A Lesson in Love and Murder (32 page)

The matron at the Empire was delighted to see Benny and told him his room was still available, thanking him for the small tip he had left her and reminding him it wasn't needed. Benny assured her he was delighted anyone took the time to take care of him. In any way—big or small.

He took the picture of Jonathan and returned it to the cracked mirror. He moved to the rickety, slanted table by the window and laid out his notebooks and papers. He placed a little wire carefully tied in a Turkish knot that rivaled the staff sergeant's own lanyard.

He asked the matron if she had an iron he might use. With a smile, his wish was granted. He set about laying out his summer kit, full regalia, on his bed. It was in a poorer state than he realized, but he saw it delicately smoothed and brushed.

He wiped his hands on his tweed pants and sat back. Then his eyes caught a slight slip of paper on the floor, peeking out from under the bed.

He opened it and a fist sunk into his chest. Jonathan's writing.

An addendum to Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson's Guide to the Canadian Wilderness.

The Canadian wilderness is perhaps an example of the greatest earth you will ever find. You walk through paths unsure if anyone has ever set foot there before. Perhaps you are experiencing the tang of the pine and the sun sluicing through the branches for the first time.

And you carry it with you. You can tuck it into your pocket: the coyote's yowl and the owl's saucy hoot. The regal antlers of the moose and the cunning ears of the silver lynx. The birds chattering and the breeze tickling are all the music your ears need carry as you meander through life. It's a part of you, and when you're away from its colors and smells, it pricks at your core. You try to relate to people you meet, but if they have yet to sleep under the open, starry sky with the northern lights making light as bright as day, then they can never truly understand.

In this little book of ours, we present tricks, tips, and guidelines for survival. But there is a part
of the Canadian landscape we failed to include. Using this crude appendix, I would like to speak to the wilderness that is the bustling metropolis of the city. The creatures and wildlife replaced by humans, the trees replaced by grand buildings that reach to the heavens. The stars hide behind tall rooftops. And yet there is something magical about the sounds and the smells, even if you cannot tune your ear to the fox's feather-light footfall or the bison's snort or the wolf's territorial growl.

Sometimes in the city, you find what the solitude of the wilderness can never give you: a sense of constant companionship. You're connected to everyone around you and you're never really lonely.

The Canadian wilderness provides but one kind of happiness. The greatest lesson is learning you can find other kinds of happiness. Other kinds of love.

Even amid the concrete and urban noises.

It hadn't ever mattered if Jonathan wrote back. Not in all of those times Benny stole into their old project. Because he needed to write anyway—just in case Jonathan saw it. He never gave up. Just in case Jonathan… Just in case.

He slapped the book shut. A part of him was gone forever. But another part—the most important part—was lingering.

“For once you have fallen low,” he quoted, conjuring Merinda's detective hero. “Let us see, in the future, how high you can rise.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
HREE

Should you follow this guidebook closely, you will invariably reach a moment where one or more suitor will make a declaration of intent for courtship or marriage. In these instances, it is best to act demure and coy. Act surprised, even if the proposal is anticipated. Make the gentleman feel valued and worthy of his advances.

Dorothea Fairfax,
Handbook to Bachelor Girlhood

M
erinda had that deflated postcase feeling. Lethargic, she paced back and forth in the sitting room before falling into her chair and bellowing for Turkish coffee.

Her brain wheels still chugged but for no apparent purpose, and she was saddled with frenetic energy she wasn't sure where to channel. It buzzed through her fingertips and snaked through the sinews of her arms.

She picked up Emma Goldman's book and leafed through the pages, wondering how something so terse and disjointed to her now had once latched on to her. She needed something to believe in. The way Jem believed in God, the way Benny believed in Jonathan and the code of his Mounted Police. Merinda heard a knock at the door and then Mrs. Malone's welcoming voice from the hallway.

Into the parlor walked a tall figure in six feet of red with a Stetson tucked under his right arm.

Merinda gasped as he entered over the Persian carpet, the gold of his buttons licked by the last flames of sun through the window.

“Benny! This is some getup! Cracker jacks!”

He chuckled. “You like it? I confess to dragging it out to try and get some of the wrinkles and creases ironed out.”

“I want one! Full regalia.” She scooped the hat from under his arm and plopped it on her head, waving him into a chair.

“You're an amazing woman, Merinda Herringford.”

He leaned forward in his chair, his long fingers cupping his kneecaps. Merinda studied his face—his playful blue eyes and slightly crooked nose. “You sound so final,” she said.

“Mounties don't have jurisdiction in Toronto.”

“That's the same as saying women don't have jurisdiction as detectives.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sad.”

“Sad? Why would I be sad?”

“Because you”—he grabbed her hand and held tightly, so tightly she stopped trying to jerk it away—“are going to miss me as I will miss you.”

“Miss you? What… you… of all the silly… ”

“Merinda.”

“Oh, fine. Fine. I'll miss you.” She hopped to her feet, and Benny followed suit. “Oh, look at you there. So you're going to kiss me now?”

“Do you want me to?”

He leaned in. His lips were close. The wool of his scarlet serge scratched at the light fabric of her cotton blouse.

“Kiss me?” she mouthed, dazed. The ruddy fire was overheating her—and then she remembered it was August and there was no fire and the light through the open front curtains and the room was too hot and his jacket too warm and
why was he standing there so close?
His breath brushed her cheeks, along with his spicy scent.
Wretched man! He had put on cologne! A Mountie wearing cologne.
She had never felt undone before. Her knees hadn't threatened to buckle, perspiration had never pricked up over the back of her neck and her arms, and… She surrendered, throwing herself at him and locking her lips on his.

They remained thus for moments, at once infinite and finite, and
when they backed up, breathing heavily, staring at each other stupidly, Merinda's heart beating so loud and so fast she thought it would pop out of her chest, they were drained of words the moment had soaked up.

For all of his cocksure countenance, even Benny Citrone couldn't keep steady. He swaggered slightly in those knee-high boots of his.

“Bet Emma Goldman's never felt like that,” Merinda murmured.

“Hmmm?”

“Oh. Never mind.”

“You know what they say”—he gave her a wink as he wound one of her curls around his finger—“a Mountie always gets his man.”

Merinda rolled her eyes and shoved him back. “Yes, but does he always get his
woman
?” She spun on her heel and settled back nonchalantly into her armchair, drawing her knees to her chest. “Mrs. Malone!” she hollered, refusing to meet Benny's starlight eyes until her housekeeper rounded the door frame. “Show the constable out, would you?”

Unfazed, Benny strode toward her. “I'll be seeing you again, Merinda.”

“I'm never going to follow you to Fort Glenbow and darn your socks and raise your brood of children and hunt moose.”

“And I am never going to live in a city of smoke and grime where the all the sounds of nature are shut out by trolleys and sirens,” Benny countered.

“But you'll be seeing me again?” A whisper infused with hope.

“But I'll be seeing you again. Someday,” he said with finality. A beat later she heard the door click.

Merinda didn't have two minutes to let the world dance around her before Mrs. Malone brought Jasper in, his face eight shades of melancholy.

“I saw you through the window,” Jasper said before Merinda could string a cohesive thought through her befuddled brain.

“Oh.” Merinda was wondering why flames brandished her cheeks as his blue eyes bore into her.

Jasper straightened his shoulders and gripped his hat so tightly his knuckles whitened. He cleared his throat and stood erect as if a steel pole fixed him in place. “A-are you going to marry him, Merinda?” His voice broke three times with adolescent uncertainty.

“Can you imagine my marrying anyone?” Merinda asked lightly.

“The way you look at him. The way he held you… ”

“Jasper, close your mouth. You're gaping like a fish. You're also pale as a ghost! I'll have Mrs. Malone bring you a sandwich.”

“I… I think it's important we talk about this, Merinda.”

“There's nothing to talk about.”

“There is! I always just thought you weren't much of the romantic type, which is why… why… ”

“Jasper.” They were treading in dangerous water, and though she knew what came next, she tried to cough it off. Shrug it off. Stroll across the room. “I'm sorry we quarreled.”

“I know.” He smiled away any sentence she could conjure. “I forgive you.”

Merinda sank into her chair and stared into the empty fireplace. “What a case, Jasper. This one. It branded itself on all of us, didn't it? Me, you, DeLuca and Jem, Benny perhaps most of all.”

Merinda could still sense Benny near. She hadn't had a chance to process his touch or his leaving or the fact that she might never see him again. And here was Jasper dropping into Jem's usual chair and piercing her with blue eyes so wide and expectant. Waiting. She was sure he had stilled his heart, and it wouldn't beat again until she said something in return.

“Answer me. Are you going off with Benny Citrone, Merinda?”

Merinda watched his heart catch in his throat. He was diminished somehow despite his stature, and she knew he was probably grabbing at the bravest moment of his life.

She kept her voice light. “I wouldn't dash after Benny and live in a tent in the Yukon.”

Jasper shook his head. “No. I didn't suspect so. But you love him?”

Merinda waved him off. “I don't… ”

“Then I will wait for you.”

“For what? Wait for me to drop into your arms and swoon and let the world fall away? For me to traipse after you like Jem runs after DeLuca? That's not the girl you want me to be.”

He looked her over, appraising her, and she saw her worth reflected in the sheen of his eyes. He treasured her, despite every flaw, despite every rough edge. He cherished every imperfection. It startled her. She should rise to be worthy of this unadulterated love, shouldn't she? Heat flamed her face. She was careless in undermining Jasper's passion. His authority. She didn't deserve the way he looked at her.