Tell Me, Pretty Maiden by Rhys Bowen

employee.”
    “Don’t joke, Molly,” he said.
    “Why, what’s wrong?”
    “I think I might have caught pneumonia,” he said, holding a thick woolen scarf over his mouth.
    “Oh no. You’re sick, are you? Come into the house and I’ll make you a cup of tea or something. Then we’ll get you home to bed.”
    “That’s the best invitation I’ve had in a long while,” said the voice from inside the scarf.
    “Not that sick then,” I replied dryly, and shoved him into the house. “Here, let me feel your forehead.” I put my hand up to touch it. It was freezing cold. I tried his cheeks. Equally cold. “No fever,” I said. “So it’s not pneumonia.”
    “It could well turn into pneumonia,” he said peevishly and slumped at the kitchen table. “I got thoroughly chilled to the marrow working on your damned case last night. Do you know that that Roth fellow stayed out until two A.M?”
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—then he’s not the paragon we thought he was after all.”
    “I didn’t say he was doing anything sinful all that time,” Daniel said, unwrapping the scarf as he spoke. “He was at Delmonico’s, with friends. All young men like himself. But they talked and talked and they were the last to leave. The waiters practically had to throw them out in the end.”
    “He was drunk, then?”
    “Not in the least. They only had a couple of bottles of wine all evening.”
    “So nothing detrimental to report?”
    “Yes. That I was frozen to the marrow and this morning my throat was distinctly scratchy. So I stayed in bed all morning as a precaution and got Mrs. O’Shea to make me hot chamomile tea and broth.”
    “Oh, you poor dear man.” I laid on the sarcasm so thickly that he got the message.
    “Better to be safe than sorry,” he said. “You’re going to have to treat your employees better than this if you want them to stay, Miss Murphy.”
    “I spent one evening following Mr. Roth dressed only in rags, remember?”
    “Yes, but you were home before ten. I was out until two,” Daniel said.
    “Surely you’ve had similar duties in the police department?” I said. “Your men patrol the streets all night, every night.”
    “That’s why I became a captain,” he replied with a reluctant grin. “I did my share as a young officer and then I left it to my juniors.”
    “Exactly what I’m doing. Leaving it to my juniors.”
    Daniel glared at me as I laughed. “Oh, come on, Daniel. You’ll know to wear something warmer tonight. Buy some hot chestnuts or a hot potato and put it in your pocket. That’ll help you keep warm. And take along a flask of brandy.”
    “You expect me to go out there again?”
    “Somebody has to,” I said. “I’m due at the theater at four and my evenings are going to be occupied by watching over Blanche Lovejoy.”
    “What does she want you to do for her?”
    “Protect her from a ghost,” I said. “No, don’t laugh. She is mortally afraid, Daniel. She thinks her theater is haunted.”
    “And just how do you plan to protect her from a ghost? I don’t see you wearing a large crucifix around your neck—and where is your holy water?”
    “The aim is to prove to her that there is no ghost and that she’s imagining things. Either that, or . . .” I broke off.
    “Or what?”
    “Or someone in the cast is trying to scare Blanche Lovejoy and make sure the production is shut down.”
    Daniel reached out his hand and grabbed mine. “Molly, be careful. If someone is resorting to such desperate measures, they may resent your trying to stand in their way. I should think that backstage in a theater is a great place for nasty accidents. Make sure one doesn’t happen to you.”
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “Nobody knows why I am there except Blanche, and she’s going to arrange it so that I have a good reason for being near her at all times. I’m to meet her at four, which doesn’t give us much time to visit the hospital.”
    “Oh, about the hospital,” Daniel