In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“Why else would such a bright and qualified young man choose to stay out here when New York City is just down the river?”


“Ah,” he said. “I think I can explain that. His father, you see, is in Sing Sing. Guilty of embezzlement. Desmond visits him whenever he can. And with that disgrace hanging over his head, a lot of jobs are barred to him. Since I've done a few crooked things in my own career, his family history doesn't bother me. He’s afinesecretary.”

He broke off as two automobiles came down the driveway, bearing the occupants of Riverside. Someone must have tele-phoned to tell them of our arrival. I glanced nervously to see if Justin was among them. He wasn't. Neither was Captain Cathers. I watched Arabella as she was assisted out of the car, looking delicate and lovely, her elfin face framed beneath a mauve silk parasol.

“Daniel,” she cried, and ran toward him.

I held my breath.

“We were worried sick about you,” she said. “Where were you?”

“We were following a lead about the Flynn baby,” Daniel said “and as you can see, we got trapped by the storm.”

She took in his crumpled suit, liberally caked with mud, then her eyes moved past him to where I was standing in the doorway.

“We?” she said icily.

“Miss Murphy was with me.”

“Miss Murphy? I understood this was Miss Gaffney.”

“Ah yes. Well, she was working for me. Undercover operation.”

“She seems to keep popping up with boringregularity,Daniel.” Arabella was eyeing me with distaste and suspicion. “What exactly was she doing with you?”

I held my breath.

“I told you, Arabella,” Daniel’s voice was harsh. “She’s an investigator. We were on a case. The creek rose and we couldn't get back. Please don't make a scene about nothing.”

I wanted to start breathing again but my breath wouldn't come. About nothing. The words resounded through my head. Nothing. I was nothing. I had let myself be fooled by the circumstances last night. Mrs. Van Gelder began cross-questioning Daniel and Barney. I chose the moment to slip away unnoticed. Once inside the house, I ran up the stairs, threw my belongings into the valise, then, while everyone was still chatting out in front of the house, I let myself out through the French windows in Barney’s study. I lugged my case along the cliff path all the way to the village, where I got a boat across to Peekskill and a train home.





Thirty-five

It was a long train ride back to the city. I felt like a coward for running out without saying good-bye to anyone at Adare, but truly my nerves had been stretched to breaking point. If I had had to be around Daniel and Arabella Norton for one more second, I would have cracked. Let Daniel finish sorting out matters with Bamey Flynn. As far as I was concerned, I had done what I came to do—more than I came to do, in fact. Hopefully I had given Bamey Flynn back his son. And Annie Lomax her good name, I realized. Joe Rimes had confessed to removing the child from the house and delivering him to Albert Morell. I would make sure the newspapers published this fact. Being able to tell her the good news was another reason I couldn't wait for the long train ride to end.

I thought of going straight to Broadway and seeing if I could locate her, but the draw of home was too strong. Patchin Place had never looked more inviting when I stepped out of the hansom cab. The cabby carried my heavy case to the front door of number nine, then I opened it and walked in. Nobody was home. The place was quiet and orderly No half-eaten jam sandwiches or toys on the floor. I put down my case and went across the street to Sid and Gus.

Their front door was opened immediately by Sid, wearing a Japanese kimono.

“Molly!” she exclaimed and I fell into her arms, fighting back tears.

“It’s so good to be home,” I managed to say.

“My dear girl, what have you been doing with yourself? You look as if you've been dragged through a hedge backward.”

“I have, and more.”

“Come on, into the garden where it’s pleasant today.” She took me by the hand and led me like a child. “Gus has made lemonade.”

Gus was sitting in a deck chair, fanning herself with a large Oriental fan, and she jumped up as she spotted me.

“She’s come home at last,” she exclaimed, flinging her arms around me. “I can't tell you how much we missed you. Not so much as a postcard, Molly. Shame on you.”

“I'm sorry. I wasn't exactly in a position to write postcards.”

“But we thought you were staying at a mansion on the Hudson,” Gus said, pouring lemonade as she spoke. “We used our spies to try to find which one, but nobody seemed to have heard of you.”

That’s because I was under an assumed name.”

“Ah. Clandestine, of course.” Sid and Gus nodded to each other. “So did it go well? Did you return bathed in glory?”

I shook my head and felt again that I might cry at any moment. “I suppose I did what I set out to do, but—”

“She’s tired, Sid. Let her sit and rest before we grill her,” Gus said, patting my hand.