Ray appeared at Merinda’s shoulder.
“I suppose I should thank you,” she said before he could speak. “If I hadn’t read about the tunnels in your journal… ”
Ray stomped on her sentence. “Wait! You read my journal too?”
“Just the interesting stuff. The Don Jail stuff. Not the boring poetry and romance stuff. You may have a knack for excavating the mire of the city in the Hog, DeLuca, but you really are an abysmal writer.”
“And yet I saved your life.” He smiled.
“I didn’t know it needed saving.” Merinda retorted.
“But I did!” Ray persisted. “And Jem’s and Tippy’s.”
“How, DeLuca?”
“You know.”
“Oh, your journal.” Merinda shrugged. “Yes, well, perhaps you did give me a bit of a hint, mentioning the tunnel under the bank. But it was quite obvious. I would’ve deduced it on my own eventually.”
“Ah, but in time?”
“All right, Hogwash Herald,” Merinda said with a reluctant grin, “get out that famous journal of yours and get ready to write. Have I got a tale for you.” She began extolling her brilliant plan and its brilliant execution, but she noticed that Ray was not writing anything down. “What’s the matter—going too fast for you?”
“Where’s Jemima?” Ray asked.
“Jasper’s taking Jem to the hospital.”
“What? ”
“Would you look at that?”
“What?”
“Your face, DeLuca. And she thinks she’s the obvious one. They’re stitching her head up. Just a little bump from her heroic detective work. She’ll be home in time for tea.”
“I… I… that’s wonderful to hear.”
Merinda clutched his arm. “Now, about that front page headline… ”
Jem woke up in motion. She found herself on a stretcher being loaded into what looked an awful lot like an ambulance. “What’s happening?” She tried to sit up, but her head hurt, and she lay back down.
“You’re going to be fine, Jem.”
She blinked up at the man and tried to recall his name. “Jasper?”
Jasper’s face showed relief. “Hello, Jem. You fell and hit your head. Nasty little gash there. They’re taking you to the hospital for stitches.”
Jem noticed red rope burns on her wrists, and she remembered she’d been tied up. She remembered it all. “Jasper, what happened? Where’s Merinda?”
“Merinda’s fine.” Jasper kept his voice low. “One of the officers is just asking her questions. She’s not hurt at all.”
“Gavin Crawley!” she cried. “That cad. You got him?”
“Yes, Jem. And Forbes.”
Jem let the tension flow out of her like air from a balloon. She closed her eyes and rested on the stretcher. She wouldn’t think anymore. Not for a while. She wouldn’t remember being scared or worried or brave and resourceful. She didn’t have to be strong anymore. Someone was looking out for her, and so she let herself drift to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Every good mystery has a denouement. It pulls back the cloak and the magic trick is revealed. You make at last the realization your muddled brain had previously failed to see. You can finally reflect on all that your limited deductive powers had missed when someone with more astute mental faculties is there to explain in full.
Guide to the Criminal and Commonplace, M.C. Wheaton
McCormick read over Ray’s early version of the evening edition, and his face brightened. “We’ll sell out of these.” Something almost approaching pride flashed behind the editor’s eyes.
Ray pushed his bowler back and reveled in his favorite sounds: the thrum of the machines, the feeding of the pulp and fiber into the jaws of the press. They had sold a lot of papers lately, thanks to Merinda and her golden moments. He stretched his legs out onto his desk and folded his hands behind his head. He felt a little more secure now, what with his slightly raised salary. He had even bought a new Underwood.
Ray ran his fingers through his hair, remembering the moment he had half-sleepily recognized Jem’s fingers in his hair. Her breath had been so close. When he’d opened his eyes and looked up, her bright eyes had gone big and her shoulders had lurched. He remembered her sudden horror.
He’d need to map out something brilliant if he was going to sweep that misunderstanding under the carpet forever. She’d been humiliated and he had let her stand there humiliated. He couldn’t blink away the hurt in her eyes no matter how often he tried. He got up and paced the square room, twirling his father’s watch nervously around his finger.
Skip’s voice stopped him mid-stride: “Mr. DeLuca, you’ve got a visitor.”
“Skip, how many times do I have to say it? Call me Ray.”
“Temper, Ray.” His sister’s voice came from behind Skip’s shoulder.
Skip ushered Viola in and took his leave with a polite nod.
“Where’s Luca?” Ray wondered.
“With the neighbors.” Viola looked around the office, taking in every detail. “I have never been here before. This is you? All you?”
Ray tried to see his workspace through his sister’s eyes. To him, it was a few slats of crooked wood and a makeshift desk covered in papers. But Viola’s eyes were misting. “I am so proud of you.”
“Crying, Vi?” Ray’s smile tugged at his lips.
“We are making it happen, aren’t we? That life for ourselves.”
Ray took her hands in his. “I would be nothing without you.” He offered her a seat on a rickety chair.
Viola folded her skirt and sat. “Is this where you entertain important men for important meetings?”
Ray just laughed. “Yes. Of course. Can you imagine me having an important meeting?”
“If only Mama could see you, Ray.” She folded her hands. “I’m here to tell you that you won’t have to look after me and Luca anymore.”
Ray blanched. “Why is that?”
“Tony has found a job in Chicago.”
Ray balled his fists and tried to keep his voice even. “What kind of job?”
“Does it matter?” Viola’s eyes were bright. “You can visit us there. Chicago is a much bigger city than Toronto. A city of progress. They won’t mind a few more immigrants there. We can find people like us. Ray, you should come too.”
Ray ran his hand over his face. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” She grabbed his hand. “There are newspapers everywhere. You could probably report for the Tribune! Or the Herald! Why, you might—”
“When did you decide this?”
Viola dropped her eyes. “Tony cannot stay here. He has been… threatened, Ray. And he has found a way to make it for us over there. In America.”
“Oh, Viola.” Could she not see the cage closing in on her?
Her eyes were a film of tears. “Is this how it is to be? Disapproving of Tony again?”
“He was in league with murderers, Vi. There’s no telling what he’s done.” He touched her arm. “I can support you. And Luca. Just stay here. Leave him, Vi.”
She shut her eyes and exhaled. “Ray, we have talked about this.”
“I don’t understand Tony, and I don’t understand your need to dart off to Chicago. Your family is here.”
Her eyes were gentle as she looked at him. “My family is where Tony and Luca are.”
“And me?”
“Ray—”
“No, Vi. I will never condone him. I will not strive to understand him. I do understand that you love him and that you think you can’t help it. Even though you know… ”
Despite his plea for Vi to stay, a quiet part of his brain quickly reminded him that if she and Luca were no longer his to care for, he could pursue Jem again. Could give her at least some of what she’d want.
But immediately a louder part of his mind recoiled at the idea. Men like you don’t marry girls like her. Men like you need to be able to take off whenever and wherever the wind leads you. Men
like you cannot be bound to someone. Men like you—
“Ray?”
Ray broke through his haze of thought. His anger dissipated. “I wish you would stay near me, Vi. You know I would do anything to support you and Luca.”
Viola cupped Ray’s chin in her palm. “Of course you would. But you will see someday, my Ray. You will see what it is to love. That sometimes the feeling binds you so tightly you forget to breathe. In those moments, you are willing to do anything. Anything to keep that feeling… to hold on to it.” She opened his clenched fingers and placed her hand in his. “My Ray, I shall always think of you and pray for you. And we shall write.”
“And Luca?”
“I’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
Ray sat there an hour after she left, feeling the humming of the machines, the force of words. Finally, he tugged his hat over his hair and set out into the night.
The Toronto sky was pinpricked by winking stars and a full moon shone over the warehouses, the church steeples, and the tall stories of the Railway Building. He reached his home on Trinity and went inside. He tossed his hat on a chair and fell back on his bed’s homespun quilt. Not a real home, of course. Just one to stay in when he wasn’t pursuing a story for weeks on end.
Viola and Tony in Chicago. He squeezed his eyes tight. Chicago. What a city that would be. He couldn’t control Vi’s life. Until now, he had managed to be the glue that pasted the pieces of her shattered life back whenever she needed.
But now…
He looked around at the crude four walls, the sputtering stove, the sparse furniture and mismatched dishes. If Vi and Luca didn’t need his care and part of his paycheck, and if he squirreled away enough of his salary, he could maybe think of moving to a larger house. One with a garden, maybe.
Jem deserved a billion beautiful gardens and a billion bright and beautiful things he could never give her. But he could give her an experience.
He’d just have to use someone else’s garden.
“Telegram.”
Jem took it from Mrs. Malone and opened it. “I’m supposed to go to the Elgin Theatre.”
“Alone?”
“Quite specifically alone.” Jem showed Merinda the message.
Merinda huffed. “Why you and not me?”
Jem tossed the telegram onto the table. “Clearly, I’m your better half.”
“Cracker jacks you are. I’m coming too.”
Unsure of how to dress, Jem and Merinda settled on trousers and hats, shirtwaists, vests, and boots. Merinda grabbed her walking stick crowbar. If this was a new case, they would be prepared.
Both the Elgin and the Winter Garden theatres were dark on Mondays, giving the casts and crews night off. They found the lobby doors open, however, so they crept inside. They stole through the mahogany, the marble, the red. The scene of their first murder investigation.
“Aha!” Merinda spotted a note stuck to the brass railing of the stairway to the mezzanine. “Here, it’s for you.”
Jem learned she was to go upstairs. Alone.
“It’s probably just the Tely wanting an inside scoop on you,” sniffed Merinda.
“Here? Now? In the dark? Fiddlesticks! Just stay here,” Jem said. “If I’m not down in twenty minutes, go for Jasper.”
“Fine. But take this.” Merinda held out her small, ivory-handled gun.
Jem slid it into her handbag. “You know I don’t know how to use it.”
“Threaten and point. Or smack your assailant on the head with it.”
Jem strode over to the elevator. But the grate was closed and the electricity was shut down, so she had no choice but to go back outside and around to the fire escape. The first night she had visited the Winter Garden, she’d been wearing shoes with icepick heels. This time, in boots, it was much easier to ascend all four flights of the fire escape.
She climbed through the window, and her stomach somersaulted. Empty theatres were always unnerving. But the area was well lit, as if someone had anticipated her journey upward. She stepped onto the stage.
Here she was again in the hidden fairyland. The colors met her as before—flowers everywhere, vines snaking up pillars and intertwining over the ceiling, holding twigs like grasping hands, as she stepped down the stairs at the side of the stage and into the aisle.
She heard a shuffle behind her, as she’d expected to. So she kept her voice cordial: “I got your note. Who are you?”
“See, this is the problem, Jem.” Her favorite voice in the world came from directly behind her.
She drew a breath sharply but didn’t turn around. If it was a dream, she’d make it last as long as she could. “What is the problem?”
“The problem is that you’ve put yourself into a dangerous situation. Again. You’re here alone meeting some stranger who sent you an anonymous note!”
“I’m a detective, Ray. And you are no stranger. Merinda’s downstairs too. And”—her voice wobbled a bit—“I came armed. Just in case.”
“You what? I’ll take the gun, please.”
Her fingers shook a little as she withdrew it from her bag and held it up. He reached over her shoulder for the pistol, and their fingers brushed slightly as she transferred it to him.
His breath tickled he back of her neck. Jem squeezed her eyes shut. He was so close she could feel him. Her arms yearned to reach back and grab his hands.
“Welcome to your garden, Jem. I thought you, the woman who loves the romance in everything, would appreciate the care I took.”
“Now I’m the woman who loves romance? I thought I was the silly girl with a silly heart and a taste in men who are very wrong for me.”
Ray rested his hand on her shoulder. “I like girls with silly hearts.”
“No. Don’t touch me.” She shrugged him off, and when she turned to face him there were tears in her eyes. “You made me feel silly, Ray. You made me feel worthless.” Every fiber and pore ached to put her arms around him, but her pride held on.
“I miss you, Jem,”
“Ha.”
“You’re still angry with me.”
“I may be a silly girl, but I still have some dignity.” She sniffed regally. “And dramatic scenes in my favorite place… they… they… ” She stopped and sniffed again.
A handkerchief appeared at her shoulder, which she didn’t take. “I bet your nose is cute when it’s red.”
“I don’t like you.”
“That’s a shame. Ti adoro.”
Her breath caught. Her Italian was bad, but the air that left her lungs and the jelly that had just replaced the joints in her knees proved she could make that out, at least.
“I’m going to sit down now,” he said. “In 14-G. It seems that 14-F is vacant. I apologize for the theatrical nature of this scene.” He laughed at his own pun. “But I wanted to get you alone, and I wasn’t about to go pounding on your front door like some sop of a suitor.” He sighed deeply. “I miss your face, Jem. I trace it in my head, down to that darling smattering of freckles across your nose, every night to help me sleep. I figure if I can conjure you up as I fall asleep, then perhaps, if I am very, very lucky, I’ll dream about you.”
Jem stole a sideways look at him: her Ray, with his beautiful thoughts and terrible poetry. She went to seat 14-E, leaving a space between them, and dropped into it. She folded her hands in her lap like a lady.
“Poor choice,” he said. “I hope a lady with plumes of peacock feathers in her hat sits right in front of you.”
Jem snickered. “And I hope a dashing blond prince of a man with dimples comes and sits in 14-F. Tall. With blue eyes. Not with eyes the color of black licorice. Not with hair like the night sky.”
“Not your type?” Ray took off his hat and ran his fingers through hair matted in the shape of the hat he had removed.
Jem’s fingertips tingled, but she tightened them in her lap. “Not precisely my type, no.” She flickered her eyes over his profile.
“I bet I am not as charming a companion
as Gavin Crawley.”
“He was awfully charming through Figaro. He kept leaning over and making sure I knew that the piece made a bold statement on the human condition.” She giggled in spite of herself.
“He only said that because he didn’t understand anything that was going on. He’d probably read it somewhere and repeated it.”
“But you would understand Figaro?”
“Of course.” Then he raised both hands before him, as if making himself stop some line of thought. And when he spoke again, it was with a voice with its playful flirtation ironed out: “Jem, this is a disaster. You don’t belong with someone like me.”
“I don’t belong with anyone, do I? A girl in trousers who follows Merinda Herringford around the city. But I need to be in your life.” She settled in her seat and faced the stage in front of her. Perhaps it would be easier to say these things if she faced forward. He didn’t need to see her nose wrinkle up in concentration or the lump she couldn’t swallow in her throat. “I know that you’ll need to chase your stories. That you don’t want to be cooped up. Maybe I won’t ever be the first thing in your life, but… ”
He sat in silence for long seconds. “Jem,” he said at last, “I’m scared.”
The word rippled through her. Scared.
“Scared to feel back,” Ray said. “I did, I always did. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep the words from spilling out.”
“You were scared? I was the one taking the first step! Me! I’m not even sure if I can fit the role I was meant for. To cook and clean and tend a house and raise a family and… ”
“It doesn’t matter to me! It never did.” He smiled. “I once told you I preferred you in pants. Do you remember?”
“No.” But as soon as she said it, the wheels in her mind recalled the night of the Policeman’s Ball. Something about pantaloni. Now she smiled. “Oh.”
“You’re going to have to learn Italian.” He patted the seat between them. “14-F looks rather lonely. Where do you suppose your prince is?”
“If we take much longer, Merinda will occupy it.”
The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder Page 19
