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

“No, but it’s past eight o’clock. You never sleep this late, and Liam had been crying for you. My mother is feeding him breakfast. She told me to let you sleep, but I wasn’t sure…”

“I took a little of the medicine Dr. Werner prescribed for my headaches,” I said. “I had lovely dreams. Perhaps I needed to catch up on a good sleep.”

“Perhaps you did.” He patted my shoulder. “I must be off now.”

I sat up, feeling the world sway uneasily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make your breakfast.”

“It’s all right. My mother made me oatmeal, eggs, and ham so I’m well fortified. I’ll see you later, then.”

I still felt strange and disconnected as I washed and came downstairs. Did I want a medicine that put me so soundly to sleep, albeit to pleasant dreams instead of nightmares? I decided I’d rather have the headaches. I slapped cold water on my face and told myself to buck up, as I had big plans for today. Mother Sullivan looked concerned and disapproving when I told her I had things to do and asked if she could watch Liam for me.

“Off gallivanting again? You’ve been told to rest, my girl.”

“I know, but there are things I’ve been putting off that really must be done.”

“Then let me take care of them for you,” she said.

I shook my head. “I’m afraid you can’t. There are some people I have to visit.”

“Part of Daniel’s work again?” she said. “Has he actually asked for your help, or will he see it as interference?”

“It’s just a few small details I might be able to find for him,” I said. “He really has so much on his plate at the moment.”

“If you think you’re up to it, and he’ll appreciate your—” she had been about to say “interference,” I’m sure, but she swallowed back the word and said “help” instead. And she turned her back on me.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was up to it, but I gave Liam a big kiss, hugged Bridie, and smiled in a confident manner as I went to find my hat and set off. My plan was to visit Simon Grossman’s family. And if I still had energy after that, I’d go to see the judge.

I had just reached the end of Patchin Place and was about to hurl myself into the busy stream of pedestrians around the Jefferson Market when someone called my name, and I saw a boy forcing his way through the crowd, running toward me. It was Thomas, Nuala’s son.

“Miss Molly,” he called and came to a halt beside me, panting as if he’d run a long way. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“I’m glad too, Thomas. Have you found out anything for me?”

“I have,” he said. “The kids who sweep the crossings on the Bowery not far from Mulberry said that a skinny little runt had been boasting that some guy gave him a whole dollar to deliver a letter. So I found the kid and he took a bit of persuading…” he gave me a gap-toothed grin, “but I told him he’d be in trouble from my brother, who’s a Junior Eastman, if he didn’t talk. So he looked scared then, and said it was a young guy, skinny, tall, and dressed like he could be a student. He said he didn’t believe the guy was the sort who’d part with a whole dollar and he thought the bill might be fake, but then the guy gave him four quarters.”

“Did he say how he spoke? Where he might have come from?”

“He said he spoke real refined. That’s why he thought he was a student, ’cos it ain’t too far from the university where the guy met him.”

“A student,” I said. “I see. Anything else you can tell me about him?”

“He said the guy had good boots. He was shabby looking, but his boots were good. And he seemed nervous and wanting to be away from there.”

I reached into my purse and took out a dollar bill. “This one is real, I promise you, Thomas,” I said. “You did good work. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Miss Molly,” he said. “If you want any errands run, just ask me.”