Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

“Hello, Jones,” Daniel said. “How are you?”


“Fair to middling, sir,” the constable said. “Can’t complain and this duty is pleasant enough. A few pickpockets, lost children, lost keys, and that’s about it. Except that today we’ve been told to be on the lookout for a burglar from New Haven, Connecticut.”

“A burglar from Connecticut? Must be a special kind of burglar to have them alert the New York police.”

“Ah well, as to that I couldn’t say. But he may be behind a string of robberies and he’s killed those who tried to stop him.”

“What makes them think he’s coming to the city?”

“His getaway vehicle was found, having run into a tree on the highway in the Bronx. He’s currently a student at Yale, which would explain the New Haven burglaries, but his family lives here in New York and the police suspect that he may have been trying to get home. Halsted is the name. Society man, too, if you can imagine.”

“That name rings a bell,” Daniel said. “Halsted. Now, where have I met him?”

“If you meet him again, be sure to arrest him,” the constable said with a chuckle. “That would put you back in their good books, wouldn’t it? I tell you straight, Captain Sullivan, we need you back on the job with all that’s going on at the moment.”

“Oh, really? What is going on?” Daniel asked.

“Well, there’s this new Italian gang, for one thing. Straight from Sicily, so I gather, and meaner than anything we’ve seen so far. They make the Eastmans look like *cats.”

“Do they, indeed. What do they call themselves,” Daniel asked, “and where are they operating?”

“They’ve no defined territory as far as I know, but they’re behind all kinds of criminal activities—protection rackets mostly, but robbery, violence, extortion, murder—you name it and they’ve a hand in it.”

“Like the Black Hand boys?”

“Like them, but worse. The Black Hand thugs keep to their neighborhoods. These guys seem to be operating all over. And they’d kill a man as soon as look at him. They call themselves the Cosa Nostra. No idea what that might mean. It’s Italian, sure enough.”

“Just what we needed, another gang,” Daniel said with a bitter laugh. “Let’s hope we can nip this one in the bud and stop them before they take hold. There are plenty of Italians to recruit into gangs in New York.”

“You’re telling me, Captain. Plenty of trouble, too. And you try getting one of them to squeal. They’ve got this code of silence and we just won’t break it. Now if they put you on the job, sir, you’d know what to do. When do you think you’re coming back?”

“I wish I knew, Jones,” Daniel said. “I’m being kept in limbo—on purpose, I’m sure. But if we get a new police commissioner in January, he may show more sense than this current fool.”

“I do hope so, sir.” He looked around. “I should be getting back to work and I should let you enjoy your stroll with your young lady.” He saluted again as Daniel and I walked on.

“One of the best,” Daniel said. “One of the few that didn’t turn against me.”

“I’m sure none of them is against you, now that the truth is out.”

“But is the truth out, that’s the question? There has been no trial as yet. That rat Quigley has yet to confess.”

“It will all come right, I’m sure,” I said, and gave him an encouraging smile.

East Drive had been cleared of snow, which now lay piled in great mounds that urchins were sliding down on sheets of cardboard, giving out hollers of delight. Better-dressed children passed us, dragging proper sleds or carrying ice skates, and accompanied by nannies.

At that moment there came a delightful tinkle of bells and a horse-drawn sleigh passed along East Drive, its occupants looking as if they had stepped straight from a Currier and Ives Christmas scene with their fur-trimmed bonnets and muffs. They were laughing merrily as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I found myself thinking of Arabella Norton. Daniel might have been riding in such a sleigh had he not broken his engagement to her.

“So did you see anything of Arabella when you were home?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“I was not about to make my presence known or to go out into society given my current circumstances,” Daniel said dryly, “even if I had wanted to do so—which I didn’t.”

He started to walk faster, almost dragging me along beside him.

“Whoa, hold your horses,” I said, tugging at his arm. “I can’t stride out like a man, you know, much as I would like to.”

He looked down at me and smiled. “Forgive me,” he said. “As you know, I have much on my mind. Let us go and see the skaters and forget all our cares. If you’d like to, we could try it ourselves.”

“In which case I rather fear I should be sitting on my backside on the ice more than anything,” I said, “since I’ve never been on skates before.”