In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

I turned my back on their laughter as I went to intercept Daniel at the front door.

“If you have come to lecture me again—” I started as I opened the door before he could knock.

“I've come to invite you out to dinner with me,” he said, recoiling from my unexpected attack.

“And you know very well what my answer to that will be. I'm not going anywhere with you until you are free and unencumbered. And since I don't think you've learned toflysince I saw you this afternoon——

“This is strictly business.” He cut me off before I could finish.

“Business? What possible business could you have with me?”

“I've a proposal to put to you.” And that roguish smile crossed his lips. “A strictly business proposition. Now do you want to hear it or don't you?”

“I suppose I'd be a fool to turn down any legitimate business proposition,” I replied frostily.

“Come on then.” He reached out to take my arm. “I've a cab waiting on the street and reservations at eight.”

'You were very sure that I'd come.”

“I know you too well, Molly Murphy. I knew your curiosity would get the better of you.”

“But I need to change my clothes if we're going out to dinner.”

“You look justfineto me as you are. Say farewell to your friends and off we go.”

He smiled as he escorted me to the waiting cab.





Four

So what is this interesting proposition you are making to me?” I asked as the cab started off at a lively clip-clop.

Daniel gave an enigmatic smile. “All will be revealed later, ”he said. “Tell me, are you really making a go of being a private investigator?”

“Why shouldn't I?” I replied, carefully skirting around an outright lie. “I've got a good brain, I'm observant andfearless. Why should I not succeed?”

Daniel nodded. “I'm impressed, Molly. When you first announced this madcap idea, I'd have said it was doomed to failure. I couldn't picture anyone entrusting a matter of great delicacy to a woman.”

I chose for once to ignore the insult. “There are times when a woman is what’s needed,” I said. “No man could have gone undercover in the garment industry, as I did.”

“You'reright,”he said, “which is one of the reasons I have an assignment I think will be right up your alley.”

“You really do have a job for me?”

He laughed. “Why do you think I invited you out—to have my way with you?”

“That might have been interesting,” I quipped before I re-minded myself that this outing was strictly business.

“You're some girl, Molly Murphy.” Daniel paused and eyed me for a moment. “Any other lady would have blushed or fainted from shock.” Then he wrenched his eyes away from me and went on. “All right. Let me ask you a question—what do you know about the Sorensen Sisters?”

“The who?”

“Sorensen Sisters—Misses Emily and Ella?”

“Never heard of them.”

“Then you must be the only person in New York or the entire East Coast who hasn't,” Daniel said. “They caused a sensation when they came on the scene a few years ago and they are still very much the darlings of society.”

“What are they, actresses?”

Daniel smiled. ”Who knows. Maybe they are. What they claim to be is spiritualists—they communicate with the dead. You must be aware that this city has experienced a real crazeforspiritualism in the past few years and several spiritualists have made their fortunes through their ability to contact the dearly departed.”

“How strange,” 1 said. “In Ireland most families have at least one member who can talk to ghosts. It’s considered quite normal.”

Daniel laughed. “Unfortunately we Americans have lost that skill and yet apparently we have a collective longing to communicate with our dead. Hence the Sorensen Sisters. They used to hold mass seances in theaters and auditoriums. Now they have become so wealthy and famous that they only hold private affairs for the idle rich.”

“And how does this concern me? Do you wish to contact a dearly departed?”

He leaned toward me and touched my hand. “I am sure they are frauds, Molly. My colleagues and I in the police force are convinced of it, but nobody has been able to catch them out. They are dashed good at what they do—the voices speaking as if from far away, thefloatingheads, the ectoplasm—”

The what?”

“Ectoplasm,” he said. “It’s the vaporous, luminous substance that is supposed to emanate from a medium’s body during a trance. I've seen it during one of their stances. It was quite impressive, curling around them all wispy and green.”

“So why do you think they are frauds?” I asked.

“Because I don't believe in ectoplasm, it can't be possible to communicate with the dead, and because they have become so wealthy from taking in poor suckers.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Expose them, of course.”