The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder (29 page)

She no longer cared about propriety. She no longer cared to be one of those girls who married at the proper age, who had their lives figured out, who wouldn't be caught dead in trousers. The girls who
kept better company. A surge of her earlier giddiness returned, and she raised her fist to the sky. “Hallelujah!” she shouted to King Street, catching the eye of many passersby. Even more turned to look when she shouted, “I'm not going to be one of those girls!”

And since she wasn't going to be one of
those girls
, she could do exactly what she wanted. She could love whomever she wanted—even if he refused to love her in return! As for her parents' expectations and every young lady's etiquette guide, why, expectations be hanged. She pulled her parents' note from her pocket and kissed it with fond remembrance.

And promptly ripped it to smithereens and watched the tiny pieces float like wings on the air.

Ray sat back in his chair as Skip droned on about working for a better paper.

“After the election, I decided I don't want to be stuck here forever.” He pushed his red hair back from his face. “I don't, Mr. DeLuca. I want to work at one of the papers people wind around the block to get a headline from.”

Ray let him go on, hoping he would stop soon. He wanted to get this St. Joseph's piece in perfect shape before presenting it to McCormick for the next edition. He had stayed up all night working on it, eating the rest of Viola's jar of lemon curd, drinking the last dregs of coffee, convincing himself that his jumbled thoughts were a result of a story in action and not of Jem. He had his journal back but it sat untouched on the corner of his desk. He was convinced it still smelled of lavender.

When the door jangled open he was ready to hop up and show McCormick his working draft. But his boss's large shadow failed to appear. Rather, a slight girl dressed in ragged boys' clothes stood panting and red-cheeked in front of him.

“Which one are you?” asked Ray.

“Mouse.”

“Right.”

“I need you to send a telegram.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because it was faster to run here then to the west side of King Street and I just saw Mr. Crawley and Forbes put a sack over Jem Watts's head.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I beseech those tied up with rope to breathe slowly. The tighter and more rigid you become in your struggle, the deeper your bonds will cut. A survey of your perimeters and a quick, rational assessment of your circumstance, however dire, is the most prudent action.

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

I
need someone with whom to share my golden moment,” Merinda said into the telephone. She was in the sitting room staring at the ceiling, having spent the better part of the previous night and that morning working out every last detail of the case. Everything pointed to Gavin Crawley, as she had maintained since the beginning. But now she felt she had ironed out every wrinkle.

“What do you mean ‘golden moment'?” Jasper asked. “And where's Jem?”

“She's gone out—had to work today. What matters is that she's gone, and I've solved everything, and I want you to come over so I can share my stunning deductions.”

“Shouldn't you be calling the police?”

“You
are
the police.”

She could hear his exasperation even over the telephone. “Merinda, must you continue this ridiculous and dangerous pursuit of a criminal?”

“I bought a revolver.”

“Which you can't even shoot in target practice.”

“Nonsense. I didn't purchase it to fire it. I just threaten and point. It startles a perpetrator and puts them ill at ease and—”

“Merinda, my lunch is getting cold.”

“Well, eat fast and skip dessert and take a cab over here just as fast as you can.”

“It's apple pie!”

“Constable Forth, with whom do your loyalties lie? Me, your dearest friend and most esteemed colleague in all things scientific and detection, or… or…
pie
?”

Less than twenty minutes later, Jasper was seated on Merinda's sofa. “So it's Gavin Crawley?”

Merinda nodded. “I should telephone DeLuca too, shouldn't I? He'll want this for the
Hog
. He can be there to document the moment I peel back the curtain like Sherlock Holmes and reveal the brilliant solution that, heretofore, even the police have failed to see.”

It was at just that moment that Mrs. Malone brought in the Turkish coffee, saving Jasper from making a comment Merinda would not have appreciated.

Merinda hopped up and dashed to the blackboard. “Our suspect board.”

“With which I have become very familiar over the past few months.” He sipped the coffee.

“We know the obvious,” Merinda said, beginning to pace. “The threatening letters that Brigid and DeLuca received were clearly sent from Gavin Crawley.”

“Based on what evidence?”

“Because Gavin is left-handed, of course. The letters were clearly cut by someone who is left-handed.”

Jasper shrugged. “There are hundreds of left-handed people in the city. Thousands.”

“But Gavin has a
motive,
Jasper, and everything comes down to the motive. Several of the men listed on the board”—she pointed at it again, like a teacher in a classroom—“had the opportunity. But they didn't have the motive.”

“And only Gavin did?”

“Precisely. Fiona's only crimes were being pretty and working for Tertius Montague. Our Mr. Crawley, as we know, has a weakness for a pretty face, as evidenced by his pursuit of Jem. Fiona must have told her new beau about an arrangement Montague had with Chief Tipton.”

“Tipton?” Jasper's eyebrows rose.

“Even those in power can be bribed into silence—and to turn a blind eye to certain conditions in the city,” Merinda said. “In a moment of poor judgment, Gavin Crawley opens up to Fiona about this great debt he carries. He loves living as a wealthy man, so he keeps his shoes shined and his hair plastered perfectly. But he can't resist trying his luck at the racetracks. And his fortune begins to dwindle, rapidly.”

“You realize that you are overbalancing any actual detective work you have done with hefty doses of hypothesizing?” Jasper said with a grin.

“It is my
golden moment
,” Merinda argued, as if that were explanation enough. “Gavin was determined to move upward, and in Fiona he saw his chance. He promised to take Fiona with him on his meteoric rise if only she kept feeding him information about Montague. Fiona, like many silly women before her, was besotted with him and the prospect he presented. Soon he learned about the involvement of your Chief Tipton. And now he had lots of puppets to play with. When Mayor Montague began talking about his new initiative to improve the morality of the city, Gavin decided it was the perfect opportunity to step closer to a man whose influence he wanted to exploit.”

Jasper savored a sip of coffee. “And then?”

“You know, don't you?”

He put his cup on its saucer. “I surmised. You forget, Merinda, that I am the
actual
detective in the room. Oh, put away that scowl! You're proving more adept at this than you think.”

Somewhat mollified, Merinda continued. “They quarreled
eventually. Probably Fiona began wanting more than his now-tenuous finances could give her. He wanted to be rid of her and move on to someone else, but he had told her too much.” She shrugged. “So he chloroformed her. Then strangled her with a rope. We found no signs of struggle on her body because she knew him. She trusted the man who murdered her, Jasper. Can't you just see him approaching her with his dapper suit and his honey-dipped tongue?”

“Back to Fiona, please.”

“Well, he paid Forbes and Tony to move the body to the theatre. Nothing would embarrass Montague more than a dead woman found in his gorgeous new theatre. And the more Gavin got in debt the more he wanted to deflect the blame. Maybe cause some confusion. Maybe paint a different villain. Fingers of accusation pointed away from Gavin, and the publicity of a dead body on that new red carpet did not please Montague. Especially as Horace Milbrook was inching ahead in the election race.”

“And what about Grace?” Jasper asked, sipping from a refilled coffee cup. “Gavin again?”

“Obviously. When Fiona was killed, Grace, Fiona's friend and confidante, surmised that Gavin had done it. She confronted him and told him she knew everything. She also knew from her connections that he had bought the silence of other people in town, and she believed he would buy hers, as well. Unfortunately for her, he did want her silence, but the solution he had in mind was more permanent.”

Jasper nodded approvingly. “And he has his goons drop her body at another high-profile Montague event. I must say, Merinda, you really do have a knack for this.”

She stamped her foot. “Don't patronize me, Jasper. You'd figured all of this out already, hadn't you?”

“Not all of it. Your connections are ingenious. I actually didn't start piecing it together until our day at the Danforth racetrack.”

Merinda nodded. “More gambling. He used Tippy for this.
Another susceptible girl easily bought.” She flopped on her chair near the fireplace and threw back a glug of Turkish coffee.

“You're forgetting another woman he used,” Jasper said soberly.

“Who, Jem?” Merinda shook her head. “No. Jem was never taken in by him. She knew exactly what he was. I think he was interested in her because he saw our exploits turning up in the
Hog
and he knew she worked with Tippy. But we turned the tables on him!”

There was a knock at the door, and presently Mrs. Malone came into the sitting room bearing an unsigned telegram.

Merinda's face went pale as she read.

Jasper straightened. “What?”

She crumpled the telegram and threw it at him. “Take it. Solve it. I am not solving anything anymore.” She stood and faced the chalkboard. “How could I have been so stupid?”

Jasper read the telegram and sighed. “So Gavin has Jem. And Tippy. We'll find them, Merinda. We'll give him whatever he wants.”

“Cracker jacks, Jasper! He was smarter than I thought. Poor Jem!” Merinda wrung her hands. “I wanted to wrap up this case, clean off the chalkboard, and move onto the next thing! Instead, the mystery I have to solve is the most important of my life. He wants to leave town and has spent the past weeks wiping Toronto clean of anything that could implicate him.”

“And the last two girls who know his secrets.” Jasper stared ruefully at his cup of coffee. “Where would he take two innocent females?”

“They could be anywhere in the city.” She flipped through her mind's catalogue.

Jasper went to the kitchen and telephoned the station to tell them of the missing girls. He returned to the sitting room and opened his hand toward Merinda. “Time to let the police take over, Merinda. I've been happy to let you do some sleuthing on your own, but this is getting too serious. I won't let you take the risk.”