12 The Family Way by Rhys Bowen Page B

talking to when we returned home. I was not supposed to be pursuing any kind of work. I should have handed over this case to another detective by now. But it was no good. I was experiencing that familiar feeling, like the hound who picks up the scent of the fox, that we were finally on the trail of the quarry. I was convinced that I’d found the answer and would soon locate Maureen O’Byrne for her relatives. I waited until we were sitting at the supper table before I asked casually, “How far away is Irvington?”
    “Irvington? About three miles. Charming little town on the Hudson. Do you know it?”
    “I’ve never been there,” I said, “but I’ve been told that it’s very pretty and the river should be delightfully cool in this weather. Is there any kind of transportation that I could take to go there one day?”
    “Transportation? You’re not in New York, my dear. We’ve the pony and cart if Jonah is free to drive.”
    This was looking promising. I pressed on. “I heard your friends mention a family called Mainwaring. A friend of mine in New York knows some Mainwarings in Westchester County. In fact she’s been to stay with them. I wonder if it’s the same family.”
    “It’s an unusual name,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “It probably would be. I’m not personally acquainted with them but I have met Mrs. Mainwaring’s mother, Estelle Wetherby, so it would be acceptable to pay a call upon them if we happen to be taking a trip in that direction.”
    Oh, Lord. I hadn’t counted on my mother-in-law wanting to come with me. That would make things rather difficult. But I could hardly ask to borrow her pony trap and go without her.
    She seemed quite taken with the idea. “We could take a picnic one day. That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it, Bridie my dear?”
    “To the river? Can I come?” Bridie wriggled excitedly.
    “Of course. I’ll arrange it with Jonah.”
    “Can Jonah show me how to catch fish? He promised.”
    “We’ll see,” Mrs. Sullivan said.
    So things were finally moving along. All I had to do was to come up with a person in New York who might possibly be a friend of Mrs. Wainwaring. Not Sid or Gus. They were frowned upon by polite society and tried to steer clear of it. I thought of other young women of good family I might know. I had become acquainted with several of Sid and Gus’s Vassar classmates and I remembered Fanny Poindexter, who had died so tragically a year ago. Dead women tell no tales, I thought. She’d be perfect. Now all I had to do was to wait patiently.
    The next day brought no letter from Sid and Gus, which meant that they still hadn’t found Liam. Also no letter from Daniel, but he was not good about writing. Men aren’t. They only resort to letters if there is something important to say that can’t wait. But at least I took it to imply that he hadn’t caught Liam either. Mrs. Sullivan showed no intention of making the trip to Irvington and I began to wonder if she had forgotten. I couldn’t think of a way to remind her about it without seeming overeager and rude. So I had to lounge around the house and garden, trying to fill the hours with my sad attempts at knitting, or with writing letters while Mrs. Sullivan busied herself with household matters, pausing to give me the occasional lecture on the correct cleaning of silver or the right way to mend a scorch mark on a tablecloth. To my annoyance she decided that the plums were ready for bottling and took Bridie and me with her to the shed while she hunted for suitable jars. I had a horrid feeling that this might be a process taking several days and wondered if she’d possibly let me go to Irvington alone.
    Indeed the next morning we were rounded up after breakfast to pick plums. By afternoon she had great pots of plums bubbling on the stove and by nightfall there were jars sitting on the kitchen window ledge to cool.
    “I hope you made a note of everything I did, Molly,” she said. “I know you live in the