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

Liam whined and wriggled in his crib, bringing me back to reality and the claims of everyday life. “Time to sleep,” I said gently and patted his back, humming his favorite lullaby. His eyes fluttered closed. His thumb came into his mouth and he lay there, looking like a cherub from an old painting. So sweet. So vulnerable. It was hard to believe that he’d grow into a boisterous, noisy youngster like Mrs. Hamilton’s sons, or a tough and scruffy lad like Nuala’s boys. I wondered if Thomas had had any success in finding out who had paid a boy to deliver the note to the police headquarters.

I sighed with frustration. There was so much I wanted to do. I wanted to help Daniel with his investigation (and I must confess, I wanted to find something that the police had somehow overlooked, as much for my own satisfaction as to help my husband). I wanted to help solve Mabel’s case too. But I was no longer a detective. I was a wife and a mother, and I was recovering from injuries. I would have to be patient. And patience was a virtue I had never really learned.

I tried not to think. I tried to play with my son and with Bridie. We built towers of blocks and knocked them down. Liam’s laughter echoed through the house and did me a power of good. But I had another bad dream that night and hoped that Dr. Werner would find time to send me some medicine, as he had promised. I remembered he had expressed concern and said that concussions should not be taken lightly. Perhaps I should be heeding his warning and not filling my head with worries. It turned out that Mabel too had another dream that night. Mrs. Hamilton sent around a note to Sid and Gus the next morning.

When Gus came to my front door just as we were finishing breakfast, I thought it would be to say that she had just bought croissants from the French bakery and I was invited to coffee. Instead, she held only an envelope in her hand, and her face was full of concerned animation.

“Listen, Molly,” Gus said. The envelope in her hands flapped in the wind that swirled down our small backwater. “This just arrived from Minnie Hamilton.” She removed a sheet of paper from the envelope and tried to hold it steady while she read. “She says that Mabel had a terrifying dream last night. They heard her screams and she was cowering in the corner, saying ‘Why is the world upside down?’ and ‘Why does it smell so sweet?’ When they woke her up she looked at them and said, ‘The snake spoke to me. He spoke to me.’

“Mrs. Hamilton asked her, ‘What did he say?’

“‘He said, “You are mine.”’”





Twenty-four

Sid came out to join us and we debated what the words might mean, but we could come up with no reasonable explanations.

“‘Why is the world upside down?’” Sid said. “Well, her world is upside down now, isn’t it?”

“And I wonder what might have smelled sweet?” Gus asked.

“They did find her curled up in the back garden,” I said. “Maybe she found herself among some sweet-smelling flowers and was surprised to find herself there.”

“That’s good, Molly.” Gus nodded. “But the snake saying, ‘You are mine.’ That is definitely disturbing.”

“We’ve talked of the snake representing her own darker thoughts, haven’t we?” Sid ventured. “Could this be hinting that her evil nature is taking over?”

“How horrible,” Gus said. “Don’t let’s think that of Mabel. I want another explanation.”

“I feel so sorry for her, living with these dreams for so long now,” I said. “I’ve had bad dreams that are not nearly as terrifying just since the accident, and I find them most distressing. Hers have gone on for how long? Over a month, wasn’t it?”

“Since the beginning of August,” Sid said.

Gus looked at my face. “What is it, Molly? You’ve thought of something?”

“No, nothing really,” I muttered. “Nothing important.” Because of course I couldn’t tell them that this fire and Mabel’s parents’ deaths might have been caused by the same man Daniel was after.

But how then did it explain Mabel’s miraculous escape unscathed, not down the stairs, but out through the fire escape? Was I just wishing her to be innocent because of her sweet and innocent appearance?

I returned home, and we were in the middle of having tea at four o’clock when the front door was thrown open violently, sending a gust of wind down the hall.

“Mercy me, who can that be?” Mother Sullivan asked, half rising from her chair.

“Only me,” Daniel called back. He came into the kitchen, looked around the table, and nodded with satisfaction. “I see I’ve timed my arrival perfectly. Mother’s made one of her seed cakes.”

“Sit down, boy, and I’ll find you a cup,” she said, going to the shelf before I could do or say anything.

“I won’t say no,” he replied. “As usual I had no time for lunch, and I’ve just come from the morgue. I walked all the way to get that smell out of my nostrils.”

“It never really goes away, does it?” I said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to stand it the first time.”

“Children—we’re at the table,” Mrs. Sullivan exclaimed, as she banged Daniel’s cup and saucer down firmly onto the table. “Your conversation would turn the stomachs of half of New York. I’m just glad you don’t move among the Four Hundred, or you’d be banned from their company for life with such talk.”