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offering charity. So, naturally I got pissy. “No, thank
you. I’m not such a gold-digger that I would take money from a man
I don’t know. Or from one I do know, for that matter. What do you
think I am?”
    Briley looked deeply into my eyes. “Good
question, Miss Flynn.”
    “If we’re going to constantly argue, could
you at least call me Melody or Mel?”
    He paused then smiled. My pulse
quickened.
    “I imagine that wouldn’t kill me. Call me
Briley.
    He held out his arm for me to take then
whistled. Duffy scampered out from the darkness backstage.
    “Come on D.G. And Melody. Manhattan
awaits.”
    He deliberately gave the dog first billing. I
suppose he wanted me to realize that I was just an afterthought and
continue to be annoyed with him. Fine. Better that way. He could
simply escort me to the rooming house and neither of us would
concern ourselves about the other again.
    A thought that hurt - a lot.
     
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    I didn’t miss a step as we rounded the corner
of E. 12th St. even when Briley motioned to the building and
escorted me up the front stoop. Duffy ran on ahead, barking, tail
wagging maniacally. I knew this brownstone quite well. It was old,
gothic in architectural design, and remarkably unchanged from four
o’clock this morning, when I’d drunk tea with Fiona Belle Donovan
Winthorp on the third floor.
    Instead of a tiny lobby, with fifteen or so
mailboxes, a creaky elevator, and a large radiator pressed into the
wall, the 1919 version seemed more like a small hotel. There was
even a front desk counter with a ledger thingee on it. Behind the
desk stood an extremely short lady with intense black eyes and dyed
black hair. Knitting needles were stuck into the middle of the bun
made of her hair. They were perilously close to falling out, as was
the bun. She was dressed in black, except for a white apron around
her round middle. Stains that must have come from a pot of
spaghetti created bright splashes of artwork all over the apron.
She grinned at Briley and me with the whitest, prettiest teeth this
side of a Crest commercial. She waved chubby fingers in the air
toward Briley and me. She was a dead ringer for Fiona Belle Donovan
Winthorp.
    “Well, Faith and Mr. Muldoon! Just look at
ya, there. You’re a tall one. Red hair - a good Irish lass. Come
about Bettina’s room? ‘a course ya did. And ya brought along such a
fine-looking laddie. I’ve met ya before, haven’t I? And what a
darlin’ puppy.”
    Briley gifted the lady with a genuine smile.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open.
    She turned to me. “Don’t gawk, girl. It’s not
pretty.”
    Déjà vu all over again. Fiona Belle’s exact
words at four a.m.
    Briley made the formal introductions. “Hello,
Mrs. Donovan. I’m Briley McShan. I was here about a month ago with
Saree Goldman. Do you remember? She’s a good friend of Bettina
Markham. She sent me with Miss Flynn today to ask whether she could
stay in Bette’s room while she’s in Atlantic City. Melody doesn’t
have a place to live yet and is very new to New York.”
    “But a’ course, darlin’.”
    The Irish lilt in her voice was growing
thicker with every phrase. She’d be performing selections from
Riverdance soon. That lilt had been non-existent hours ago. A
century ago.
    “Sure as yer born, lad, I remember Saree.
Fine lass. I’m so thrilled that this puir charmin’ dear will have a
place to stay in the city. T’will help Bettina with the rent money.
Faith, she was goin’ to pay me while she was gone so she wouldna
lose the room. I was feelin’ terrible for her. What did ya say yer
name was, darlin’?”
    “Melody Flynn, Mrs. Uh, Donovan.” How in holy
relativity had the old witch landed in 1919? Or perhaps she’d never
left. Perhaps I’d been caught in a time warp since first knocking
on the door of Apartment 314 this morning.
    I tried a bit of irony. “It’s very nice to
meet you. I’m so grateful for having the chance to live here.