The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

I set to work beating the eggs, wondering all the while why Mr. Wilkie had insisted on coming to meet me again. Perhaps he wanted me to do something for him. He had hinted at my wedding that he’d like to use me again sometime. Of course Daniel would flat out refuse. Once more it passed through my mind that Daniel didn’t have to know. If I worked for Wilkie I’d be some kind of spy, wouldn’t I, and spies weren’t supposed to confide in their spouses.

Then I laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of this thought. A fine spy I’d make with my bulging belly and then with a baby on my hip, demanding loudly to be fed while I tried to tail dangerous, international criminals. I managed a presentable omelet and salad, then peaches and cheese for dessert. The conversation was limited to harmless and general subjects—the recent hot weather, the political situation in Washington, possible names we might choose for our child. I remained the gracious hostess until I couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

“Mr. Wilkie, you clearly didn’t come to New York to discuss the weather with the Sullivans,” I said. “Are you needing Daniel’s help with a new case?”

“Molly!” Daniel gave me a warning glare.

John Wilkie laughed. “I told you your wife was sharp as a tack, didn’t I, Sullivan. Of course I didn’t come to New York in midsummer for the sake of my health. And your husband’s knowledge of the city should prove invaluable. Actually we’re keeping tabs on a new group of anarchists.”

“Is Emma Goldman still at their center?” I asked.

He laughed again. “Now, how did you know about Emma Goldman?”

“I was involved in the assassination of President McKinley,” I said, then corrected myself. “What I meant to say was that I was investigating a murder that brought me into contact with Mrs. Goldman, so I know a lot about her.”

“My, but you would be useful to me,” Wilkie said.

“The answer is no, Wilkie,” Daniel said. “Rope me in to help with your cases as much as you like, but my wife is no longer available for your little schemes.”

Wilkie was still smiling. “In answer to your previous question, Mrs. Sullivan, from what we can gather this is a new and completely separate group of anarchists with no ties to previous cells. They seem to be popping up like mushrooms all over the globe at the moment, I’m afraid, and with very different goals. Some of them idealistic about creating a new order in countries like Russia, some of them seeking only destruction and collapse of regimes. And all of them quite ruthless, which is why we have to nip in the bud any threat against our government.” He pushed his plate away from him. “Fine lunch, Mrs. Sullivan, but we should be getting back to work. So good to see you again.”

He held out his hand to me and shook mine warmly. I followed them out of the dining room.

“I may be late again tonight, my dear,” Daniel said.

“So now you’re working with Mr. Wilkie, does that mean that you’re no longer supervising the kidnapping case?”

“Kidnapping—what’s this?” Mr. Wilkie asked and I saw Daniel give me an annoyed look. “I’ve heard nothing about it. Don’t kidnappings fall under my jurisdiction?”

“Not these particular incidents,” Daniel said. “They all involve poor families in the Lower East Side, with ransoms of less than a hundred dollars. We suspect the work of a small gang, who have stumbled upon an easy way to make money.”

“Have the children been returned safely?”

“So far,” Daniel said. “At least in the cases we know about. I presume some parents never go to the police out of fear.”

Wilkie nodded. “If it’s a small gang, then you shouldn’t have too much trouble. They’ll become too bold. That sort always do.”

“You’re right, sir,” Daniel said. “We should be on our way, then. Good-bye, Molly.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “And no more roaming around, remember. Take a rest this afternoon.”

“Yes, Daniel,” I replied, giving my best imitation of a good wife, making both of the men smile.

After they had gone I cleared away the remains of the meal, then wandered around the house, wondering what to do next. My nap at the kitchen table had taken away my need for an afternoon siesta, but the weather now looked as if it might rain any moment. I considered going uptown to Gramercy Park and visiting old Miss Van Woekem, who knew everybody worth knowing in New York, but I had no desire to get soaked to the skin. Besides, when it rained the trolley cars and Els became packed with people.

So I set to work on my other task—writing to the employment agencies inquiring about Maureen O’Byrne and Mrs. Mainwaring. On the sofa I noticed my latest piece of sewing, lying rumpled and unattractive, waiting to be finished. If I managed to locate Maureen, I’d accept a modest fee that would enable me to buy all the undergarments a baby needed. I was on my fourth letter when I heard a tap at the front door. I went to open it and found Mr. Wilkie standing there.

“Mr. Wilkie,” I exclaimed.

“Mrs. Sullivan, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I believe I may have put down my gloves in your parlor,” he said.