A Lesson in Love and Murder

by Rachel McMillan

  “ ‘The most violent enemy in society is ignorance.’ ” Merinda quoted Goldman on the streetcar. Jem processed it while they rumbled down King Street. Merinda leafed through a few pages and read, “I’d rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.” Jem stared out the window. Her world was bereft of roses… and diamonds. But she doubted Goldman spoke of the limitations of a husband’s pittance of a salary.

  “I can see why she’s popular,” Jem admitted several moments later as they hopped off at Trinity and moved quickly to the center of the action. Merinda swung her stick with the rhythm of the growing crowd, and Jem picked up pace to match her exhilarated stride.

  The People’s Labor Movement had several canvassers passing out pamphlets as the crowd moved inside. The summer air, made thicker by the warehouse’s proximity to the distilleries churning and pumping out all manner of unpleasant smells and smoke—not to mention the cloudy humidity of nearby Lake Ontario—did little to provide comfortable breathing in the standing-room-only event.

  Merinda was surprised when Jem grabbed her arm to steady herself.

  “Are you all right?”

  “It’s awfully warm in here,” Jem said, tugging at her tweed vest. “All these people.”

  She loosened her grip, but Merinda made sure their shoulders brushed. If Jem toppled, she’d be able to catch her in time.

  Finally, after a rumbling introduction peppered with several hyperbolic phrases that would put even the Hogtown Herald to shame, Goldman stood unceremoniously before hundreds of gaping, silent faces.

  “The most unpardonable sin in society is independence of thought,” Goldman’s voice boomed. Her first words on Toronto and its repression of women (especially as evidenced by the presence of the “patriarchal and primitive brute force of the Morality Squad”) were received with eager ears and silent mouths. The more convicted and incendiary those words grew, the more sharply they were reflected by the crowd. Her voice wove through the crowd, and with each heightened decibel, Merinda was aware of the frenzied spell cast over them. Some sat on overturned crates and barrels; others stood at attention or leaned on poles, spilling out of the warehouse space, shoving shoulders, pressing to get a clearer view of the homely woman with the crooked spectacles, unmanageable brown hair, and uneven mouth.

  Merinda watched the crowd as much as she watched Goldman. There was a smattering of women, many still wearing aprons or pressed shirtwaists, having stolen away from their work in hopes of hearing someone who spoke aloud what they would never find the courage to say.

  Merinda stole a look at Jem under the murky light. Her friend’s face was paler than usual, and Merinda sensed that although they stood close enough for their shoulders to brush, her friend was miles away.

  She took to searching the sea of faces again, this time wondering if she could make out Benny in the crowd. Jasper and his bluecoats were on hand, she noted. A few mounted policeman that she’d seen outside. Others were stationed nearby on the new motorbicycles, aware of the reputation of Goldman rallies.

  Goldman’s words were shooting fast and true, championing the workers who were forced to slave under employers who failed to provide fair conditions or compensation. A few men with tongues lubricated by whiskey were loudly declaring their support.

  Merinda finally recognized Benny, far in the opposite corner. She made eye contact and waved, knowing he would signal if he had seen Jonathan, but he shook his head. Goldman kept on, voice strong and movements clipped and emphatic. The gathering may have gone on as such for quite a bit longer had the Morality Squad so central to her convictive oration not shoved their way into the throng. Adamant of their commissioned presence, acting on behalf of the mayor himself, they parted the crowd.

  Fistfights erupted with a wave of dust and cries as they moved forward. “Mr. Montague does not have the jurisdiction to interrupt a peaceful assembly,” Merinda overheard.

  “How often are these assemblies peaceful?” a brawny man said ironically as Merinda held to Jem’s elbow and watched the commotion erupt around her. The floor rumbled with heavy footfalls and her ears rang. Merinda tried to stabilize herself, shielded her face with her arm. The air, the commotion—it was suffocating.

  The same brawny man’s face lit in recognition when he saw her,† and he sidled his way through the crowd in her direction. Merinda looked beside her to warn Jem, realizing that the silence that had filled Jem’s spot had been on account of Jem’s not being there at all.

  Merinda’s voice was raspy as she mouthed Jem’s name. A panicked sweat flushed her face and her hands shook. “Jemima!”

  But there were too many people.

  “Jemima!” Merinda shouted angrily. Jem had been right beside her, and now? Now? Where was she? Merinda shoved her way through the frightened mass of people. “Jem!”

  “Merinda!”

  Merinda looked up, startled. “Jasper!”

  Jasper clutched her arms and looked her over, from tousled hair to torn vest and trousers. “Are you all right?” he said hoarsely.

  “I can’t find Jem.” Merinda’s voice cracked.

  A flash of fear lit Jasper’s eyes. “Get out of here, please, Merinda. It’s chaos in here. And it will get even worse when our mounted police arrive.”

  “I won’t leave without Jem!” Merinda yelled over the din.

  “I promise you I will find Jem. I just need you to be out of here.” He gripped her tightly and started forcefully pulling her in the direction of the side doorway where a blast of fresh night air could dispel some of the heat and chaos.

  “Let me go!” Merinda cried for what seemed the hundredth time as Jasper deposited her at the edge of the commotion. Outside, noise seemed to come from every crevice of the warehouse, blemishing the clear night.

  Jasper held a stern finger to her nose. “You—stay—here. Don’t you dare move! I’ll get Jem.”

  Merinda was in the midst of an angry spew of a sentence, but Jasper was long gone. She looked furiously about her as the crowd fled the warehouse. One man tripped outside, hand pressed to bloodied face. It seemed hours since Jasper had left. When all of her pent-up energy seemed to have nowhere to channel, she furiously tapped her heel.

  She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and only opened them at a man’s voice. Not Jasper but… but…

  “I have something of yours.” Merinda opened her eyes and saw Benny.

  Carrying Jem.

  What air she was choking through the smoky haze left her.

  “Is she dead?” Merinda cried. For, indeed, Jem looked very dead, her hairline clotted with blood.

  “She’s just unconscious,” Benny said. “Look, there are footmarks—she narrowly avoided being trampled on. I thought it safer to get her out by whatever means possible rather than waiting for the medics to arrive. Come.”

  He led her away from the warehouse and to a quieter side of the alleyway. He tipped over a crate with his toe and set Jem gently on it, still keeping hold of her lest she topple over.

  Merinda squatted down beside her and looped her arm around Jem’s shoulders. Jem mumbled something incomprehensible before her head fell on Merinda’s shoulder.

  “My friend’s almost crushed, and we never did find your wretched cousin!” Merinda hissed.

  “He’s not here. I arrived an hour before the rally, and I investigated.”

  “Did you think he would just saunter in with everyone?” Merinda spat incredulously.

  “Yes,” Benny said assuredly. “I did. Because he’s too smart to skulk around at the back in the shadows where the police will be. I also checked the basement and the attic. I did a thorough search. He knows it’s better to hide in plain sight.”

  Jem stirred and slowly opened her eyes. She blinked up at Benny and then Merinda. “W-what happened?”

  “All Hades broke loose, Jemima,” Merinda said.

  Jem tried to sit up straighter and couldn’t do so without a wince.

  “Easy,” Benny said. He took a clean handkerchie
f from his vest pocket and pressed it against her forehead.

  “Merinda!” Jasper’s voice cut through the noise of horse hooves and police whistles.

  “Over here!” Merinda yelled, her voice scratchy from the smoke.

  Panting and soot-faced, Jasper jogged over. “I c-couldn’t find… I… Jem!”

  Jem gave him a bleary nod.

  Jasper exhaled. “I looked everywhere. You’re hurt!” He dropped in front of her. “How bad is it?”

  “Superficial,” Benny said as Jasper rose. Benny extended his hand. “Benfield Citrone.”

  “Jasper Forth.”

  They shook hands.

  “I found the young lady almost trampled by the crowd. I was able to return her in one piece to her friend, thank God. I closely inspected the wound and found it to be just a scratch, a result of some sort of blow that knocked her unconscious. I doubt she’ll even require stitches. She’ll be just fine.”

  Jasper gave a half smile. “You must have medical training.”

  Benny shrugged. “It’s required in my field.”

  “And what field is that?”

  “Jasper, Benny here should be under no scrutiny from you. Come, I know that tone.”

  “You know each other?” Jasper looked between them, startled.

  “I had the recent privilege of making Merinda and Jem’s acquaintance when… ”

  “Benny’s a client,” Merinda said.

  “Who calls you by your given names?”

  “I am looking for my cousin,” said Benny. “I trailed him as far as Toronto and reached a dead end.”

  “And you were here tonight because…?” Jasper asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “We thought his cousin might be here,” Merinda said quickly, answering for Benny. “But he wasn’t.” She sighed. “Can this wait? I must get Jem home before she starts drooling on my shoulder.”

  “Merinda, I would not drool on… on… ”

  “Hush, Jemima. You sound woozy. Jasper, is that fellow Jones around here? Your new officer?”

  “He is. But he is required at the scene.”

  “I can find us a taxi.” Benny stood at attention and looked about.

  “I doubt you’ll be able to find one amidst this chaos,” Jasper said. “And anyway, cabs rarely just swing by this part of town.”

  Benny’s face lit up. “Might one of your mounted officers permit me the temporary use of a horse? Only to see the young lady to safety. That way Merinda can stay here and investigate.”

  Jasper was not amused. “Pardon me?”

  “Oh, Jasper, give the man a horse. I have it on good authority he is an expert rider.” Merinda had no such authority, and Jasper’s raised eyebrows told her he knew as much.

  “This is absurd,” Jasper said. “No. No. Step back, Mr. Citrone. This is a respectable married woman who will not just be passed into the arms of a stranger. Merinda, I thought better of you.”

  “Benny is completely trustworthy,” Merinda said. Had she not been propping up Jem, her hands would have been planted firmly on her hips.

  “Pardon me, Mr. Citrone, but these women are particular friends of mine, and I have never once heard either mention your existence.”

  Benny looked up from repositioning Jem into a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm. “Well, we only met this morning.” He stood, slowly, and gathered Jem up completely. “Now, about that horse.”

  * * *

  *Readers familiar with the adventure titled The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder will of course recall that this stick doubled as a crowbar when needed.

  †A reader familiar with the escapades of the intrepid girl detectives will be aware that this was not their first run-in with the Morality Squad.

  CHAPTER SIX

  An officer of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police must treat his horse as he would any other comrade—with sensitivity for its needs. Do not start off on any trip, large or small, at a frantic pace, tiring the horse. Do not forget to groom and care for your horse. In the northern posts, far from human contact, he will become your dearest friend, your family, and your closest ally.

  Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson, Guide to the Canadian Wilderness

  He’s a Mountie!” Merinda said, matching Jasper’s vehement stride across the alley and toward the crime scene. “If you can’t trust a Mountie, who can you trust?”

  “He could be a number of things, Merinda. You just let him take Jem off like that?” He shook his head. Merinda had given him a quick summation of the case, detailing Benny’s accomplishments and Jonathan’s failings, but Jasper had not been put at ease. “Just because someone parades around telling you he’s a Mountie… ”

  “But he is. I telephoned Regina.”

  “Well, of course his name is listed. But who’s to say he hasn’t traded places with this mythical cousin Jonathan of his and is prancing around setting the explosives himself, and oh, good grief, there they go. He has Jem on a horse! And they’re galloping who knows where! Ray will have my neck.” He rubbed his face with his hand.

  “Would you desist with the melodrama? There’s a delicious crime scene, the Morality Squad scattered, and you’re here prattling like a child! Benny will come right back with the horse. He will know better than you or I if Jonathan has been here. We just need to work together.”

  “Forth! Forth, you’d better get over here!” They turned at a stern, deep bellow belonging to Chief Tipton.

  “They’ve called in the cavalry,” Merinda said with a low whistle.

  Jasper gave one last chastising look at Merinda before running toward the warehouse.

  Merinda looked about her, watching people—some injured, most just terrified—moving over the pavement. Some went in the direction of the alley; others moved around the mounted policemen in the direction of Trinity Street.

  Merinda inched her way through the throng and in the direction of the Hogtown Herald offices. She hadn’t had a chance to learn what Ray really thought about the trolley explosions, but perhaps there was information to be found at the office—notes and observations that hadn’t made their way into Ray’s articles.

  Merinda employed her walking stick to hoist open the primitive lock to the newspaper office. She removed her torch from the waist of her pants, and with a click mellow light cut through the darkness. She thought of turning the overhead lights on but didn’t want to draw attention from the dispersing throng outside. She started with Skip’s desk, hoping there might be a few photographs of the streetcar scene. Not much to be had there. A few pictures of the wrecked streetcars. A requisition order for maple syrup from Spenser’s.

  Finding nothing more of interest, she crossed to Ray’s desk. It was behind a sort of lean-to, and he kept the space as tidy as possible considering the sawdust that floated down anytime someone walked over the creaky slats in the attic overhead. Ray was perfunctory in his profession, and she knew that despite his meager salary and the paper’s wretched reputation, he took his job seriously. It was one of the things she admired about him. Though she would never tell him so.

  She looked more closely at the desk. Not so tidy today. The telephone had toppled over and ink spots stained the wood. She picked up a scrap of paper and read closely.

  It was hard to make out Ray’s shaky hand.

  Chicago

  Vi—

  Tony Docks

  MICH AVE

  Need $

  Anarchists? Accident?

  Were the anarchists and Jonathan in Chicago? Had Ray tracked them that far?

  Her thoughts drummed in her head even as a soft footfall at the front of the office drew her immediate gasp.

  “Merinda!” the voice whispered.

  Merinda let the torch guide her out of Ray’s cubby and toward the door, her knuckles gripping her stick in case of immediate need of defense.

  “Benny!” The light illuminated him.

  “I returned the horse. Got Jemima safe to your house and Mrs. Malone. Took a moment to ba
ndage her head. It will be as right as rain. I didn’t know where her house was, but I have a rather remarkable memory when it comes to remembering where I have been before and… ”

  “Cracker jacks, Benny! How did you find me?”

  “Oh. I tracked you.”

  “You what?”

  He motioned at her stick. “There. You didn’t notice, but I studied your boot print when we left the alley just over there.”

  In response, Merinda lifted up her boot and inspected it under the torchlight.

  “See?” Benny said.

  There was a tack stuck in the sole that she had never noticed before.

  “If that marker wasn’t enough” he said brightly, “then you do have an incessant habit of tapping that stick about.”

  “Cracker jacks,” she repeated. Even though there was but a sliver of light, the entire dank space seemed illuminated with some kind of spark.

  “What is this place?”

  “Remember the advertisement that led you to Jem and me? This is the Hogtown Herald office.”

  “I don’t know much about newspaper offices,” Benny said, approaching Merinda and sharing the torchlight, “but I never thought they would look like this.”

  “It isn’t one of Toronto’s finest papers,” Merinda admitted.

  “You thought you might find something here?”

  “The Hog always reports on things that the other papers refuse to. Most likely because each managing editor is bought by Toronto’s elite… I’m rambling.” Merinda spun on her heel.

  “You thought they might have something on Jonathan?”

  “If these trolley accidents are not accidents, then I am pretty sure one of my friends would have the same suspicions you do. Jasper, of course. He’s the officer you met earlier. Though he wasn’t himself tonight, I assure you. Usually the most amiable fellow in the world and… ” Merinda bit her lip, changing thought midstream. “And Ray DeLuca. Jem’s Ray DeLuca. I thought he might have left something.” She thought of the note in her pocket.

  “And did he?”

  “I can’t be sure.”

  Silence stretched between them. Benny stood straight at attention, and she wished that he would twirl his cap on his finger or bury his hands in his pockets. Anything, really. But his body language was rigid, and his face in the half shadow was tired and sad.