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

“He didn’t. He said he had invited Dr. Werner to dinner once and not received a reply, so he concluded the doctor had left the city and was traveling around the States. And he’d since disposed of the address. He thought it might be somewhere near Astor Place.”


“Someone must know where he is,” Sid said, slapping a fist against her palm as if she was itching for action. “If he’s speaking to learned societies, then the professors at the university here will know of him. We’ll go and ask tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope he hasn’t already returned home to Europe,” Gus said. “That would be just our luck.”

“No negative thoughts allowed,” Sid said firmly. “Remember what else we learned in Vienna. If you voice your negative thoughts, you invite them in and turn them into reality.”

“I know. And if you repeat positive images they will become reality. All right: we are going to find Dr. Werner and make Mabel well. We are going to find Dr. Werner and make Mabel well.”

“How many times do you have to repeat it?” I asked, laughing.

“As many as it takes.”

“Is this based on a scientific principle?” I asked.

“Certainly. There are promising results in the field of hypnosis for curing ailments of the mind,” Gus said. “And this is a type of self-hypnosis. If you say something often enough, you believe it.”

“Amazing,” I said. “What will they think of next?”

“So we won’t go see Mabel again until we know if we can trace this Dr. Werner,” Sid said. “Molly is quite right in what she’s told us. Mabel is in a fragile state. We must be careful not to say or do the wrong thing.”

“I’m concerned that Lieutenant Yeats will say or do the wrong thing,” I said. “I hope that Daniel can intervene or pull rank or whatever they do in the police force, but Daniel’s got so much on his plate himself at the moment.”

“Still looking into a string of murders, you say?” Sid asked. “Any progress?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then you should help him, Molly. Whether he likes it or not.”

“I happen to have a few ideas,” I said, and we exchanged a smile. “I’d better return home, I suppose. I slipped away while Bridie was feeding Liam his lunch.”

“What a lovely girl she’s turned out to be,” Sid said. “A great help to you, Molly. You should keep her with you, if your mother-in-law can spare her.”

“My mother-in-law actually suggested the same thing,” I said. “She wants Bridie to be able to continue her education and go to school, and have a chance to meet other children.”

Sid smiled. “Well, there’s a turn-up for the books. So much for training her to be a maid.”

“It’s been quite clear to me for some time that Bridie wasn’t destined to be anyone’s maid,” I said. “Mrs. Sullivan has been raising her to be a young lady.”

“We’ll see you around four then, shall we?” Sid asked. “If this wretched chicken liver paté cools properly by then. It’s too liquid at the moment. I know I shouldn’t have put so much brandy in it.”

“Is that for Liam’s birthday party?” I asked. “He is only one, Sid.”

“We have to eat too, don’t we? I’ve some lovely smoked salmon and some petit fours from the French bakery.”

I hesitated. “Uh, maybe you’d better leave those at home,” I said. “I don’t want to be ungrateful or anything, but my mother-in-law has been baking cakes all morning, and she’d see it as a slight if you came with store-bought cakes.”

“Point taken,” Sid said. “Never mind. We’re supposed to be going to an art exhibition this evening, to honor a friend of Ryan’s. We’ll take them along to that. Starving artists will wolf them down in a trice.”

I went home and helped prepare the dining table with a lace cloth Sid and Gus had loaned me, then made some ham and cucumber sandwiches. The table was laden with food by the time I dressed Liam in his new sailor suit and brought him into the parlor. There was no sign of Daniel, but Sid and Gus arrived promptly on the stroke of four, Sid carrying a tray covered in a white cloth and Gus with her arms full of brightly wrapped packages.

“Here we are. Our contributions to the feast,” Sid said. She stood the bottle of champagne, wrapped in a cloth, on the table, then tried to find space for several exotic-looking dishes. “Paté. Smoked salmon sandwiches. And some small Moroccan lamb kebabs with a yogurt sauce.”

I could see my mother-in-law’s face. Paté and Moroccan lamb were outside her sphere of experience. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said. “As you can see, we’ve plenty to eat for this many people.”

“No trouble at all,” Sid said with a smile. “We love to cook and experiment with different foods. It just happens that we’re in a Moroccan phase right now, isn’t that right, Gus.”

“We’ve quite taken to it,” Gus said. “We’re actually thinking of taking a trip and renting camels and crossing the Sahara.”

“Mercy me.” Mrs. Sullivan patted her chest as if to quieten her heart.