The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder (18 page)

“You remembered what?”

“That you're not a girl who is going to fall for a line with
witching hour
in it.”

Jem smiled ruefully. “It's not such a bad line.”

“It's a terrible line.” He inclined his chin. “Then, when you plunged off into the night all alone, I figured someone should look out for you.”

It felt wonderful, somehow, to know he'd been there, watching over her. But she wouldn't let him know that. Instead, she said, “Very well, Ray, what line would you use?”
**

“If I tell you, you're going to want to kiss me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It's that good, is it?”

“It's that good. You'll try to kiss me and I won't be able to stop you. Then I'll have to marry you.” He winked. “I know how this works.”

Jem pretended to scowl. “So you will only sit there flirting with me.”

Ray crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm not flirting.”

“I don't believe you.”

He didn't dignify her with a response. “Do you know what the problem with the English language is, Jemima? It's too fast. It speeds along like the trolleys. My language sounds faster because it has more vowels, but it takes longer to work your mouth around words.” He was, indeed, looking at her mouth. She was looking at his. They simultaneously moved their eyes away. “So it should be with wooing a girl,” Ray said, a little more slowly.

“Did you just say
wooing
?”

“It can't be fast. You want to taste it. It has to be slow. Methodical. Like poetry.”

Jem's mind went to the terrible poetry in his journal. It put a smile on her face that Ray failed to decipher. “Like poetry?” she repeated.

“First,” he said, his hands moving languidly, “I would compliment the woman.” He took his hat off and bent his head slightly. “The wooing experience should be for her, first and foremost.”

The moon shadows spilling through the tree above their bench made his hair seem almost purple. Jem wasn't sure if she could trust her voice to speak again. So she let him continue.

“I would use a term of endearment,” he explained. “I would call you
cara mia
or perhaps
bella,
noting that you are beautiful.” He said it clinically, dispassionately, Jem noticed, and wondered how he could keep his voice so even when her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he would make out its loud thrum.

Ray nudged his hat toward her. “Nothing too general, though. The sentence should begin and end with your name. To speak of a witching hour is a fool's gambit. It is plain. It could apply to anyone, anywhere. If it were
me
wooing you, Jem, I would want
you
to know that I was lost only in you, and thinking only of you. I would remark on what you were wearing or your hair or your eyes or your voice, or better, something shared just between the two of us.”

Jem couldn't tell if he had moved closer or if she was just more aware of him. She had taken off her wrap and settled it in her lap, and
it gave her fingers a nice object to grasp, since they shook softly every time he spoke.

“I bet every man who has tried to make love to you has said something about your name and matched it with a jewel,” he said. “Or a pretty gem.”

Jem couldn't disagree.

“Ah, but it's too easy,” he said. “Too predictable. I bet they would say something about your hair. So rich… like a
castagno
… the trees.”

“I've heard that before, yes.” From a suitor her parents had picked out, Jem remembered. But she wasn't about to tell him that, before Gavin Crawley's crude behavior at the hotel, she hadn't heard anything of the sort for a very, very long time.

“Your eyes.
La stele sono gelose di voi.”

Jem gave a short breath as her feet dropped to the ground, taking her heart with them. “Say that again.”

He obliged, then he translated: “The stars are jealous of you.”

“That's a good line.” She breathed.

“No!” He wagged his finger at her nose. “Don't fall for such a common line, Jemima. Those are the words of a man who will kiss you and not marry you.”

His words were so lovely, his face so handsome, his eyes so black, and his hands so close. “Because he compared my eyes to starlight?”

“Exactly. A man should not use on you what he would use on any other girl. He needs to say something so that you know that he knows you are special. And the gems and the stars—
anyone
can talk about them.”

Champagne had nothing on the closeness of this man and his beautiful voice. Why, it made her thoughts spin and her heart gallop. She was just beginning to coax a sentence from her mouth when he spoke again.

“
Io ti preferisco in pantaloni,
” he said. She didn't know what it meant, but it was opera to her. “That is my line for you,” Ray whispered. “Just for us. But I should frame it better, no?” He stood before
her and gave a little bow, then got down on one knee and swept his bowler hat over his chest. “
Io ti preferisco in pantaloni!
”

Jem wasn't sure she had even a sliver of heart left. Had she given it all to him? And here he was repeating his line. For all she knew, he could be talking about chocolate or squirrels or knitwear, and yet it was the most perfect thing she had ever heard.

His eyes stayed with her a long, long time. Then wordlessly he rose, put his hat back on his head, and strode away.

“You never translated!” she called after him.

“You'll just have to learn Italian,” he said without looking back.

Still under the spell of the King Edward, Jasper and Merinda had maneuvered close to Chief Tipton and Tertius Montague. They straightened their backs against the wall, pretending to observe the couples.

“Ah, Officer Forth,” Tipton said, approaching with a glass of champagne.

Jasper stood at attention. “Sir.”

Tipton pointed an accusing finger at his breast. “Lucky you're a corker of a cop.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come, Mr. Mayor. Meet young Forth, one of our finest investigators.”

Mayor Montague approached and shook Jasper's hand. “Ah, yes. I recognize your face, young man.” Tipton noticed Merinda. “Now, Forth, do introduce us to your young lady.”

Jasper coughed. The name
Merinda Herringford
had so often been trumpeted across the front page of the
Hog
that it would not be well received here.

“Harrison. Annie Harrison,” said Merinda. She held out her hand and used a name from a Doyle story.

Montague raised it to his lips. “Charmed, Miss Harrison.”

As soon as propriety allowed, Jasper and Merinda disengaged themselves and returned to the dance floor. Jasper smiled, watching her. “You're really quite a wonderful dancer.”

Merinda brightened at the compliment. “Do you think so?”

Jasper nodded. As the dance ended, they spotted Jem and motioned her over.

“Where is Gavin?” Jasper asked.

“My escort is a cad,” Jem said.

“But you're smiling.” Jasper was perplexed.

Jem blushed. “Am I?”

Merinda leaned across Jasper. “You're very much smiling, Jem.”

Jem tried to straighten her mouth. To no avail.

“What say we head home?” Merinda asked.

Jasper and Jem nodded in unison.

A moment later, they were down the stairs and at the street. They were hailing a cab when Jem stumbled into a face she knew well.

“Tippy? What are you doing here? It's midnight!”

Tippy's eyes were red and her arms hugged her chest. “Did you have a nice evening with your escort, Jemima?”

“Not really. He's not with me, as you can see. I am going home with my friends.”

Jasper and Merinda gathered themselves into the taxi, but Jem held back with Tippy.

“What's bothering you, Tippy?”

“You could have any man you want, Jemima Watts.” Tippy's bottom lip trembled. “That fellow from the
Hog
. Anyone, really.”

“Tippy, have you been drinking? Jasper! Hold up a minute. Come, Tippy. Let me take you home. Come on, we'll take you.”

Tippy shook her head.

Jem placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tippy, please. You can come back to our flat if you need to.”

“Let go of me!” Tippy squirmed away and ran down the street.

Jem watched her go, then ducked into the cab.

“What was that?” Jasper wondered as the cab rambled along. Jem peeked out the window, but Tippy's figure grew smaller until she was nothing but a shadowy speck against the streetlights.

*
The jewels, of course, were costume pieces from their old trunk on King Street.

**
The astute reader will observe that Jem had long since stopped standing on ceremony and addressed Ray by his given name.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An investigator will quickly learn that the most stalwart allies can be found in the most unlikely places

Guide to the Criminal and Commonplace, M.C. Wheaton

T
he days started to yawn longer as the city readied itself for a spring that would come eventually, despite the pervading chill and continual snow. Ray was peering out at the dim sun and could hear Skip packing up his camera equipment for the night.

Ray heard the door creak open and peeked around the slat bordering his cubby to see Jasper Forth, hat tucked under his arm, cordial smile wide.

“I'm looking for Mr. DeLuca.” His voice was as jovial as his face.

Skip pointed toward Ray's office area, and Jasper ducked to miss a low extending beam.

“And here I thought you were on probation.” Ray stood and extended a hand blackened with ink. He noticed Jasper taking in his surroundings. “Quite a place, yes? This is what happens when you turn an abandoned distillery into a newspaper, Detective Constable Forth.”