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

“But they were coming to report on a visit they had just made,” I said. “I asked them to. And they don’t bother me. I welcome their company.”


“If you say so.” Mrs. Sullivan sniffed. “Are we expecting your man home tonight at a reasonable hour?”

I smiled. “You were married to a policeman. You know that one can never expect him home at any hour. One is grateful when he arrives.”

“That’s the truth,” she said. “Many’s the night I’ve paced up and down the hallway, listening for the sound of his footsteps. Why Daniel had to follow his father into such a dangerous profession I’ll never know. We sent him to Columbia for that very reason—so that he could become a lawyer or something equally safe and respectable. But no, he couldn’t wait to graduate and join his father in the police force.”

“A man has to do what he loves and what he has a talent for,” I said, and in my head I asked: Why couldn’t a woman likewise do what she loved and had a talent for? Why did we all have to accept that our lot was to be wives and mothers and to want nothing more? And it crossed my mind again that my nightmare might have something to do with being trapped in domesticity.

“Where is Liam?” I asked. And before she could answer, Liam came tottering out from the kitchen. He had a jammy mouth, and I suspected that his grandmother had been baking jam tarts.

“Mama.” He gave me a beaming smile.

“Well, look at you, my precious,” I said. “Aren’t you having a good time? You’ve Bridie to play with and Grandma to make you good things to eat.”

“Did you finish that tart then?” Mrs. Sullivan asked. “You’re not having another one now. It will spoil your supper. Come on, let’s clean up your face before you wipe it off on your mother’s nice dress.”

She swept him off to the kitchen. I followed.

“There is tea in the pot,” she said. “And the tarts are fresh from the oven.”

“You’re spoiling us. You really shouldn’t go to all this trouble.” I reached across to take a tart.

“It’s no trouble. It’s good to have someone to look after.” She wiped a protesting Liam’s face, then set him down.

“I thought we might have a small celebration for Liam’s birthday tomorrow,” I said. “Seeing that it’s Sunday and there is a slight chance that Daniel might have the afternoon free.”

“I’ll bake him a cake then.” She looked quite pleased. “And some little sandwiches, do you think?”

“And Sid and Gus said they’d bring some food over with them.”

“Oh, so they are coming too.” She gave me a cold stare.

“Of course. They are Liam’s aunties. They’ve been very good to us.”

She sniffed. “If you say so.” She turned to go back to the kitchen table, then looked back at me. “Oh, and what Mass do you go to tomorrow?”

Oh, Lord. I had forgotten that Sunday for her meant attendance at Mass. She never missed, like the good Catholic that she was.

“It’s seven thirty at St. Joseph’s on the square, I believe,” I said. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll not join you this time. It takes me a while to get ready at the moment and all that kneeling and standing is a bit much for me.”

“Of course,” she said. “Bridie and I will go. And Daniel too, if he’s home.”

“I think I’ll pay a visit across the street before suppertime,” I said, “And I’ll take Liam with me. His aunties love to see him and they were asking after him earlier.”

“Just as you wish.” Her face had become a stony mask. “If you really think it’s wise and you are up to it.”

“It’s only a few yards across the street,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be just grand.” I turned to Liam. “Shall we go and see Auntie Sid and Gus?” I asked, and he set off instantly with determined steps for the front door before I’d finished the sentence. I picked him up and we crossed the street.

Gus looked delighted as she opened the front door. “Well, here you are,” she said. “We thought you were to be kept away from us for the rest of the day. And you’ve brought our favorite man too. Molly’s here, Sid,” she called. “And our favorite young man too.”

She took Liam from me and carried him down the hall at a great rate into the kitchen, where Sid was stirring something mysterious over the stove.

“It’s couscous,” Gus said as I peered at the pot. “We’re having a Moroccan evening. We might even belly dance later. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Well, I won’t want to join you in the belly dancing,” I replied with a wry smile. “It still hurts me to stand up straight, let alone wiggle my middle.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Of course. Sit down. I’ll get you a pillow,” Gus said. “Or would you be more comfortable in one of the armchairs in the sitting room?”

“No, I’m just fine here.” I sat on one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs. “I do better sitting upright.”