“My name is Nora Sweeney,” I began. “I’m from Donegal. My sister, Delia Sweeney, worked here for the last owner, Mr. Aidan O’Hanlon.”

Mr. Sullivan scowled but said nothing.

“I came to New York a few days ago, hoping to find her, but when I came yesterday, your maid said they’d all left, and she didn’t know where they’d gone. I assumed, as the new owner of this house, you might know.”

I let the words hang in the air while he studied me.

“Sweeney, is it?” he said finally, his Irish brogue growing more distinct as it seeped through the whiskey. “Yes, there was a girl named Sweeney here. But I thought her name was Nora as well. I didn’t pay that much attention to her. She was skittish as a cat, afraid of her own shadow.” He chuckled. “I think I frightened the daylights out of her.”

I was right; he didn’t miss a trick. He had summed up Delia well.

He drained his glass, got up and poured some more. “Now, let’s see. She was working for the O’Hanlon boyo when I met her, but I’m not sure how long she was here.”

He grinned, showing big, white teeth. “And just to set the record straight, Miss Sweeney, Aidan O’Hanlon never owned this house. It was my wedding present to my daughter, Mary, God rest her soul, and so she was the rightful owner. He was only squatting here after she died.”

I sat up straight. So, this was the Sullivan Kathleen had said would have stopped O’Hanlon from leaving for Texas with his daughter. I became more wary.

It was clear from his tone that he had no time for Aidan O’Hanlon. “The bastard was my son-in-law. The only reason I let him stay here was for the sake of the child—Mary’s daughter, Lily.”

His face softened as he said Lily’s name. “Loveliest wee girl you could ever meet. Just like her mother.” He seemed to go away into himself, forgetting I was there. “I’m only here because my own house is being remodeled. But it’s nice all the same, being around Mary’s wee bits and pieces. It makes me feel closer to her.”

I was impatient to ask where they had gone, but it didn’t seem the right time. I’d have to be careful how I behaved in front of this man. I suspected he had a violent temper.

“I was on my annual holiday to Ireland in May when he took advantage of my absence and ran off like a thief in the night, taking my Lily with him,” he said, looking directly at me now, “but I don’t know if he took the one you call your sister. The other Nora Sweeney.”