In Like Flynn (3 page)

Four

S
o 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 under-cover 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 for-tunes 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.”

The cab slowed as it was caught in the heavy theater traffic along Broadway. Bright lights flashed from marquees. The side-walks were crowded with pedestrians.

I swallowed before I spoke. “And how do you think that I could expose them when the entire New York police force was apparently unable to?”

“For the very reason I just explained to you. They now only conduct their seances in private homes, where it should be easier to observe them at close quarters.”

“And how do you propose I get myself invited to a private stance? Do you want me to enter a household as a maid?”

“As a guest, my dear,” Daniel said.

I laughed. “Oh yes. I've a whole mantelshelf full of invitations from Vanderbilts and Astors.”

“Don't worry. I'll arrange everything. You've heard of Senator Flynn, I take it?”

“I've read of him in the newspapers. He’s supposed to be young and dashing, isn't he?”

“He looks a little like me,” Daniel said, “though not quite as dashing.”

“The conceit of the man!” I went to slap his hand, then remembered and withdrew at the last second.

Daniel peered out of the window. “Why aren't we moving? I de-clare the traffic in this city is becoming impossible. Has everyone in the world decided to attend the theater tonight?” He rapped with his cane against the roof of the cab. “Let us out here, cabby. It’s quicker to walk.”

“Very good, sir.” The cabby jumped down and opened the door for us. Daniel stepped out first, then assisted me down the steps. The whole of Broadway was a seething mass of people, many of them finery dressed for the theater or restaurant. But at the edge of the curb beggars hovered, some selling things, some of them pitifully deformed and holding out twisted palms in desperation. I shuddered and averted my face. When I first arrived in this city, I could so easily have ended up as one of them. Had they come here with die same hopes and dreams?

Daniel finished paying the cabby and took my arm, steering me past toffs and beggars.

“So why were you telling me about Senator Flynn?” I asked.

“I have an assignment for you that involves him,” he said. “Patience. All will be revealed when we reach the restaurant.”

He guided me skillfully through the crowd until we came to a halt outside a discreet entrance flanked by potted palms. There was an awning over the door and the sign read MUSCHENHElM’s ARENA. I was wondering what an Arena might be, since the only connection the word conjured up was gladiators and lions.

“Is this the restaurant?” I asked.

“This is it. One of the more fashionable establishments in the city.”

“You didn't have to go to this trouble. An ordinary cafe would be enough for me.”

“I want you to become accustomed to fine dining,” Daniel said, “since youll soon be dining at Senator Flynn’s mansion on the Hudson.”

“Senator Flynn’s mansion?” I had to laugh. “And how do you propose to get me invited there?”

“You will be introduced as Senator Flynn’s long-lost cousin from Ireland,” he said.

“Buy a flower for the lady sir?” A half-starved-looking girl in pitiful rags blocked our way to the restaurant door, holding out a rose, her eyes pleading.

I thought I had noticed her among the beggars when we got out of the cab and admired her tenacity at following us this far.

Daniel was about to brush her aside, then relented. “Oh, very well.” He chose a rose for me and a buttonhole for himself and paid the girl. She didn't take her eyes off our faces for a second and was all thumbs as she fumbled over Daniel’s coins.

“Oh, just keep the change.” He brushed her aside impatiently. “Really, the poor thing is a half-wit.”

“Maybe she doesn't get enough to eat,” 1 said, glancing back at her. She was staring at us with a strange expression on her face.

Then the door was opened by a man in smart livery and we passed through. Inside was another world from the bustle and beggars of Broadway. It was a scene of comfort and elegance—white-clothed tables lit by tiny frilled lamps and the sparkle of glass and silver. An electric fan was turning in the ceiling, but it was still noticeably warm inside and Daniel requested a table by an open front window to catch what little breeze there was. He ordered what seemed to be a most extensive meal for us, then he was handed the wine list.

“A French champagne, I think,” he said, handing it back without opening it. 'Your best.”

“So go on about Senator Flynn,” I said, after the champagne had been brought, tasted and poured, and I had tried to give the waiter the impression that sitting in such establishments with a glass of French champagne in front of me was an everyday occurrence in my life. “I am intrigued. Has he something to do with the spiritualists you were telling me about?”

“You must be aware of the Senator’s great tragedy?” Daniel asked. “I am sure it must have made the newspapers in Ireland. It was all the talk here for months.”

I shook my head. “We had no money for newspapers, so I doubt that any news short of a French invasion would have reached County Mayo.”

“It was about five years ago now,” Daniel said. He paused, raising his glass to me. 'Your very good health, Molly. Here’s to success in all your ventures.” We clinked glasses.

“Go on,” I said, because any hint of intimacy was unnerving.

“Barney Flynn was running for the United States Senate for the first time. In the middle of his campaign his infant son was kidnapped.”

“How terrible,” I exclaimed. The poor man. Was the child ever returned?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. It was most tragic. The ransom note announced that the child had been buried in a secret hiding place, somewhere on the Flynns'estate.”

I gasped. “Buried alive?”

He nodded. “In a special chamber with a vent to provide oxygen. Barney Flynn gave instructions to hand over the money, no questions asked. Anything to get his son back. But he made the mistake of alerting the police. An overzealous policeman shot the kidnapper as he came to retrieve the ransom money.”

“So they never found the hiding place of the child?”

“Never. They searched exhaustively with dogs, all over the es-tate, but the child was never found. The estate is huge, of course. Hundreds of acres of woodland and rocky mountainside.”

There was only one kidnapper then? He had no accomplice?”

“The police investigated thoroughly and no second kidnapper came to light, although it was suggested that the child’s nurse might have been in on the plot. It was the Flynns' chauffeur, you see. And the child’s nurse had been walking out with him.”

“But she didn't know anything of where the child might have been buried?”

“She denied all knowledge of the entire scheme.”

“How awful, Daniel. How very tragic for the Senator and his wife.”

“Very.” Daniel sighed. “Senator Flynn has thrown himself into his political work with extra vigor, but his poor wife has never re-ally recovered from the shock.”

“Did they have any more children?”

“A little girl, a year or so later, but the mother still grieves her lost son. She has recently turned to the Sorensen Sisters and has invited them to the house this summer, so that she can communicate with little Brendan.”

“Ah.” I looked at him over my champagne glass. “And you would like me to be there, as an observer.”

“It’s a perfect opportunity. I couldn't do it myself, as I am known to the Misses Sorensen, and to the Flynns. Splendid. Here comes the soup.”

We broke off while we worked our way through a creamy oyster stew, then a salad, then a dish of smoked fish.

“Now how am I to pass as the Senator’s cousin?” I asked in the pause before the main course was brought. “Surely he knows his own cousins?”

“Luckily for us,” Daniel said, “the Senator comes from a very large Irish family. He was born over here, of course. His parents came over in the famine with nothing. Barney grew up in the worst slums of New York. Truly a self-made man. His fortune started when he hired a barge, sailed it up the coast to Maine and returned with it full of ice. He also played Tammany politics to perfection— going from ward boss to state Senate. And with Tammany’s help he cornered the ice trade in the city.

“Now of course he’s a millionaire. He married money, which didn't hurt either. But he has a reputation of being generous to any of his relatives who arrive from the old country.”

“Yes, but surely such a shrewd man would do a little checking if I landed on his doorstep and claimed to be his long-lost cousin?”

“Of course he would, which is why your visit will be preceded with letters of introduction. I'll provide you with a complete family background and history. You must do your homework so that you don't make a slip. I have no doubt you can pull it off.” Daniel toyed with his fork as a roast chicken was brought to the table and dismembered in front of us. It was accompanied by tiny new pota-toes, pearl onions and peas. A generous portion was placed in front of me.

“Holy Mother. This is a feast,” I exclaimed, before I remembered that I should be playing the successful lady detective for Daniel—used to the good life. “And as a matter of interest, who will be paying my fee if I agree to accept the assignment?”

“The city, of course—just as the police pay for any undercover work.”

“And you will be providing a retainer, if I take on the case?”

“Naturally. Fifty dollars up front, the rest when you return. A bonus if you succeed in exposing the sisters.”

“It does sound very tempting.” My mind went to that empty larder and next month’s rent bill.

Then be tempted for once. It’s not often that I can tempt you these days.”

His eyes met mine as he paused with a forkful of chicken just below his lips.

This is a strictly business dinner, remember,” I said.

Daniel grinned, that wicked, attractive grin. Thefirstglass of champagne was going to my head. Champagne was still such a novelty to me that it had a strange and overpowering effect.

“Of course,” Daniel said. “Strictly business.”

I concentrated on attacking my chicken.

“This meal will seem like a light snack when you dine at the Flynns',” Daniel said, eyeing me with amusement. They like to eat well, I seem to remember.”

“Am I supposed to be used to such meals or am I a poor relation?”

“The relatives who stayed behind in Ireland are humble folk. But you shouldn't appear too much of a peasant, or Theresa Flynn won't take to you. It’s important that you get along well with her, or she won't ask you to be present at her séances.”

“Theresa—that’s Barney Flynn’s wife? Is she Irish also?”

“Yes, but her family came over to America before the Revolution. They own plantations in Virginia, so she was brought up as a spoiled Southern miss. One gathers that they weren't too thrilled about her marrying a peasant like Barney.”