Murder in Chelsea Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman in the doorway staring at him in surprise. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” She pulled her overflowing market basket closer to her worn coat. “Who might you be and what’re you doing in my house?”
    “I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police Department, and who might you be?”
    “I might be the Queen of Sheba, for all it is to you. I don’t allow men in my house, and I especially don’t allow police in my house, so . . .” Her gaze drifted past him to the figure on the stairs. “Hello, what’s that? What’s going on here?” She pushed past him, glared down at the body, then back up at Frank. “What’ve you done?”
    “I haven’t done anything.”
    “The devil you say!” She slammed him with her basket. “Look at her. Annie? What has he done to you, Annie?”
    “Is that Anne Murphy?”
    “Of course it’s Anne Murphy, as if you didn’t know. What’ve you done to her? Killed her, most likely. Dear heaven, is that blood on her?”
    “It seems to be.”
    “Murder! You’ve done murder!” She dropped her basket and ran out the front door, screaming . . . Well, screaming bloody murder.
    Frank sighed. It was going to be a very long morning.
    * * *
    S ARAH KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE A LONG MORNING AND maybe a long afternoon as well, if Malloy couldn’t get back to them. She almost wished someone would summon her to a birth, just so she’d have something to help pass the time, but of course no one did. Babies never came when she wanted them to.
    Luckily her neighbor Mrs. Ellsworth came over to help the girls make a pot roast. The cooking lesson kept Catherine busy and distracted. It also kept Sarah from pulling the child into her arms and never letting her go. How would she bear it if some stranger returned to claim her?
    At least she now knew Catherine’s real age and her birth date. But would she still be here to celebrate her birthday in July? Sarah couldn’t stop the ugly thoughts from plaguing her as she watched Mrs. Ellsworth and the girls at their work.
    When the pot roast was in the oven, Maeve and Catherine went upstairs to play, and Mrs. Ellsworth turned to where Sarah sat at the kitchen table. “Mrs. Brandt, you look troubled.”
    “Is it so obvious?”
    Mrs. Ellsworth pulled off her apron and hung it up. “I hope you aren’t stewing over a difficult birth or something.”
    “No, I . . . Well, I shouldn’t worry you with my troubles, but a woman went to the Mission the other day, asking about Catherine.”
    “Oh, dear! Who was she?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked, pulling out a chair for herself.
    Sarah told her what she and Maeve had learned about Anne Murphy.
    “I knew it,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.
    “You knew about this woman?”
    “Oh, no, not about her exactly, but I knew something bad was going to happen. I saw an owl yesterday morning, in the tree out back. It’s very bad luck to see an owl in the daylight.”
    Sarah managed not to roll her eyes. At least the girls weren’t there. They were fascinated by Mrs. Ellsworth’s superstitions, and she always seemed to have one for every occasion. Sarah didn’t mention that she’d heard the owl hooting last night. Heaven only knew what that meant.
    “Mr. Malloy was right,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “You should never have gone to see this woman without him. You don’t know who her cohorts might be.”
    “I’m afraid I didn’t think about her having cohorts or anything else, for that matter. I just wanted to find out if she really has any claim on Catherine.”
    “I remember that day last fall when we were outside and Catherine had that . . . Well, I don’t know what to call it.”
    “I know, I don’t either, but she was so frightened. I can’t help thinking that the ‘pretty lady’ she was remembering was her mother.”
    “I suppose I always half believed that myself, even without having heard this woman’s story. What kind of a woman sends her child off heaven knows where and doesn’t