Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (6 page)

I paced again, more warily now. What possible reason could he have had for writing such a letter? To make me laugh? In which case he had not succeeded. To tell me something? And most puzzling of all—why had he signed it Danny? He had always been Daniel to me, ever since we met. Never the shortened Dan or Danny. None of it made any sense.

Six

I couldn’t wait for Sid and Gus to arrive home that afternoon. I needed to show the letter to someone because I was growing more and more uneasy as the day wore on. Daniel never did anything flippantly or without consideration. That letter had to have been written for a reason.

I fed Liam. Put him down for his nap. Bridie returned home from school and still I went into the front parlor, pulling back the lace curtains to see if my friends had returned.

“They said they’d be back by midday,” Bridie said, coming up behind me. “Perhaps something is wrong. Perhaps there was a sudden snowstorm in the mountains and they are snowed in. Perhaps Tig or Emmy hurt themselves skiing. Or they took them back to Long Island and were invited to stay for dinner.”

I felt a knot of worry in my stomach. What if my friends were forced to stay at the cabin in the mountains and didn’t come back for days? In the end I was forced to start cooking our supper and was startled when there came a knock on our front door. I went to it to see Gus standing there.

“We have returned, as you can see,” she said, “but I could use a little help, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“The cab driver wouldn’t come any further up the street, saying he couldn’t turn his horse around in such close quarters. He abandoned us here, horrible man. But he got no tip, I can assure you.”

I followed Gus’s glance down Patchin Place and saw a pile of baggage and propped against it was Sid, her leg encased in white plaster.

“She attempted the most difficult slope,” Gus said, giving me a look of pure exasperation. “I told her she needed more practice first but she never listens to me. Now she’s laid up with a broken leg and who knows how long it will be before we can resume our normal activities.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I hurried down to Sid. “Here, put your arm around my neck and we’ll half carry you to the house.” I looked back at our front door. “Bridie,” I called. “Come and help with Miss Goldfarb’s bags.”

Between us, Gus and I managed to carry Sid into the house and settled her on the sofa, propped up with pillows.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll go out and find you crutches,” Gus said. “Knowing you, you will not be content to lounge on a sofa until you are healed.”

“I feel so stupid,” Sid said. “The hill didn’t look that steep to begin with and when a young man came and asked me if I was sure I was up to such a challenging run, I wasn’t about to give up. And then lo and behold the hill suddenly started plunging straight downward and I tumbled head over heels.”

“I was watching from the cabin window and saw the whole thing,” Gus said. “She bounced down it like a pebble. Quite alarming, I can tell you.”

Bridie stood in the doorway, her arms laden with bags. “Where should I put these?” she asked.

“Oh, just leave them in the hall,” Gus said. “Thank you so much, Bridie dear.”

“I’d better go back,” I said. “I’ve dinner cooking and Liam in there alone. But when you’re settled I have something I have to show you.” Then I added, “I’m making a big hot pot. I’ll bring some over when it’s done, so that you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

“How kind of you, Molly.” Sid held out her hand to me. “I can tell you I’m not going to find it easy being an invalid. But this leg hurts like billy-o when I try to move. A compound fracture, the doctor called it. So rest is really the only cure.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you,” Gus said, putting her hand on Sid’s shoulder.

I went back across the street and finished preparing the meal. Then I fed the children, swallowing back my impatience, and it was only when I finally carried over a bowl of the hot pot for Sid and Gus that I brought the letter with me.

“You said you have something to show us?” Sid said, holding out her hand for the piece of paper I held. “Something good?”

“A letter from Daniel. But it can wait. You should eat while the food’s still hot.”

“Of course not,” Sid said. “I can see that you’re dying to show us this letter. Good news, I hope?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. I handed it to Sid, and Gus came to perch on the arm of the sofa to read it over her shoulder. I saw their expressions change as they read it.

“Well!” Sid looked up as she finished reading. “I am quite lost for words. One can only conclude that your husband has lost his mind.”

“Or that he was very drunk at the time?” Gus suggested. “How insulting, Molly. Why would Daniel say those things?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” I said. “At first I was angry. I thought he’d written such a letter because he wanted to somehow impress the company he was with to demonstrate that he was the man of the house and I was just the little wife. But then I decided that was not like Daniel one bit.”

“No, I have to admit that Daniel has always treated you with more respect than most husbands would,” Sid said. “He didn’t even forbid you to continue with your detective work, although he did try to persuade you to stop.”

“So what does it mean?” I asked. “None of it makes sense. Daniel is not one for writing long, flowery letters, for one thing. Even when I was away in Paris and he was worried about me he only wrote a few lines. ‘All is well here. Please give Liam a kiss from me.’ That’s about it.”

“And that sentence about the opera,” Gus said. “You have never been to the opera together, have you?”

“Never,” I said.

“And the embroidery,” Sid said with indignation. “When have you ever done embroidery?”

“Exactly,” I said. “I have come to the conclusion that he must have written all those ridiculous things for a reason. Either he was being watched as he wrote or he thought there was a danger of his letter being read so he wanted to convey a false impression for some reason.”

“Or?” Sid looked up at me.

“Or he thought he was being funny, maybe?” I suggested. “He thought his ridiculous statements would make me laugh?”

“But they didn’t. They made you annoyed,” Gus said.

“That’s true.”

We stared at the sheet of paper in silence.

“I suppose it really is Daniel’s handwriting?” Gus said at last. “Someone else didn’t write the letter to give the false impression that Daniel was in California?”

“I’m sure it’s his handwriting,” I said. “It’s neater and less of a scrawl than usual because he’s always in a hurry. But I think I’d swear that he wrote it.”

“Then he wrote it for a reason,” Sid said.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. Daniel never does things impulsively. He thinks them through. So I’m wondering if he’s trying to tell me something—some kind of hidden message.”

“Much of what he says is the exact opposite of the truth.” Sid was frowning now as she stared at the letter. “The opera. The embroidery. Even your sweet and gentle nature. All lies.”

“I can be sweet and gentle if I put my mind to it,” I said hotly.

They exchanged a knowing smile. “But it wouldn’t be the usual description of your temperament, would it?” Gus asked.

I paused, staring at the sheet of paper. “Do you think he’s trying to tell me that he’s in some kind of danger?” I asked. “If so, why not write a note in secret and slip out to mail it?”

“Unless he’s being watched or even guarded,” Gus said.

I shuddered. “A prisoner, you mean?”

Another silence followed while the three of us digested this thought.

“I think.” Sid cleared her throat. “I think that he wants you to go out to California.”

“Go out to California? How do you interpret the letter that way?” I asked.

“He stresses how much he misses you, how you would enjoy the scenery. Then he says what a pity it is that you can’t travel because you are too frail. We all know that you are not too frail and could easily travel. And to emphasize the point he goes on about the opera and embroidery, both of which are the opposite of the truth. Ergo—he knows you are not too frail to travel and wants you there.”

“Holy Mother of God,” I exclaimed. “You really think that?”

“Don’t you?” Sid looked up at me.

“I suppose it’s possible.” I stared at the letter again, willing its message to come clear to me.

“You know Daniel. You said yourself that if he wrote anything it would be for a good reason,” Sid went on, warming to her subject now. “He says he’s been well looked after, entertained. Is that meaning that he can’t get away to have time on his own or even that he’s being watched every minute?”

“But what could I do if I went out to him?” I was trying to stay calm but it was hard to get the words out. The thought that buzzed around inside my head was that my husband might be in terrible danger and it might be up to me to rescue him, which was absurd.

“You’ll find out when you get there, presumably,” Sid said.

“But if he’s in danger, why not simply leave, or write to Mr. Wilkie to send out reinforcements?”

“If he’s virtually a prisoner, how could he write to Mr. Wilkie?” Gus said. “And presumably if he’s on some kind of spy mission he won’t be using his true name or credentials.”

“Oh, dear,” I said. “So you really think I should go out to him? All the way to California?”

Sid nodded. “I really think so. Don’t you, Gus?”

Gus looked more hesitant. “If Daniel is currently in danger, why would he want to subject Molly to the same risks? If anything, he’d want to make sure she was safe. I think he’s giving her the details of where he is and who he is staying with so that if anything happens to him, at least Molly will know.”

“Don’t say that, please,” I said. “Do you think he wants me to contact Mr. Wilkie for him? Should I send on the letter to Mr. Wilkie so that he can come to the rescue?”

“I still think he wants you there,” Sid said firmly. “I know it’s a frightfully long journey but why else would he have said that he’s sorry you were too frail to travel with him? He’d have had no need to say such a thing if he just wanted you to know he was in San Francisco. In fact he could have stopped after the first paragraph. He goes on to tell you things that aren’t true, Molly, so that you’ll see that all his statements are the reverse of what he says. That means you are strong enough to travel and he wants you there.”

“I just wish I knew,” I said. “I need to think.”

“Of course you do,” Gus said gently. “Go home and sleep on it. We may all have more insights in the morning.”

I nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Maybe Daniel will come to me in a dream tonight and then I’ll know.”

But he didn’t. I hardly slept at all that night. I tossed and turned. I sat up and stared out of the window at the dark street, listening to the distant noises of the city. I ran my hand over the cold spot on the bed where Daniel usually slept. Now that Sid had spoken the words out loud I realized that she was voicing my deeply hidden fears—that Daniel was in danger. That for some reason he could not tell me the truth in a letter. And that he wanted me to go to him.

In the morning I awoke from troubled slumber, bleary-eyed, and with my head throbbing and in truth no clearer as to what my decision should be. Should I send a telegram to Mr. Wilkie? But if Daniel wanted me to do that, why hadn’t he hinted at it in the letter? He could have made some veiled comment about our dear friend John and how I must give him my best regards when I speak to him. I would surely have picked up on that. But then so might Daniel’s nebulous captors, whoever they might be.

That was the trouble. I did not know the nature of his assignment. Was he dealing with foreign spies? Anarchists? Criminals? All I knew was that he was staying with a Mrs. Rodriguez who was a doyenne of San Francisco society in a mansion above a sea of fog. It all sounded eminently respectable. Maybe he was really having a good time and we were completely misinterpreting the nature of this letter.

But if he wasn’t?
a small voice whispered in my head. Why had he regretted I was too frail to travel? Sid had to be right. Daniel wanted me out there with him. I picked up the letter that lay on my bedside table. I even held it up to the early morning light. All I noticed was that Daniel had written the name “Caruso” extra forcefully. Even underlined it. Well, of course that made sense. Caruso’s arrival was big news. The preparations had even been shown here in a movie theater. Then I noticed that he had also highlighted the word “opera” in a similar way. And the word “myself.” And “embroidery.” There was nothing really out of the ordinary about this. Daniel often wrote in the same forceful manner with which he spoke. He did sometimes underline words. I went downstairs to Daniel’s desk and wrote down the four words. “Caruso.” “Opera.” “Myself.” “Embroidery.”

“Holy Mother of God,” I said out loud. The first letters spelled out the word “COME.”

Seven

I packed Bridie off to school and waited with impatience to share what I had discovered with Sid and Gus. Was I reading too much into those four words? But then why hadn’t Daniel emphasized other, equally important words? Why would he have stressed the word “embroidery”? But for that matter why would he ever have mentioned embroidery? It had always been one of our jokes that he had not married a quiet little miss who sat at home with her embroidery. A private joke. So he was saying, “You and I both know that you never do embroidery. So I want you to take everything I say in this letter as the opposite.”

And as Sid had pointed out: you are not too frail to travel. Therefore you should travel.

I believe my hand shook a little as I held the letter. A journey to California was a huge undertaking. Several days on the train with a lively toddler. Clearly I couldn’t leave him behind. And what about Bridie? Should I take her with me to help with Liam? But it would not be fair for her to miss her schooling and certainly not fair if I was heading into danger. And then there was the money. We had a small amount put away in savings. We were not destitute. Daniel would inherit a property in the country from his mother one day. But a trip to California and who knows how long a stay in a hotel would certainly eat into those savings.