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

“I see.” She was staring at me, wide-eyed. “You’re a lady policeman?”


I smiled at the term. “Just helping out. Not official. But we think we might have found out something important. You used to work for the Deveraux family, is that right?”

“Yes, I told you that before.”

She hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to contradict her. “Tell me about Edward Deveraux.”

“Young Edward?” I could tell this threw her completely off guard. “He was a strange little boy—lonely, always had his head in a book, and would look at you in that odd way when you spoke to him. Anyway, his big brother went off to school and then college, but they kept Edward at home, with a tutor, saying he was too delicate. Personally I thought that was a mistake. I thought he might have turned out all right if he’d had to mix with other boys. But I expect they knew what they were doing.”

“And he didn’t get along with his father?”

“His father despised him, and made it obvious too. Mr. Cornelius was a big, blustering sort of man, and he couldn’t abide what he thought to be weakness. I felt sorry for little Edward when he was small. His mother pampered him—well, spoiled him, if you ask me. But then she died and he had no one, really. You could see that he shrank more and more into himself. Stayed locked away in his room, reading and doing all kinds of nasty experiments. If his father hadn’t constantly criticized and belittled him, I think things might have turned out differently.”

“You mean his father’s death? Do you think Edward was responsible for that?”

“I know he was.” She nodded. “I heard them shouting. ‘You disgust me,’ his father said. ‘I expected more from you.’ I couldn’t hear any more of the exact words because the study door was closed. Well, I went on with my cleaning, and then a little later I looked up and Edward was standing there. He had a dazed look on his face, and his hands were all covered in blood. And he said, ‘He’s dead, Mary. My father is dead.’ And then he started to laugh. It was horrible.”

“What happened after that?” I asked gently, because I could see that the memory distressed her.

“The police came, of course, and they took him away. I had to give evidence at the trial, and the way he looked at me, it turned my blood.” She shut her eyes, then took a deep breath. “They didn’t execute him, which was a blessing. He was ruled not guilty by reason of insanity. That’s what the judge said. So they locked him away, poor soul.”

“And where is he now? Still locked away?”

“I’m sure he is. He was sentenced to be locked away for life, and you can’t cure insanity, can you? Mr. Marcus inherited and sold the big family place and I was let go, so I don’t know anything more about the family these days.”

I paused, collecting my thoughts, because the next thing was hard for me to say. “Miss Willis, if Edward Deveraux had escaped…”

“Escaped?” Her hand went up to her expansive bosom. “You mean he got out of that place?”

“We don’t know. If he had escaped, do you think he might have come looking for you?”

“Why would he want to see me again? I was always kind to the little chap—sneaked him an extra cookie when his father had been yelling at him—but we were never close. He never let anybody get close to him.”

I went on, slowly, carefully. “I was wondering if he might look you up to punish you.”

Now she really looked agitated. “To punish me? What for? I never did a thing to him.”

“You gave evidence at his trial. You helped lock him away.”

“I had to,” she said, with anguish in her voice. “The judge summoned me and made me swear on the Bible that I’d tell the truth. So I told them exactly what I told you.” She stopped, her mouth open. “Are you telling me that he came looking for me, to kill me?”

“And killed your sister by mistake, perhaps?”

She shook her head. “How could that be? Nobody could mistake me for Dolly. Take a look at the photograph. We looked quite different. She was a round, dumpy little thing, with that moon face, God bless her.”

“Perhaps he asked in the neighborhood about Miss Willis, and someone saw your sister and pointed her out as Miss Willis. He hadn’t seen you in years, maybe he thought it was you.”

She was still shaking her head. “I just don’t see how and why. It doesn’t make sense. And if he then found out he’d killed my sister by mistake, why not come back for me?”

I couldn’t answer that one. Why not, indeed?

“So they think he’s escaped, do they?” Her voice quivered a little now. “When will they be sure of that? Because I’d need to be locking my door if what you say is true.”