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

“I believe he just stepped out,” the clerk said. “Would you care to leave him a message?”


“Thank you. I’ll do that,” I said. I handed Liam to Bridie, who immediately took him over to the window to show him the pigeons on the sidewalk outside.

The clerk found me paper, pen, and ink, and I carried them over to one of the low wicker tables. I had barely started to write when the doorman opened the door and Dr. Birnbaum himself came in. He was looking a little older and more portly than when I last saw him, but he still cut a dapper figure with his neatly trimmed blond beard and well-cut jacket. He stopped in surprise when he saw me.

“Miss Murphy—I mean, Mrs. Sullivan—what a pleasant surprise,” he said in his crisp German-accented English. “You have come to bid me farewell?”

I stood up and shook his outstretched hand. “Farewell? You are going on another trip?”

“I am going home,” he said. “I have just been to bid good-bye to friends. I sail in two days.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said.

He shrugged. “I decided I had been away from Germany long enough. I miss my family. And I find that research in Europe is proceeding at a great pace without me. I stagnate here in America, Mrs. Sullivan, while great advances in the study of the mind are being made in Europe. I must be part of them.”

“Of course you must,” I said. “But it’s most unfortunate that you are leaving at this very moment. I came to see you, hoping that you could help me in a distressing matter.”

He shook his head. “My dear Mrs. Sullivan. It seems that every time we meet you are investigating a distressing matter. You are still pursuing your career as a detective?” he asked. “I thought that you put that phase of your life behind you when you married.”

“I did. This is really on behalf of friends.”

Dr. Birnbaum looked around. “Very well. I am not sure how I can be of help to you, but if I can give advice, I will do so. I have a few minutes before my next appointment. Shall we take a cup of coffee together? Anton, could you bring us coffee? We can sit here, out of the way, beside the potted palms.”

I looked over at Bridie and Liam. “I must keep an eye on my son,” I said. “He’s quite a handful at the moment.”

“You have a child now. My congratulations. He looks like a fine, strapping boy,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “We will have Anton bring him a cookie. I find that usually works wonders in keeping children quiet.” He smiled. “One learns a lot in the study of human nature.”

We walked together to a group of chairs around a table in the window of the hotel. Dr. Birnbaum pulled one out for me and sat beside me. “This problem you have? I take it that it has something to do with my field of expertise?”

“It does.” And I gave him the full story of Mabel and the fire and her dreams. “The problem is,” I finished, “that we just don’t know. Is it possible that she killed her parents and then set fire to their room? She seems such a sweet and delicate child and was clearly fond of them.”

“You say your friend is trying to interpret her dreams?”

“We thought that maybe her dreams would give us a clue as to what really happened that night and what memories she had locked away.”

He stroked his beard in a characteristic gesture. “My dear Mrs. Sullivan, this is indeed perplexing, and if I were staying here longer I should be intrigued to visit this young girl for myself.”

“Could you not find time to see her once before you go?” I asked.

He shook his head. “My ship sails in two days and I have much business to take care of before I go. Besides, psychiatry is not the same as magic. One session with her would not produce any great revelations. It usually takes weeks of work and building confidence before results can be seen. But this friend of whom you speak. She is a trained alienist?”

“She studied the interpretation of dreams this summer with Dr. Freud,” I said.

He shook his head. “But she is a qualified doctor?”

“No, I’m afraid she’s an enthusiastic amateur,” I said.

“Mein Gott. This is not the sort of situation to be taken lightly. You are dealing with a fragile mind here. The wrong approach could snap a tormented mind like this. And if your friend makes a wrong interpretation of the dreams, if she fails to pick up a crucial key—what then?”

“I agree with you, Doctor, which is why I sought you out.”

The coffee had arrived and he poured in a generous amount of cream, stirred it, then took a delicate sip from his cup before wiping the line of cream from his mustache with his handkerchief. “Is there no one else your friend can turn to here?” he asked.