Murder On Mulberry Bend

wearing. Whoever had come to fetch her would wait while she changed into something more presentable.

Before she could put the broom away, her visitor was pounding again. They were always like that when a baby was on the way. Nobody seemed to remember that most babies took their own sweet time. Untying her apron, she made her way through the front room, which had been converted into a medical office, to the front door.

She hung the apron on the coatrack nearby and gave her hair a cursory pat before opening the door.

“Malloy!” she exclaimed in surprise. She wasn’t sure which was more shocking, his presence here at all or the expression on his face. He looked almost desperate. “What is it?” she demanded, growing desperate herself. “Is something wrong? Is it Brian?” she added as the new fear blossomed.

She stepped back instinctively as he came into the house without waiting for an invitation. Only then did she realize how intensely he was looking at her. His gaze swept over her, taking in her appearance from head to toe. Self-consciously, she touched her hand to her bodice, making sure all her buttons were fastened.

“Malloy, what -?” was all she managed to say before his arms came around her and he crushed her to his chest.

A thousand sensations collided in her brain. Her cheek against the rough fabric of his suit, his masculine scent engulfing her, his arms locked fiercely around her, his breath harsh and rasping in her ear. What felt like a shudder wracked his large frame, and then, as suddenly as he had embraced her, he let her go.

Robbed of his support, she nearly lost her balance, and he caught her arm to steady her, then quickly dropped his hand again. She stared up at him, trying to get control of her scrambled senses. Before she could, he said, “You’re alive.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed, a little breathless and still unable to make any sense of this. “Was there ever any doubt?”

She’d expected him to smile the way he did whenever she said something sarcastic. But he didn’t smile, and the hand he raised to his head was trembling. Malloy was trembling!

“Come in and sit down,” she urged him, convinced now that he must be ill. Nothing else could explain such bizarre behavior. She took his arm, and he let her lead him to the upholstered chairs that sat by her front window. “Can I get you something?” she asked when he was seated in one of them.

“No,” he said, still looking at her strangely. “No, just… just sit down here where I can see you.”

Now Sarah really was worried. She did as he’d instructed her, taking the other chair. “It’s not Brian, is it? Nothing’s happened to him?”

“He’s fine,” he said. “Everything’s fine now. It’s just… a little while ago, I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?” she repeated incredulously. “What made you think I was dead?”

He drew a deep breath and let it out in a shaky sigh as he rubbed a large hand over his face. Then he gave her a crooked smile. “Because I saw your dead body.”

“Malloy, stop this!” she cried. “You’re frightening me.”

“Then we’re even. I had a few bad minutes myself when I saw you lying dead in City Hall Park this morning.”

“I haven’t been near City Hall in weeks,” she insisted.

“Well, someone was near there. A woman with blond hair who was wearing your clothes and your hat, and she was dead.”

“That’s impossible! What made you think they were my clothes?”

“I recognized them. How could anybody forget that hat? It’s the ugliest thing any woman ever put on her head. There couldn’t be two like it in the city.”

“There’s absolutely nothing ugly about my hat,” she informed him indignantly, “and there’s also no way anyone else could be wearing it or…”

“Or what?” he prodded when her voice trailed off on that thought.

“Oh, dear,” she said, remembering. “Someone else could have been wearing my hat. I gave it away!”

“Who did you give it to?”

“I took it to the mission. The Prodigal Son Mission. I took a whole bundle of clothes down there on Sunday afternoon.”

He looked askance at the shabby dress she was wearing. “Did you take a vow of poverty or something?”

“This is a housedress, Malloy,” she said, indignant again. “I was cleaning when you came. I gave my other clothes away because I got some new ones. From my mother.”

“Did your mother take a vow of poverty?”

Sarah almost smiled. This was the old Malloy. Whatever had been wrong with him, he was feeling better now. “I needed something to wear to the opera last Saturday, so I went to my parents’ house to borrow a dress.”

At the mention of the opera, he frowned, confirming Sarah’s opinion that he was jealous of Richard Dennis. She pretended not to notice.

“While I was there, she insisted that I take several other things as well. My mother has excellent taste, and my new clothes are so much more fashionable than the old ones, I decided I didn’t need them anymore.”

“So you took them to this mission,” Malloy guessed. “The Prodigal Son? Isn’t that the one on Mulberry Street, down by Police Headquarters?”

“Yes, do you know anything about it?”

He shrugged, which either meant that he didn’t know anything or that he didn’t want to say. “So who did you give the clothes to at the mission?”

She opened her mouth to say she’d given them to Mrs. Wells, when the real meaning of his question hit her. “The dead woman must be someone from the mission!”

“Or at least they’ll know who they gave your clothes to,” he said.

Sarah felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. “Did you say the dead woman had blond hair?”

He winced a little, reminding her that he’d thought the body was hers at first. “Yes. She had brown eyes. Younger than you, but about the same size.”

Sarah groaned and closed her eyes.

“Do you know who it is?” he asked.

“I think… I’d have to see her, of course, but one of the girls at the mission fits that description. An Italian girl.”

“This girl was blond,” he reminded her.

“She must have been from Northern Italy. Her name was Emilia.”

“Emilia what?”

“I don’t know. They’ll know her at the mission, I suppose. If it really is her. They might have given the clothes to someone else,” she added hopefully. Maybe it would turn out to be someone she didn’t know at all.

Malloy sighed again. “I’ll get someone from the mission to identify the body then.”

Sarah remembered the girl she’d met who’d been so full of life and hope. She was learning to sew so she could make an honest living and overcome her unfortunate past.

“I could identify her,” she offered. “If it is Emilia, that would save someone who really knew her from having to go.”

“The city morgue isn’t a very pleasant place,” he warned her.

“That’s why I’d like to save someone else from making the trip. I only met her once, so seeing her in a place like that won’t be as painful for me as it would for someone who cared about her.”

Malloy didn’t want to take her there. She could see it in every line of his face.

“I can go without you,” she reminded him.

“And what if it isn’t her?”

“Then we can go to the mission and tell them what happened. They’ll send someone to find out who it really is.”

This was a perfectly logical plan, but Malloy didn’t like it at all. She wasn’t sure what part of it bothered him until he said, “I guess you won’t want me to go with you.”

“Why not?” she asked without thinking. He didn’t reply, giving her a chance to figure it out for herself. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “Because you were so rude to me yesterday.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it. He just sat there, stubborn as always.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” she said. “Were you angry at me for being late?”