Jasper nodded, rose, and turned toward his office. He didn’t make it three steps before he was intercepted by a ruddy-faced constable, breathless and bleary eyed.
“Constable Forth!” he erupted. “We just received a telephone call from the Globe. Alexander Waverley has been murdered!”
* Readers can find a full report on these heinous bombings and the scurrilous antics of would-be anarchist assassins in A Lesson in Love and Murder.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mark my words that upon declaration of war, Montague will unleash powerful measures with his usual tinge of illegality. He molds the city into whatever shape he needs to keep it under his thumb. He doesn’t inspire loyalty. He instills fear. The chaos hovering on our horizon will give him the opportunity to take whatever drastic measures he deems fit in order to maintain his position.
The Globe and Mail
Merinda leaped for the telephone as soon as its brrrring cut into the parlor. Jasper’s voice on the other end was breathless as he relayed the news about Waverley and asked that she meet him.
Merinda dashed to the front hall, affixing her hat before flying down the steps and into her roadster, cranking it into gear and setting off an alarming pace, stopping only when she spotted Kat hawking newspapers atop an overturned cart. She swerved over with a loud screech of the tires. “Kat! Go round up Jem!” she hollered, before steering the vehicle back in the direction of Yonge and the Globe’s offices.
She parked and took the walkway at a jog. Once inside, her senses were bombarded with the clicking of keyboards, the bellows of the latest headline, and the clacking echo of heels over tile. This was a world in constant motion despite the devastating news that its head editor had been murdered. Its verve and spark exhilarated her even as she moved through the parted officers and concerned employees bordering the hallway to the offices.
“She’s here on Forth’s invitation,” Kirk said by way of explanation as Merinda walked through to several looks of amusement and a few of consternation.
When she reached the end of the corridor and the large corner office, she found Jasper and St. Clair leaning over a body set back in a grand chair.
A knife was in Waverley’s breast, just above the pocket square ornamenting his fine suit. A white feather caressed a congealed red pool of blood.
“Alexander Waverley,” Merinda breathed, acknowledging a mannequin of a man who had once been so alive, whose low voice rumbled through their Cartier meetings, his fingers rapping on the side of his chair and now slumped unnaturally. She shuddered.
“Another one of these messages,” Jasper said, accepting an offered pair of tweezers from Kirk and gently lifting the feather.
“I’ll take this back to our lab.” St. Clair turned toward the door. “Maybe they can find something that links it to the one found with Milbrook.”
Merinda swallowed down the urge to tell them she had found a feather at Spenser’s, but she didn’t trust St. Clair and decided to keep that information for Jasper’s ears only. She returned her gaze to Waverley, focusing on his tailored jacket and then up to the slight sweat-stained line on the collar below his neck.
“I question whether she should be here.” St. Clair stopped with his hand on the door.
“It’s fine,” Jasper assured the other constable. “She has a good eye. I’ll find you shortly.”
St. Clair nodded curtly.
“I’ll wait outside, sir.” Kirk walked through the door and shut it behind him.
“He appears very much as Horace Milbrook did,” Jasper said once they were alone.
Merinda examined a loose thread on Alexander’s suit jacket. “There is no sign of surprise, which leads me to believe it was someone familiar to him.”
Jasper locked eyes with her for a moment. She half expected he would affirm her supposition, but instead he lowered his gaze to Waverley’s desk. He began opening each desk drawer, using his fingers to fan through various pieces of correspondence.
Merinda watched him, perching on the edge of the desk and handing him the small magnifying glass she kept fastened to her vest. “At least we know that the men being held at the station for Milbrook’s murder are innocent, unless there are two men who think it’s a lark to plant white feathers on dead bodies.”
Jasper still said nothing, and so Merinda followed his eyes. They lit as he shuffled through papers in the top drawer and settled on a handwritten missive in Waverley’s precise slant.
After skimming the lines on the page, he passed the sheet to Merinda. Her eyes flitted over it as recognition brightened over her face. “This sounds like what DeLuca was talking about last night!” she exclaimed. “All about this war agent, Carr”—she skimmed a few more lines—“profiteering from Spenser’s.”
Jasper nodded. “I wonder if Waverley intended on passing ideas to Ray.”
“But why not just run his own theories?”
“We both know the Globe is controlled by Montague. Maybe Waverley felt he needed to find another to give this to.” Jasper leaned over Merinda’s shoulder, settling on a sentence about monitoring the “legal preparations in case of war as ensuring that the proper channels were in place for receipt of all manner of firearms.”
Merinda watched Jasper’s brow furrow in consternation. “This sounds like something we would read in the Hog.”
Jasper nodded. “Exactly. I think he knew he would never publish it.”
“So you think this is here for DeLuca?”
Jasper shrugged. “And there is this.”
“What?”
“Look closely.”
Merinda leaned in and their shoulders brushed. Jasper felt a whisper of bobbed curl brush his cheek.
“For R.D.”
“I think we have our answer.”
“Sir!” Kirk opened the door and stepped inside. “I found—”
“I’m here!” Jem’s voice cut in.
“Jemima. You’re out of breath!”
Jem shook out her curls. “I had to leave Hamish with Mrs. Malone. Not everyone has the luxury of an automobile, Merinda. Some of us have to take the trolley! And with a child—”
Jasper grinned. “Well, you’re here at last.”
Jem stepped forward and then paused, noticing Waverley’s body for the first time since entering the office. “Oh, how horrible.”
“And another one of those feathers,” Jasper said.
“The same killer!” Jem gasped.
“Do you need your smelling salts, Jemima?” Merinda chortled.
Jem ignored her. “We should leave this to Jasper and continue looking after Miss Mueller’s request.”
“Oh, I think they’re one and the same,” Merinda pronounced, striding from behind the desk to join Jem.
“What?” asked Jasper.
“I found a white feather at Spenser’s when I returned after the commotion of last night. It was right at the edge of the warehouse.”
“Where is it?” he demanded
“In my bureau drawer.”
Jasper whistled. “That certainly adds another layer.”
“But how is someone like Hans Mueller connected to Milbrook and Waverley? That makes no sense,” Jem said thoughtfully.
Merinda glanced her way. “The Mueller kid worked at Spenser’s. If his death has to do with the profiteering—”
“There’s no proof of profiteering, Merinda,” Jasper said shortly. “We only have our suppositions. There isn’t even an official war yet for us. Just because Britain declared war—”
“You know we will join them. It’s only a matter of time.” Merinda turned back to Jem. “I think we should pay a visit to this Philip Carr to see if he has anything to shed on the situation.”
Jasper placed his hat on his head. “I’ll be heading back to the station.” He called for Kirk to pull up the automobile. “Don’t do anything stupid, Merinda.”
“Me?” she asked with mock incredulity.
“You,” he said, smiling at Jem and taking his leave.
“Come,” Merinda instructed. “I parked around the corner.”
“I saw.” Jem snickered. “The point is not to park the automobile directly on the curb.”
“Oh, hush!”
Jem and Merinda left Waverley’s office and walked down the corridor toward the building’s front door.
“Wouldn’t Ray be perfectly suited here?” Jem asked, her eyes brightening.
“It’s a step up from the poor old Hog, that’s for certain,” Merinda said, smiling at a reporter who was eyeing her with interest. They really had become celebrities. Maybe Montague was right. Maybe they were an emblem of the shifting world.
“Herringford and Watts.” A familiar voice met them at the door way.
“Skip, how’s the camera?” Merinda asked as the reporter shoved his glasses higher on his nose.
“Right as rain.” His eyes widened as they took in the Globe offices. “Never been in this place. Sure makes the grass look greener.”
“Well, we’re off.”
“Did you find out anything about Waverley? Quote for the Hog?”
Merinda rarely passed up the opportunity to see her name in print, but on this occasion she shook her head. She wanted to beat Jasper to the war agent and find a connection before he had the chance to. “There’s not a lot to say at this point.”
“Mrs. DeLuca?”
Jem shook her head as well. “I was, unfortunately, late to the scene.” She wondered why Merinda wasn’t mentioning the white feather discovered at Spenser’s, but she followed her friend’s lead. “Not a lot to say.”
They smiled their goodbyes to Skip and pushed through the revolving door onto the humid sidewalk. “I wonder why Ray wasn’t behind him,” Jem said as they strolled to the roadster.
Merinda shrugged. “DeLuca’s your arena, not mine.”
“We both had quite a scare last night.” Jem told Merinda about the rock through their window.
“I suppose anyone could threaten DeLuca, but he hasn’t printed anything of a particularly incendiary nature of late. Give him time, though. This election might mean more of the same.”
Jem nodded as she opened the door of the passenger seat and sank onto the warm upholstery, branded by the beating sun.
Merinda steered with the grace of a buffalo, pointing the roadster in the direction of Queen Street.
The pavement was strewn with the evidence of the previous night’s revelry. Street cleaners were working diligently, but University Avenue was yet coated with a layer of patriotism haphazardly gift wrapped in red, white, and blue.
Above the sound of the engine, they heard the newsies hawking headlines in the creaky discordance of adolescence. The names of the prime minister and governor general whistled on the breeze conjured by the movement of the vehicle.
Jem prided herself on being able to distinguish a DeLuca headline from the others in the loud cacophony, even as Merinda steered around a fast-moving cart, the horse tugging it neighing his frustration.
Jem, though unaccustomed to all of the rules of the road,† began to notice that her friend was wandering between both sides of the pavement, and her customary jittery movements became even more erratic.
“Jemima! I think that—”
Jem saw perspiration beading Merinda’s forehead. She shot a look over her shoulder. “We’re being followed!” she squealed.
Jem couldn’t make out anything as to the identity of the figure behind them, who wore a cap and dark glasses. She clutched the sides of her seat, knuckles white, and felt her heart rate speed up. Merinda shrieked for her to look out as the roadster frantically swerved left and jostled Jem with it.
Just as Merinda abandoned the wheel to grab her friend, the automobile behind them crashed into them. Merinda was kept from being flung completely forward by her angle in aiding Jem.
Jem had just enough time to scream before the impact flung her forward. Her forehead smacked the dashboard, and her world went black.
† Many of which Merinda seemed to be creating as they swerved and squeaked along.
CHAPTER SIX
A woman learns with the realization of her most sacred role as wife and mother that her life is no longer her own. She gloriously sacrifices any modicum of adventure that would set her in the way of the slightest of harm. She is of secondary importance to the comfort and security of her husband and her children. And it is this beautiful martyrdom that completes her life’s fulfillment and finds her contented and whole for the rest of her days.
Flora Merriweather, Guide to Domestic Bliss
You’re going to need to lower your voices!” a passing doctor hissed. Ray and Merinda ignored him, not for the first time.
“Not until you let me see her!” Ray addressed the doctor, though his black eyes still glowered at Merinda.
“Sir, I told you. The supervising doctor will keep you informed. We’ve already given you the most pertinent details.”
Ray nervously fingered his suspenders, every sinew in his body on edge. He spent the insufferable moments until he could see Jemima for himself railing against the woman who had landed her in a hospital ward. When Ray was particularly agitated or flustered, his English was wanting, and Merinda was dealt verbal blows in a hybrid of English and Italian, the gist of which pointed an accusatory finger at her. They had been going in circles for several moments with both at a near tipping point. She had been surprised how quickly he had arrived from the Hog after receiving her frantic telephone call.
“I always knew one day this would happen!” Ray said darkly. “I dreaded the inevitable moment when the telephone at the Hog would ring, and it would be someone telling me you had finally done it. Finally gone and got her killed.”
“That isn’t what happened!” Merinda’s voice reverberated through the sterile corridor of the hospital ward.
“Shhh!” This time an attendant scowled at them.
Merinda didn’t listen. “We were driving. Just driving, DeLuca. That was all. And it was all fine before—”
Ray had never seen Merinda cry, and he didn’t fancy experiencing it again. Her usually confident alto was a series of hiccups, and her aquiline nose was red at the tip.
“I won’t let you do this again! I can’t! It will kill me, Merinda. You will kill me.”
“Unless you want to lock Jem up inside forevermore, you cannot keep her from the danger that ran into us today!”
“Yes, that’s what Jasper told me. It was an accident.” Ray spat the word like a curse.
“It… it was,” Merinda said tremulously.
Ray lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re a horrible liar, Merinda Herringford.”
“Fine! Do you want me to tell you I think someone was intentionally trying to kill us? I didn’t have a moment to press on the horn or slam on the brakes. That car came out of nowhere. I may not be the most careful driver, but you know I have never placed Jemima in danger I wasn’t undertaking myself so that I could throw myself in front of her.” She wrung her long fingers. “But this… this was too fast.” She stopped a moment. “It was broad daylight, DeLuca. We weren’t skulking around at night or chasing a murderer.”
Ray fingered his collar. “I don’t believe you.”
“She has a gash on her head and a bruised rib!” Merinda threw up her hands. “I am dreadfully sorry, but she will live. I was more scared today than I have ever been in my life. For a split second, when I saw her…” Merinda swallowed and jerked a thumb at him. “You’re not the only person who loves her, DeLuca. I would have traded seats with her in an instant. But she is going to be just fine. You can rail at me all you want, but—”
“The doctor said it was a very close call. Too close.”
Merinda felt her knees buckle a little. “I know.”
“I want to hate you,” he said after a moment. “I want to turn you out of our lives forever. Forbid you from ever setting foot in our house or luring her away. But you are so much a part of what makes Jem who she is and…” He shook his he
ad. “But she’ll always throw herself after you. She’ll throw herself into it. Whatever case you’re solving. These little feathers.” He nudged in the direction of Jem’s room. “You think you’re something wonderful. That you’re helpful. That you can do things! You’re just a silly girl in a bowler who has never kept a real job for five whole minutes of your life. And you take her down with you.”
“Me! There was a rock thrown through your window the other evening. We were not pursuing anything dangerous! We were in pursuit of an interview with that war agent fellow, Philip Carr. She was safe as houses. I’m not the one who placed her in a situation where she would be attacked in her own house. The other day a young woman was hospitalized due to a similar injury in the Ward!”
“Enough!” Ray waved his hand and scowled at yet another attendant begging them to be quiet. “Enough of this,” he said, lowering his voice but a decibel. “There is a side to Jem you don’t have, Merinda. My side. There’s a part of her world that is not you. That is my part of it and Hamish’s part of it, and I want more of it. You are no longer the most important part of her life. You haven’t been for years.”
Merinda gaped at him a moment. “You’re a cad, DeLuca.” Her voice was quiet and cold. “I don’t mind your lashing out at me. I don’t mind us fighting. We always have, and maybe we always will. But you’re a cad.” She swallowed down the pesky lump growing in her throat.
Ray’s eyes bored into her. In an instant, all of their usual banter and camaraderie was replaced by his disdain for her. It was bound to come to this, eventually. Explosives in Chicago and taking off on a whim to pursue a missing woman in Massachusetts, commandeering a motorbicycle and speeding off with Jem holding on tightly. It was a matter of time, wasn’t it? Yet, Merinda only made it two steps toward the exit before spinning around and facing him. “DeLuca—”
“I don’t have anything to say to you, Merinda.”
She wondered if he would ever have anything to say to her again.
The White Feather Murders Page 6
