In Like Flynn (16 page)

His hands moved from my shoulders down my arms, his thumbs just brushing at my breasts. I put my own hands up to push him away. “Barney, I beg you, please stop this at once. Apart from the fact that you know it’s not right, did you ever consider that I might already be promised to another man?”

He moved away, but not much. He was still dangerously close. “Oh, so you've had experience in the pleasures of the flesh, have you?”

“I have had experience in promising my heart, which is not the same thing,” I replied stiffly. “There is a young man who waits for me and I wouldn't break my oath of fidelity to him for anything in the world.”

“And who is this young paragon?” he asked.

“He’s—” I tried to make my brain work rapidly. In all my prepa-ration to take over the role of Molly Gaffney, a sweetheart had never entered into the picture. And worse still, a vivid image of Daniel Sullivan popped into my head and wouldn't leave. “He’s a policeman,” I said.

“A policeman? God’s teeth, woman, you can do better than that for yourself. Isn't one of the reason you came over here to make a good match for yourself?”

“I didn't say the family approved of him,” I said. “Now can we please drop the subject and let me return to the ladies in the parlor.”

As he let me go I heard the sound of a door closing, very quietly, somewhere along the landing.

Nineteen

S
unday. Fifth morning of this even more complicated saga. I was nowhere closer to proving the Misses Sorensen were frauds. I was nowhere closer to finding out the truth about Bertie Morell. Theresa Flynn wanted to take me to Europe with her and Barney Flynn wanted to take me to bed. Then there was a man staying next door who would have me arrested if he found out the truth about me. Why on earth hadn't I chosen a simpler profession? And if I was bent on being an investigator, why on earth had I not stuck to divorce cases? I was tempted to take the next train home, until I realized that I had no way of reaching a station without being ferried across the riverfirst.

I came down to find Clara already in her severe black crepe bonnet. Youll be coming to church with us, I trust?” she asked. “I presume that Barney’s relatives are good Catholics?”

“Catholics. I'm not so sure about the good part.”

“No?” Her look of disapproval made me wonder if she was the one who had peeked from a bedroom yesterday evening when Barney had attempted to seduce me. To my surprise Bamey appeared in a dark Sunday suit with hair well parted and slicked down. Theresa had announced that she was not up to the boat ride, so it was Clara, Belinda, Bamey and myself, plus little Eileen and her nurse, who made the trip across the river and attended mass at the church in Peekskill. After mass Bamey was waylaid by well-wishers and friends. He made the rounds of handshaking like any good politician should. Eileen had been very good all through mass but I could see that she was getting bored with holding her nanny’s hand.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s you and I go for a little walk. Maybe we can see birds and squirrels in the park.”

The nurse frowned but Eileen took my hand happily and skipped along beside me. A path led into the little cemetery behind the church. It was so peaceful and green up there, surrounded by trees, with a view of the river.

“Is this where dead people are buried?” Eileen asked, studying the tombstones.

That’sright. But just their bodies. Their souls have gone up to God in heaven.”

She looked thoughtful. “My brother isn't buried here, is he?” “No.” It was better that she didn't know that her brother’s grave had never been found. “But he’s an angel in heaven himself now and he’s watching down on you.”

“Look, there’s a squirrel.” Eileen was off at a great pace, discussions of heaven quite forgotten. I ran after her, determined not to let her out of my sight for a second. At the far end of the cemetery, where the grass had not been cut and odd gravestones were dotted among pine trees, I spotted a boy, a little older than Eileen, dressed in his black Sunday best, climbing on a large grave monument. Eileen saw him at the same time and made a beeline for him.

“Hello, boy!” she called.

“Eileen, wait for me,” I called. At that moment I noticed a woman who had been bent over a grave in the unkempt area. She rose hastily to her feet at the sound of my voice, grabbed the boy and yanked him down from the marble cherub. Then she shot me a glance, gathered up a bunch of dyingflowersand dragged the protesting child away in the opposite direction.

“Why did he have to go so quickly?” Eileen demanded. “I could have played with him. We could have played hide-and-seek among all the lovely angels.”

“His mommy must have been in a hurry, I suppose,” I said. Intrigued as to why she needed to rush away from what must have been a Sunday morning ritual, I made my way over to the grave. The small rectangle of granite bore the words ALBERT JOSEPH MORELL. I couldn't read the dates because there were now fresh flowers lying across it. Handpicked flowers from somebody’s garden. I noticed rosemary and forget-me-nots among them. Somebody still remembered Albert Morell fondly apart from Annie Lomax in New York.

I took Eileen’s hand to rejoin my party. As we made our way back to the boat, we had to pass under the railway to reach the river. A train was just pulling in from New York City. I looked up at the slamming of doors and saw what looked like the same woman getting into a carriage at the far end of the train.

We came home to find Theresa up and lying propped on a wicker chaise on the veranda, wrapped in a rug, although the morning was already warm. Roland Van Gelder had arrived and was perched on a chair beside her. A breakfast tray, hardly touched, stood on a round table and Roland was drinking a cup of coffee.

“Look who’s here, Bamey,” Theresa called as we came around the side of the house. “Roland has been kind enough to keep me company.”

“It’s good to see you up again, my dear.” Barney went up to her and kissed her forehead. “How are you, Roland?”

“Well, sir. And you?” Roland rose to his feet as we approached. “Ladies,” he bowed to us, “you all look simply stunning this morning. Far too ravishing for church, I must say. You must have set the poor old priest’s heart aflutter.”

“Mr. Van Gelder!” Clara said in a shocked voice. “I must protest. You may not belong to our religion but I will not let you insult it. Our priests are pure and holy men, especially Father Conway at St. Agnes.”

“Who is eighty if he’s a day,” Roland said, smiling in the direction of Belinda and myself. “I was wondering if you'd care to come out riding later today, Miss Butler?”

“Will your houseguests be accompanying us?” she asked.

“Captain Cathers may well be persuaded to. I think I mentioned that poor old Hartley doesn'tridemuch any more. Lack of balance, you know.”

“Are they planning to stay with you much longer?” I tried not to sound too interested. “Captain Cathers spoke of wanting to go West.”

“I think that is their plan,” Roland said. He looked up at me. “And I must say you've made an impression upon Mr. Hartley. He spoke about you after you left the other evening and he says he plans to look you up when you return to Ireland.”

“Did you hear that, Molly?” Qara asked. “Such a handsome gentleman too.”

“He'll have to wait a long time for Molly’s return,” Theresa said, “because I have no intention of letting her go. In fact I made up my mind last night that she will come to Washington with us where I can introduce her to all the most eligible bachelors in the land. And we were going to summon the dressmaker, weren't we? Qara, I believe I asked you to do so—have you done it yet?”

“I'm afraid it slipped my mind, Theresa,” Qara said, giving me a sideways glance. “I've been so worried about your health.”

“My health is getting stronger by the minute, I can feel it. What do you think, Bamey—should we ask Miss Emily and Miss Edith for another seance tonight?”

“Absolutely no,” Bamey said. 'You are in no fit state for more shocks to your system. Let’s get you back on your feetfirstand then think about stances.”

“How are Miss Emily and Miss Ella faring?” I asked. “I hope they arefinallyrecovering from their ordeal.”

“How sweet of you to worry for their health, Molly,” Theresa said. “But it’s good news. They have already paid me a visit this morning and will join us for Sunday lunch. Will you also join us, Mr. Van Gelder? Cook always puts on a really fine spread on Sundays.”

“I would be honored, Mrs. Flynn.” Roland’s eyes didn't leave Be-linda. “And after lunch maybe Miss Butler will satisfy my whim to go out riding.”

Belinda crossed the veranda, trailing her gloves across the furniture. “I suppose riding would be slightly less boring than playing croquet with Clara,” she said. “All right, Roland. But only if Barney lets me ride his new thoroughbred.”

“I don't know, Belinda. He’s very willful,” Barney said.

“My dear brother-in-law, you know I can handle any horse in creation,” Belinda said. “And if I don't ride the thoroughbred, I'm not going.”

“Very well, only go carefully,” Bamey said.

“Don't worry. If Roland rides that old nag again, the pace isn't going to be exactly fast.”

I saw a spasm of annoyance cross Roland’s face. “Yes, I know what you mean. We're thinking of buying a replacement, but we— we haven't had time, what with all these summer visitors.”

Lunch was everything that Theresa had promised. A huge joint of roast beef, surrounded by roast potatoes, sweet potatoes, baby carrots, beans, and peas, followed by a light concoction of whipped cream and fresh raspberries. Replete with food, we retired to our rooms, except for Belinda, who departed with Roland. I lay on my bed, watching the lace curtains stir idly in the summer breeze, listening to shouts from the river as pleasure craft passed. I found my thoughts drifting back to the strange encounter in the churchyard this morning. Surely Bertie Morell had been portrayed as a ladies' man, hadn't he? He had been walking out with Annie Lomax. There had been no mention of a wife and child. So who was the woman who came regularly to put flowers on his grave? I surmised she must be a regular visitor because the flowers she had removed were not yet quite dead—no more than a few days old. Would a sister be so loyal, or an old family friend? I didn't think so and resolved to delve deeper into Mr. Morell’s family background.

Then a drowsiness overcame me and I must have drifted off to sleep because I woke with a start to hear voices below my window.

“What the devil do you think you're doing here?” A man’s voice, barely more than a whisper. If there was an answer I didn't catch it. “You must be out of your mind,” the voice continued. 'You remember our agreement as well as I do. We're not going back on it now. I paid you well enough!”

I jumped out of bed and went to look out of the window. I waited but there were no more voices and nobody came out of the house. I was confused until I realized that I had probably been listening to one end of a telephone conversation. The telephone was kept in Bamey Flynn’s study and his windows were certainly open. Well, Barney’s questionable dealings were no business of mine. I moved away from the window and pulled up a chair to the desk. I took out my notebook and jotted down what I had seen this morning—the strange woman who had leftflowerson Bertie Morell’s grave. The innkeeper in the village had hinted that he was one for the ladies. Was this one of Bertie’s conquests? And what of the boy? I'd probably have no way of finding out, unless she came back next Sunday and I couldfinda way to engage her in conversation.

The question was whether I would still be here by next Sunday. I would have to make sure I left Adare before the embarrassment of a dressmaker’s arrival and I still hadn't had any opportunity to unmask the spiritualist sisters. Since I had seen how fond they were of their food, it came to me that I could feign an indisposition and search their cottage when they were at lunch, although I had no idea what I was looking for.

Search cottage, I wrote in my notebook.

I looked up to see Desmond O'Mara hurrying across the lawn and disappearing into the undergrowth beside the river in the direction of the cliff path.

Apparently the servants always had Sunday afternoon and evening off, so the meal was cold meats and salad with the remains of the pudding. Most of us were too stuffed full from lunch to eat much anyway. The Misses Sorensen, however, node an appearance and worked their way steadily through everything.

“We are ready for another stance whenever you feel up to it, dear Mrs. Flynn,” Miss Emily said. “In fact our dear Chief Ojuweca came to me in a dream last night and said he might have some good news for you.”

“Good news? Really?” Theresa looked up. “Then let us hold a seance tonight.”

“Not tonight, Theresa,” Bamey said. “I made it clear to you that you are not yet strong enough. If you insist on going ahead with thisridiculousbusiness, then plan your stance for later in the week.”

“But if Miss Emily and Miss Ella are willing and Ojuweca has news for me—” Theresa began.

“Not tonight. I forbid it and that’s final. Now, why don't we re-tire to the parlor and play some cards.”

“Cards, on a Sunday?” Clara asked.

“Clara, it’s only Puritans who don't allow fun on the Sabbath. We Catholics have an understanding with our God. He wants us to enjoy ourselves whenever we please.”

'Your God might, but mine forbids it.” Clara said. “If you're going to play cards, I shall retire to my room.”

Clara retired after the meal,- so did the sisters.

“Do you play whist, Molly?” Bamey asked.

“I'm afraid I never learned card games,” I said.

“Don't tell me they are a bunch of Puritans back in Ireland!” Barney exclaimed.

“No, I'm sure they are not. It was just my family never went in for card games. But I'd be happy to leam.”

'You can watch for a while then, until you get the hang of it.” “That’s no use,” Belinda said, “we need a fourth. What has happened to Mr. Rimes and Mr. O'Mara?”

“Both out,” Bamey said.

“Servants' night out?” Belinda asked sweetly. 'You're so good to them, Bamey.”

“Wicked girl.” Bamey wagged a finger at her. “Never mind, we'll teach Molly as we go along. I'm sure she’s very quick on the uptake.”

I was and we spent an enjoyable evening. Even Theresa seemed livelier and some color had returned to her cheeks. If I stayed long enough, maybe I could restore her to full health, I found myself thinking, and had to remind myself sharply that I wasn't really her cousin and I didn't belong here.

I was awoken by a loud banging noise and the sound of raised voices. Outside was a misty gray dawn. The first doves were cooing in the trees. At the sound of the raised voices, crows started cawing in alarm. I scrambled out of bed and hastily put on my robe before peering out of the window. Three men were standing there, humble folk by the way they were dressed, and they were gesticulating wildly

“On the Senator’s property,” I heard one of them say. “We saw it clearly from the river, but we couldn't put in there because of those rocks.”

“Somebody should go for the constable,” I heard another voice say.

Then I heard doors open on the landing and footsteps running down the stairs. I opened my own door in time to hear Barney’s voice shouting, “What is all this row at six in the morning? What is going on?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Senator,” one of the men said, scrambling to take off his cap, “but we were out fishing and we spotted what looks like a body lying at the bottom of the cliffs on your estate.”