Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy Series #11)

Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy Series #11)

by Rhys Bowen

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Rhys Bowen's brilliant wit and charm are on full display in Hush Now, Don't You Cry, another outstanding addition to her Agatha and Anthony award-winning historical series.

Molly Murphy is supposed to give up sleuthing now that she's married, but the murder of an alderman puts her on the trail of a killer.

Molly Murphy, now Molly Sullivan, and her husband Daniel, a captain in the New York Police department, have been invited to spend their honeymoon on the Newport, RI, estate of Alderman Brian Hannan in the spring of 1904. Molly doesn't entirely trust the offer. Hannan—an ambitious man—has his eye on a senate seat and intentions of taking Tammany Hall to get it. When Hannan is found dead at the base of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic, Molly's suspicions are quickly justified, and as much as she wants to keep her promise to Daniel that she won't do any more sleuthing now, there isn't much she can do once the chase is on.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781250023025
Publisher: St. Martin''s Publishing Group
Publication date: 02/12/2013
Series: Molly Murphy Series , #11
Edition description: First Edition
Pages: 320
Sales rank: 168,756
Product dimensions: 5.72(w) x 8.08(h) x 0.84(d)

About the Author

RHYS BOWEN is author of the Anthony and Agatha Award-winning Molly Murphy mysteries, the Edgar Award-nominated Evan Evans series, In Farleigh Field, and the Royal Spyness series. Born in England, she lives in San Rafael, California.

Read an Excerpt

Hush Now, Don't You Cry

By Rhys Bowen

Minotaur Books

Copyright © 2012 Rhys Bowen
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780312628116


October 8, 1903

“We should not have come here!” I shouted over the howl of the wind. Rain swept in great squalls off the ocean, snatching the words from my mouth. It was not a night to be standing on a clifftop in complete darkness. Our umbrella had given up the unequal struggle with the storm on the way from the station and now lay in a rubbish bin, its ribs sticking out like a large dead spider. Daniel had deposited it there despite my protests, stating that it was past all hope of repair.
It was a long walk from the station and not one that should have been attempted on a stormy night. But we had little choice. The directions we had been given were for a delightful afternoon stroll along a cliff path, with blue ocean below us. We had not anticipated that Daniel would be delayed with a last minute problem at headquarters and that what the locals called a nor’easter would arrive at the same time as ourselves.
After changing trains in Providence, then again to a branch line in Kingston, we finally pulled into Newport station, at almost ten o’clock. There was not a hansom cab or any kind of conveyance to be found. The town appeared to be battened down in anticipation of the coming storm. We’d set off bravely enough under Daniel’s big umbrella but once out of the town center, heading toward the clifftop footpath the full force of the wind had turned the umbrella inside out and ripped it to shreds in minutes.
“Damn and blast it,” Daniel had muttered, no longer apologizing if he swore in my presence now that I was married to him. “We should have waited for the morning. I should not have listened to you.”
“What, and missed a whole day of our honeymoon?” I demanded as I struggled to take off my new hat. It was a jaunty little concoction piled high with ribbons and lace and I certainly didn’t want to lose it over the cliff. I stuffed it into my carpetbag, probably not doing it much good in the process but at least preventing it from sailing off into the ocean. “Cheer up. I’m sure it can’t be far. Newport is only a small seaside town, isn’t it? Just a few cottages, I was told.”
Daniel had to chuckle at this and put an arm around my shoulders. “You wait until daylight and then you’ll see the extent of the cottages.”
In my mind’s eye I pictured a long road like the one leading into Westport in Ireland, with simple whitewashed cottages stretching along the side of the road facing the sea. It would be nice to be spending my honeymoon in a place that reminded me of home, I had thought when Daniel told me of this opportunity.
The walk turned from an annoyance into a frightening experience. We tried to follow a dark little street called Cliff Avenue, but it ended in a pair of high, locked gates, forcing us back to our original route along the cliff—not what we would have chosen on a dark night. No lights shone out through the storm and we could hear the pounding waves crashing onto rocks below us. That cliff path seemed to go on forever and even I began to doubt the sense of wanting to reach our cottage tonight. Luckily the wind was blowing in from the ocean or I should have worried about being swept over that unseen cliff edge to our deaths.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” I shouted, grabbing on to Daniel’s arm. “Are there no roads in this place? Is this cottage not on a proper street?”
“Obviously,” Daniel said tersely. “But it never occurred to me to ask for foul weather directions. I assumed there would be a cab if we needed one.”
I peered into the blackness. “There are no lights. We can’t be near any cottages. Surely the whole population of Newport doesn’t go to bed by nine o’clock?”
“It’s October. None of the cottages are likely to be inhabited at this time of year,” Daniel shouted back. “They are only used in the summer.”
The thought of being the only people in a remote seaside village had seemed desirable when Daniel had presented it to me, our original honeymoon plans having fallen through when Daniel was summoned back to work two days after our wedding. I had borne this with remarkable patience for once, understanding that this was to be the lot of a policeman’s wife. I think Daniel had been impressed by my stoicism and had promised me that we would escape from the city as soon as his work permitted. So when the offer of a seaside cottage had come up, he’d jumped at it. Of course October was a little late in the year for beaches and bathing, but we had other activities in mind anyway. And this part of the country often experienced what they called an Indian summer, with glorious sunny days and glowing fall colors. Just not this year, it appeared.
“Nearly there, I think.” Daniel propelled me forward, his arm still around my waist. “Then a bath and a hot drink will soon bring us to rights. Ah, this way. I believe we follow this wall and it will lead us to the gate.”
As Daniel took my hand and guided me away from the cliff path, there was an ominous rumble of thunder overhead. A few moments later a flash of lightning lit up towering wrought-iron gates. Daniel felt for a latch but the gates refused to open.
“Blast and damnation!” he shouted. “These infernal gates must open somehow.” He shook them in frustration but they refused to budge.
“They knew we were expected today, didn’t they?” I asked. “I don’t see any lights.” I was soaked to the skin, my teeth chattering now, my hair plastered to my face, and my clothes clinging to me. All I wanted was to get indoors to a fire and a cup of tea.
“I don’t understand it. I know the family is not usually here at this time of year, but there has to be a caretaker on the property,” Daniel snapped out the words. “But we have no way of alerting anyone, unless we walk back into town and see if we can reach the place by telephone.”
This suggestion didn’t seem too appealing. “Everything seemed to be closed for the night in town. Besides we can’t walk all the way back,” I said. “We’re already soaked to the skin. I don’t suppose it’s any good shouting.”
“No one would hear us with this infernal racket going on.”
Thunder growled again and once again the scene was illuminated with a lighting flash. It revealed a long driveway behind those gates and in the distance the great black shape of what seemed to be an enormous castle. I stared in amazement.
“I thought you said it was a cottage.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Daniel replied in an annoyed voice. “The wealthy who own summer homes in Newport call them cottages but they are actually mansions. This one is called Connemara.”
“Holy mother of God,” I muttered. “We’re not getting a whole mansion to ourselves are we?”
“No, we’ve been offered the guest cottage on the property. If only we can find a way in.” He rattled the gates again angrily.
I had been experiencing a growing sense of anxiety. It wasn’t just the howl of the storm and the flashes of lightning. God knows I’d seen enough storms on the West Coast of Ireland. It was something more. “Daniel, don’t let’s stay here,” I blurted out suddenly. “Perhaps we should go back into town after all. There is bound to be a hotel or inn of some sort where we can spend the night. The house clearly doesn’t want us.”
Daniel gave me a quizzical smile. “The house doesn’t want us?”
“I’m getting this overwhelming feeling that we shouldn’t be here, that we’re not wanted.”
“You and your sixth sense,” Daniel said. He was still prowling, staring up at the gates and the high stone wall. “You’ll feel differently when we’re safely inside. I am determined to find a way in, even if I have to scale that wall.”
A great clap of thunder right overhead drowned out his last words and simultaneously the world was bathed in electric blue light. I was staring up at the house and I saw a face quite clearly framed in an upstairs window. It was a child’s face and it was laughing with maniacal glee.
I let go of the bars of the gate as if burned. “Come away!” I shouted. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Copyright © 2012 by Rhys Bowen


Excerpted from Hush Now, Don't You Cry by Rhys Bowen Copyright © 2012 by Rhys Bowen. Excerpted by permission.
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Hush Now, Don't You Cry 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 19 reviews.
An_Arkansas_Reader More than 1 year ago
This historical cozy is sure to appeal to readers (like me) who are already fans of spunky Irish immigrant, Molly Murphy, but it will work well too as a stand alone introduction to the series for new readers. With a vivid sense of atmosphere, this murder mystery is set in Newport Beach early in the 20th century. There are enough twists and turns of plot to keep even seasoned mystery buffs guessing.
Kathy89 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Molly is now married to Daniel and on her honeymoon in Newport, RI. Staying in a guest cottage on the grounds of a mansion invited by a wealthy NY businessman who is seeking Daniel's help. They arrive during a torrential rain storm and Daniel get's pneumonia and is confined to bed rest. The next morning Daniel's host is found dead at the bottom of a cliff which leaves Molly to investigate on her own. against his wishes, while worrying about Daniel. Excellent whodunnit. Lots of suspects and I didn't guess the killer until he was revealed at the end.
Carstairs38 More than 1 year ago
Molly and Daniel are off on their honeymoon, but their dream trip to Newport turns bad when Daniel gets sick and the family of the estate where they are staying shows up. And that's before the body appears. I always enjoy spending time with Molly, and sickness certainly softened Daniel. But I felt the climax to the mystery was weak.
nhr3bookcrazyNR More than 1 year ago
I've enjoyed all books by this author - this one I found a little hard to take because poor Daniel gets not much attention from his new wife, even when at death's door. Other than that, I truly enjoyed this installment of the Molly Murphy series.
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mystery1959 More than 1 year ago
She keeps you guessing right up to the end on this one. I hope you try these stories as I have.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Love the Molly Murphy series
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tedfeit0 More than 1 year ago
Finally Molly Murphy and Capt. Daniel Sullivan get married and are on their honeymoon as the book opens, only to be interrupted on the second day when Dan is recalled to duty to investigate a tunnel which collapsed during the building of the new subway. To make up for the break, Alderman Brian Hannan, also the owner of the construction company building the underground, offers Dan use of a guest cottage on his Newport estate, at the same time telling him he wants to discuss something, adding “he may have got it wrong.” Of course, “it” is not revealed. So Molly and Dan travel up to Rhode Island, arriving in a heavy downpour soaking them when they have to walk to the estate. Then Hannan’s body is discovered at the foot of a cliff on the edge of the estate and the local police aren’t up to the job. Nor is Dan, who comes down with a life-threatening case of pneumonia. Despite her promises to be a good wife and no longer pursue her investigative instincts, Molly step-by-step gets involved in a couple of mysteries, including Hannan’s death. Perhaps it is the setting for this novel. Past chapters in the series have taken place in early 19th century New York City and Molly, a feisty Irish immigrant, giving flavor and a certain colorful aura to the stories. In the current installment, the Newport milieu makes the characters and plot more staid, and Molly, herself, seems much more suave and sophisticated than a relatively uneducated new arrival to the United States. Nevertheless, if one approaches this novel as just an old-fashioned mystery, it is quite enjoyable, and recommended.
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DonaKay More than 1 year ago
I stayed up all night, had to finish it.
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