Murder on Mulberry Bend by Victoria Thompson Page A

morgue or not?” he asked finally.
    She wasn’t going to fall into that trap. “You’ll need to know if I recognize the dead woman, so you might as well go with me,” she said, trumping him. “I’ll need to change my clothes first. I won’t be long.”
    Sarah took her time changing and redoing her hair. Perversely, she wanted to look her best for this awful task. She distracted herself from thinking about what lay ahead by thinking about the way Malloy had embraced her when he came into the house. The act in itself was shocking. Even more shocking was the fact that he hadn’t apologized for taking such a liberty. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she wasn’t going to ask him about it. The mood he was in, she couldn’t imagine what he’d have to say on the matter, and she thought perhaps they were both better off pretending it hadn’t happened.
    Until she was ready to mention it again, of course.
    One thing was certain, however: he’d been very happy to find her alive and well, happier than he felt he had a right to be.
    The question was, did Sarah think he had a right to be? She remembered how he’d kissed her that night last week when he’d thought she wouldn’t remember. She remembered how she’d felt in his arms a short while ago. She remembered how her parents had warned her about Malloy. And she remembered how Malloy had warned her about Malloy. Too many things to remember, she decided as she slid her foot-long hat pin carefully into her new hat. The sturdy pin would hold it in place through the force of a hurricane.
    Sarah thought she looked very attractive in the stylish suit her mother had insisted she couldn’t possibly wear again because it was a year old. Malloy didn’t look impressed, however. His eyes narrowed, and she realized he was staring at her hat.
    “Don’t tell me you think this hat is ugly, too,” she challenged.
    “I remember now. You were wearing this one yesterday.”
    Which meant the dead woman had been wearing the old one. Sarah didn’t want to think about that. “Let’s go,” she said.
    They walked over to Sixth Avenue in silence, and Malloy hailed a Hansom cab to take them to the morgue.
    Malloy’s bulk made for close quarters in the cab. Sarah should have felt awkward, but the enforced intimacy came naturally to her now. In the months she’d known Malloy, they’d been through a lot together. A few recent, awkward moments couldn’t make him an unfamiliar or uncomfortable presence.
    “How is Brian doing?” she asked to break the silence. Traffic was moving slowly, as usual, so they’d have a lot of time to fill before they reached their destination.
    He carefully didn’t look at her. “He’s driving my mother crazy. All he wants to do is walk on his new foot. He even tries to get out every time somebody opens the door to the flat.”
    “It’s cruel to keep him inside,” she pointed out.
    “He doesn’t have shoes yet,” Malloy reminded her. “Ma won’t let him out without shoes.”
    “What did she say when she saw he could walk?”
    Malloy did look at her then. “She crossed herself and said a Hail Mary.”
    Sarah could easily imagine Mrs. Malloy doing just that. She wouldn’t dare express joy, for fear of attracting bad fortune to her loved ones.
    When he offered nothing else, she let a few minutes pass before she said, “What do you know about the Prodigal Son Mission?”
    “I know they don’t allow any prodigal sons in.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It’s for prodigal daughters only. I thought you said you visited them. You didn’t see any boys around, did you?”
    “There were boys playing in the yard,” she said.
    “The old woman lets them in the yard, but no further.”
    “But that’s good,” Sarah argued. “The girls she takes in probably need to be protected from men.”
    “Then she should call the mission something else,” Malloy argued back.
    He still hadn’t answered her question. “Do you know Mrs. Wells, the lady who