Murder in Burnt Orange by Jeanne M. Dams

think—”
    â€œHilda.” Aunt Molly, who was a tiny woman, could be a commanding presence when she chose. “Hilda, I don’t want you ‘thinking’ anything. I know, I know.” She raised a hand as Hilda started to speak. “I encouraged you to look into these incidents. I’m sorry now I ever did so. The trouble has come too close to home. If we hadn’t had that soaking rain yesterday, the store could have been badly damaged—and both Mr. Malloy and Patrick could have been hurt, fighting the fire, if it had come to that.”
    â€œBut the fire was not bad, and they were not hurt. Only that poor boy. I think—”
    Once again Molly interrupted. “Hilda, please listen to me. At this time in your life, you must not involve yourself in such great danger. My dear, Mr. Malloy and I have no grandchildren, you know. Your baby is a great hope for our family. If only—but you and Patrick are as dear to us as our own children. Please say you will leave it alone.”
    Hilda looked at the carpet. Molly Malloy could read minds, Hilda was firmly convinced. And she didn’t want her mind read just now. “It is confusing,” she said slowly. “I do not see how the fire can be connected to the other things that have happened. And I see that there could be peril. Aunt Molly, I promise I will do nothing that could harm my baby.”
    It was an ambiguous reply, and Molly wasn’t fooled for a moment. “Hilda, there are—there has been a—a development. I don’t know—no, never mind about that. But can you not trust me when I say that you must not pursue this matter further?”
    Hilda was saved from having to reply when Eileen appeared in the parlor doorway. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but Mr. and Mrs. O’Neill are here to see you.”
    â€œMr. and Mrs.—oh, Norah and Sean! Why are they here at this time of day, I wonder? Sean should be at work. But show them—oh, Norah, I am glad to see you!”
    Norah had never stood on ceremony with her best friend, and she was not about to now, even if Hilda had metamorphosed into a fine lady. She slipped past Eileen, Sean close behind her, and was about to speak when she saw Mrs. Malloy and hesitated. To curtsey, or not? Mrs. Malloy was a lady. But she was also the aunt of Norah’s best friend, and this was her friend’s house, where she, Norah was not a servant but a guest....
    Aunt Molly saw her uncertainty and stood. “I will leave you to your guests, my dear. Mrs. O’Neill, it’s good to see you again, and Mr. O’Neill. Little Fiona is doing well, I trust?” For Molly had helped with Fiona’s birth and knew all about the difficult circumstances surrounding it.
    â€œShe’s bloomin’, thank you, ma’am. Our neighbor’s lookin’ after her for a bit.”
    â€œAnd enjoying it, I’m sure. She’s a sweet baby. Hilda, we will talk again.”
    Hilda was sure of that.
    When Mrs. Malloy was safely out the door, Norah plumped herself down on a chair, settling her damp skirts, and Sean took the chair beside her. “Hilda, we had to see you, right away. Sean’s on the early shift this week, and he heard some things at work this mornin’ that you need to know.”
    Sean cleared his throat. “See, Flynn works with me. Norah’s brother, you know?”
    Hilda nodded.
    â€œAnd him and me both used to work for Sam Black, you remember, before Black’s went out of business. And there’s talk, Flynn says, that Sam’s somehow mixed up in all that’s happenin’, or most of it, anyway.”
    â€œI thought,” said Hilda, “that Mr. Black moved away, after he lost his house and the bicycle factory.”
    â€œLost everythin’ he owned. And he did move away, ’cause he couldn’t find any work here. But he’s back. Flynn’s seen him. And he’s