Death of Riley - Hardcover

Bowen, Rhys

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0312282117 ISBN 13: 9780312282110

Verlag: Minotaur Books, 2002

Inhaltsangabe

Molly Murphy has finally begun to forget the unpleasant murder of a would-be rapist back in Ireland, not to mention her investigation into the murder of a fellow recent Irish immigrant, and is finally free to begin her life in New York City. Given her experiences so far in the New World, Molly has decided that her first order of business is to become a private investigator, a people finder of sorts, working for families in Europe who've lost touch with relatives in America. Not only might this put some food on her table, but her second order of business is to hook the handsome NYPD police captain Daniel Sullivan, and she envisions lots of opportunities to "seek his counsel" in her new profession.

Paddy Riley is a tough old Cockney p.i. who specializes in divorce work, and with a little persuasion he's ready to take on Molly as an apprentice. It's not exactly what she imagined, but she plans to make the most of it. That is, until she comes in to work one day to find her new world turned upside down and all expectations for her professional life suddenly up in the air.

Before long, Molly has set off on a journey that will take her through the back alleys of Manhattan and into the bars and lounges of the literary scene, where she spends time with writers, actors, poets, and musicians. It's quite an eye-opening turn for innocent young Molly, but she's resolute in her decision to find out exactly what happened that day in the office of Paddy Riley. Armed with nothing more than her fiery will and matching wild red hair, Molly has no idea of the danger her pursuit may bring in this fascinating, well-researched, and suspenseful second novel in Rhys Bowen's Agatha-award winning series.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rhys Bowen won the Agatha Award for best novel of the year for her first Molly Murphy mystery, Murphy's Law. She is also the author of the Constable Evans mysteries. She was born in Bath, England, and now lives in Northern California.

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One

New York, July 1901

 

“You want me to do what?” I demanded so loudly that a delicate young female walking ahead of us glanced back in horror and had to reach for her smelling salts. I burst out laughing. “For the love of Mike, Daniel—can you picture me as a companion?” Then I looked up at Captain Daniel Sullivan’s face. He wasn’t smiling.

He gave me an embarrassed half-smile, half-shrug. “I was only thinking of you, Molly. You do need a job, and you haven’t exactly been successful in your search so far.”

“So I haven’t come up with the perfect job yet.” I picked up my skirts to avoid the wet patches around a grand-looking fountain. It had a fine bronze statue of the Angel of the Waters on top, but at this moment the scene was anything but grand. A host of little boys, some of them naked as the day they were born, were scrambling in and out, standing under the curtain of spray before being evicted again, squealing and yelling as they avoided the nightstick wielded by an overzealous policeman. It was Sunday afternoon and we were doing what most New Yorkers did on hot summer Sundays—we were strolling through Central Park. For once Daniel’s day off had actually fallen on a Sunday, and there had been no incidents to drag him away with an apologetic peck on the cheek.

It seemed as if pecks on the cheek were all I was getting these days from Captain Daniel Sullivan. Yes, I know that pecks on the cheek, properly chaperoned, are all that decent young ladies should expect before marriage, but propriety rather went out of the window when I was with Daniel. And I had hoped our romance might have blossomed into something more substantial by now, but as New York’s youngest police captain, Daniel threw himself wholeheartedly into his job. I, on the other hand, had no job to keep me occupied.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried. After my somewhat dramatic arrival in New York, I had looked for something suitable. The saints in heaven will attest that I really put my heart into it. I wouldn’t have minded a governess position, in fact I’d have been good at it. But it didn’t take me long to discover that an Irish girl, fresh off the boat, and with no references—or at least no references that could be verified (I had made some very convincing forgeries), would not be hired to teach the children of a good family. Nursemaid maybe, but I didn’t think I’d last a week as a servant.

After that, I tried my hand at any job I could find, short of gutting fish at the Fulton Street fish market. I did draw the line at standing up to my elbows in fish entrails.

“You have to admit that there have been some rather spectacular disasters.” Daniel voiced my thoughts for me, making me wonder whether he could actually read my mind.

“I wouldn’t say disasters.”

A breeze blew off the boating lake beyond the fountain, sending a fine curtain of spray in our direction. The cool tingles on my hot skin felt wonderful and I was tempted to stand there for a while until Daniel pulled me clear. “Molly—you’ll get soaked to the skin.”

“But it feels divine.”

“It might feel divine,” he said, looking down at me with those alarming blue eyes, “but that’s a very fine muslin you’re wearing, my dear. We wouldn’t want other men ogling you, would we?” He led me firmly away from the fountain terrace, along the edge of the boating lake. I paused to look longingly at those rowboats. A couple came gliding by, the girl’s face hidden by a deliciously decadent parasol—all frills and lace and froufrou—as she trailed a hand languidly through the water. Her beau, pulling manfully at the oars in rolled-up shirtsleeves, didn’t look as if he were enjoying himself quite as much. Undignified rivulets of sweat streaked the beet-red face beneath his boater.

“You wouldn’t say disasters?” Daniel repeated, chuckling as he led me away. “The shirtwaist factory?”

“So I got a needle through my thumb. It could have happened to anyone.” I tossed my head, almost losing my straw boater into the water.

“And who sewed all those sleeves on inside out?” Those alarming blue eyes were twinkling.

“That wasn’t why I was fired and you know it. It was because I stood up to that brute of a foreman and wasn’t about to take any of his nonsense. All those unfair rules—docking their workers’ pay every time they so much as sneezed. I knew right away that I’d never be able to hold my tongue for long.”

“Then there was the café,” Daniel reminded me.

I gave him a sheepish grin. “Yes, I suppose that counted as a spectacular disaster.”

We had reached the dappled shade of spreading chestnut trees as the path left the lakeside. The effect was instant, like stepping into a pool of cool water. “Ah, that’s better,” Daniel said. “Look, there’s a bench under that tree. Let’s sit awhile.”

I noticed that Daniel seemed to be feeling the heat more than I. His face was as red as the young man’s in the rowboat and his wild black curls were plastered to his forehead under his boater. Of course, gentlemen are at a disadvantage on days like this, having to wear jackets whilst we women can keep cool in muslins. But he was a born New Yorker. I’d have thought he grew up used to this heat. I, on the other hand, had come from the wild west coast of Ireland, where a couple of sunny days in a row counted as a heat wave, and we had the chilly Atlantic at our feet whenever we needed to cool off.

Daniel took out his handkerchief and mopped at his brow. “That’s better,” he said. “I swear, every summer is hotter than the last. It’s those new skyscrapers. They block the cooling breezes from the East River and the Hudson.”

“It’s certainly hot enough.” I fanned myself with the penny fan I had bought from a street vendor last week. It was a pretty little thing from China, made of paper and decorated with a picture of a pagoda and wild mountain scenery. “Here, you look as if you could use this more than me.” I turned and fanned Daniel too. He grabbed at my wrist, laughing. “Stop it. You’ll be offering me your smelling salts next.”

“I’ve never carried smelling salts in my life and never intend to,” I said. “Fainting is for ninnies.”

“That’s what I like about you, Molly Murphy—” For a long minute Daniel gazed at me in a way that turned my insides to water, his fingers still firmly around my wrist—“Your spirit. That and your trim little waist, of course, and those big green eyes and that adorable little nose.” He touched it playfully. Then the smile faded but the look of longing remained. “Oh, Molly. I just wish …” He let the rest of the sentence hang in the humid air, making me wonder what exactly he was wishing. He was young and healthy, with great career prospects—and a future that should have included a wife too. But I wasn’t going to press him on this one. Who knew how men’s minds worked? He could be waiting for a pay raise or saving enough to buy a house before he popped the question—if he did indeed intend to pop it. For once in my life I kept silent.

“I’m pretty content myself,” I said gaily. “I have a fine big...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Minotaur Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2002
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0312282117
• ISBN 13: 9780312282110
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar