Free Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) by Victoria Thompson Page B

color to her cheeks. “Mr. Malloy has got to let me go meet him tomorrow.”
    “It isn’t up to him anymore,” Sarah reminded her.
    “But surely . . .”
    “There is no
surely
about it. Mr. Malloy doesn’t work for the police department anymore, remember?”
    Maeve’s sigh echoed Sarah’s own disgust. She only hoped Malloy could assure them someone who still did work for the police would be following up on Grace Livingston’s disappearance.
    • • •
    B y the time the Malloy family arrived a few hours later, Catherine had practically worn a path from the kitchen to the front window while watching for their approach and dutifully reporting back to Maeve and Sarah every five minutes that she’d seen no sign of them yet.
    The girl had thrown open the front door before they’d had a chance to knock or even mount the front steps, and Brian broke into a run and raced up onto the porch to hug her, heedless of his grandmother’s efforts to restrain him.
    By the time Sarah and Maeve had reached the front hall, they were inside. Mrs. Malloy had worn her Sunday best, a black bombazine gown at least a decade out of style but whose condition was so good, she had clearly given it impeccable care and saved it only for special occasions. Her hat appeared to have recently been spruced up with new flowers. Sarah felt oddly touched that she had taken so much care with her appearance.
    “Mrs. Malloy, I’m so glad you could come,” Sarah said, taking her hand.
    Mrs. Malloy’s faded blue eyes had been taking in every detail of Sarah’s modest home, and she seemed to relax just slightly at the sight of the utilitarian office area. “Thank you for having us.”
    Only when she was sure Mrs. Malloy felt adequately greeted did Sarah turn to Malloy, who gave her a tentative smile. “Malloy,” she said, returning it. She gave him both her hands, which he squeezed reassuringly. Or at least she thought that was what the squeeze meant.
    She glanced down at Catherine and Brian, who were communicating in some mysterious way that seemed to make them both very happy. It made Sarah very happy, too. Then she noticed Maeve hovering expectantly. “Mrs. Malloy, may I present Maeve Smith, the young lady I told you about?”
    “Maeve takes care of me when Mama has to deliver a baby,” Catherine said.
    Maeve gave Catherine a smile and nodded to Mrs. Malloy. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Malloy.”
    “Mrs. Brandt speaks highly of you,” Mrs. Malloy said, taking the girl in with her sharp gaze.
    “We think it will be wonderful having Brian to play with all the time, don’t we, Catherine?”
    Catherine nodded vigorously. “Except when he has to go to school. Will you teach us how to talk to him?”
    Mrs. Malloy finally smiled. “I certainly will.”
    “Please come in and sit down,” Sarah said, remembering her manners. She hadn’t entertained in so very long, she’d grown rusty. “I’m sorry I don’t have a proper sitting room, which is just one of the reasons we’ll need to find a larger house.”
    They had brought some of the kitchen chairs out to the front room where the two upholstered chairs sat by the front window. The girls served everyone lemonade, and they made polite conversation about the weather and inconsequential things until the children grew restless.
    “Why don’t I take them upstairs to play?” Maeve said.
    “Mrs. Malloy, would you like to come up with us to see my dollhouse?” Catherine asked. “I arranged it just for you to see.”
    “I would love to see it,” she said, following Maeve and the children up the stairs.
    Malloy took the opportunity to remind Sarah that they were engaged by kissing her rather enthusiastically for a few minutes. When he seemed to feel sufficiently appreciated, she showed him the letter from Milo Pendergast.
    “What are you going to do?” she asked when he’d read it.
    “I’ve got to show it to Broghan.”
    “Will he let Maeve meet this man?”
    He frowned,