A Lesson in Love and Murder (10 page)

Jem was too deflated to even force a smile.

“It will be in the
Hog
tomorrow,” Skip said, rising and tucking his notebook in his pocket. “If there
is
a
Hog
.” He shrugged into the coat Mrs. Malone provided at Merinda's bidding. “Funny, you never really realize how much Mr. DeLuca does until you think of how you'll need to do it in his absence.” He tipped his hat at Jem. “I'm sure he'll find his way back soon.”

Jem muttered something that almost sounded like an affirmative.

When Skip was gone, Jem moved to the seat adjacent Merinda. “He just left a note,” she told Merinda with a sigh. “It was the sort of note he would have left for Skip or McCormick. It was so cold.”

Merinda chewed her lip. “That isn't like him.”

“I know. And he never wanted me to go to the Goldman rally. He's not vindictive enough to hold a grudge for that, though.”

Merinda put up a restraining hand. “That's not why he left, Jem. And it's not why he didn't put more in the note. He was in a hurry.” She rose, crossed to the bureau, and returned with the slip of paper she found at the
Hog
. “I went to his office after the rally. I wanted to see if there was anything about the trolley explosions that DeLuca hadn't told us about. I knew something was wrong because his desk was all upturned. I think he must have received a call from his sister, jotted all of this down”—she pointed to the middle of the paper—“and dashed straight home to leave you a note and catch the first train.”

“Tony infuriates me,” Jem said, snatching up the paper and staring at it. “Time and again he gets himself into trouble, and we all have to pick up the pieces.”

“At the very least, I have you here again,” Merinda said happily.
“Far easier for us to find Jonathan if we're together.” Merinda bellowed for Turkish coffee and, when it arrived, gulped it so quickly she burned her tongue. “What do you say about joining this People's Labor Movement?” She motioned for Jem to pick up a paper on the side table. “I struck up a conversation with a fellow after the rally last night. Not only did he know where Goldman was staying, he knew where their meetings took place. There are different levels of involvement.”

“He gave up his secrets rather easily!” Jem said.

“He'd had a little too much from his friend's flask. Seemed quite delighted to find a girl wearing pants. We are just the sort they are looking for.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A woman who bounds about after a Goldman rally in trousers with no thought for the Morality Squad? The same woman who will be willing to rejig a few wires in the pursuit of a marvelous cause.”

“You're not suggesting you're going to blow things up with this fellow?”

“No. I'm suggesting
we're
going to blow things up with this fellow.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

Seasons change. As soon as you get used to autumn, so winter tugs at its coattails. Life turns in and out and the forest takes on a different face. A keen eye knows to anticipate the slightest changes—the thinning of the wood before the earth dips into the cavern of a valley, the slight birdsong that mournfully ushers out summer, signaling fall. Everything around you is a sign. An omen, perhaps, that no matter how you settle into a time, a place, a person, nature is already turning the hands of the clock and precipitating its imminent future.

Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson,
Guide to the Canadian Wilderness

J
ones brought Jasper the papers every morning, and they usually sat in an untouched pile on his desk until noon. Then he would leaf through them with a sandwich and a cup of tea at his elbow. But as soon as he saw the
Hog
headline about the Goldman rally that morning, he shoved the open file he was perusing to the side of his desk.

Jasper was impressed that Skip was the name on the byline. He was in and out of the action as stealthily as Ray always was. He even had a quote from Mrs. Goldman herself.

His heart had the most inconvenient habit of jumping slightly when he heard—or read—Merinda Herringford's name, as it did the moment it appeared in Skip's article:

Ms. Herringford was all too keen to speak to the virtue in Mrs. Goldman's opinions about police corruption, believing it strikes all too close to home. “Of course there were women and families and immigrants there. She speaks for all of us in a voice and with a volume that few around here dare to use.”

Of course, my next question was about police corruption. Ms. Herringford felt that Mrs. Goldman's words rang all too loud and true. “Goldman speaks about the dangers of submission. To anything. Including the law, which helps propagate the myth that we can achieve any kind of social harmony. We may have police officers who would like to see the end to this uneven distribution of power, but no one ranked highly enough to do anything about it.”

Readers will make the immediate connection to her own practice as a lady detective. “If no one else will stomp out the injustice Goldman speaks about, then yes, I am happy to do my part.”

Jasper flung the paper aside and ran his hand through his hair, his face flushed and his eyes stinging from more than the bright lights of his station house office. He swallowed and then slowly stood, wondering why his world was turning around him. Needing air, he forced his way out of the station and onto the busy street, gulping in deep breaths.

Then he dashed back up the front steps and bellowed for Jones.

“I'm just off duty!” Jones said with a bright smile. “But I'm happy to start up the motorcar if you like!”

The young cop was always eager to drive Jasper wherever he needed to go. He looked up to his superior for more than his stature, and Jasper repaid him by trusting him, giving a good word on his behalf when the chief was in hearing distance, and treating him with an equality that other officers of Jones's rank didn't always merit.

Jasper's thoughts were a flurry in the back of the automobile. Merinda was swept up by Goldman's bellowing voice, and she didn't hold to the same belief in God as he did. So where did she derive any sense of hope or purpose? Perhaps Skip was just taking liberties with her quotations. DeLuca was trustworthy when it came to ensuring the girls' words were never taken out of context, but Skip might have… might have…

Except it sounded so
very
much like Merinda.

Jones steered onto busy Queen Street, swerving around the trolley track to avoid the construction he assured Jasper would slow their drive to King Street West.

“You all right, sir?” Jones asked.

Jasper recognized how agitated he must have seemed, shifting restlessly in the back. He kept his gaze out the window, watching pedestrians going about their day. One lithe figure walked with a purpose and stride he would recognize in any crowd.

“Pull over,” Jasper commanded hurriedly.

Jones swerved the automobile and slid up to the curb.

“You head on back, and I will see myself the rest of the way.”

“Right, sir!”

Jasper started in pursuit of Merinda, and the moment he caught up to her, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

“Jasper!” Her eyes flickered brightly and her cheeks were ruddy with exercise. Her countenance almost made him swallow his anger.

“Merinda, the
Hog
!” he called, assuming she would know exactly of what he spoke. He matched her stride then, slowed, drew her to the gate surrounding the lavish Osgoode Hall, and stopped her. The explosive set off here had done little damage compared to the Bathurst streetcar. Nonetheless, bluecoats and plainclothes officers still mingled over the manicured lawn.

“Was it in the paper today? Skip dashed out so quickly yesterday, what with DeLuca and… ”

“You're proud of it!” Jasper chastised.

“I am always proud to see my name in print.” She tossed her head.
“Which you very well know. Especially when my name is next to Emma Goldman's!”

“I've never been anything but supportive of you, Merinda. I have risked humiliation from peers, have endured traffic duty as punishment for our association, have even jeopardized my job. Because I believe in you.” He noticed the smile leave her green-flecked eyes. “And I was foolish enough to think you believed in me too!”

Merinda reached to grab his sleeve, but he stepped back. “Of course I believe in you,” she said.

“Not if you also believe what you said about Goldman. Because that undermines my entire philosophy. I thought yours too. You have to believe in something, Merinda. Are you choosing to believe that we don't need a law to govern us?”

“Not when the power rests in the hands of Montague and Spenser and… ”

“Merinda, you can't twist Goldman's own words to match Toronto's specific situation.”

The ground shook around them, and before they could register what was happening, Jasper instinctively shoved Merinda down and behind him while he looked frantically about.

Another blast! It resounded like a cannon as smoke wafted toward them. Initial, silent shock was soon replaced with shrieks, with flurries of people dashing in all directions.

Merinda and Jasper grabbed at each other, staring stupidly for a long moment before he tugged her to her feet and told her to stay exactly where she was. Shocked, she slowly, dumbly nodded.

He set out in the direction of the billowed smoke that sputtered flakes of debris into the surrounding air. As he trailed south looking about him, coughing at the deluge of smoke, his nose was bombarded with the tangible smell of gasoline and rubber.

He could hear sirens as the fire brigade jangled their bells. They had been instructed to be prepared and on standby after the initial trolley explosion. Now they were fast and efficient, blasting water in the direction of the smoke. When it cleared, Jasper could make out
the remains of the police automobile he had been in not five minutes before.

Jem looked up from the newspaper at Merinda's footfall in the front hallway.

“I was just reading this and… ”

She stopped when Merinda came into view, pale with tear-splotched cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

“Merinda!” Jem had rarely seen her friend so shaken. Merinda was actually shuddering. Jem bounded toward her and took her hands, leading her to the settee and sitting beside her.

“Oh, Jem, it was awful. Jones!”

“Jones? That young officer? What happened?”

“In… in a… They blew up a car. Jasper's car! He had only gotten out of it moments before… they… ”

“The anarchists?” Jem's grip on Merinda's hands tightened as she read between the lines. “They blew up a police automobile?”

Merinda nodded. “I was so close to the blast, and then… then… ” Merinda ran her hand over her eyes. “Oh, Jem, I have never seen Jasper like that. He found me and reamed me to high heaven. He told me it was my fault Jones was dead.”

“How can it be your fault?” Jem asked gently.

“He was angry about that interview I gave for Skip's article, and he had Jones stay late on his shift and… I didn't get it all because he was so furious. I have never seen him so angry.”