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

“It will depend on what kind of drug they find during an autopsy, I suppose. If it was a simple sleeping powder, then I’m afraid the police will think…”

“Don’t.” Gus shivered. “You’ve seen her, Molly. She is so clearly distressed by what happened. She can’t have had anything to do with it. I could believe she knocked over a lamp when she was sleepwalking, but deliberately drugging her parents, laying them out, and then setting fire to them? No. I’ll not believe that of her.”

“I don’t believe it either,” I said. “But I’m being realistic. Lieutenant Yeats is young and keen and wants to make a name for himself with a sensational case.”

“Can’t Daniel intervene?” Sid asked.

I shook my head. “He is so busy with his own case, and besides, he has to tread carefully these days. He is not in favor with the commissioner.”

“Can’t you help him, Molly?” Sid asked.

“I wish I could. I just don’t see what I can do that hasn’t already been done. And I have to admit that I’m not feeling up to par yet. I’m still getting headaches and I had another of my horrible dreams last night.”

Gus wagged an excited finger at me. “We’ll tell Dr. Werner about that too. He might be able to help you as well as Mabel.”

“We don’t want to bother the doctor with my small problems,” I said. “It will be enough if he can help Mabel. I’m sure I’ll feel better as the bump on my head goes away.”

“I hope he will come,” Gus said. “It didn’t sound, from what we’ve heard, that he is the most congenial of men.”

“I would think that his professional curiosity would make him want to see Mabel,” Sid said. “And if he doesn’t come soon, we’ll lurk on Ninth Street and catch him unawares.”

We all laughed at that, and I began to feel a little better about everything.





Twenty-three

As the day progressed I felt a little better. Mrs. Sullivan took Liam and Bridie with her to do the shopping, leaving me with strict instructions that I was to stay put and do nothing. But I couldn’t abide the emptiness of being in the house alone. I decided to see if Sid and Gus were at home. I was crossing the street when I heard the sound of the fire engine in the distance, its bell clanging madly. I stared down Patchin Place, thinking about the fire that killed the Hamiltons and wondering how it might fit in to Daniel’s case. But nothing came to mind beyond the fact that it fit the timeline. It was, as Daniel had said, grasping at straws to save Mabel.

Gus welcomed me, saying they were glad to have something to take their minds off Dr. Werner. They hadn’t been able to settle down enough to do anything all morning. She sent Sid off to make us some Moroccan mint tea, which had currently taken the place of coffee in their household. I had just taken a sip when there was a sharp rap at their front door. Sid went to answer it and we heard her say, “Dr. Werner? How very good of you to come so quickly. Please do come in. We’re just having coffee.” And she led him through to the conservatory, beaming as if she was displaying a prize pet.

“Dr. Otto Werner,” she announced. “May I present Miss Walcott, and Mrs. Sullivan?”

He gave us what only could be described as a supercilious stare, clicking his heels and giving a perfunctory bow to Gus, and then eyeing her with interest before doing the same to me. He was a thin, dark-haired man with a well-trimmed beard and a monocle in one eye, meticulously attired and reminding me in a way of a dark version of Dr. Birnbaum. I made a note to ask Gus whether all German and Austrian doctors paid so much attention to their appearance.

“I come because you request it,” he said in clipped and heavily accented English. “But I must tell you that my time in New York now is at an end. I take the ship home to the fatherland. My task here is complete.”

“Oh, that’s a great pity,” Gus said, “because your help and expertise are desperately needed.”

“There are many doctors in New York, are there not?” he said, giving another curt nod as Sid put a cup of coffee in front of him. “Why is it so important that you seek me out and summon me?”

“Because you are an expert on dream psychology,” Gus said.

He raised an eyebrow then, making the monocle move up and down. “Who is telling you this?”

“As I wrote to you in my note, I studied this year in Vienna with Professor Freud,” Gus said. “Your colleagues mentioned your name several times. They spoke highly of your research.”

“Ach, so,” he said. “You have worked with my colleagues in Vienna. This is good. You wish to consult me on a tricky case? I will be glad to give you my opinion.”

“I wish you to see a young girl. A troubled young girl, plagued by terrible nightmares,” Gus said. “I feel certain that unlocking the symbols of her dreams is the only way to help her.”

“Of what does she dream? A recurring symbol?”

“Yes. She says there is always a snake. A giant snake looming over her.”

“Ach. This is not so hard,” he said. “She is of what age?”