Death of Riley by Rhys Bowen Read Free Book Online Page B

was forming in my head. I went straight into my room and tried on the cap. It took a while to get all my hair tucked into it, but once it was finished, an impish, cheeky face looked back at me from the glass on the wall. Excited now, I examined the rest of the pile. The knickers looked as if they might fit. I discarded my skirt and petticoat, then struggled into them. They were tighter than I'd hoped and came only to my knees instead of around midcalf, which was where most boys wore them, but they might do. There was no jacket big enough for me, but there was a white Sunday shirt. I tried that with the knickers and the cap. The result wasn't bad. I thanked providence for my boyish figure, usually so despised by fashion and connoisseurs of beauty.
    Of course, I looked too clean for a boy. I've never met a boy yet who can fail to get dirty within half an hour of getting dressed. But that could be remedied. I'd wait until twilight and pay another visit on P. Riley, Discreet Investigations!

S ix
    As I prepared myself that evening, I realized that I had another problem—my feet. No boy would ever wear a pair of pointed button boots, and they were my only footwear. It was no use trying to borrow from Shameyboy next door. He only had one pair of boots and they were on his feet. I'd have to do what many poor youngsters did— go barefoot.
    The hardest part of the assignment was sneaking out of the house undetected. Luckily Sergeant O'Hallaran had returned home for his dinner. I heard them talking in their kitchen as I slunk past. Once outside, it wasn't hard to find a puddle and get myself good and grimy. I set off for Washington Mews, my swagger marred by the hard cobblestones on my bare feet. I'd run barefoot as a child, but that was a while ago now and my feet were sore and throbbing by the time I reached Washington Square. My first tap on P. Riley's door brought no answer. I was angry and frustrated at having gone to such trouble and walked so far for nothing. But I hung around in the mews, listening to life in the city going on around me until darkness began to fall. I was just about to give up and go home, defeated, when I saw him. He came around the corner, clutching a cardboard box which, judging by the greasy stains already appearing on it, contained his dinner.
    I took a deep breath, then stepped out to greet him as he started to climb the steps. I didn't want to risk surprising him and being attacked again. “Evening, mister.”
    He stopped and turned to look at me.
    Another deep breath. I forced my voice as low as it would go. “The lady next door says you need a‘prentice. I'm bright and willing, mister.”
    “And your name is?”
    I hadn't thought of that one. “Uh—Michael, sir. My friends call me Mike.” The first name that came into my head.
    “Then you'd better come upstairs, Mike,” he said, giving me the cheeky grin.
    He was smiling, pleased to see me. I couldn't wait to reveal my true identity to him and watch his astonishment.
    I followed him into the dark room and waited while he lit the gas bracket on the wall. “Now then, uh, Michael,” he said, still grinning. “What makes you think I'd want to employ you?”
    “I told you, mister. I'm willing and ready to learn. And honest, too.”
    “Not quite honest,” he said, clearing off an area of his desk and putting the box down on some newspapers. “What was your name earlier today, Michael?” He took a sudden step toward me and yanked off the cap. Red hair spilled over my shoulders.
    “I'll give you top marks for persistence,” he said. “Now, for the love of Pete, would you go away and leave me alone? Don't try any more stupid charades with me. I'm losing my patience and my good humor.”
    “How did you know?” I asked. “I thought I looked quite real.”
    “You thought you looked quite real?” He started that soundless chuckling, his body shaking silently. “Let me point out a couple of minor details, my dear. Look at your hands, to