, he got a black look from me, and he hushed up again quickly.”

“But I enjoy discussing Daniel’s work with him,” I said. “Remember I was a detective myself once. I might even be able to offer him some insight when he’s dealing with a difficult case.”

“You’ve a young child to think about now,” she said, glancing at Liam chasing the ball. “Do you want him to grow up thinking that the world is full of murders and crimes? He’s a right to think that the world is a safe and lovely place. It’s up to a mother to create that kind of haven for her children.”

She was right, of course. I certainly didn’t want Liam growing up thinking that the world was full of danger. But then he’d been in danger himself already and didn’t seem any the worse for it. Certainly no sign of the sort of bad dreams Mabel was experiencing. But I did take Mrs. Sullivan’s point. From now on, any discussion of Daniel’s cases would be when Liam was safely in bed.

My headache lingered through most of the morning, even after I’d drunk a cup of coffee. I had a suspicion that Sid’s strong Turkish coffee might well do the trick. Normally I could hardly bear to swallow it, and the spoon almost stood upright in the cup, but today I needed it. However Mother Sullivan was so adamant that I lie and rest that I didn’t want to risk creating a scene and incurring Daniel’s wrath when he came home. I suppose I must have become meeker since my marriage.