The Last Illusion - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,92

a moment, relishing the quiet security of my front hall. My own little haven away from the craziness of the world outside. Then I noticed a letter caught in my mail slot. I took it out and saw Daniel’s forceful black scrawl.

Molly—where are you? I went to question Bess Houdini, expecting to find you there, but she didn’t know where you were. I hope you have not disobeyed my orders and tried to go to interview Hardeen! Please get in touch with me the minute you read this! Can you find a telephone and call me at Mulberry Street or at home (depending on the hour). I need to know you are safe.

I decided that Daniel could wait until I had carried out my primary mission. I went upstairs. My costume was lying across the back of a chair, where I had left it when I came home exhausted last night. With trembling fingers I felt inside the waistband and there they were—two small keys. Triumphant, I went across the street to find Sid and Gus getting ready to go out to an early supper before the theater. I never failed to be struck by the differences in other peoples’ lives. Their biggest concern was whether the feather in their headdress matched the green of their gown, whereas it always seemed that I carried an enormous weight of worry on my shoulders—either for myself or for one of my clients.

“Molly, I thought you were off to Atlantic City,” Gus said as she opened the door to me. “That was a flying visit.”

“I never went, after all,” I said, deciding to leave out the part about being kidnapped. “It proved to be unnecessary.”

“Molly dear, you’re looking pale and worn out.” Sid came to join her at the front door, looking dramatic in black silk trousers and a black cape lined with red. “Come to supper with us, and then we’re going to see a most amusing show at the Empire. We plan to chuckle merrily all evening. It would be good for you.”

“I’m sure it would,” I said, “but I have a client I can’t leave at the moment and work that has to be done.”

“I find that the whole concept of work is overrated,” Sid said. “I’m sure God never intended people to work all day—why else would he have put Adam and Eve in a delightful garden with everything they needed around them?”

“They were cast out because of sin, remember?” I pointed out. “That’s why we have to work. Because of Eve and that stupid apple.”

“We refuse to accept responsibility for Eve and the apple,” Sid said. “Don’t we, Gus? Our creed is that life is made to be enjoyed every single moment.”

“It’s all right if you have money to live like that,” I said.

“You’ll be married to Daniel soon and be a pampered wife,” Gus said, with an amused glance at Sid. “Then you’ll find out what you’ve been missing.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but in the meantime, I have a job to do and I have come to ask if I might use your new telephone to call Daniel.”

“By all means. Any time. Our telephone is your telephone. . . .” Gus waved me toward the contraption on the wall.

I asked to be connected to police headquarters, only to be told that Captain Sullivan wasn’t there. I left a message that Miss Murphy was home but planning to spend the night with Bess Houdini, then I called his apartment. Nobody answered there, so I decided I had done all I could, and set off back up to Harlem. I had just turned onto Sixth Avenue when a furious honking of an automobile horn made me look around. The auto came to an abrupt halt beside me and I saw that the person behind the motoring goggles was Daniel.

“There you are at last,” he snapped, opening the passenger door for me to get in beside him. “Where the devil have you been?”

Passersby stopped to observe with interest.

“I had some things that needed to be done,” I replied with dignity.

“I’ve been looking for you all day,” he said. “Come on. Climb in. We are holding up traffic!”

Oh, I was so tempted to say that I didn’t need a ride, thank you, and I’d prefer to take the train, but my curiosity won out over my pride. If he’d been looking for me, he might have important news he wished me to know.

I hitched up my skirts, showing an improper amount of

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