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

“Didn’t you take an umbrella?” his mother asked, helping him off with his jacket before I could do so.

“Too much trouble. You can’t move quickly through crowded streets with an umbrella,” he said.

She sighed. “You two are as bad as each other. Both going to come to a sorry end catching pneumonia, if you want my opinion.”

“I expect we’ll survive.” Daniel gave me a cautious smile as he came into the kitchen, not sure whether my wrath had completely subsided. “Where’s Liam? In bed already?”

“He just went up. Bridie’s reading him a story,” I said.

“That girl is turning into a proper little nursemaid,” he said. “Too bad we can’t keep her.”

I glanced at Daniel’s mother.

“It’s strange you should say that,” she said, “because I was just telling Molly that the child needs a more normal life than she gets all alone with me and Martha. She needs to go to a proper school and mix with children her own age. So if you’re willing to keep her for a while, then I’m willing to sacrifice her—for her own good and for yours.”

Daniel turned to me. “That might not be a bad idea. What do you think, Molly?”

“You know I’ve always loved Bridie,” I said. “I think it would be a grand idea.”

“Then we’ll give it a try, if you’re sure you can spare her,” Daniel said.

So one good thing was going to happen, at last.

“Let’s go up and say good-night to the boy, shall we?” Daniel put an arm around my shoulder.

As we walked up the stairs he whispered, “I’m really sorry about what happened earlier today. I hope you understood.”

“Of course,” I said. “I didn’t want to bring trouble on you, and I would never have come, but I thought that what I’d found was so important.”

“I wish you had really solved it for us,” Daniel said.

“I’ve been thinking since,” I said, “and I’ve come up with someone else who might be the kind of person to carry out these murders. Terrence Daughtery. He was Edward’s tutor.”

“The tutor?” Daniel frowned. “What motive would he have had for killing all those people?”

“Two possible motives come to mind.” I leaned against the banister at the top of the stairs. “He might possibly have been fonder of Edward than he admitted. Maybe a real bond developed between them in those days. He might have felt guilty that his testimony helped put Edward away for life, and then when he heard that Edward had died, he decided to avenge him. Or … and this seems more likely…” I leaned closer to Daniel, just in case his mother was listening at the bottom of the stairs, “he was secretly planning to murder his domineering mother, and he used the other murders to make them seem tied somehow to Edward Deveraux. Perhaps he hadn’t even heard that Edward had died. Perhaps he wanted to pin them all on him.”

Daniel stood staring at me, a frown creasing his forehead as he considered this.

“It would explain why his mother never screamed,” I went on. “She would have screamed if a strange man had entered her bathroom, and neighbors would have heard that scream.”

Daniel was still frowning. “Let me think about this,” he said.

A loud cry came from Liam’s room as he heard Daniel’s voice. “Dada!” he yelled.

Daniel gave me a smile. “We’ll discuss it later. More urgent matters call.” Then he walked through into Liam’s nursery. “How’s my boy?” he called in his booming voice.

Bridie beamed when we told her the plans for her over the dinner table, then she tried to look sad when she turned to Mrs. Sullivan. “I’ll miss staying with you,” she said. “Will you be all right without me?”

“Heavens, child, I’ve lived alone for a long while now,” Mrs. Sullivan said.

“And of course you’re welcome to stay with us anytime you want,” I said in what I hoped was a convincing manner. “And we’ll all come up to you in the summer.”

So that was settled, and I couldn’t have been more happy. It wasn’t until we were alone in the bedroom that I had a chance to discuss more urgent matters with Daniel.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He looked up at me as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Terrence Daughtery. He certainly does seem to be the type—antisocial, under his mother’s thumb, young, smart, agile…” He paused. “But who would go to all that trouble to avenge a friend, or to commit so many murders to cover up one valid one?”

“A person who was mentally unstable? Who had too much time on his hands?” I suggested.

He sighed as he took the studs from his collar and hung his shirt on the high-backed chair. “We’ll bring him in for questioning. He seems the sort who might crumble under the threat of the Tombs.”