In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“Nonsense,” Sid said. “Just think how dull and ordinary our lives would be without you.”


Since Sid and Gus lead the least ordinary lives I had ever encountered, I had to smile at this. I suppose I should mention that the irreal names are Elena Goldfarb and Augusta Mary Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts. Both families had cut them off without a penny, but thanks to a generous inheritance from Gus’s suffragist great aunt, they lived a blissfully unconventional existence in Greenwich Village. Gus was attempting to make her mark as a painter, while Sid wrote the occasional left-wing article. Mostly they just had fun, hosting the literary and bohemian set to wild and extravagant parties. They had taken me under their wing when I had been new to the city, and treated me as a spoiled younger sister ever since. As I looked at them I realized how I would hate to move away from their company.

“Allright,” I conceded grouchily, “Maybe not Nebraska.”

Sid went over to the stove and picked up the coffee pot. “Have another cup of coffee. You'll feel better,” she said.

“I haven't finished this one yet,” I said hastily.

“So let’s see.” Gus put down her own cup and stared across at Sid. “What sort of job should we find for her? Bookshop, do you think?”

“Too dreary. Not enough life.”

“Ryan could help her get something to do with the theater. She'd like that.”

“Ryan is unemployed and seriously short of funds himself at the moment.”

“Well, if he will write plays that mock the American theatergoing public, what can he expect?”

I looked from one to the other, amused that I was not being consulted in this discussion.

“You don't understand,” I finally cut in. “It’s not the change of profession I'm anxious about. It’s worrying about whether I'm going to find Daniel Sullivan lurking outside my front door everytime I come out. Or Jacob for that matter.”

“Jacob doesn't lurk, does he? He doesn't seem the type,” Sid said.

“No,” I conceded. “He’s very well behaved as usual. Waiting patiently for my decision.”

“And I don't think we've spotted Daniel lurking recently, have we?” Sid turned to Gus. “Not for the last few days anyway. Maybe he’s given up in despair.”

“He’s still writing to me,” I said. “At least a letter a day. I throw them all in the rubbish bin without opening them.”

“I call that rather devoted,” Gus said.

“Gus! We're talking about Daniel the Deceiver! The man possesses all the worst qualities of the male sex—untrustworthy, flirtatious and an all-around bounder,” Sid saidfiercely. “He promises Molly he’s broken off his engagement one day and the next he goes running back to that spoiled Arabella creature as soon as she snaps her fingers. Molly is quite right to ignore him. And Jacob Singer too. He may profess that he’s no longer under the thumb of his family, but I know Jewish families, trust me.”

Since she came from one, I did trust her.

“It’s not only that,” I said. “I don't want to marry just for convenience or security. There is just no spark with Jacob. He’s a goodman. Hell make some girl a good husband, only not me.”

“Quite right,”Sid said. “At least we're all in agreement that women don't need to attach themselves to a man to make themhappy.” She glanced up at Gus with a smile.

I got up and walked across to the French windows. The first fierce rays of summer sun were painting the brick wall behind the tiny square of garden. “I just wish I knew what I wanted,” I said at last. “Part of the time I think I must be crazy to try and carry on the detective agency. But at least when I'm on a case I know I'm alive and it’s exciting.”

“When you're not fighting for your life, getting yourself shot or drowned or pushed off bridges,” Gus said dryly.

I grinned. “So it’s a little too exciting sometimes. But I can't see myself sitting behind a desk all day. Or being a governess to spoiled children, or a companion, for that matter. I can't think of what other job would give me pleasure, or prevent me from bumping into Daniel.”

“I don't see why you are so worried about bumping into Captain Sullivan,” Sid said. “You're not usually a shrinking violet who avoids confrontation or hesitates to speak her mind, Molly. You've faced anarchists and gang members without flinching. Surely you're not afraid of a mere police captain?”

“Not afraid, no.” I looked away to avoid meeting her eye. “I just lose all common sense when he’s around. I know he'll try to sweet talk me into forgiving him and I'm afraid I'll be weak enough to listen to him.”